I recently posted a poem about the sixties which was well received by the community of Author's Den. It is actually the introduction to a novel I'm writing called "Julianna's Walk. The book is based on my experiences growing up in the segregated South. This is the first chapter.
Chapter 1
August, 1967
It was summer and it was hot. In the South, record temperatures had been the talk over dinner tables all week. Fan sales were up, and the sound of their humming blades could be heard anywhere people were gathered. Getting hotter every day meant the humidity was rising too. Stepping outside into the sunlight was like walking into a wet wall of hot steam, but it was different in the shade. Shade was cool, its darkness sought by all to assuage the intensity of the heat. The shadow that fell around the giant live oak trees every Southerner loved was the best kind of shade that could be found.
That special live oak shade gave cool refuge to people scattered all around the back yard of a large house which was the residence of the Caldwell family in Leeville, a small Southern town in a lazy backwoods county known best for its acres of citrus groves and watermelon fields. A Saturday afternoon party was well underway, the attendees so inured to the summer heat that they didn’t really notice the temperature at all, especially from their shady refuge. Stately oak trees stood like tall umbrellas surrounded by azalea and camellia bushes covered with lush dark leaves that held the promise of brilliant spring flowers. A precisely clipped lawn extended down to the sandy shore of a large blue-green lake that exuded the coolness of spring fed waters. A sun-bleached dock extended out through the clear water to a boathouse, its walls hung with nets, poles, and other fishing and boating equipment. The sun’s rays danced upon the choppy water glittering like diamonds being pushed across the lake by the invisible hand of the wind. A breeze blew up from the lakefront causing the Spanish moss adorning the trees to billow like torn grey curtains hanging from the mighty branches, opening and closing to display the antics of chirping birds and scampering squirrels. It was a perfect setting for the late afternoon barbeque being attended by the town’s elite on that lazy summer afternoon.
Under the oak trees in the middle of the back yard, a group of men stood just outside of a large screened room that was a barbeque master’s dream. That carefully crafted cookhouse included a smoker and charcoal grill along with a gas stovetop for cooking, an elaborate ice machine, and a sink for cleaning up. It was a palatial monument to the part of Southern cooking designated as appropriate for the menfolk of the family. Women cooked in the kitchen. Men did their cooking on grills and smokers. Smoking fish or grilling a steak or ribs or even hamburgers was considered a manly pursuit under the strict edicts of Southern society at its best. This was a strictly male-oriented kitchen.
That afternoon, the most highly prized objects of manly Southern cuisine were spread out across the massive grill in regal glory. Hot and juicy meat covered every inch of the exposed space sputtering as the flames licked each and every item on the grill. Charcoal smoke and delicious aromas perfumed the late afternoon air with promises of exquisite tastes to come.
The men outside of the screened room stood beside a table that was laden with the fruits of the grill, piles of ribs and sausage, as well as bowls of delicious looking stew and pork infused greens. As they tasted pieces of the dripping meat, they called out enthusiastically to the chefs within the inner sanctum of the screened room. Just about every man there plotted ways to create such rural barbeque elegance in their own domains as they discretely sipped from either sweating glasses filled with bourbon cocktails or sweating cans of icy Schlitz beer.
Julianna Caldwell rushed through the crowd of men looking for her father. She pushed open the door to the mystical barbeque haven and saw him beside the grill. He was watching a tall black man swabbing sauce on savory ribs with extraordinary care. She’d known she would find her father there in his favorite retreat from the small talk of gatherings like the one going on in his back yard. He’d much rather spend time with his cook than talk politics or exchange gossip.
The man beside the grill was the only African American man to be found anywhere in the Caldwells’ back yard which was filled with members of the top tiers of local Southern society, a society that admitted only people of Caucasian descent. Even so, inside the sanctity of the barbeque room, the tall dark man seemed to be completely at home in a place he loved to be. He turned his eyes from the grill and glanced toward Jimbo Caldwell who was observing the grill with an interest and appearance of expertise almost as grand as that of the cook.
The black man said, “Mr. Jimbo, I believe we got enough after I take this batch off the grill.”
Julianna’s father nodded and said, “Well, Booker, you know my wife always wants to cook enough to feed an army. I agree with you, but I’d say we should do a few more steaks in case somebody doesn’t like the pork.”
Booker shook his head sadly as he dumped a little more charcoal on the grill and reached for a pan where sirloins were basting in Worcestershire sauce and melted butter. He turned the steaks in the in the basting sauce and said, “These are mighty fine steaks, but I do feel sad for a person who doesn’t appreciate the beauty of a good pork rib or sausage.
Julianna laughed as she pushed open the door and said, “They’ve got to be crazy not to want your ribs, Booker. Yours are the best in the world.”
Booker’s eyes shone with appreciation for her words. He said,
“Thank you, little Miss.”
One of the men outside called out, “The ribs are going fast out here. They’re damn good.”
Jimbo called back, “We’ll have another batch out in just a few minutes so load up your plates. There’s plenty for all.”
Another man called, “Booker’s the best grill man in the county.” There was a chorus of agreement from the other men outside the door.
Jimbo called, “Yes, he is.”
Booker said quietly, “Thank you, sir, and thank all you gentlemen.”
It was obvious that those outside the door admired Booker’s skill with the grill, but there was also a hint that their acceptance of him was paternal in nature and limited to his position as a cook instead of a guest at the festive party that was going on all around him. He didn’t seem to mind. He was a man who knew his business and knew how to get along in a sometimes frightening world where he was considered a lesser being. He knew that the compliments being aimed at those inside of the screened room were really for the benefit of his boss, Jimbo Caldwell. Most of the men outside the door would never even speak to him out in the world. While he enjoyed hearing praise for his cooking, their words didn’t carry the same weight as those that came from his young friend. Julianna’s words were a magical elixir that could light up his heart and face with deeply held love. The two of them shared a life-long bond built of memories and feelings that happened inside the protective walls of family.
Julianna had just turned sixteen and was on the edge of her junior year in high school. She was even more naïve than her years suggested, still in the process of morphing into the person she would be. But she had strong ideas about what she wanted to do in the world and a fierce sense of fairness derived from observing her parents’ behavior. She was slim and petite with long red hair, and a studious face that seemed always to be looking curiously out at the world. Her green eyes could sparkle with interest when she was reading or otherwise confident about what she was doing, but dulled with shy introspection when she was confronted with trying to fit in with her peers. She was at that stage where you knew she’d be beautiful someday, but she wasn’t quite there. She had freckles on her nose that drove her crazy. She scrubbed her skin at night hoping they’d disappear, but it didn’t happen. They seemed to her to be the only thing on her face anyone would ever see when in reality they were but a tiny dusting that was almost invisible to others.
Jimbo Caldwell had been involved in sports all of his life and he showed it. He was over six feet tall with arms and legs defined by thick muscular development. He sported a dark crew cut, and had the beginning of a whiskey gut. But the thing that people always remembered about him was the surprise of seeing the deep well of kindness that shone through his dark brown eyes. It seemed incongruous that a dedicated jock from a small town would have eyes that seemed to say to the world that he shared its pain and supported everyone in it. He was a product of the Deep South, born and bred in the town where he lived, but his personality had been shaped by multiple sources. He carried himself with the confidence that came from being a super star in the arena of sports. He’d lived most of his life in the rural South which heavily impacted the way he expressed himself to the world, but much of what he’d become in life had been impacted by painful things that connected him to the world at large. His personality had been honed by the overwhelming hunger he’d known as a child during the Great Depression, hunger that had been shared by people all over the planet; and by his military service during World War II, a foray into the horror that was experienced by cultures all around the world. He’d seen and done things that no one wanted to know or talk about. Sometimes memories of those unspeakable things that somebody had to do during that time of violent warfare seeped out from the deepest part of his brain and showed in the sadness reflected in his eyes. There was something else about Jimbo that was just there, maybe as a reflection of his soul. He was a kind human being filled with deep seated humor and a rare sort of caring for his fellow beings.
The black man at the grill, Booker Edwards, also carried sadness in his eyes. His came from a lifetime of living in a place where he was considered second class at best because of the color of his skin. He was a tall man, a little stoop-shouldered, and reed thin. His hair was cut close to his scalp, a few gray hairs beginning to show around his temples. That day, his black skin was shiny with sweat from the heat of the grill. His face masked his emotions when he was in the presence of most white folks, but he felt safe enough to drop the mask when he was with Jimbo Caldwell and his family. He took every job seriously, but he took extra care with the Caldwells to make sure that he gave them his very best. He made sure their lawn was always perfect. During the picking season, he always worked first the groves owned by the Caldwells, but he’d always worked for others too. Although Jimbo Caldwell had just increased the acreage of his citrus holdings, the Caldwells’ groves had always been smaller than many of the other local farmers. Booker counted on the income he received for working in the orange groves that abounded in the area. He always said he was a man who wore lots of hats, farmer, gardener, and cook, and he liked them all. There was no question in his mind that his favorite job was the one he was doing that day: cooking for people he considered a part of his family.
The grill sputtered as Booker continued to patiently baste the last slabs of ribs, making each one a perfect blend of charcoal smoke and rich pork. He watched the steaks for the perfect time to flip them. He wanted to achieve just the right amount of burn on the outside of the juicy red meat. His face was like that of any great chef, a reflection of his genuine love for the delicious food he was creating. For Booker, food had become his art as well as a way to make extra money.
Julianna grinned at her father as he handed her the end piece of a slab of ribs that had been pulled off the grill just before her arrival. Jimbo knew that his daughter loved the crispy blackened end pieces as much as any food in the world, as much as he did. They always shared a piece together before the food was placed on the table for others. It was one of their rituals.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Julianna drawled as she nibbled the crisp pork, savoring the charcoal taste. She wondered why anyone in the world would be foolish enough to cook ribs anywhere but on a charcoal grill. It was the best. Her enjoyment of the rib chased away the reason she’d come looking for her father.
“You better be thanking Booker. He’s the one who insisted on a special extra crispy slab just for you.”
Julianna peered around her father at Booker who was cutting rib slabs into individual pieces. Even though the pile of ribs was massive, most of the food had already been placed out on the table for consumption by the guests. Jimbo and his wife, Annabelle, always overdid it when it came to cooking for guests. It was the Caldwell way, the Southern way, which required that no guest should leave hungry. Julianna was well aware that if there were a shortage, the hosts were the ones who wouldn’t eat the best stuff. Her mother had drummed into her head all of her life that the guest always came first. She was quite pleased at the size of the piles of food around her. It was clear there’d be no shortage that night.
“Thanks, Booker,” Julianna said. Her eyes sparkled. She and Booker were close friends. He was someone she trusted enough that she didn’t have to pretend to be anything except what she was. That was a real comfort. More than anyone else, he seemed to like listening to her many stories, both from the books she read and from her own imagination. They’d discussed everything from Nancy Drew when she was younger to The Scarlet Letter which she’d read during the last school year. He even seemed to like listening to tales about her imaginary general who was to be the first woman to reach five stars after clever wins on the battlefield. Booker always had interesting things to say about her studies and her stories. He made her think about things from a different point of view.
Booker glanced at her and said, “It was nothing, nothing at all. I like it the same way you do. I told your daddy that you and me would be fighting over who got the most of that particular slab.”
Julianna pursed her lips and said solemnly, “Half and half, I think … oh, and we both let Daddy have a piece from our part of the slab. You know he likes it just as much as we do.”
Jimbo frowned and said, “Julianna, you don’t need a half of a slab of ribs. I know how you are about eating, even with ribs. You won’t eat much more than one. Booker can take home most of that slab to feed his family.” Jimbo grinned and continued, “But I will take another one if you’re offering.”
Julianna hung her head and said, “You’re right, Daddy. I only need a couple.” Julianna knew her father was right. She was always careful about food intake. She almost always approached eating with great discipline, but Booker’s ribs could tempt her every time.
Booker said, “No, Mr. Jimbo, half and half is fair, and you should take what you want. You’re the one who bought those ribs. You’re the one who puts meat on the table for all of us.”
Julianna said, “No, Booker, I want you to have most of it. You deserve the best because you cooked it. I’ll just keep a couple.”
“Your daddy’s the one who put this meat on the table.”
Jimbo laughed. “Let her do what she ought to, Booker. I’m sure there’ll be plenty for all of us---probably for days to come. We’ll all be sick of eating ribs before they’re all gone.”
Booker shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever be sick of eating a good rib.”
Julianna smiled shyly at Booker and said, “I really want you to take it.” She grinned at her father and continued, “Even though I’m also sure Daddy will send home much more than that with you.” She glanced out at the table. “Mama outdid herself with this one. We’ll be eating greens and pork for days.”
“Not with the way those folks are gobbling down everything on that table out there.” Booker glanced out at the table as he spoke, looking to be sure he didn’t need to replenish anything.
“It is surprising how quickly good food disappears when you put it on the table, but even if nothing is left, I want you to have the best.”
Booker looked hard at Julianna and said, “Well, lil’ lady, I see you’re a fair person like your daddy.” He grinned and continued, “A good rib’s a hard thing to give up.”
Jimbo nodded and said, “That’s the truth.”
Booker turned to a pot of stew he had cooking on the burners at the far end of the grill and said, “I’d best be serving up a few more cups of this stew. Folks seem to like it a lot.”
Jimbo nodded. “They always do, Booker. You’re the best cook in this county, no doubt … although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let on to the ladies that I feel that way.”
Both men chuckled. The ladies stood in an exalted spot in both of their worlds.
Julianna looked out at the crowd of the fifty or so people laughing and talking in the shade of the oak trees. Her father had planned the party to aid the campaign of Sam Parsons, a local city commissioner now running for mayor who was one of his closest friends. He’d invited friends, business acquaintances and political figures from all over the county, some of them people who wouldn’t normally be attending a party at the Caldwell house. Julianna watched her mother, Annabelle, walking on the grass with the grace that always seemed to hover about her every movement. She knew her mother was making sure that the people sitting and standing under the oak trees had their cocktails refreshed and their plates filled. That was her way. She always looked out for everybody around her, and seemed to know exactly what to say. She had a knack for making people feel good about themselves, no matter who they were or what they were doing. She told Julianna frequently that good manners meant putting those around you at ease with themselves.
Annabelle sparkled with laughter as she made her way through the crowd exchanging gossip, commenting on the woman’s outfits, the men’s golf games or businesses, making every person there feel special and at home. She was a staunch believer in the tradition of Southern hospitality at its best, born with an innate knowledge of how to please her guests. She was a blonde haired, blue eyed beauty. Even after giving birth to two children, she carried herself with the knowledge that she drew the eyes of most men her way just by walking past them. A local newspaper columnist had once written that she was a true Southern lady with the flirtatiousness of Scarlet O’Hara tempered with the good sense and gentle devotion of Melanie Wilkes. Annabelle had so been thrilled with the comparison that she’d saved a clipping of the column in the drawer of her desk in the kitchen. Jimbo always said she had more charm than the law should allow which never failed to make Annabelle blush. Being likened to the characters in her favorite novel still gave her a thrill even though Jimbo had been quoting Rhett Butler to her for years.
Like Jimbo, Annabelle was a basically kind person, partially because of her upbringing, but mostly because of some innate quality that could only be attributed to her soul. Unlike her husband, Annabelle had never known real physical pain or hunger, but at eight years old she’d lost both of her parents. She’d been raised by her very social grandparents who gave her everything she wanted as a child to try to make up for the loss of her parents. Living in the lap of luxury hadn’t spoiled her, perhaps because she also lived with the pain of her early loss. She’d once told Julianna after a disappointing loss in a childhood contest that pain was like a carving knife that cut away the fluff and exposed the truth so that one could realize the most important things in life.
Julianna remembered those words as she progressed through her childhood, trying always to find the beauty her mother said should be exposed by disappointment and wondering exactly what pain her mother had suffered that would make her think that way. She seemed to be above pain and suffering in the place of a goddess who was esteemed by everyone around her. Julianna longed to scale the heights and live in the world her mother could see, but she felt like it was just beyond her grasp. She hid this fact well, deep inside of her heart, because she wanted so much to please and be like the mother she adored. In her young mind, Annabelle’s place in the heights was at least partially predicated upon the way men seemed to see her. Julianna tried to duplicate the charm that exuded naturally from her mother’s very self, but it just didn’t seem to come.
It was true that Annabelle had always been protected and pampered by strong men, first her grandfather and then Jimbo, but it was more than the presence of those men in her life that gave Annabelle her confidence. She was a Southern woman, proud of her heritage of gentility and hospitality. Her connection to that ideal buttressed her confidence as a woman, but she did not carry the brand of racial prejudice seared upon the hearts of many of the Southerners around her who seemed to have been born with a belief that people of color were inferior. Annabelle knew better. Something inside of her was so open and free that she was able to see people for what they were without the prejudices that defined most people’s view of the world. Like Jimbo, her kindness extended to people on both sides of the tracks and defined her character and persona to the world around her.
Local historians considered the Caldwells’ tale to be the stuff of fairy tales. Jimbo jumped from the wrong side of the tracks with his skill on the playing fields to steal the heart of the most beautiful heiress the county had ever known. Both of the Caldwells were popular local figures because of their history in the county even though they seemed a little too liberal to most of the white community. At that time in the South, the past clearly dictated the present and the future. Since both Caldwells were equally bright stars from the county’s illustrious past, whatever their politics might be, they were included in the best of the best part of local society. They were perennials on the guest list of everybody who mattered.
The Caldwells’ soiree was very informal as was appropriate for an afternoon barbeque. The women wore bright summer dresses and sandals. They chattered together about new babies and social events. They shared news and whispered gossip about whoever wasn’t present. The men wore khakis and golf shirts. Some of them had arrived at the party after a round of golf at the local country club. They lamented about their scores or bragged about a shot. They soon turned to the upcoming football season and how their favorite college teams would fare. They lowered their voices to gossip about the latest scandals and whose business was going down, and speculated about whether the descent was because of heavy drinking or too much womanizing.
Along with the intoxicating aroma of Booker’s cooking, the many voices created a low murmur of conversation with a tinkle of polite laughter that hung in the heavy afternoon air like a golden cloud of confident arrogance. There was a feeling of lazy sumptuousness evident in the drawling voices. There was a surety that all of their tomorrows would be good, that their lives would go on unchanging into a clear and secure future led by men just like those attending the party. There was a confident assumption that those men would always be supported by an array of women like those who stood there in the men’s shadows ready to do whatever it took to care for their men and children. It was the Southern way, and most of those attending wanted nothing more than its continuation into the future.
Even though America was experiencing a change in the air as the cosmic gears turned and the stars lined up in the sky for a new age, in most of the South, people hung on to the past and tried to ignore the very different things that seemed imminent. The politicians waved banners of patriotism and touted the virtues of their society. Indeed, it was hard to deny that there were virtues imbued in the slow Southern life; virtues that shone in the hospitable, gracious women and the scholarly gentlemen. There was a soft beauty to their way of life that made strangers feel welcome and old timers secure and comfortable. For most people in that sphere of life, that glow of gentility and hospitality was a refuge in which they could hide from the harsh reality of the world outside. In doing so, they completely ignored the fact that in their midst was a whole culture that went without respect and acceptance, without enough to eat, without adequate medical care or education. People of color lived in the midst of and as a part of all of the gentility and hospitality that reigned in the part of the South inhabited by its upper class white population. It was clear that these fine virtues were not extended to people of color by the denizens of the society that was represented in the Caldwell yard, even if the Caldwells themselves hoped they would be. There was still a deeply cut line in the sand between blacks and whites in the South. Even though their neighborhoods were very close to each other in small towns like the one where the Caldwells lived, that racially generated line created a very clear division between the haves and the have nots. The rules that had been in place for many years were designed to keep that line firmly embe dded in their hearts and souls, to keep everyone in their proper place … or at least the place those in power deemed proper.
Booker knew, as he stood at the grill, that he was surrounded by people who did not see him as an equal, who might enjoy his cooking, but would not ask him to sit down to dinner. Booker had learned to accept this because it was the way life as he knew it was lived. It had been that way forever for him. Nothing had changed from the time he was born. He’d known nothing other than an unending flow of slights from the upper classes of his home town. Booker had the audacity to be born a very smart, very capable black man in a place where those attributes were unwanted and scary to the ruling class. He’d learned early in life to suppress all of his strengths except those that were acceptable to the white folks who ran his world. Perhaps that was why he was so attached to Julianna. She was the only person in the white world with whom he could open his mind and be himself to the fullest degree. She’d been talking with him about the things she loved all of her life. That included the things she learned in school and the books she read. He knew that in her heart he was not only her equal, but her teacher and her friend. There was a sweet equality between the two, a hint of how it might be if the world were a different place.
The thought that things might change, that there could be a true equality in the lives of all of the people of America, was something Booker knew had been talked about, but not something he actually expected in his lifetime. His heart had filled with the beginning of hope when he heard of Martin Luther King’s dream, but he couldn’t allow himself to hope too much. The reality of life in his rural county was so far from that dream that hope was too painful, too dangerous. There were some kind people like the Caldwells who recognized and accepted him as the man he was, but they were few and far between. And even the best of the whites, like the Caldwells, didn’t really understand the depth and impact that racism had on those who lived under its yoke. They couldn’t know if they hadn’t felt the hatred that he knew was hidden just under the surface of so many who surrounded him in his small world. He and Jimbo had actually shared a few conversations about the injustice of life, but he knew the reality of racial injustice could only be understood by one who’d stood in the direct line of hatred that most of the people around him harbored in their hearts. It was just one of those things that had to be experienced to be understood. Even so, he loved Jimbo like a brother and knew that his brother at least tried to understand.
On the other side of the Caldwells’ backyard, another table was set up with bottles of alcohol and mixers. Beside it was a washtub full of ice and cold beer. Booker’s wife, Arletha Edwards, stood behind the cocktail table filling orders from the guests. Arletha was a big boned, thick set woman, with an ample breast that had pillowed many from distress, including Julianna on many occasions. She had arms that were strong from hard work and scarred from wood pieces flying her way at her other job at the pulp mill. Along with Booker, she’d worked part time for the Caldwells for years and felt affection for her employers and love for the Caldwell children, Julianna and her brother Rob. Arletha counted the children as her own. She knew she could always turn to Jimbo for help if she was in trouble of any kind. She knew he’d always have her back. But it was Annabelle who sat in the center of Arletha’s heart.
Annabelle was the only white woman who’d ever treated her as an equal without in any way diminishing the truth of the burden Arletha carried by existing in the segregated South. It was Annabelle who’d pulled out Chuck Berry albums back in the fifties when Arletha first came to work for the Caldwells. Arletha had expressed complete surprise that her new employer even knew about an R&B artist who was a star in the black world. Annabelle had explained that she’d been friends with a black woman during a time when Jimbo worked as manager for a saw mill out in the boondocks. Her friend had brought records from the black juke joint and Annabelle had discovered R&B long before the rest of the white world, long before Elvis made his way to center stage. Annabelle and Arletha had danced together many afternoons, first to Elvis and Chuck Berry and B.B. King, Arletha’s favorite. Later, they worked together to perfect their ability to dance the Twist and other new dances that came in the sixties. They were true friends. Arletha had a fierce love for Annabelle and for anything connected to her.
Arletha smiled politely as she filled glasses with generous slugs of liquor for the men who she knew liked their drinks strong and poured lighter drinks for the ladies. She laughed appropriately at the men’s jokes and discreetly spiked a few glasses for those who wanted a drink but were supposed to be teetotalers. She knew the people of her town and their unique and supposedly secret habits. She’d worked parties at the Caldwells for years, and most of the people attending the party employed at least one of Arletha’s black friends. The entire black community was well aware of all of the secrets of the white people who put on airs for each other and pretended the world was rosy no matter what dark secret was dominating their lives. They all knew the secret drinkers, the ones having affairs, and those who were pinching pennies.
Arletha was proud of her table. It was filled with top choice liquors and good beer. She’d worked hard to make sure the backyard and the house looked perfect for the party. The Caldwells were her people and they liked to do things right just like she did. She knew when they looked good, she looked good. A lot of her kinfolk and friends were envious of her job. No one else in her community worked for people who really saw them as fellow human beings. No one could count on their employers the way she could. The Caldwells were good white folks. That was a known and valued thing in her community and it contributed to her status. She lived in a place where racism was still considered the natural order of things, and white people as good as the Caldwells were not just a rarity, but almost nonexistent.
It didn’t matter that history would say the equal rights law had been enacted in 1964 and the voting rights law had been enacted in 1965. It didn’t matter that federal law said segregation was a thing of the past. She lived in the present in a place where that law hadn’t yet filtered down to make its intent a reality. In her world, black people weren’t even allowed to walk down Main Street where all the white shops and the white movie theaters were located. There were still white and colored fountains in the stores at the edge of the area of town where colored folks were allowed. In her world, having a white person on your side meant a lot, and everyone knew the Caldwells loved the Edwards.
Arletha glanced across the lawn and saw that the sheriff had put down his beer and was dipping into a cup of her husband’s stew. She hid a smile as she remembered the many compliments Booker always got for his cooking, but especially for that stew. She could see how much the sheriff enjoyed the stew and felt a moment of discontent that a man like that could have the opportunity to even taste her husband’s wonderful fare. She understood why the Caldwells had invited him to the party, but she didn’t like it that he was there. Her discontent turned to apprehension when she saw the sheriff stumble toward the door to the screen room. She knew Booker was inside and hoped he wouldn’t become the object of the sheriff’s attention. Then she saw one of the Baptist preachers who always wanted a secret shot of bourbon. She grinned and poured some of the brown liquor into the glass he handed her and then disguised the content with a slug of Coca Cola. The preacher took a sip and sighed with contentment. She forgot about Booker as more requests came her way.
The screen door slammed open and Julianna turned to see Sheriff Cecil Steele standing in the doorway. He was a tall wiry man wearing a white Stetson hat and carrying a can of beer. There was an air of cruel authority that hung around him setting him apart from everyone else in the crowd. He was clearly a man who both had and enjoyed a great deal of power over those around him. His mouth was hard and unforgiving, the lines of his face set with smug certainty of his position. His eyes were like wells of dark knowledge, shimmering on the surface with flecks of false promises that drew people in and hid the mean spirit that lived inside of him. He was adept at hiding the knowledge that lived there deep in his heart, knowledge of what he’d done to people who landed in his jail, knowledge of what pain would do to a human being. He did not recognize black people as human beings, and treated them as animals to be rewarded for good behavior and punished or killed for bad. His face assumed an even greater look of superiority whenever he addressed any person of color. He was proud of his distant relationship to Nathan Bedford Forrest, the founder of the Ku Klux Klan, and his fondest memory was riding a horse as a leader in a parade put on by the Klan in Orlando.
Sheriff Steele looked as if he had perhaps sipped a few too many beers that afternoon, especially when he stumbled into the room toward the cups of stew at the end of the grill. He picked up one of the stew cups and raised it as if in a toast. He looked at Booker and said, “Boy, that’s the best damn stew I ever had in my life.”
Booker seemed embarrassed and lowered his head. He said seriously, “Thank you, suh.” Booker did not like to be anywhere near the infamous sheriff. He hadn’t actually observed the sheriff’s cruelty as it was being inflicted upon any human being, but he had seen the aftermath and heard many tales of things that had happened to friends and even family. It hung like a smoky cloud that choked the freedom from every heart of all of the people of color living in his home town. He wasn’t sure of all the acts that had been perpetrated to create such smoke. He only knew he didn’t want to draw the attention of such a man to himself. He was alarmed that the sheriff thought him good at anything, even cooking, one of the few things black men were allowed to excel at doing in the eyes of most white people.
Julianna looked quizzically at Booker, noticing that his whole demeanor seemed different after the sheriff entered the screen room. His shoulders slumped as if he were trying to make himself look smaller. His face lost all animation. His eyes were downcast and subservient. Even his voice changed. She’d never heard him slur his words like he had when he answered the sheriff.
Julianna had never really spent any time around Booker in a crowd or with adults other than her parents. When he worked in the Caldwells’ yard, he always made time to show Julianna a squirrel’s nest or spider web or countless other of nature’s wonderful treasures. When they fished on the dock, he would bait her hook so she wouldn’t have to touch the worm even if Rob made fun of him for doing it. He laughed with her and talked with her just like he was part of her family. She had never seen his face masked of all emotion, blank and stiff, as it seemed to be at that moment. She didn’t like it at all. Even more, she didn’t like the way the sheriff was talking to Booker. It seemed as if the sheriff were talking down to her friend even as he praised his cooking. She looked defiantly at the uniformed stranger that she’d never met before and said, “There’s nobody who cooks as well as Booker.”
Booker stifled a smile as he shifted his eyes toward Julianna, hoping she would see he was smiling at her inside. He quickly looked away from her as if startled by what he saw. His heart melted with love at the sight of her tense defensiveness toward the hated sheriff. He turned away because he was afraid his attention would be diminished by his love for her from the danger in the room posed by the sheriff’s presence. He had to be careful of everything he said or did. He had to be completely forgettable and laughable. He wanted to portray a presence that gave no memorable response to the dangerous man who stood threateningly close to him. This was a man who would kill him or his family as easily as any other person might swat a fly.
The sheriff straightened up and looked at Julianna as if he hadn’t seen her before. He said, “Well, little lady, you’re sure speaking the truth. He’s the best cook around.”
Julianna said primly, “I always try to, Sheriff Steele---speak the truth I mean.” She tried to silently convey her disapproval of his treatment of Booker, her hands on her hips, her foot tapping, her eyebrows arched. She was sure she was right that his positive words were coated in a sort of smug derision that seemed wrong.
Booker was proud of his little girl, but he wished she wouldn’t say the things she was saying to that particular man. He was a monster known to black people all over the county as the epitome of racial injustice. Booker had managed to live all the years of his life without an encounter with the man and he didn’t want one now.
Sheriff Steele looked back at Booker, took off his hat and bowed toward him. He extended the hat toward Booker and said, “Boy, you heard what the little lady said and she’s right. She almost makes me think I need to apologize to you for something, but I’m taking it further. I’m giving you my hat in honor of the food you cooked today.”
Booker shook his head slowly while he stared down at the grill and said, “No, suh, I couldn’t take that.” His eyes were frozen on the last of the ribs he was mechanically basting. He continued, “No, suh, that be too big a honor fo’ a man like me.” Hearing the sheriff’s use of the word “apologize” scared him. He wasn’t sure what he should say or do to avoid the catastrophe that lurked menacingly on the other side of that innocent word.
Jimbo, too, was concerned by the sheriff’s demeanor. He looked nervously at a man he’d invited to his home only because he wanted to help out a friend seeking political office. He wished he’d found a way around including a man he considered a monster from being anywhere near his friend Booker, but his friend had insisted that politics required the sheriff’s presence. He said, “Come on, Sheriff,” as he moved toward the sheriff and began to take his arm.
The sheriff threw Jimbo’s hand off his arm and dropped the hat on the counter top at the end of the grill. He wasn’t accustomed to having a black man say no to him for anything. He said, “You damn right it’s an honor for a nigger buck to wear the high-sheriff’s hat.”
Booker’s fear was escalating with each breath he took. He knew if he refused, he would anger the sheriff and put his family at risk, but, if he accepted, the sheriff might accuse him of theft later and put him in jail. His only hope was placating the sheriff, showing him submissive respect. He slumped even more, wishing he could sink into the Earth below him, and tried to make himself look smaller and inconsequential. He carefully used the language he knew the sheriff expected from him and said, “Sheriff, I thanks yo’ for the honor, but I’s just a nigga’ cook … I couldn’ take yo’ hat. Please, suh …I’s not worthy, suh.”
The sheriff leaned closer to Booker and said, “Boy, you will take my hat. And if I ever see you without it, I’ll take you to my jailhouse and you’ll cook for me the rest of your life.”
Julianna felt a frisson of fear pass through her body like a cold finger. She couldn’t believe the sheriff’s words or that he was serious, but it was still scary. She moved unconsciously closer to her father and touched his arm for reassurance.
Jimbo glanced down at Julianna and said, “Sheriff, as I said, we need to go talk to …” He was becoming more uncomfortable by the second, and wanted the sheriff away from his friend and his daughter, without causing harm to the political ambitions that led to the sheriff’s invitation in the first place.
Sheriff Steele shot Jimbo an irritated glance and said, “First things first, Jimbo. I’m trying to convey an honor on this here boy.”
Jimbo said, “Come on, Sheriff, leave Booker alone.” He looked toward Booker and continued, “I’m one hundred percent sure that Booker understands how special that hat is to you. He’s just trying to be polite.”
The sheriff’s face turned a bright red as he stared meanly at Booker. He snapped at Jimbo, “Don’t act like a nigger lover … or are you just afraid you’ll lose your pet buck to me?”
Jimbo pushed Julianna behind him as he faced the sheriff and said, “Don’t talk like that on my property.” Jimbo’s fists began balling up as he moved toward the sheriff, his eyes turning hard. Jimbo actually liked the feel of trading hits in a fist fight. It got his blood pumping and reminded him somewhere inside of the glory of hitting hard in a football game, the sound of the crowd reacting when he knocked his opponent to the ground. He’d been a gifted athlete in every sport with a body that didn’t know pain and could take anyone who came along. He didn’t often allow himself to be pulled toward the vortex of violence because he knew most people didn’t feel the way he did, but he didn’t like the sheriff talking like that to Booker, especially in front of his daughter. He was ashamed that such a man was a guest at his house. He hoped Booker understood that politics dictated his invitation. He would express his sorrow later to his friend, but right now, he knew he had to stop the situation from escalating.
Julianna moved closer to Booker. She said, “Don’t you talk to Booker like that.”
Booker stood stiffly, his heart buzzing with fear. He wasn’t sure what to do, what could make things better.
The sheriff said, “Don’t get so close to that buck, young miss.” He cackled meanly and continued, “That gawd-awful Supreme court says he could marry you now … you wouldn’t want that, would you, Jimbo? You’re not that much of a nigger lover?”
Loving v. Virginia had been decided earlier that year, making it clear that interracial marriage was legal. It was a thought that enraged many white people, including Sheriff Steele, who considered such a concept not only unacceptable but an abomination, something that violated God’s law. In his state of anger, everything he hated about people of color came roaring into his overheated mind. It was only the fact that most of the county considered Jimbo one of the elite that kept him from arresting both of the men and taking them to his jail to be taught real respect.
Julianna shook her head, confused by the sheriff’s words, and said, “What are you talking about? Booker’s already a married man.” She looked toward her father uncertainly, trying to understand what was happening. Everything seemed to have more than one meaning like they were close to crossing over an invisible line between normal life that you lived every day and a place and time when normalcy was torn away and things happened that reverberated through time, changing lives and sometimes even history. There was a tension and heaviness inside the screened room that made it seem like they were in a different world from the lightheartedness that surrounded them outside the door. The sheriff’s words and actions had opened the curtain that covered the cankerous sore of racial hatred and inequality, giving Julianna a glimpse of its rancid reality.
Jimbo glanced at Julianna when she spoke, her voice bringing him back to the reality that she was there. Remembering that she was there brought him back from the escalating anger inspired by the sheriff that was pushing him toward action that might best be stayed. Anger was something Jimbo didn’t like, didn’t often allow himself to feel. It brought back other kinds of memories, mental flashes of blood, of dead faces, of the adrenaline rush you get when you’re in a place you know you could die. He went there often enough in his dreams, back to those beautiful, dangerous Pacific islands he had visited during World War II with the UDT, the naked warriors. He would swim into battle sites before the troops ever got there, looking for information he could take back to help save the lives of the men who would be landing there; looking for mines he could defuse, barriers he could destroy, and even looking for snipers or machine gun nests he could take care of in the dark when no one knew he was there. Jimbo was a good man, a kind human being, who did not want to have those feelings or memories any more than he wanted his young daughter to see the ugliness that still inhabited the world. He just wanted peace in his life, but he would not allow the sheriff to push him or his people around.
He shook his head as if to clear it from the desire to make the sheriff eat his words. He knew nothing he did would make a real difference, that standing up for Booker could actually create problems for his friend. He said firmly, “Sheriff, you’ve got more important things to do than stand in my cook house talking to my cook. Now, come on out of here.” He grabbed the sheriff’s arm and pushed him forcefully toward the door. He looked over his shoulder apologetically at Booker and Julianna.
The sheriff didn’t want to make an enemy of a white man many considered powerful. He shrugged, but he left the hat on the counter. He said, “I’m coming, Jimbo, but I insist that this boy take my gift. Come on, boy, I meant what I said.” He smiled toward Booker, but the hatred inherent in his soul still filled his dark eyes.
Booker nodded and picked up the hat. He bowed his head submissively and said, “It shore be a great honor to have this hat, suh. I thanks you for bestowin’ such a honor on a ole’ buck lak me. I din’ mean no disrespect. Times I’s a lil’ slow like mos’ niggas. I din’ unerstan’ … but I’s shore … gratitude … to yo’ fo’ such a honor.” He spoke slowly, giving every word the accent he was sure the sheriff expected, keeping his eyes down, trying to convey the height of submissiveness.
Julianna’s head turned quickly and she stared at her friend, amazed at how different his voice sounded. Booker was her mentor who had explained word meanings to her since her childhood. She couldn’t believe the things coming out of his mouth.
The sheriff cackled and said, “That’s all right, boy. I’m serious about your cooking’”
Booker said, “Thank you, suh.”
As he exited the door, the sheriff called back, “Don’t forget, boy, I catch you without that hat, your behind is mine.” He laughed as he turned to go shake hands and talk politics with the county’s elite gathered outside the screened room.
Julianna burned with indignation at what the sheriff had done and said. She murmured softly, “My daddy should have beaten that old man up.”
Booker patted Julianna’s arm. He said stoically, “No, he did the right thing.”
Julianna looked into Booker’s eyes, grateful that he seemed himself again, that the dark mask of humility was removed. Suddenly he seemed taller again. She said, “But, how could he let that man talk like that to you and act like nothing happened? And why did you talk like that to him? You seemed like a different person.”
Booker shook his head sadly and said, “Your daddy was just trying to stop bad things from happening and so was I. I talked to him the way he expected me to talk to him so he would forget my face. Your daddy can’t change that old man’s heart. It’s as black as a night with no moon or stars.”
Julianna reached her arms around Booker and hugged him tightly. She said, “I love you, Booker. That man’s not going to hurt you. My daddy wouldn’t let him.”
Booker patted Julianna’s head and pulled her away from his body as he said, “I know he would try, but I’d like to be able to protect myself.”
Julianna blushed as she looked up at Booker. “Of course, I know that, I didn’t mean that you couldn’t. I guess it’s just harder for you because …”
“Of the color of my skin.” Booker smiled down at his young friend. “We can talk about that … we can talk about anything … but let’s do it when I’m not responsible for keeping a whole lot of people fed.”
He didn’t want to talk about what had just happened, but he couldn’t escape the cold reality of what he knew the sheriff was capable of doing. He couldn’t shake off the fear of what might happen to his family if he became the focus of the sheriff’s wrath. He felt the yoke of his skin color that burdened a man’s freedom in a land that was founded on the very concept of freedom. Booker had often wondered how people of color could still be wearing invisible chains of slavery created and maintained by white people like the sheriff. Those heavy chains eroded a man’s ambition, diminished his drive, and lessened his desire to achieve. He was sure that those chains should not exist in a land that was known as the home of the brave and the land of the free. He, too, had proudly served his country during the Second World War. He’d travelled to Europe where he’d been treated like a savior or at least an equal by people he met there. It had been a slap in the face, almost as traumatic as experiencing war, to come home to the same lack of freedom he’d always known after risking his life to help save freedom in other countries. These thoughts had often made him want to buck the system, break out of the lethargy in life that those invisible chains created, but he could not dwell on those thoughts now. He was faced with the ire of a white man with power to crush his life and the lives of his family.
He looked down at the sheriff’s hat. It was an offensive presence in the grill house he considered his own, an oppressive reminder of the weight of history that hung in the air everywhere in the county where he lived. It soured the air with a cloud of discontent so thick it made it hard to breathe sometimes. He sighed with bone deep sadness that the outside world had intruded into a place he considered a haven.
Julianna watched transfixed as he lifted the white hat up in the air. It seemed as if he were lifting a heavy weight and placing the burdens of the world on his head. Thoughts careened through her mind. She wondered why people described the good guys as the white hats, which seemed incongruous considering the head that had worn that particular white hat. She thought of the tradition of white knights winning over black knights at the end of almost all tales of chivalry and wondered who had decided white was better than black.
Booker adjusted the hat with closed eyes. He felt as if he’d wrapped a heavy chain around his neck instead of placing a hat on his head.
Julianna said softly, “Don’t wear that nasty man’s hat.”
Booker looked into her eyes and said, “You heard the man---if he sees me without it, I go to jail.”
Julianna shook her head and said, “He couldn’t mean that.” Notwithstanding the glimpse of ugliness Julianna had just witnessed, she couldn’t believe the sheriff would ignore the law. She couldn’t believe a law enforcement officer would arrest someone who’d done nothing wrong. It wasn’t within her limited scope of knowledge of the world in which she lived.
Booker sighed and said, “Little miss, you don’ know just how mean some folks can be---that man there---he’d think nothing of jailing a black man. Why … even down in Tampa a lawman not half as mean as our sheriff killed a black boy without even asking questions. And this sheriff … the stories that I’ve heard …”
Booker turned to look at Julianna as he spoke. He saw that she had tears in her eyes and stopped. “There, there, you’re too sweet to know about such things,” he said as he patted her arm again.
He stopped the gush of information that wanted to spill out of his lips, making her understand just how very real the sheriff’s threat was. He didn’t tell her of the many black people the sheriff had humiliated and hurt for no reason, or of the people he had jailed without cause or even of the people he had killed indiscriminately. He didn’t tell her that the sheriff was feared by every black person in the county, maybe even the state. He didn’t tell her what he knew about this man and his utter disregard for any human life that did not wear white skin. Booker loved this young white girl like she was his own, and one of the things he loved most was her innate kindness and sweet innocence. The natural assumptions of racial superiority that infected the viewpoints of most white people he knew were absent in this child. She had an innocent acceptance of people for what was inside of them and not the brand of their skin color. He didn’t want to be the serpent who offered her knowledge of good and evil. He stopped himself from talking to her as he could talk to few, if any, other white people. He stopped himself from blurting out things that were left unsaid to most people outside of his race. He stopped not because she was white but because he didn’t want to be the one that made her understand just how cruel the world could be.
“How can it be that people would do … things like that?” she said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
“People are mean,” Booker said. He smiled and continued, “Not like you and your folks.”
“I just can’t believe he would take you to jail for not wearing a hat.”
Booker turned back to his ribs and said, “You heard the man.” He kept his voice neutral and looked away from her eyes. He was afraid if they kept talking, he would tell her the things he knew, the things he wanted to protect her from. He was afraid his lips would betray him and tell her things that would hurt her. He said, “Let’s talk about something else. What are you reading now?”
Jimbo stuck his head in the door and said, “Booker, are the steaks ready?”
Booker nodded and pointed at a tray piled with steaks on the edge of the grill.
“Let’s get that tray out while it’s fresh.”
Booker started to pick up the tray.
“No, Julianna, you bring it out.” Jimbo gestured with his head toward where the sheriff stood nearby as he stared hard at Booker.
Booker nodded his gratitude, knowing that Jimbo didn’t want him to have to risk once more becoming the object of the sheriff’s attention. He said, “I’ll just start cleaning up in here.”
Jimbo nodded and said, “Good idea.”
Julianna rolled her eyes and said, “I knew I forgot something. That’s exactly what Mama sent me in here to ask you about---getting out some more steaks.”
She quickly hugged Booker again and grabbed the tray. She walked to the door, but she didn’t want to leave what she considered an unfinished conversation. She smiled back at her friend and said, “Booker …”
“You better get those steaks out there or your mama will have both of us in her sights.”
“I just wanted to say … you’re like a modern black knight, and I’d bet on the black knight every time.”
Booker couldn’t help the tears that sprang to his eyes as he watched his girl close the door.
Julianna carefully placed the loaded tray on the table outside. It was instantly surrounded by takers including Sam Parsons, the man of the hour.
Julianna smiled and said, “Hello, Mr. Parsons.” She searched her mind for what she should say, wanting to make the impression her parents would want her to make. She added nervously, “It’s a fine turn out. I’m sure you’ll get lots of votes from this afternoon.”
Sam Parsons laughed and hugged his best friend’s daughter. “Miss Julianna, I believe you’re right about that. Anytime your mother and father set out to accomplish something, it’s always a success.”
Julianna was grateful for the laugh. That was a good sign she was saying the right things. She said hesitantly, “How’s business?”
Sam smiled and said seriously, “The loan company is doing quite well, thank you. And I was pleased to hear about your father’s business.”
Julianna wasn’t sure what Mr. Parsons meant. Her face went blank.
Sam said quickly, “I meant I heard he just purchased the best grove in the county. That’s going to be huge for you and your family.”
Julianna remembered her parents talking endlessly about the grove they’d just bought. Her parents had always owned a relatively small grove that was what her father always called his fourth love, after his family, football, and fishing. She knew they’d just bought a huge grove. She nodded seriously and said, “He’s very excited about the new grove.”
Sam winked at Julianna and said, “I’d best be getting on with shaking hands. It was good to talk with you.”
Julianna smiled back and said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Parson, it was good to see you.” She turned and ran up to the house. She didn’t want to be in the crowd anymore or anywhere in the vicinity of the sheriff or to think about what she’d seen. She grabbed a book she’d been reading and buried herself in the story.
She was soon ensnared by the woes of the characters inhabiting the pages of Ivanhoe, a book she’d chosen for its chivalric themes. She was always moved by stories peopled with knights fighting injustice and frequently imagined herself in the starring role as the greatest of the great. She never saw herself as the damsel in distress … she wanted to be the one who did the saving, not the one who had to be saved. She burned with a hot desire to be a hero and filled her mind with romantic notions of chivalry, bravery, and patriotism. It was her dreams of heroism that made her blush when she assumed Booker was a person who needed to be saved. She understood why that would be uncomfortable for anyone, especially a man like him. She itched to say more words to him that would make him know she considered him a brave man, not someone who needed to be saved by another person for any reason. She wanted to go out and help him in the screen room that he loved so much, but she didn’t want to risk seeing the sheriff again.
She was deeply engrossed in the book when she felt a pillow hit her head. She sighed and said, “Rob, you don’t have to use a pillow as a calling card every time you enter my room.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke.
Julianna’s brother, Rob, entered the room. He looked a lot like their father with much less muscle development and without the gut. His nickname, Rob, was a shortening of his given name, Robert Caldwell. He was a typical Southern boy, in love with football, hunting, fishing and pretty girls. He’d played tight end on his high school football team, starting every game his junior and senior years. He’d longed to follow in his father’s footsteps as a quarterback, but he didn’t have the arrogant confidence for that. Like Julianna, he was defined by a need to please others, especially his parents who loomed larger than life for both of them. He wore a Madras shirt and blue jeans and held one hand behind him.
Julianna glanced around at Rob and said, “You better tuck your shirt in if you’re going out to the party or Mama won’t like it.” She raised an eyebrow and continued, “What have you got?”
Rob presented Julianna with a plate of brownies and said, “I’ve already been to the party. Mama’s not going to give me a hard time this weekend about anything. She knows I’ll be gone next week.” He smiled smugly at Julianna as he perched on her bed.
She sat up and said, “I guess I can have one.” She pulled off a small piece of one of the brownies and began daintily nibbling it. She continued, “Mama does make the best brownies.”
“You better send me some every time she bakes.”
Rob had graduated from high school in June and received a college football scholarship to Kansas State University. He wasn’t happy about going to Kansas State. He’d wanted to play for the University of Florida where his father had played and starred. When he wasn’t offered a scholarship there, he decided playing college football was more important than being a student at the University of Florida. There were other compensations, too. His parents had bought him a brand new red Mustang to drive out to Kansas. He was leaving the next week to begin school. He was envy of all of his friends, and well aware of it. Even so, a part of him still felt like a loser because he wasn’t the star his father had been. He spent far too much time comparing his abilities to those of the legends told about his father.
“I’m going to miss you, Rob.”
Rob tousled her hair and said, “You won’t miss me. You’ll have so many boyfriends chasing you.”
Julianna hung her head and said, “I don’t know about that.”
Rob lifted Julianna’s chin and said, “What do you mean? You’re looking so good. The boys will be chasing you all over this town.”
Julianna shook her head and said, “They never have before.”
Rob shrugged and said, “But, you’ve never looked so good.”
Julianna had shed twenty pounds over the two last years. She’d also finally begun to experience the body changes that came with adolescence. She’d struggled to maintain her self-imposed diet even on holidays. She’d invented salted ice to replace potato chips which gave her the will power to ignore the fattening foods that constantly surrounded her in a home where fried chicken was a regular on the dinner table. She’d forced herself to overcome her hatred of running and now even enjoyed her daily jogs and the beta endorphin high they gave her. She worked hard to keep her body perfectly fat free. It was a constant battle, but she was determined she would achieve the perfection she sought. For her, perfection was defined by male attention, something she’d never enjoyed.
Julianna frowned and said, “You know, sometimes I think it’s because … well,” She looked away, tears coming to her eyes and continued, “Of my grades … nobody wants to date a girl who gets better grades than them … and maybe they’ll never stop seeing me as a fat girl.”
Rob put his arm around Julianna and said, “Hey, I wish I made grades like you. I’d probably be going to UF instead of Kansas if I did, and you are no fat girl. You look great.”
Julianna buried her face in his shoulder and cried, “You know it’s true . Nobody’s ever going to even look at me.”
Rob stroked her arm and said, “Julianna, honey, you’re so sweet and pretty. Don’t think like that.”
Julianna sobbed, “Sometimes I feel like such a failure. I’m going to be a junior in high school and I’ve never even had a date. Mama always knows what to say to a man. I never have a clue.” At least some part of Julianna’s desire for male attention was founded by her deep desire to emulate her mother, a perfect Southern lady who always had the attention of most males she encountered. It was her version of Rob’s desire to be a football star like his father.
Rob chuckled and said, “I know how you feel. Look at me compared to Daddy. He could’ve had a scholarship anywhere he wanted to go, and I’m stuck going out to the Midwest out in the middle of a bunch of cornfields.”
“I think it’s exciting … like you’re starting a brand new life in a brand new world. It’s cool that you’re going so far away. I wonder how Kansas State knew about you.”
Rob’s face fell. He was sure the scholarship was a favor to his father.
Julianna saw his face and quickly added, “I mean because it’s so far away. That means people had to be talking about how good you really are.”
“I think it was one of Dad’s friends. One of his friends is best friends with the coach. Dad’s friend sent the coach some film and I guess he liked what he saw.”
“Of course he liked what he saw! You’re amazing on the field.”
“I don’t know. I certainly wasn’t good enough for UF.”
Julianna hugged him fiercely and said, “Rob, you’ve got a scholarship. You’re going to play college football. That’s amazing! None of your friends got to do that.”
Rob took her face in his hands and smiled at her. He said, “You’ll get a scholarship too, but for grades and that’s better.”
Julianna shrugged and said, “Okay, if you say so.”
“Come on, let’s go get some milk to have with these brownies. Then we better make another appearance or the parents might not like it.”
“Okay, Rob … but … Rob, why are people so mean?” Rob’s reminder that the party was still going on in the back yard had brought back the picture of Booker being harassed by the sheriff. She didn’t really want to go back out to where she might see the sheriff again.
“What do you mean? Has somebody been messing with you?”
Julianna shook her head vehemently and said, “No. No. It’s just …”
She glanced down at the book she was still holding and carefully turned the page down as she laid it on her bed. She pointed at it and continued, “Well, it’s just like in this book.”
“What’s like the book?”
“Give me a chance and I’ll explain.”
“Is this going to be some school lecture?”
“No, listen. It’s important. In the book, there’s this Jewish man and his beautiful daughter. They’re honest, good people, but they’re treated so horribly just because they’re Jewish.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well … this gorgeous Jewish girl falls for a handsome knight … and he falls for her, too.”
“Okay … so what? Their parents won’t let them get together or what?”
“No, it’s not like that … not like Romeo and Juliet.”
Rob groaned and said, “You would have some other reference to anything I could come up with … and that is something you need to watch. I’m proud of your grades and all, but you don’t want to look like a smart Alec, like you’re putting down some guy because he hasn’t read every book in the world.”
“I wasn’t doing that.”
“I know you didn’t mean to … but just watch it. No one likes feeling stupid. Half the guys in town wouldn’t have a clue what you mean.”
“Okay, but Booker would. He loves to discuss literature with me.”
“Who cares? Booker is just like you about books. He’s not the one you need to impress. It’s guys like me that you want to notice you … or guys even better.”
“Okay … but that is kind of like what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“Well, in the book …”
“I guess I just can’t get this conversation away from the book.”
“Yes, in the book, everyone is so mean to the girl and her father … they’re treated like dirt … just because they’re Jewish.”
“But what’s that got to do with the knight and the pretty girl?”
“They can’t be together … because of what other people would think.”
“Well, he’s not much of a knight if he lets that stop him from getting with a pretty girl. But … you know a lot of people feel that way about Jewish people.” Rob was becoming uncomfortable with the subject. He knew Julianna was always the proponent of the underdog. He didn’t know what to feel about things like what she was talking about. His better half told him she was right, but his heart reminded him that he just wanted to fit in with his friends. None of them had much good to say about anybody who wasn’t one of them. There weren’t many Jewish people around in their county, but he’d still heard a few demeaning remarks. He didn’t know what people had against them, but he didn’t want to look different so he just stayed quiet or nodded vaguely when the subject was raised.
“I know. It’s kind of like Hitler and the Jewish people in World War II.” She lowered her voice and continued, “Remember … like in that movie we saw about Anne Frank and the one about Nuremberg.” She’d been overwhelmed by horrific scenes of starving flesh and discarded bodies shown in Judgment at Nuremberg, but perhaps even more affected by the plight of Anne Frank. The idea of a girl her age who’d never had a boyfriend trapped in an attic had touched her deeply. She understood the horror more easily because it was about things she could relate to in her own life. She’d tried to imagine what it would be like trying to learn to express herself as a woman in a crowded space where parents were so close to the space where she might be kissed for the very first time. She’d been overwhelmed when she realized that such a lovely young girl, who’d been a real person, was denied adulthood by Hitler’s atrocities. It had brought the atrocities of the past to life for her like nothing in her world history class ever had.
Rob frowned, remembering his sister’s tears and the sick feeling he had inside when they watched those movies. He said, “Well, that’s about long ago times. It’s not like that today. Nothing like that could happen today.”
Julianna said sadly, “Oh yes it could. You should have heard the way that sheriff talked to Booker … and I know it was because he’s not white. He would never talk to a white man like that.”
Rob froze, troubled by her words, and shook his head. He said, “Julianna, I love Booker too. But there are lots of people who don’t feel the way we do.”
Rob was torn inside by his love for the Edwards and a recognition that they were good people who were worthy of respect. That was in direct conflict with the voices of many of his friends and classmates who believed segregation should continue because black people weren’t worthy. To a person, his friends agreed that integration would cause great harm to the people of the South. In a way, he was happy he was going far away to a school where maybe he wouldn’t have to make the choices that were impacted by that very real problem for him. Whatever he had to say to fit in with the crowd couldn’t hurt Booker or Arletha if he was that far away. He knew in his heart that he’d have a very hard time making choices that were against the will of his crowd.
Julianna said, “Well, it’s just plain stupid and mean.”
“Do you really think all of our friends are stupid and mean? Because that’s who thinks that way … almost every person we know thinks Negro people need to stay separated from whites. That’s just the way the world is, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Well, somebody’s got to try … or people like Booker and Arletha could be hurt.”
“Julianna, you’ve got to get that kind of stuff out of your head. Daddy would never let Booker or Arletha be hurt.”
“You’re right. But still …”
“No, you know Booker will always be safe, and that’s all that matters … I mean Booker and Arletha.”
“Yes, you’re right. He will always protect them.” Julianna shook her head and continued, “But … what about nice people who don’t have Daddy around to protect them? And maybe they should be able to protect themselves, not depend on some other guy.”
“Julianna, you’re impossible! You turn everything into a big deal.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Right now, all that’s really important about this stuff is that our people are safe. Dad wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them.”
Julianna didn’t really agree with her brother, but she didn’t want to argue. She nodded and said, “You’re right.”
Rob nodded his head and said, “I know.” He grinned and grabbed Julianna’s hand, wanting to change the subject and cheer up his little sister. He said, “If you’ll go pour me a glass of milk, I just might let you drive my car this afternoon.”
Julianna squealed with joy and ran from the room calling back to Rob, “Bring the brownies. I’m pouring the milk.”
Later, after all of the guests were gone, the whole Caldwell family sat at the end of the dock waiting for the moon to rise. It was a tradition they shared for all of the summer full moons.
Julianna alternated between watching across the lake for the rising moon and looking back at the shore to see the fireflies glittering their way through the trees. They always seemed magical to her, dots of light sprinkled through the air like fairy dust. She was still reeling from the thrill of driving Rob’s brand new Mustang. It was so much more fun than her mother’s sedan or her father’s truck. Feeling the power of the engine and the coolness of the exterior was sort of magical. She was already planning ways to attempt to get her brother to allow her to drive the dream car by herself. Maybe she could attract that perfect boyfriend who was just out of sight if she were driving the perfect ride.
Rob was relieved that they’d made it back without incident. He was extremely proud of his car. It was the only Mustang in the county, and had raised his already pretty high prestige to a new level. Even though he loved his sister and wanted her to be happy, he wasn’t sure letting her drive his dream machine had been such a good idea. He’d regretted it the moment she got behind the wheel and winced at every crossroad. It was going to be a long time before he repeated that mistake. She could sit in the passenger seat all she wanted, but he was going to be the sole driver.
Annabelle and Jimbo held hands while Jimbo sipped a glass filled with bourbon and ice. They all watched intently as the moon came up over the horizon, spreading its silver light across the smooth surface of the lake. The afternoon breezes had died down with the setting sun and the air smelled of night blooming flowers and the remnants of the smoky barbeque overlaying the clean wet smell of the lake. They heard only crickets and frogs and the sound of water lapping against the pilings of the dock as they watched the rising moon, each entertaining their own thoughts.
Rob was thinking about his coming adventure, driving to Kansas. His best friend was going to drive out with him and fly back so he wouldn’t have to be alone on the road. They had big plans to stop at the famous panhandle beaches on the way. It would be the kind of adventure that took him from boy to man in the best possible way. Even though he knew he’d miss his family, he couldn’t wait to leave.
Annabelle was remembering the first night she and Jimbo had held hands in the moonlight. She smiled and squeezed his hand as she remembered their first kiss. They were lucky. There was still romance in their life, even with two teenaged kids beside them. She blushed in the darkness thinking of what she wanted to do after they were alone in their bedroom.
Jimbo was just enjoying being alone with his family, quietly and at peace in a place that made his life tolerable. He sipped the bourbon appreciatively and felt its cool path medicate the parts of him that always hurt a little bit. He returned Annabelle’s squeeze and smiled at the thought that his wife might be feeling a little frisky. He hoped so. A good night always ended better when she was in a romantic mood. Holding her would help wash away the bad feelings he’d encountered earlier with the sheriff, a man he found despicable. As quickly as the thought came into his mind, he banished the sheriff with another sip of bourbon. The icy brown liquid slid down his throat like a magic elixir that could banish thoughts of hatred and anger and restore him to a place of peace.
Julianna was imagining what it would be like to fly to the moon. She didn’t care if it was on imaginary wings or in a spaceship that flew across the sky. She said dreamily, “I wonder if it will look different when we have men walking around up there.”
“You really think that’s going to happen?” Jimbo said, smiling indulgently at his daughter.
“Daddy, I read an article just recently about all the testing we’re doing right now just to get ready for the United States of America to put a man on the moon, It’s just a matter of time. In a way, I wish they’d wait so it could be me.”
Rob glanced quizzically at his father and said, “Don’t you think we’ll put a man on the moon, Dad?”
Julianna said, “Why wouldn’t we?”
Jimbo shook his head sadly and said, “Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee.” Jimbo referred to three astronauts who had died in a NASA testing mission the year before.
Julianna’s face fell and she said, “Oh …” Julianna could see the pained look that Jimbo’s face sometimes displayed when he thought of servicemen who’d died in the line of duty.
Jimbo saw Julianna’s distress and quickly sipped his bourbon, feeling the strong drink slide soothingly down his throat. He closed his eyes and said, “Well, maybe we will get a man up there.”
Julianna grinned and said, “If I were a boy, I’d go to the Air Force Academy, become the youngest astronaut ever, and I would walk on the moon.”
Rob said, “I thought you wanted to go to West Point and be the youngest general in the Army … not the Air Force.”
Julianna said, “Well …yes … I have always wanted to command armies and save other people’s lives … like a soldier in battle … but walking on the moon would be so cool. It would be worth changing to the air force.”
Rob rolled his eyes and said, “You’re nuts.”
Julianna returned indignantly, “Well, after all, my name is derived from Julius Caesar, one of the greatest generals in history.”
Rob shook his head and said, “Why would you even know that?”
Annabelle grabbed Julianna’s hand and squeezed it. She said, “Maybe you should think about doing it anyway, Julianna. You’re smarter than any boy in your class.” Sometimes Annabelle didn’t quite know what to think about her daughter’s wild ideas, but she wanted both of her children to achieve their dreams. Julianna was gifted with great intelligence, and Annabelle was worried her daughter wouldn’t be able to actually use that gift. The world didn’t seem ready to accept that women could do the same kind of things men could.
Jimbo said, “Honey, don’t put those ideas in her head … a girl in a school full of boys …the idea!”
Annabelle smiled and said, “It could happen … especially when the girl’s as smart as ours is.” Annabelle believed in achieving change through use of her charm if at all possible. She was sure her husband was going to realize that his girl was going to do something different, maybe something great. She didn’t want to argue about it, she wanted to charm him into thinking the way she did.
Jimbo said, “Well, I guess if a man could walk on the moon, a girl could walk through the doors of an all men’s service academy.” He grinned and continued, “But I wish you’d change your idea to Annapolis. If my daughter’s going to be in the military, she should be in the best branch like her daddy was.”
Julianna nodded seriously and said, “Yes, well, Daddy, you know … the times are changing. And, come to think of it, the Blue Angels would be a good place to start an astronaut’s career.”
Jimbo grinned wryly at his daughter and squeezed Annabelle’s hand again. He thought about all the ways that the world was changing---the growing tension about the Vietnam War; race riots in other parts of the country and even close by in Tampa; seeing soldiers die on television; crazy kids running around with long hair, taking drugs and spouting peace slogans; and so many more strange things that were viewed nightly on the television set. He said, “You’re right about that, darling. In fact, sometimes I think things should slow down just a mite.”
Julianna wrapped her arms around her father and said, “And sometimes I think they should change faster.”
“Being a Blue Angel sounds better than the air force to an old salt like me.”
“Blue Angels it is.”
The moon’s face slid up above the horizon and began its nightly climb into the stars, spilling its magical silvery light across the lake’s surface.
All of the Caldwells smiled as Annabelle exclaimed, “Its beauty always takes my breath away.”
Jimbo said, “It’s a beaut tonight.”
The frogs croaked and the quail cooed from the shore as the light of the moon ascended, and the Caldwells watched in awe.
I was unable to finish this morning, but it is obvious that you are writing about how, even with the Civil Rights Act being passed in 1965, the rural South maintained a kind of apartheid with the white population having privileges going back to plantation living and degradation of those people with African blood, even if, "it was only one drop."
Booker Edwards is a good example of how black people coped with a untenable situation. When I first arrived in the South to work at Atlanta University, I encountered that coping skill that was so well honed among the older generation. However, the younger generation, well educated, was moving away from that kind of behavior very quickly.
I can see that Julianna is caught up in the turmoil of the times and probably makes some difficult decisions on her, "Walk."
Dreamin’ Dreams is more than a collection of stories; it is a celebration of Irish life, adventure, and the unforgettable characters who make growing up in Ireland a journey worth remembering.
High school student Kevin Borden has a secret and his name is Louis Lannegan. He also has an overbearing mother. A tale of coming out in the shadow of parents and friends. Award winning novella.
The bulk of the collection is eight short stories that are set in yesteryear. The compilation is filled out with four entertaining fantasy pieces and three poems.
