Ruby

                                   May 8, 1961

In the spring of 1961, the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE),  an interracial activist group founded in 1942, dispatched bands of black and white ‘Freedom Riders’ aboard buses into the deep south to test local compliance with court rulings that forbid segregated seating in terminal waiting rooms. While local authorities stood by, many ‘Riders’ were beaten senseless by irate mobs and their buses set afire.

            Finally, U.S. Attorney General Robert Kennedy sent in 400 federal marshals to protect the Freedom Riders right to travel.

But not before...

Watching as they had on that day in September of 1957, when federal paratroopers stood bayoneted rifle to bayoneted rifle with the Arkansas Nation Guard outside of Central High School when Marsha and Mitchell thought they’d seen him.

Watching whenever television cameras focused on the ongoing, unfolding civil rights drama.

Watching as they had on that day in 1957 to this day, as always looking for Rubidoux Meyers but never catching another glimpse of anyone who might be Ruby.

But now...

Outside of a large bus depot in Chattanooga, Tennessee, the television camera focused onto a shoving, hitting match where a white man, a suit clad white man with a strange, albeit handsome face with a negroid nose, Caucasian lips and pure white hair, was being held from behind by one white man while being beaten by two other white men.

“Jesus! That’s Ruby! Marcy, that’s got to be Ruby!”

Rushing from the sofa, kneeling before the television, hoping to find this same scene on a different channel, he switched channels where almost immediately there was the scene again.

“Mitchie, that is Ruby!”

“Yeah,” Beginning up the stairs, “I know!”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my wallet.”

“Your wallet?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Ruby and Sherry’s number in it. I’m calling Sherry!”

“You can’t call now.” Glancing at the clock. “It’s after twelve there.”

“I don’t care! I’ve got to see if he’s okay.”

            Taking his wallet from the dresser, stretching a finger into one of the thin pockets he removed the piece of Columbia Yacht Club napkin that Ruby had written his and Sherry’s New York City phone number; where the scrap of napkin had remained untouched since that day in September of 1957  when Mitchell had last seen or spoken to ruby when, from that day to this day, out of embarrassment and guilt for not going to Little Rock with his friend, the scrap of napkin had remained untouched.

The dial spinning back to ‘O’, “Long distance, please.” Within moments giving the long distance operator the New York City phone number, he waited impatiently until the operator informed him that...

“Sorry, Sir, that number is no longer a working number.”

“The name is Meyers, Rubidoux Meyers. Could you please see if there is a listing for either Rubidoux or Sherry Meyers.”

“I’ll connect you with New York City information.”

“Operator.”

“The name is Meyers, Rubidoux Meyers. Could you please see if there is a listing for either Rubidoux or Sherry Meyers.”

Strangely, the operator asked: “M-E-Y-E-R-S” But not for the spelling of ‘Rubidoux’.”

“Yes, Operator,” he repeated, “Rubidoux or Sherry Meyers.”

Mitchell standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, Marsha sitting on the sofa, the two stared at each other for the time it took until...

“Sorry, Sir, there is no listing for either a Rubidoux or Sherry Meyers in the New York City area.”

“Thank you Operator.”

Dialing ‘O’ again. “Long distance operator, please” ... “Baltimore, Maryland, information, please.” ... “Operator, do you have a number for Rubidoux or Sherry Meyers? That’s M-E-Y-E-R-S.”

And...

Once again an unfortunate fact of life occurred when a person or people whom we truly believed would never be gone from our life, when, due to time and/or distance, and/or when that thread of ‘something in common’ breaks, we discover that that friend or friends are forever gone from our life.

And...

With the exception of a television film clip showing a vaguely familiar white man that looked like a black man that was wearing a black suit and a white shirt with, of all things, a white bow tie, who was obviously standing guard alongside of Malcolm X in 1965; two days before the pioneer black militant was assassinated... along with his two bodyguards, and...

With the exception of this television film clip, Mitchell and Marsha Lipensky never saw nor heard from Rubidoux or Sherry Meyers again.