Wild East (419 hits)
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Submitted by AJ <uberaj.at.gmail.com> (View user info) at 2004-10-11 20:39:23 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
The following is a fictional story based on actual events.
June 27, 1986
Bill looked off to the north, out the gas station window one last time before exiting out the door. He checked his wristwatch and tipped the pump jockey a couple of bucks.
"Say, Mister, that's a hell of a nice watch you got there." Where'd ya get it?"
"Oh, this? It was a gift from my granddad. He got it in Germany during World War I." Bill said with a smooth, southern drawl.
His granddad had always hated wearing that watch. He felt that people would treat him differently when he wore it. They'd either try to be his best friend, or they'd speculate on what illegitimate means he used to obtain it. Alabama folk weren't ones for flash or frill, so it wasn't too often that someone down south would wear a watch like that unless they'd stolen it or killed for it.
When his granddad was getting ready to pass on, he gave the watch to Bill, with a few words of advice. "That watch'll tell ya more than the time, Billy. It can tell ya everything ya need to know about a man before he opens his mouth to say anything." So Bill kept the watch with him at all times. He only took it off when he slept, showered, or on rare occasions swam. His tanned arm bore the ring of where the watch had rested for the past five years.
"Can you tell me how much further it is to East Saint Louis from here?" Bill continued.
"East Saint Louis??? HAHAHAHAHAHA! What reason on God's green earth could you have to visit that dump?"
"I'm working on my dissertation for school. I'm studying the effects of the African-American migration to the north during the first World War."
"Well... I suppose if you have to go to East Saint Louis, you keep taking I-57 north, and you should come to it in about two hours or so. But I wouldn't be wearing that watch around town if I were you. They don't call it the "Wild East" for nothing."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again." Bill hopped into his Chevy Celebrity and pulled out of the lot, taking one last look at the pump jockey as he kicked up a cloud of dust and walked back to the station.
As he drove up the west side of Illinois, he couldn't help but think on the advice the pump jockey had given him, and the words he spoke. Wild East. It was an apt name for a place like East Saint Louis. The crime index at the last census was the highest in the nation. If you lived there you had a 2% chance of getting robbed in one year. And that's only the reported crimes.
Bill drove through the ghost towns along the way to the Wild East. The shells of homes long abandoned since the industries that supported them had moved on to bigger, better, profits, and cheaper, more efficient labor. He came to the south edge of the city, and realized that it was just another shell, but one with people. His plan was to stay at the 'Sleep E-Z Inn' and bunk there for the night before starting his field research and conducting interviews with local people. His plan was changed.
As he drove through the 800 block of 11th Street, the Celebrity started to sputter. His temperature gauge blasted up, and steam began to emanate from beneath the hood. He pulled over to the side of the street and shut off the engine.
"Fuck."
He popped open the hood, and stood back. Steam shot straight up into his face, singing his eyebrows and blurring his vision. He coughed and shut the hood as fast as he could. He was stranded right in the middle of the most dangerous city in America, a half mile from his intended destination. He was already drawing glances from the locals, so he decided that rather than wait for the car to cool down, he decided to hoof it. It was only a half mile, so he gathered up his backpack; full of his notes, tape recorder, and all the valuables he had with him. He knew that locking the car wouldn't do much good if someone really wanted to steal something.
He walked for three blocks, getting closer and closer to the Sleep E-Z, when it started to rain. He was running, now, pumping his legs as fast as he could. He heard someone shout, "Run, honkey, run!" He turned to look back, and slipped on a pile of loose gravel that had accumulated on the sidewalk. He went sprawling headfirst, lucky to hang onto his pack.
"Looks like you're havin' a bad day, son. Why don't you come on up here out the rain?"
Bill looked up to see an elderly man sitting on the porch of yet another dilapidated house. He looked up the street, then back at the man, then back up the street.
"C'mon, now, I won't bite."
Realizing he didn't have much of an option, Bill gathered himself together and headed up the stairs to the porch. He sat down in a plastic chair and looked at the old man, who was sizing him up. He in turn sized the old man up. His hair was turning almost ghost-white, and he had a long scar along the side of his face, from his left eye to his chin.
"You ain't from around here, are ya, boy?"
"Ha. How'd you guess?"
"Well, white folks stick out like a sore thumb in this part of town- especially ones wearing as nice a watch as you got on. Course it wasn't too unusual that you were running'." At this the old man let out a long, wheezing laugh. It was cryptic almost, but Bill couldn't help but feel his lips start to crease at the corners. "Judgin' by that accent I know you're from Dixie somewhere. Where from?"
"Alabama. Roll tide, roll."
"And what brings you up to Illinois?"
"Well, I'm writing my college dissertation on the black migration to the north during the war. I was hoping to interview some local people about it."
"Ain't you a little late for that? World War I was 69 years ago. Where are ya gonna find people that were around back then?"
"Well, I was hoping to hit some of the senior centers, maybe catch a lucky break there."
The old man laughed again. Senior centers? Boy, people around here ain't much for community togetherness like they used to be. I'd suggest you try starting' somewhere else.
"Like where?"
"Well, boy... Say, what is your name, anyway?"
"Bill. Bill Baxter."
"Okay, Bill. My name's Tom. Tom Jackson. Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise."
"Well, Bill, I was going to suggest that maybe you start by asking someone I know."
"Really? You know someone who was around back then?"
"Of course. You're looking at him."
"Yeah, sure. Any help you'd be able to give me would be great. Could you give me your story? I can't pay you much, but I'll think of something."
"No, don't worry about that, boy. I'm always happy to help someone in need. Something that was taught to me a long time ago..."
May 17, 1917
I remember I was crying. I didn't want to leave Georgia, but Daddy said that it was the only way we'd be able to make a living for ourselves. Said there was a whole new land of opportunity. Where people didn't judge by the color of skin, where we could be free to do what we pleased without interference from nobody. Daddy was gonna take a job in a munitions factory up here, and we were going to have a new house. I was sad, because I didn't want to leave all my friends behind, but what an 11-year-old has to say doesn't hold much sway in the decision-making of adults.
"What happened when you got here?" Bill interjected.
May 19, 1917
We got to town, and there were a whole lotta other black folks settling into the south side of town. They called it, "Black Valley." All the Negroes were posed to have their own part of town, and all the white folk had the other part. Didn't bother us none, we got along with anybody anyhow. Daddy started work the next day, and things were looking up. White folks around town were scared. Thought all the black folks were stealing their jobs. They said that the black folks were gettin' ready to stage a war. All the white men were leaving town to join up and go fight the Krauts, so it was natural for 'em to be a bit scared, I suppose. Can't fault 'em for that. The next few months we got settled in, and Daddy kept going to work everyday, I was in a new school finishing out the year. Things weren't okay, though. White folks and black folks alike were buying up guns. Both sides accusing' each other of committing crimes against one another. He said, she said.
July 1
Bunch of white folks were driving around our side of town, shooting at houses, and burning crosses. Black folks were getting upset. Daddy just kept going to work, Mama just kept tending the house, making sure we always had our supper on the table and had clean clothes to wear. But the other black folks were taking to the streets. They was gonna find those shooters and lynch 'em. Word got out there was gonna be a riot. Two cops showed up. Those two cops never had a chance. The crowd of black folks thought they were the shooters that'd been driving around the neighborhood. Didn't even give 'em a chance to get outta the car. Daddy said it was nothing to worry about. We were gonna be fine so long as we kept our heads down and stayed out the way.
July 2
I was helping Mama with some chores around the house, when the Baptist church's bells started ringing. We were all runnin' out to the street to see what was going on. Word was that a bunch of crazy white folks were killing people in the streets- and they were coming down to Black Valley. Mama ran around askin' if anybody knew what happened at the munitions plant. Nobody knew. They said no news was good news. Mama ran inside and told me to help her pack some things up. We were gonna head to the train station.
When we headed back out the door, I heard people shouting.
"Get a nigger!"
And then a response, "Get another!"
The mob was in Black Valley, and they were killing people on the way. Men, women, and even children were beating people with rocks, clubs, knives, sticks, and bricks. People that were just trying to get away were being chased. We kept running, trying to get away. Rocks were thrown at us as we went past, and everywhere we turned there were more people being beaten. We ran past Cahokia Creek. They had gathered a group of black folks and made them swim out into the middle. I watched as they opened fire on them, cutting them down as they tread water.
We kept running, but I was getting tired. Mama and I hopped onto a street car to rest our legs for awhile. I looked behind us, and saw the houses of Black Valley bursting into flames. I wondered if they'd burn our house if there was no one in it to kill. I took time to think about it, and as I did, the street car lurched to a stop. There were white folks surrounding the car, pulling people off, ripping their clothes, and trampling them to death. I heard a man say, "This nigger isn't good enough for my bullets. Let's lynch him!"
We hopped off the car, running once again. I saw Mr. Burton getting a rope tied around his neck, and cried as he was hoisted up high, being tied to the street car cable, choking him to death as people cheered and threw rocks at his body. I looked back ahead and saw the Baptist church ahead, still ringing its bells. We headed toward it, and saw Pastor McKenzie pleading with a large group.
"McKenzie, you bring those niggers outside or we'll burn this damned church down!"
"Please. These people have done you no harm."
His pleas were drowned out by the crowd's jeering, as they lodged another volley of protests. Pastor McKenzie receded back into the church, and moments later a group of blacks were lead out the door to be slaughtered with the rest of their neighbors.
The smoke was billowing out of Black Valley, and the crowds were beginning to grow weary of their massacre, but still kept up the burning of homes, regardless of whether people were inside or not. Mama and I hid in the grocery store, behind the meat counter. The mayor had called in the National Guard to help control the mobs, but they weren't doing a whole lot to stop it. They were trying to get black people out of the city, but the crowds were still assaulting them as they marched out of the valley. Mama told me it was the only way we were going to get out, so we ran out of the store to try and find the first soldier we could to escort us out. We were being herded like cattle being marched to the sale barn, but it was our only escape.
As we marched out of the city, I stayed near the front. Women and children were at the front, men at the back. As we marched, we were spat on. I cried seeing people hanging from street car cables, people bloodied and beaten but still forced to march. Ambulances were told that if they picked up black passengers that they would be killed too. Mama told me to hold her hand. She told me to close my eyes and just keep walking. Everything was going to be okay. I couldn't keep my eyes shut, though. The tears were too plentiful to be held back by my eyelids. I heard a woman yelling up in front of us. She was shouting at me. "LITTLE NIGGERS GROW UP TO BE BIG NIGGERS!" she shouted.
I looked up to face my accusers. My judge, jury, and executioners. I looked up in time to see someone from the crowd hurl a brick, but I was too weary to avoid it, and it struck me in the face, knocking me out cold. I woke up the next day in St. Louis. We still hadn't heard anything about Daddy yet, and it wasn't looking like we were going to. Things were still being sorted out in the Valley. Bodies were still floating down Cahokia Creek. And East Saint Louis was still going wild.
Bill sat in silence as he stared at Tom. He couldn't believe the story that had just been told to him.
"So, what happened to your father?"
"He was arrested at work that day. Evidently there was suspicion of Negroes carrying weapons to work to start a riot. He was detained for three days without being able to see anybody."
"That's a helluva story, Mr. Jackson. I had no idea."
"Well, of course you had no idea. Government still hasn't released reports that were taken when it happened. They've been tryin' to sweep it under the rug ever since it happened. It wasn't good press for the National Guard."
"So... why did you come back here after all that?"
"Daddy never was too keen on leaving a job, as they weren't too easy to come by. Someone had to do the work. And I've never been to keen on moving either. I suppose I could've left when I turned 18. I could've joined the army. I could've seen the world. But this is home."
Bill and Tom sat for a minute, neither saying anything. Bill hit the 'Stop' button on his cassette recorder and took a deep breath. Tom spoke first.
"Well, it looks like the rain's stopped. You should get to where you're goin' before it gets dark. Like I said, you stick out like a sore thumb."
"Yeah, I suppose I'd better. Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Would you mind if I came back tomorrow and talked with you some more?"
"I don't mind. I always welcome the company."
"Thank you again, Mr. Jackson."
Bill rose, and they shook hands. He proceeded down the stairs and headed back the direction he came, walking briskly in the cooler night air. As he walked, he heard somebody shout at him.
"You in the wrong part'a town, kracka."
He looked around to see two young black men approaching him from the left. He picked up his pace. They were following him now. He was almost running, and still they pursued him. He broke into an all-out sprint, and they chased him for two blocks. He got to his car and tried the door. Fuck. He locked it.
He fumbled in his bag for his keys. He prayed to God that the bitch would start so that he could just get away. He dropped the keys as he desperately searched for the right one. He felt a rough hand grab him by the nape of his neck and throw him to the ground...
A young man walked up the front steps to Tom Jackson's house. He crept in the front door and started to slowly ascend the stairs. A voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Where ya been Terrell?"
"Nowhere, Granddad, just chillin' with DeShaun."
"I told you I don't want you hangin' around that boy."
"We wasn't doing nothin' bad..."
"No?" Tom said, as he flipped on the light. "Then where'd you get that watch?"
User Reviews
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2006-03-08 09:44:26 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/84852#1873081
Submitted by mikethescottish (user info) at 2005-01-16 12:04:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Goddamn it, I want an easier opponent next time. This is still great.
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 11:49:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2005-01-16 09:33:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
WOO!!!
UM ENTRIES ARE HERE!!!