Thursday, April 3, 1920 Weekender
Pege 5
f U-"-c t- a a Yr
'J llw ' H,Drawng by Greg Ca6ey
almost out of nowhere an unmarked highway patrol
car with what must have been the brightest blue light
in the world pulled us over. Immediately I told
everybody not to panic. Then I began to think about
what we had in the car and what my parents would say
if we got arrested and I panicked.
: "What are we going to do, man?" I screamed. "Pull
the car over, stupid, and just tell him that we are going
home!" hollered the oldest brother. I jerked the car
over to the curb, but not before the brothers had stuck
their weapons under the back seat of the car. The
policeman was real courteous. "Get out of the car with
your hands in the air!" he yelled. "Don't you boys
know that there has been a curfew in Raleigh since 1
a.m.?" he asked. "Now lean against the car and spread
your legs, you know the routine." Well, the truth was I
did not know the routine, so I asked him: "What
'routine?" Cold blue steel has a funny way of helping
you learn techniques quickly. The officer pointed his
double-barrelled pump shotgun directly at my head
and pushed me up against the car. I assumed the
position and he patted me down. Meanwhile, his
partner had searched my companions for weapons. He
, :had a large bandage on his forehead. Apparently he
had had an altercation with some rioters. It was
r "pbvious that he wanted retaliation. His voice was the
- hastier of the two, "Y'all come over here to burn up
, Raleigh, huh? I see you got a Molotov cocktail in the
back seat."
' After about what seemed like an hour we are on our
..way home for the holidays. Our school has been
. closed early because of Dr. King's death. That is just
: floor wax." The officer kept his shotgun cocked on us
and smelled the floor wax. "Yeah, that's all it is," he
f said, regretting every minute of it. "Well, y'all better git
the hell out of here before we lock you up for curfew
violations." Left we did. Nobody said a word for 10 or
fjS minutes. We just drove straight to this brother's
-tiouse. It was not until we were safely inside that we
talked about how close we were to going to jail,
j Everybody thought that the dumbest part of the whole
Episode was Moose's Molotov cocktail. I thought that
jl was funny too; funny that it was not a real cocktail.
.That's what all of us should have had," I thought. But I
J could not say that out loud. There was too much
un revolutionary conversation going on. They wanted
)to know why we didn't get another Rocket from the
bootlegger. Or why didn't we smoke another joint? Or
vhy didn't we steal some portable color TVs?
li The next morning around 8 we went back to
i Durham to attend a peaceful march set for 10 a.m. We
Shad an hour to lie about what transpired in Raleigh the
preceding night. We told most of the fellows that we
had had a shootout with some cops while were in the
process of stealing some portable color TVs. We had
gotten away, of course, and stashed the sets in a safe
place. I got tired of hearing the oldest brother tell that
story. I guess that's why I left them in the dormitory
room asleep. I was sure that there would be some
action. After all, brothers were doing it all over the
nation. D.C. was in flames, so was Baltimore, New York
City, Detroit, Newark and Cincinnati. Surely, the
brothers in Durham were not going to be outdone.
Besides, Howard Fuller was going to speak at the
memorial service before the march.
he whole affair turned out to be a failure. There
II were passionate, pleading speeches asking the
" students to remember what Dr. King stood for by
the college minister Dr. J. Neal Hughley, the college
president Dr. Albert N. Whiting, history Professor
Helen Edmonds and Student Government President
Douslass Gills. Fuller did not even attend. He was
replaced by Student Government Vice President
Grova Bridges, who told the crowd that we would not
leave campus until we understood that the march
would be nonviolent. He made us promise out loud
that we would abide. So we abided. Riot-equipped
Durham police officers also made sure of that.
I was thoroughly disgusted after I left the march. As I
walked up the hill from McDougald Gym to Chidley
Hall I had only one thought on my mind: I just wanted
to get away from Durham. It was a town full of
rehetorical revolutionaries like Howard Fuller and all
the other so-called black-power advocates. There had
to be a place nearby where there was something
happening. I could not go home, there was nothing
happening there. I was almost positive of that.
Meanwhile, in D.C, Stokely Carmichael was urging
black folks to arm themselves. "We have got to
retaliate for the death of our leaders!" he said. Nobody
was listening where I was situated. Everybody was
talking about going home for an extended holiday. I
decided to take one of the "unholy quintet" to his
home in Portsmouth, Va. "Maybe I could find some
revolutionary brothers up there," I thought. Besides,
my cousin and my best friend in high school attended
school at Hampton Institute in Hampton, Va. I knew
they had burned down a few buildings.
On the way to Virginia the radio blasted bulletin
after bulletin describing the statewide violence. The
National Guard was on standby in four cities:
Greensboro, Raleigh, Charlotte and Winston-Salem.
Even as we drove through the northeastern town of
Weldon on U.S. Highway 158, 1 noticed that rioters had
tried to demolish a bridge on the outside of town. "I'm
glad we are getting out of this state' the Virginian said.
"You niggers are crazy down here." He did not know
how correct he was. We arrived in Portsmouth at about
8 p.m. It was even quieter than Durham. My friend's
parents informed us that we were fools for traveling
under such hazardous conditions. Still you could see
that they were more than delighted to see their son,
expecially since the Associated Press' lead newspaper
story that evening was headlined "11 KILLED AND
SECTIONS OF CHICAGO, WASHINGTON BURNED
AS RACIAL VIOLENCE FLARES IN 12 CITIES."
His parents informed us that the Tidewater Area
(which includes Portsmouth, Norfolk, Hampton,
Newport News and Virginia Beach, Va.) authorities had
kept local vandalism, fires and disturbances to a
minimum. There was no curfew in effect. This was
good news because my brother, a friend and I would
be able to travel the 15 or so miles to Hampton and not
have to worry about being harassed by the local police.
The silly incident in Raleigh the preceding night had
convinced me that the next time I would not be as
lucky.
My homeboy at Hampton was happily surprised to
see us. He explained that there had been little action at
Hampton. He said that he and his New Jersey
roommate had looted a local wine store last night but
other than that most of the town was quiet. "The pigs
were everywhere, man," he told us. It seemed that
Hampton's officials were extra tight on the college
campus area. The police had stationed themselves at
the front and back entrance of ' the riverfront,
picturesque Institute. By Friday morning, school
officials had given the predominantly Northern-bred
students an extended holiday. My homeboy was
elated to see us for two reasons: one, he needed some
help with the 10 or 12 bottles of wine; and two, he
wanted a ride to Wilmington. "What you want to go to
Wilmington for, man? Ain't nothing happening down
there," I said. "It has to be more than what is
happening here, brother, everybody has gone home,
he replied. "Besides, I have to be out of the dormitory
by tomorrow (Saturday) at 1 p.m."
Cold blue steel has a funny way of
helping you learn techniques
quickly. The officer pointed his
double-barrelled pump shotgun
directly at my head and pushed me
up against the car.
We left Armstrong Hall at about noon that Saturday
with the intention of spending the night at the house
of my homeboy's aunt. We ended up sleeping there
Sunday night also. My friend's aunt complained about
our presence the whole while we were there. She kept
asking us if our mother knew we were in Hampton. I
repeatedly assured her that everything was alright. We
were simply visiting some friends in the area and
would be going to Wilmington shortly. Apparently she
did not believe me, because she called my parents late
that Sunday afternoon and informed them that we
were in Hampton, waiting for the revolution.
My mother was plenty mad, all right. She shouted at
me over the phone and told me to leave early in the
morning for Wilmington. She explained that there was
a curfew on in the city. She insisted that we must get to
Wilmington before 6 p.m. or we stood a good chance
of being arrested. "What else is new?" I thought.
"What is going on down there. Momma?" I asked.
"Boy, you haven't heard? They having the worst riot in
the state down here!" she exclaimed. "You better get
your crazy self back down here. And come straight
home."
As soon as the sun rose that Monday morning I was
on my way back to North Carolina. By 1 p.m. I was
passing through Dawson Street in my hometown
wondering why the brothers and sisters had tried to
destroy their own neighborhood. But, most of all, I
wondered why I could not have been there. Today, I
thank my lucky stars that I wasn't. 0
Larry Thomas is a history graduate student from
Wilmington who is writing a novel about tbe
Wilmington 10.