Four
From Someone, An Answer
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Some things happen swiftly, without any visible cause,
without any proper explanation. Other things occur slow
ly, can be seen coming, and can be prepared for.
Saturday nights come slowly, as regularly as the rising
sun and the changing tides. And they end swiftly, and
sometimes tragically.
Violence can be swift, bubbling slowly in the congre
gation of Saturday night diversion-seekers, and then ex
ploding into the unexpected within a matter of seconds . . .
swiftly, without warning. The suffering and the damage
come later. And also the retaliation.
Maybe it’s the Saturday night asmosphere which en
genders a certain type of fascination for adventure in the
world. Maybe Saturday nights are different, are supposed
to be different, for the benefit of thrill seekers and adven
ture hunters.
Maybe the end of the week is like the end of a season;
things change, in nature and in man. Saturday night is the
end of something, the night of something fading away, the
blackness of something lost. And the effect on man is an ex
celleration, an anxiety.
Live now, in this space of something dying away, and
make a fresh start with the coming dawn. Maybe that’s the
way it is; we don’t know.
But maybe you could ask around Barbee Street and
get an answer. Maybe someone in the weekend crowds which
flood the sidewalks and streets could explain the situation
to you, and tell you just what it is about the weekend that
makes the blood run faster and makes the crowds gather
a little larger and a little more quickly.
Maybe soneone in the crowd could tell you some week
end night as you attempt to slip your car through the sea
of people in Barbee Street.
We wish we could tell you which one to ask. Maybe
that one over there on the sidewalk, mingled in among his
friends, his features clouded by the Saturday night dark
ness, could tell you; the one with the beer can in his hand,
raised above his head ....
Ask him, if you can find him. He probably has the
answer. D.D.B.
The Zebulon Record
Published Tuesday and Friday of each week; Subscription
rate: $2.00 a year. Advertising rates on request.
Entered as second class matter June 26, 1925, at the
post office at Zebulon, North Carolina, under the act of March
3, 1879. Member of the North Carolina Press Association.
Barris S. Davis Editor
Durell Bullock News Editor
Jack M. Potter, Jr Publisher
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The Zebulon Record
Deciding how to put together a
column after such a long lay-off
makes me think my mind must be
as badly mildewed as my type
writer case.
•
What’s been keeping me away
from my typewriter this summer?
Well, lots of things but nothing in
particular. The illness of my moth
er and the operation undergone by
Jack’s mother have necessitated
frequent trips to Wilson and Ral
eigh. Also I have been lending a
hand at the shop whenever needed.
And in my spare time I have been
learning to sew. Something had
to be sacrificed to allow time for
sleeping and eating both of
which are favorite pastimes of
mine so my column and house
cleaning have been neglected mer
cilessly.
•
This week I have been doing
more than just “lending a hand” at
Letter to the Editor
(The following letter was de
livered to the Record office Wed
nesday morning regarding a story
which appeared in the Record last
Tuesday concerning the injury to
Pete Liles, who was hit by a beer
can while driving home through
Barbee Street Saturday night,
August 13. EDITOR)
There appeared an article in
your paper August 16, 1955, writ
ten by Mr. R. V/. Liles (the story
was not written by Mr. Liles, but
was based on statements made by
him during an interview concern
ing the matter of his son’s injury.
The Southern Race Problem
Elihu, one of Job’s three friends,
after the others had spoken, said,
“I will answer my part, I will al
so show mine opinion.” He declar
ed that he must speak or he would
literally "bust.” For sometime I
have felt somewhat like Elihu did
when I read how many of our
statesmen and churchmen dodge or
evade the very heart of the Negro
problem. I even have a feeling that
as fine a man as our Governor is,
fye has not spoken frankly his inner
convictions, but followed the beat
en track of the many who realize
that their course is not consistent
with democratic practice nor
Christian principles.
I saw my first Negro in my late
teens. We had only two Negro fam
ilies in Graham County. My father
at 16 went into a war to keep men
in Egyptian bondage. Two uncles
lie on Virginia battle-fjelds where
they died in the defense of slavery.
Back early in this century I
was pastor at Morehead City for
a time. Two of my best friends
were ‘‘Aunt Hannah,” our cook
and Jacob Bell, the pastor of the
Negro church. Aunt* Hannah lived
as a member of the family. I
preached for “Bro. Bell” a number
of times and frequently he came
to my home to discuss his church
affairs. To this day I have encour
aged and tried to help my colored
brethren in ever way as they have
struggled under many difficulties
coming up from slavery to good
citizenship and Christian living.
The white race accepts and uses
the Negro in every way he may be
profited. The black man is accord
ed equality in every walk of life
except socially. Colored women are
c Votter
the shop. Someone had to run
Wayne Perry’s linotype while he
was a Fort Bragg with the Nation
al Guard. And also someone had
pass on Jack’s instructions for
the organization of work during
the two weeks. I was nominated,
elected and installed during a two
hour briefing session which left
me more than slightly dazed.
However, inspite of my ignor
ance of shop routine, the presence
of my two children and the threat
of Diane, things have worked out
pretty well except for an occas
sional incident percipitated by
jobs left unfinished in the rush of
five shop force members’ leav
ing for camp and the bookkeep
er’s going to the beach.
Willing cooperation and cheer
ful acceptance of additional re
sponsibilities displayed by the re
maining shop force were the only
things which made it possible for
work to go out on time. In fact,
ED) concerning a beer can thrown
at his son in front of my grill
(Kate’s Grill). This article seems
to attach the blame of the incident
on my place of business.
I want to state that the grill
was closed at the time and could in
no way be held responsible for any
act performed on the street.
I am indeed sorry, and will do
anything in my power to appre
hend the man, who was so low
as to attack an innocent man like
Pete Liles or any other man for
that matter.
I want to state also revoking my
beer license will not alter the dis-
welcomed into our homes as serv
ants. They do our house cleaning,
cooking, nursing and all other
menial duties. But few if any col
ored people would be permitted to
do a “gentleman’s job.” While head
of our Kinston orphanage, I sent
a colored man to assist a white
carpenter in putting up some sid
ing on a new building being erecte
d. The white man said, “No, I’ll
quit if you put that nigger to do
ing what I am doing.” As a com
mon laborer, the colored man was
all right, but as a skilled work
man he was all wrong. That is still
the attitude of some white folks.
As slaves, Negroes were allowed
rights and privileges that are de
nied them today by whites. I have
seen Baptist Churches with galle
ries and side doors for the conven
ience of the colored members. In
some instances they were buried
in the church cemeteries, you will
find by visiting the Hephzibah and
Rolesville churches in Wake Coun
ty. .
There is an old saying that peo
ple sometimes hate others for their
own meanness. Hearing of or re
membering the days of slavery,
many of us are prejudiced against
the Negro race. On the whole the
South has done little for the up
lift of the Negro since slavery
times. After three generations we
still hold bitterness and hatred
against the colored man and his
“Yankee” deliverers. It is hard for
the Southerner to accept as his
equal the grandchildren of his
grandfathers’ slaves. Pride leads
to other lesser evils than destruc
tion.
For more than forty years I have
Friday, August 19, 1955
when I reported to Jack by tele
phone Tuesday night, I felt like a
new teacher at her first PTA meet
ing.
•
Quite aside from feeling needed
and liking to get a pay check, I’m
glad to be working now because
it makes the time Jack is away
seem very short. My working
hours (roughly 8 a.m. to 11 p.m.)
allow so little time for loneliness
that I can honestly say the only
time I have really wished he were
here was Monday morning when
one of the linotypes gave
some trouble. It took five of us
to fix it, but cooperation bless
it carried the day.
Even though I’m sure continued
cooperation will get us through
next week all right, I think I’ll be
very glad to see the five men take
over their respective jobs and let
me stay home to mop the kitchen
floor.
position of evil people or stop them
assembling in groups on the
streets, for there are other places
in the community where such
groups do assemble.
There have been no disturbances
of any consequence at my place of
business no more than any other
place of similar business. I feel
like if our Board of Comm, would
urge the policemen who are re
sponsible to some extent for the
quietness in our city to be a little
more alert where crowds gather it
would avoid much confusion and
destruction.
Katie Baker Pettiford
lived in Zebulon, and all this time
except for a few months I have
had as neighbors colored people.
Most of the time they were “next
door” neighbors or lived within
a block of me. And I am frank to
say some of them were better
neighbors than some of those of my
own color living near-by.
Human rights, legal rights, con
stitutional rights, Christian rights
and Divine rights all recognize
equality among all people. There
is a difference, but no distinction.
It is all in the color and not in the
character or even the blood. The
fear of integration is both a snare
and a delusion, and I dare add a
fiction. There are five races. For
centuries they have been mingling
and comingling. We admit the
Chinaman, the Indian, regardless
of past, present or future. It took
a war to free the black man. It
may take worse to give him his
rights as a citizen of our much
boasted “land of the brave and the
free.”
Sincerely I pray “may God’s
will be done.” It may sooner or
later break ours; why argue,
wait and delay? In our hearts, we
must believe in the foundation of
what we boast is the best and
greatest country on earth. Let so
called Christian America, espe
cially the Baptist stronghold, ac
cept graciously the will of God.
As the old Negro song goes, “I
want to go to heaven when I die.”
And if I get there, there’s going*
to be a lot of Negroes there all
“chilluns of God.” And I am ful
ly persuaded we will all be fully
happy together forever and for
ever. T.B.D.