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The man sat on the divan talk
ing politics while the little ones
— five of them, aged four to
six — crawled around his
shoulders and over his lap like
nothing so such as bunnies hip
pity-hopping a hillock.
If it had not been for his
adroit handling of an immense
cigar, this way and that, one
would have thought him obliv
what was going on. But that
cigar and the occasional pat and
flash smile he gave one or ano
ther of his intimate visitors,
these gave him away. He knew
what was going one. But that
was not surprising. On prev
ious occasions I had had evi
dence of his awareness.
Besides the kids, there were
three of us: There, was my
friend on the couch, there was
Tom Johnson, editor-publisher
of The Montgomery Independ
ent; and there was your report
er. . *
I had come to Montgomery to
say hello to Tom, to pass the
time of day, and thoughtfully,
my host had invited our mutual
friend. He, m turn, had brought
his almost-cangtant companion,
the companion of his heart these
lonely days, a six-year-old minx
named Lee, the spit-n*image .of
another I had known. ' J ’
And there they played, Lee
he'calls her "Lessmass”—Tom!s
two youngsters and the two kids
from next door, there they play
ed on the shoulders of the man
who would be President of the
' United States.
kept wandering. I remembered
the story his Mother had told
me of her son’s warmth of heart,
how, as a very young man, he
bad secured a peg leg for an un
fortunate who needed. And I
* * *
What he said of politics I
by a “trustie”, a prisoner assign
ed to duty in the executive of
fice. The governor hadi sped
past us both — “I’m late, I’m
late, I’m late” — and the felon
watched him go. And without
directing his remark at anyone,
I heard him say: “He is a good
I man.” And what that Negro
I knew, I knew.
And I remembered, shortly af
ter his inauguration, I remem
bered the big-mouthed, widely
publicized promise of a political
enemy, the then-Attomey Gen
eral, to Carefully scrutinize my
friend’s “transactions.” And af
ter four years of such scrutiny,
of turning over every rock, no
charge, no allegation was ever
made.
I could have told him.
* * * '
The man talked. The after
noon wore on. The kids had
gone — Lord knows where oth
er than to that mysterious
place, “outside.” Eventually, my
friend said he had to go.
“Leemass”, he called.
“Yes, sir”, the answer came
from somewhere.
“Get your coat, Baby, we've
gotto go home,”
In a bit the little lady arriv
ed with both her hat and her
coat. As my friend was assisting
in the adjustment of the gar
ments he grasped the ear of his
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little eye apple and peered into
it.
With the inspection over, he
turned self consciously, to the
smiling two of us and said,“
This is the first time I ever
was a Mother and you’ve got
to make sure they stay clean.
I have gotten pretty good at
dressing her.”
Lee spoke, then: “Daddy.”
“Yes, Baby.”
“You don’t have to dress me.”
“I know, Sweetheart. I just
sort of help.”
Then he noticed Lee’s play
mates - of - the - day standing
quietly, almost rigidly at atten
tion.
“Say, Tom, I bet these kids
would like a ride around the
block with the trooper. Would
you like that kids?”
His answer came in whoops
and jigs.
And so he was with us anoth
er 10 minutes. And then he
was gone, he and Little Lee and
my heart went with them both.
SGT. LEWIS IN VIETNAM
Chief Master Sergeant Floyd W.
Lewis, son of Mrs. Luther Lewis
of Grifton, is on duty at Pleiku
AP^, Vietnam. Sergeant Lewis,
a transportation superintendent,
is assigned to a unit of the Pa
cific Air Forces. Before his
arrival in Vietnam, he served
at Randolph AFB, Tex.
Smokey Bear
needs you
M THE SOUTH
FonsrntES
Q: Dr. Garrott, I keep seeing
the name. Gunner Myrdal, in re
lation to racial integration. I
must have missed something
along the way, Who is (or was]
he?
A: Gunnar Myrdal is a Swed
ish social philosopher who was
mainly responsible for the cal
amitous decision on school de
segregation in 1954. Myrdal, 10
years before, had written a book
he called An American Dilem
na. That book set the stage for
the 1954 decision; the Supreme
Court cited it in its decision. In
1968, in a lecture given before
New York City University, Myr
dal admitted he may not have
been right. He said, last year:
“Twenty-five years ago, I was
an expert on the Negro problem
in America ... In the present
situation I am not an expert.
I’m not presenting a view that
I feel is absolutely right.” Myr
dal said that he thought “black
capitalism” as proposed by Nix
on “solves very little.” Myrdal
also felt, he said, that black
history is largely black mythol
ogy. Unfortunately, whatever
Mydal’s changed views, the
decision still governs American
racial policy.
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