Darnell Rock Reporting (13 page)

Somebody touched Darnell on the shoulder, and he turned and saw his parents.

“We have this ordinance for a reason,” a woman on the Council was saying. “I don't think we should lightly dismiss this violation. An exception granted here is just going to encourage others to break the law.”

‘This is going to ruin me,” the builder said.
“I've
been in Oakdale all of my life and I think Fve made a contribution.”

“Let's have a vote.” The head of the Council spoke sharply.

“Let's have a vote to postpone a decision,” the woman who had spoken before said. “We'll give Mr. Miller an opportunity to show his good faith.”

“What do you want me to do?” the builder asked.

“That's up to you,” the woman said.

“Next time you'd better get it right!” Tamika called out.

“She's right,” the councilwoman said.

There was a vote, and the decision was postponed. The builder gave Tamika a dirty look as he pushed his papers into his briefcase.

The city library funding was next, and eight people, including Miss Seldes, spoke for the library, but the Council said it didn't have any more money. There was some booing, including some from Tamika and Larry. Darnell knew that if he didn't have to speak he would have enjoyed the meeting.

“The issue at South Oakdale is should the old basketball courts be used as a parking lot, or should they be used as a community garden?”

“Who's going to pay for paving the lot?” a councilman asked. “Does it have to be paved?”

“It's my understanding that it doesn't have to be paved,” the head of the Council answered. “Am I right on that?”

“Yes, you are,” Miss Joyner spoke up from the audience.

“We have two young people from the school to speak,” the councilwoman said. “The first is a Miss Gold.”

Linda went into the middle aisle, where there was a microphone. She began reading her article in the snootiest voice that Darnell had ever heard. He felt a knot in his stomach. He turned to look at his mother, and she was smiling. On the stage some of the coun-cilmen were looking at some papers.

“I hope I don't mess up,” he whispered to Tamika.

“You won't,” Tamika said.

Linda finished reading her article and then turned toward Darnell.

“Although everybody would like to help the homeless,” she said, “schools are supposed to be for kids, and for those who teach kids! Thank you.”

There was applause for Linda, and Miss Joyner stood up and nodded toward her. Darnell felt his hands shaking.

Darnell's name was called, and he made the long trip to the microphone.

“When I first thought about having a garden instead of a parking lot, I thought it was just a good idea,” Darnell said. “Then, when the
Journal
asked me to send them a copy of my interview with Mr. Jones, I was thinking that it was mainly a good idea to have a garden to help out the homeless people.
But now I think it might be a good idea to have the garden to help out the kids—some of the kids—in the school.

“Sometimes, when people go through their life they don't do the things that can make them a good life. I don't know why they don't do the right thing, or maybe even if they know what the right thing is sometimes.

“But I see the same thing in my school, South Oakdale. Some of the kids always do okay, but some of us don't. Maybe their parents are telling them something, or maybe they know something special. But if you're a kid who isn't doing so good, people start off telling you what you should be doing, and you know it, but sometimes you still don't get it done and mess up some more. Then people start expecting you to mess up, and then
you
start expecting you to mess up. Teachers get mad at you, or the principal, or your parents, and they act like you're messing up on purpose. Like you want to get bad marks and stuff like that. Then you don't want people getting on your case all the time so you don't do much because the less you do the less they're going to be on your case. Only that doesn't help anything, and everybody knows it, but that's the way it goes.”

“You seem to be doing all right, young man,” the head of the City Council said.

“I wasn't doing too hot before,” Darnell said, taking a quick look over to where Mr. Baker sat. “But when I got on the paper and the
Journal
printed my article, then everybody started treating me different. People came up to me and started explaining their
points of view instead of just telling me what to do. And you people are listening to me. The kids I hung out with, they called us the Corner Crew, are mostly good kids but you wouldn't listen to them unless they got into trouble.

“In South Oakdale some kids have bad things happen to them—like they get sick—and I don't know why that happens, but all they can do is to go to the hospital. And some kids just get left out of the good things and can't find a way of getting back into them. People get mad at them the same way they get mad at the homeless people or people who beg on the street. Maybe the garden will be a way for the homeless people to get back into some good things, and maybe seeing the homeless people getting back into a better life will be a way for some of the kids to think about what's happening to them. Thank you.”

There was some applause as Darnell turned to go back to his seat.

“Just a minute, young man,” one of the council-men called to him. “The girl said that these people don't know anything about raising a garden. Is that true?”

“It doesn't matter,” someone said from the audience. “I'm from the college, and we can help with technical advice.”

“I didn't ask you,” the councilman said.

“I'm telling you anyway,” the man said.

“I don't know how effective a community garden would be,” the councilman said. “You can't feed people from a garden.”

“You could sell what you grow,” Darnell heard himself saying.

“I think bringing people who are … nonschool people into that close a contact with children might not be that good an idea,” the councilman said. “Who's the last speaker?”

“A Mr. Jones,” the clerk said.

Sweeby came into the middle aisle, and a lot of people began to talk among themselves. There were a lot of things they were interested in, and most of them were not interested in the school parking lot.

“I just want to ask you why you don't want to listen to this boy,” Sweeby asked.

“You have four minutes to speak,” the councilman said. He seemed angry. “We don't have to answer your questions.”

“You don't have to answer my questions,” Sweeby said. “And you don't have to have the garden. You don't have to think about us—what you call us?—nonschool people?

“But it's a shame you don't want to listen to this boy. I wish he had been my friend when I was his age. Maybe I would be sitting in one of your seats instead of being over here.”

“Is there anything more?” the councilman asked.

“No, you can just forget about the whole thing now,” Sweeby said. “Go on back to your papers.”

“I think we can vote on this issue now,” the councilman said.

“I think Mr.”—the councilman looked at the agenda to find Darnell's name—”Mr. Darnell Rock
had some good points, but it's still a tough issue. Let's get on with the vote.”

The vote went quickly. Three councilpeople decided not to vote, five voted against the garden, and only one voted for it.

Darnell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Tamika patted him on his hand. When he looked at her she had tears in her eyes.

Darnell felt he had let Sweeby down. His father patted him on his back, and Miss Seldes came over.

“You did a good job,” she said. “Really good.”

“I lost,” Darnell said.

“Sometimes you lose,” Miss Seldes said. “But you still did a good job.”

Sweeby and some of his friends were waiting outside the Council meeting, and they shook hands with Darnell. Sweeby was telling him how the members of the Council didn't really care about people when Darnell saw Linda through the crowd. She waved and he waved back. She was smiling.

Larry's mother came over and asked his father for a lift home, and they were waiting for Larry when Peter Miller from the
Journal
came over.

“Hey, you want to write another article for the paper?” he said. “There's a guy who wants to donate a couple of lots for a garden in another location. My boss wants to run it as a human interest piece.”

“Yeah, sure,” Darnell said. “You want a long article or a short one?”

“I don't know. Call the paper tomorrow and ask
for the city desk,” the reporter said. “My editor will give you the word count.”

“Okay,” Darnell said. “But first I have to check with my editor to see what she wants.”

Darnell was disappointed that the Jackson Avenue garden was as small as it was, but as Sweeby said, it was a start. It was located between two abandoned buildings and was fifty feet deep by thirty-five feet wide. A flatbed truck was parked in front of it and was being used as a platform for the mayor as he made his speech about how some kids from South Oakdale had “made things happen.”

“And as long as I'm mayor, I'll always listen to the kids, for they are the future !” he said. Then he got down from the truck, got into a limousine, and was gone.

“They should have named it after you!” Larry said.

“When they name stuff after you it means you're dead!” Darnell said.

“Darnell!” It was Linda Gold.

“What?”

“They want you to be in a picture breaking the ground,” Linda said.

“Doing what?”

“Breaking the ground,” Linda said. “Just come over here and hold the shovel.”

Linda reached over and took Darnell's hand and started toward where a small knot of reporters was gathered in one corner.

When they reached the reporters, Darnell was told to put his hand on the shovel.

“You the man of the hour,” Sweeby said. He had his hand right next to Darnell's.

They all put one hand on the shovel, as if they were all digging with it at the same time, and had their picture taken. When that was finished, a reporter asked Sweeby how he felt.

“I feel good,” Sweeby said. “A young brother like Darnell here has put his mind to a problem of his people. How you going to feel bad when something like that happens?”

“Do you really think this garden is going to make a difference?” the reporter asked.

“It's going to make a big difference,” Sweeby said. “Because every time somebody walks by this place they're going to remember that there are people who need some help, and there are some people who are willing to help. You can't see that?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” the reporter said, closing his notebook. He shook Sweeby's hand before walking away.

“Looka that,” Sweeby said to Darnell after the reporter had left. “When's the last time you think he shook the hand of a used-to-be homeless man?”

“You got a place to stay now?” Darnell asked.

“You got me so excited about being down at the
City Council and in the newspapers that I had to do something/' Sweeby said. “And me being in the newspapers helped because the hospital offered me a job. Like this garden, it's small, but it's a start. Now, you take care of yourself. I got about a half hour to get to work.”

Sweeby started off with one of his friends, and Darnell started looking for Tamika.

It was Tamika who woke up Darnell on Saturday morning.

“Get up,” she said. “Mama wants you to go get some bran flakes and a half gallon of low-fat milk.”

“How come she wants me to go when you're up already?” Darnell asked.

“Because it looks like it might rain,” Tamika said, “and she's afraid I might melt.”

“Yeah, right!”

Darnell got up, dressed, and found that his mother did want him to go to the store for cereal, milk, and potatoes. Outside it was cool and raining lightly. A stray dog followed Darnell down the street, turning with him when he decided to go over to Jackson to take another look at the garden.

Mrs. Lucas from across the street walked over to him. “Hey, ain't you that little Rock boy?” Her hat was on crooked, and she looked mad when she talked, the way she always did.

“Yes, ma'am,” Darnell answered without stopping.

“Don't you walk away from me like no fresh thing!” Mrs. Lucas called after him.

“I wasn't walking away.” Darnell stopped.

“Well, you don't have those people raising no tomatoes/' Mrs. Lucas said. “Those tomatoes get wormy they can kill you faster than take wings and

fly!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Darnell said.

“You go on,” Mrs. Lucas said. “And you remember about them wormy tomatoes!”

Darnell started down the street again, the dog following him all the way. He stopped down the street from the garden. There was someone in it. It wasn't Sweeby, just an old man picking up handfuls of dirt and letting it run through his fingers.

“Hey, dog, what you think about the garden right here on Jackson Avenue?” Darnell asked the dog.

The dog looked at him, saw another kid walking down the other side of the street, and went to follow him.

Darnell went back to the supermarket. When he came out he saw Larry on his bicycle.