The Nigger Factory (15 page)

22

Counterthreat

The members of MJUMBE had been busy. The members of their ‘enforcer’ program had met and been informed of what to do in practically all possible situations. These were the men, primarily athletes and members of Greek fraternities, who guarded the entrances to class buildings and informed students who were thinking of going to class that Sutton was on strike. There had been no physical restraint used during the first two hours of the strike. None had been necessary.

Baker had written another newsletter. His article referred to Ogden Calhoun's noon declaration and called it ‘extremely unsatisfactory’ and vowed that Sutton students should be prepared for a long wait. It stressed the fact that under no circumstances should the members of the student body be willing to accept less than the requests called for since the list had only mentioned ‘the bare essentials.’

Abul Menka had typed up lists of needed equipment for the Music Department student who had asked if any microphones or sound machines would be needed. MJUMBE proposed to invite in a series of lecturers for a seminar program if the strike stretched into the next week. A second list was sent to the Fine Arts Building requesting majors to contact MJUMBE for possible lecture assignments. There was a great apprehension about the students moving to break the strike out of sheer boredom.

‘We'll be all right this weekend,’ Baker asserted. ‘The Alphas are havin’ some kinda dance. As long as the niggers can dance they'll be all right.’

‘If we wuz to knock the dance they'd turn on us,’ Cotton quipped.

‘In a minnit.’

‘If we get to the weekend,’ Abul said, coming into the main meeting room. ‘I expect Calhoun to move on us before then.’

‘He'd be movin’ on the whole community,’ Cotton said.

‘Idealistically,’ Abul admitted, ‘but if we had that much faith in any type of ideal unity we wouldn'a needed to have the brothers on the doors blockin’ classes.’

‘But . . .’

‘But no thin’,’ Abul stepped in. ‘That meetin’ in the auditorium means zero. If Calhoun moves before we get the necessary power nobody leaves here but MJUMBE an’ Thomas.’

‘What necessary power?’ Cotton asked. ‘What mo’ can we git?’

‘Thass the problem. We gotta make Calhoun think we got more goin’ for us than we do.’

It was at that instant that Fred Jones came through the door with a tray of sandwiches and plastic cups filled with Coke.

‘We're bein’ paged in the student union,’ he said quietly.

‘We who?’

‘We all of us,’ Jonesy replied. ‘Ben King, Ralph Baker, Everett Cotton, Fred Jones, and Jonathan Wise.’

Baker laughed. ‘I had forgot yawl's names,’ he said, turning to Speedy Cotton and Abul Menka. No one on campus could have pointed out Everett Cotton or Jonathan Wise. ‘Jonathan, my boy,’ Baker said to Abul, ‘we gotta educate people ‘bout you.’

‘What were we bein’ paged for?’ Abul asked Jonesy.

‘We're wanted in the Administration Building.’

The sandwiches and Cokes were distributed and the men ate in silence. When the phone rang Jonesy answered and told the person on the other end to call back later.

‘Maybe we should go,’ Abul said suddenly.

‘Where?’

‘To see old Assbucket,’ came the reply.

‘What good would it do?’ Ben King asked. ‘He knows where we stand.’

‘Does he?’ Abul quizzed. ‘He knows one thing. He got a
buncha deman's an’ a strike. There's two ways of lookin’ at a meetin’ wit’ him. One way is the way you lookin’, Ben. A sign of weakness. The other way of seen’ it is as a chance to find out what the ol’ bastard's into.’

‘Is he gonna tell us?’

‘Sure. He'll tell us by the type of questions that he asks. He'll tell us by the way he approaches the whole set. If we don’ go he can look at that as a sign of fear. If we show up an’ freeze him, he won't know what to do.’

‘Freeze ‘im how?’

‘Freeze, baby, freeze! You can dig that! He's gonna throw out a lotta stimulators aimed at makin’ us blow our cool an’ goin’ through an’ emotional thing. You're right when you say he knows what we want, but he doesn't know what our limits are; what we're willin’ to do to get what we're after.’

‘He don’ care,’ King said.

‘Maybe not,’ Abul admitted, ‘but you gotta remember he ain’ never really been put to the test. No one student movement on this campus ever had total support. Las’ year Peabody had the frats an’ the sororities. The year before Coombs had the block-heads. This is a thing that has everybody pullin’ an’ Calhoun may be walkin’ on eggs.’

Baker made the decision. ‘Let's go! If he had everything under control he wouldn'a been pagin’ us. Maybe if we show a little more unity he'll be even more shook up . . . Lemme do the talkin’.’

Jonesy was about to suggest that they let Abul do the talking. He had never heard Abul say as many things as he had heard today. The strange thing was that he found himself agreeing with all of the things that he heard. He said nothing.

23

Choosing Sides

Edmund C. Mallory, Sutton football coach, found out from Mrs Millie McNeil that her husband had telephoned from a Sutton bar called the Mine where he was having drinks with an old reporter friend. She admitted that the call had been placed at one thirty and though it was already three she assumed that her mate was still there.

Her assumption turned out to be a valid one because Mallory spotted McNeil and a man he did not recognize sitting in a booth just inside the air-conditioned bar and grill.

‘Ed Mallory,’ McNeil said, doing the introductions. ‘This is Ike Spurryman, an old college friend of mine. Ike, this is Ed Mallory, our highly productive football coach.’

They were approached by a waitress who appeared startled when the coach ordered a 7-Up. She quickly regained her composure however and departed.

‘Knowing that you're not a drinking man,’ McNeil began, ‘I suppose I must have something to do with your visit to this little hideaway.’

It appeared to Coach Mallory that his proposed ally was a little drunk.

‘You have everything to do with it,’ Mallory admitted, getting right to the point. ‘I'm quite sure that you and I didn't agree with all of the methods that Calhoun or the student group have been using.’

‘Indeed,’ McNeil smiled. ‘Both parties are wrong. Stop! You're both wrong! . . . Pardon me, but I'm a product of the television age.’

‘The question is what we propose to do . . . can I talk in front of you without fear of jeopardy, Mr Spurryman?’

‘Of course. And call me Ike,’ the reporter replied.

‘Well, I don't like the idea of the student strike,’ the coach admitted. ‘But I don't like the way Calhoun is going about dealing with the student leaders either.’

‘How's he dealing with them?’ McNeil asked, sobering up a bit.

‘Intimidation as far as I can see. He called me a little while ago and asked me if the MJUMBE members were on scholarship.’

‘Whew! Trouble. What can I say? The people knocked me last night for admitting that I was a member of the Bullshit Squad.’ The history professor chuckled again.

‘We can't just sit around. Who else is with us?’

‘Mrs Pruitt. Most of the younger people, I suppose.’

‘Why can't we set ourselves up as sort of mediators?’

‘The main reason is because the people who suggest this, namely you and I, are known student sympathizers. If we could talk Royce and Mercer and people like them into taking some kind of stand, we'd be all right.’

‘Why them?’

‘Because most of the young faculty members who are on our side are white. That's giving the students a way out. They are naturally suspicious of the white faculty members, or they overreact to them to show their militancy. It would just be better to have some solid Black figures for them to ally themselves with.’

‘And any mediation tactics we tried to implement would be put off by whom?’ Mallory asked.

‘Initially by both sides,’ McNeil asserted. ‘We'd be more clearly in the middle than ever before.’

‘Then at least this would give us an opportunity to break away from being constantly identified with Calhoun. I'm tired of political discussions with students about what needs to be done at Sutton starting off with, ‘You people.’ The students clearly mean the administrators but they don't see the faculty as other than the administration.’

‘How can they?’ McNeil asked. ‘You have to look at political
things on a college campus as a conflict on many levels. It is youth against the Establishment. It's youth against age. It's freedom against repression. It's both real and symbolic. We are not of their generation.’

‘I can't talk that generation gap theme. I think it's fairly well played out.’

‘You don't have to talk it, man. You're living it! You have kids, don't you? What do you think they're going to throw at you when they're old enough to start wanting special privileges? They'll say: “You don't understand. You don't realize what I mean.” Mark my words. It will take a lot of serious time and energy for you to even begin to remember when you were in the same situation aside from vague generalities. I mean, aside from major events. Feelings. That's what you won't be able to remember.’

The 7-Up came along with another draft beer for the reporter who sat in the corner of the booth smoking a cigarette and saying nothing. The arrival of the waitress took on the appearance of a signaled time-out. Mallory sipped from the glass, watching the bubbles and clinking the two small ice cubes together. McNeil pulled on his drink and tamped his cigar against the side of an overloaded ashtray.

‘Then what do we do?’ Mallory asked, ‘if we can't set ourselves up as mediaries or a liaison sort of body. Do I sit by and watch four of my men railroaded onto the highway?’

‘I'm not saying we can't set ourselves up that way, but if we did we would be doing it for the students, right?’

Mallory nodded.

‘Who says they want us?’ McNeil asked. ‘They won't completely trust us. They might reject us publicly and alienate all but a very few of us . . . I propose that we find out first of all whether or not they believe we can do anything positive. Then if they do, we can move. I don't think we should try to do anything at all before that.’

‘And how do we find out if we can do any good?’

‘Contact them,’ McNeil said, finishing his drink in a gulp.

‘Where would we find Thomas at this hour. It's nearly three thirty.’

‘I suggest we try and find your football players,’ McNeil said. ‘They are the ones who seem to be most directly under the gun. And the young man who has allied himself with them was very impressive.’

‘Who?’

‘This one.’ McNeil proffered a copy of
The Statesman
and poked a yellow finger at the only MJUMBE man who was not a football player. ‘Captain Cool?’ McNeil asked.

‘Abul Menka,’ Mallory said. ‘Where could we . . . wait! I know. They'd probably be at the fraternity house. We can go there.’

‘I don't know how wise that would be,’ McNeil balked. ‘That could be misconstrued in several directions.’

‘Man, I ain’ got time fo’ no who construed what!’ Mallory said, raising his voice for the first time. ‘If we gonna be concerned about what we might construe, we can stop now. Somebody's always gonna get the wrong idea from what's done.’

‘All I'm suggesting is that we call and let them know we're coming,’ McNeil said. ‘That way they'll know why we're coming and that might break down a little of the suspicion that would lead them to believe that we're administrative spies or some such nonsense.’

‘Call if you want to.’

McNeil left the table. It was then that Spurryman voiced his personal opinion.

‘Just my luck,’ he said finishing his beer. ‘Seems like damn near every
real
story I get I'm bound by some kind of personal thing not to print.’

‘If you weren't a friend of McNeil's you wouldn't have been in any position to hear what you just heard,’ Mallory pointed out.

‘Yeah. But nevertheless . . .’

‘May just turn out to be talk,’ the coach said, slowly turning back to his glass of soda.

‘A damn chess game!’ Spurryman exclaimed. ‘If there had been no student strike I could've been back in Norfolk with my wife. Tomorrow's her birthday.’

‘I could've been gettin’ ready for my Saturday game.’

‘You play A & T on Saturday, don't you?’

‘Right here.’

‘At least I'll get to see a good football game if the damn thing's still on an’ they tell me to stay.’

McNeil came back to the booth and slid in opposite the reporter and the coach.

‘The entire MJUMBE team has left the fraternity house. The information center could not inform me as to where they were. I told the man on the phone that I would call back.’

‘I guess that's all you could do,’ Mallory admitted nervously.

McNeil reached for his drink and realized that it was empty. Anyone who knew the history teacher would have easily been able to tell that he, too, was more nervous than he was letting on. They would point out the fact that he rarely drank as proof positive that something was troubling him. They might have been able to narrow it down to the student strike if they had the background. No one could safely say any more than that, however. Arnold McNeil himself couldn't safely talk about more than that. There was something eating away at the corners of his consciousness, something he could not put his finger on for the life of him. It caused him to raise his hand and order another drink.

24

On the Spot

Miss Felch's ironclad composure was so severely punctured when the five young Black men entered her office that she almost poured the steaming coffee from the pot in her hand down the front of her suit.

‘MJUMBE here to see Mr Calhoun.’ Baker spoke as if he had not noticed the nervous juggling act.

Miss Felch pushed down the far button on her telephone and spoke into the receiver. ‘MJUMBE here to see you, sir,’ she reported.

‘Send them in!’ was Calhoun's audible reply. Miss Felch gestured toward the door to the inner office.

Calhoun was on his feet when the five men entered. The four football players all wore black center-pocketed dashikis. Their heads were shaved and hardened muscles were revealed below the short sleeves of the shirts. Abul Menka wore a gold dashiki with black trim. He had a thick head of bushy hair with a part on the left side; sunglasses concealed his eyes.

‘Sit down, please,’ Calhoun said, gesturing to a sofa and chairs in the corner of the room closest to the outer office. The men sat down. Abul produced a package of cigarettes and lit one. He looked around for an ashtray and found one on the desk behind him. He had never been in the president's office before and to him its most apparent aspect was a sickly odor of cherry tobacco.

‘I understand from this copy of
The Statesman
that your organization is known as MJUMBE,’ Calhoun said, holding a copy of the paper. ‘You have to excuse me, but the only organizations that I'm aware of on campus are the organizations that have university charters.’

‘We're a newly formed organization,’ Baker said. ‘I don't
necessarily see the need of political organizations to form any kind of communications with the charter anyway. We don't need money from the Student Government or the university proper either.’

‘That's not the purpose of the SGA charter entirely. There are quite a few groups listed who don't come under any university funds. I suppose the primary purpose is in a social vein. If your organization wanted to hold a function on campus and needed permission you would need to be included in the charter. Especially if you wanted to charge an admission fee.’

‘It would allow the administrators to keep tabs on us,’ Ben King suggested.

Calhoun smiled thinly. ‘You can look at it that way if you choose to,’ the president admitted. ‘I'm sure that Mr Baker, having been a candidate for Student Government office can give other reasons. It seems particularly appropriate if you intend to organize yourselves as another political party or even as political spokesmen since I had no knowledge of your group or of how to get in touch with you.’

‘We heard that you were pagin’ us,’ Baker said. ‘We'll be glad to leave our number with your secretary.’

‘Frankly,’ Calhoun said, looking away momentarily, ‘I had an idea of talking to you men along with Earl Thomas of the SGA. I wouldn't want to give one side of the issue any information that was not available to the other team. Maybe I should have Miss Felch try the SGA number again.’ Calhoun left his guests where they sat and talked to his secretary on the intercom.

‘Mr Thomas was seen in the building not long ago,’ Miss Felch said. ‘I sent a messenger over to his office.’

‘What was he doing in the building?’ Calhoun asked.

‘He was in the lobby when the messenger saw him.’

‘Thank you.’

Baker had taken Calhoun's absence as an opportunity to make sure that Ben King muzzled all side remarks such as the one about administrative tabs being kept on organizations.

‘I'd really like to have Thomas here,’ Calhoun said regretfully, ‘since he brought the demands to my house last evening.’

‘We don't represent diffrent points of view,’ Baker said.

‘I have to feel that there is some sort of dichotomy,’ Calhoun said diplomatically. ‘Otherwise there would be no real need for two representative bodies.’

‘We are a group of concerned students who were not appointed to any Student Government posts through election. We didn't feel that that was any reason for us to abandon our political feelings. We work with the SGA and Brother Thomas has been workin’ with us.’

Ogden Calhoun's eyes hardened considerably. ‘Then I will say this to you with the assurance that it will get back to Thomas,’ he said. ‘I have not appreciated the tactics used; the attempt to
force
me to make decisions contrary to my belief and my experience as president of this university. I have prepared a statement for the press when they reconvene at four thirty. Here are copies for all of you.

‘Follow along please: The call for a student strike against Sutton University by the members of a political organization (unchartered and unrecognized) along with the Student Government Association is an obvious attempt to continue the intimidating and provocative means that were initiated by the set of demands placed before me last evening. I remind the community that these demands were issued with an ultimatum included, namely that I reply by noon of the following day. The SGA leader who visited my home gave no indication that the SGA would be available for the type of constructive dialogue that has always marked progress at Sutton. Neither did he indicate as much as one reason why any of the demands should be agreed to. The idea of a student strike was never mentioned. The number of demands that I should answer positively was not set as a condition for averting a student strike. Therefore, with a clear conscience, I state that if the student leaders responsible for the student action do not reconsider their immature decisions and offer other more
democratic channels for administrative consideration, I will be forced to take action to restore order to the university. This includes probable action against the student leaders and against all students who participate in the student strike.’

Calhoun looked up upon concluding his press statement. The faces that he saw aside from the face of Ben King were absolutely emotionless. The expression on Ben King's face read: Danger.

Baker tapped his copy of the statement against his nose. ‘I hope you are as prepared to deal with the situation as this statement indicates,’ Baker said, getting to his feet.

‘I prepared this statement when it appeared that all of the “student leaders” had gone on vacation,’ Calhoun said, trying hard for a smile that he could not get. ‘You must understand, gentlemen, that it is now three thirty and I haven't been able to contact a soul about negotiating these demands.’

‘That's because the demands are not for negotiating,’ Baker said. ‘I feel obligated to tell you that
those
demands are only a few of the students’ most pressin’ needs. There are a hundred other things that will need negotiating that we didn't include because they are things that can be dealt with later.’

‘Such as?’

‘I just said that those other things shouldn't be approached now . . . You have to remember, Mr Calhoun, that for you Sutton may only be a job as it is to a number of administrators, but for the students it is home. The workers
go home
after a day's work. We are here all day every day for nine months. We can't take our home situation too lightly.’

‘But the things on this paper can be worked on,’ Calhoun said.

‘That's where you're wrong. These things
must
be done. They must be done, instituted, before
we
have anything to do with calling off the student strike.’

‘Then it is very clear that we both have things to do,’ Calhoun said with incalculable coldness. ‘I must prepare for
the press conference. I am glad, however, that your group is forewarned.’

‘We are happy to have had the opportunity to forewarn you,’ Baker said with a sour smile touching the corners of his mouth. ‘We'll see you.’

Within seconds all five members of MJUMBE had left Calhoun to the solitude of his office. His first thoughts were that he had to see Earl Thomas and find out if there was any division in the student point of view, but the assurance with which Baker had confronted him and the fact that Thomas had been unavailable for almost four hours made him realize that if there was to be a power showdown it was now his time to show.

The intercom buzzed.

‘A Mr Isaac Spurryman from the
Norfolk News
here to see you,’ Miss Felch informed Calhoun.

‘I can't have any private interviews,’ Calhoun snapped. ‘Tell him that I will make a blanket statement here in half an hour as I had planned. Did you get Thomas?’

‘Nothing, sir,’ Miss Felch said, contemplating overtime. ‘Nothing.’

‘Call Mercer and Hague from Admissions,’ Calhoun sighed. ‘Tell them I said I need them here immediately . . . you may have to stall the press because I'm preparing an alternate statement.’

No sooner had Calhoun put the phone down than the intercom was signaling him once again.

‘Yes?’

‘Mrs Calhoun wants to talk to you,’ Miss Felch reported.

‘Put her on . . . Hello, hon.’

‘I've heard so many things about what was going on,’ Mrs Calhoun said in her small worried voice. ‘What has happened and how are you?’

‘I'm fine,’ Calhoun said gruffly. ‘I just talked with some of our responsible student leaders. They are unreachable.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I was trying to impress upon them the need for some sort of negotiating proposals. They as much as laughed in my face.’

‘Oh, Ogden.’

‘I think I'm going to have to be forced to close school down and go through a readmission program.’

‘Oh, Ogden!’

‘I'm waiting for Hague and Fenton right now.’

As Calhoun spoke Charles Hague and Fenton Mercer entered his office. With very little formality Calhoun cut his wife off. She was still protesting his decision when he hung up.