The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (43 page)

“heroes” posing on the riverbank would be so pleased to see their

pictures in the paper and so grateful to Tibor for making this hap-

pen, they’d vote for him now if he proclaimed himself a Communist

and buggered Joe McCarthy on national television.

Once everyone’s picture had been taken, Ida May had the

Thompsonettes move through the crowd handing out leaflets pro-

claiming Tibor’s support of the embattled white Christian majority.

The leaflets implied that only he could keep at bay the Negro

Hordes who wanted to sully white schools and take away white

rights.

Then the band played a patriotic tune and the audience went

back to their seats. Hugh slipped into a folding chair next to Belle

and Marilee.

“That was some spectacle,” he said, shaking his head. “Where’s

Sissy?”

“Up to no good, I expect,” Belle replied as Brother Junior’s choir

could be heard marching toward the risers across the back of the

stage singing “Onward Christian Soldiers.”

They were marching without Sister Betty Ruth. She was out on

the riverbank, dancing among the unlit pyres, silhouetted against

the moon. She was singing, too. But tonight her songs had nothing

to do with the Words of the Lord.

Harlan Ratliff spotted her there. He’d played football with

Parker and now owned a filling station out on Highway 51. Harlan

didn’t think much of politics or preaching, but he’d always thought

a lot of Betty Ruth, who’d been kind enough to save him from the

ignominy of graduating from Gentry High a virgin. He lent his

baritone to her lovely voice and pretty soon the two of them were

dancing together along the river’s edge. Betty Ruth broke several

vows that night, which cheered her up considerably and added

whole subplots to the continuing drama of her life with Brother

Junior.

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L o r a i n e D e s p r e s

“Marching as to war . . .” sang the choir as their bowed

heads appeared above the risers. Hugh jumped up, camera ready,

and then slunk back down into his seat as Marilee screamed with

delight. Billy Joe and Chip slid in next to her.

Sissy, in Betty Ruth’s hooded robe of virginal white, was leading

the choir.

“What the hell’s she up to?” Hugh asked Belle.

Belle shrugged. “Damned if I know, but I doubt she suddenly up

and caught religion.”

Sissy stood in the front of the others, singing just slightly off key.

It was her first time in front of a crowd since her cheerleading days,

and when she saw all those people looking up at her, she felt she’d

finally come home. Unfortunately as she raised “the Cross of Jesus”

above her head, she also raised her arms. Her robe, which was too

small for her, exposed one long, freckled leg, bare, to the top of her

shorts. Photographers sprang into action. The audience poked one

another and clicked their tongues. Sissy was at it again. Hugh put

his head in his hands. Chip got up to leave, but this time Billy Joe

pulled him back. “Wait. You can’t leave now.” So Chip sat back

down to see what would happen next.

As the singing died out, the audience turned to the sound of hoof-

beats. The candidate had arrived on a white horse.

He was flanked by Bourrée, Peewee, and a bunch of the boys.

They galloped around the crowd yelling and whooping, until Tibor

left them and rode his milk-white steed up onto the bandstand to

the cheers of the enthusiastic voters, who’d never seen anything like

this campaign in their lives and weren’t likely to see anything like it

again.

The television crews, expecting the usual boring speeches from

the usual boring candidates, were ecstatic as the candidate dis-

mounted to the cheers of the multitude. A colorful congressman

like Tibor would light up the evening news.

Brother Junior stepped up to the mike and gave a rousing invoca-

T h e S c a n d a l o u s S u m m e r o f S i s s y L e B l a n c 2 9 5

tion. He managed to link Tibor Thompson and the white race to

Jesus Christ, while pointedly ignoring His association with the

Jews.

Sissy moved down from the risers and stood in back of the candi-

date’s chair, where she slipped him the essay for the
Times-Picayune

contest, “The Finest Man I’ve Ever Known.”

Tibor, flushed with a day of speeches, applause, and fund-raising,

whispered that it was mighty nice of her. He knew all about the

contest and wished her luck.

“I didn’t write it.” Sissy surveyed the audience, nodding to a col-

ored girl in a copy of Sissy’s PTA dress. “Your daughter did.”

At first Tibor looked confused. “I don’t have a daughter, sugar.”

And then he saw the name on the cover. “It’s a damned lie!” he

whispered, his jaw clenched.

“Could be,” agreed Sissy, smiling out at the crowd, “but she did

a real good job of research.”

By now Brother Bodine was prayed out and had ceded the mike

to Hyram Goode, the president of an organization that presented

the Vigilant Patriot Award to right-minded politicians. He was pre-

senting one to Tibor. He began by working up the crowd with the

news that the only thing that stood between them and the mongrel-

ization of the races was Tibor Thompson.

As they cheered and applauded, Sissy pointed to the second page,

where Clara had found that Tibor’s great-grandfather was not the

son of a poor but honest French girl, as he’d always claimed, but of

his great-great-grandfather’s quadroon mistress, who’d died in

childbirth, giving the candidate quite a few drops of Negro blood.

“Clara found out all about it right in the genealogy section of the

Gentry public library. Isn’t she amazing?” Sissy whispered. “She’s

gonna do real well at the University of Chicago, don’t you think?”

Tibor accepted the applause of the crowd, but his smile was stuck

across his capped teeth and his eyes had become slits. “What do

you want?”

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L o r a i n e D e s p r e s

“Only that you take care of your daughter’s education. She needs

money for college,” Sissy whispered.

Hyram was working the crowd with pleas to bring back “old-

fashioned family values, which are so sadly missing in our fast-

paced society.”

Tibor looked out over the audience and waved. “How the hell

can I do that without your aunt Ida May finding out?”

“Announce you’re endowing a scholarship fund. She only needs

four thousand dollars.”

“Have you lost your mind, girl?”

“You endowed a white scholarship.”

“Coloreds don’t vote.” His voice was gruff and coarse.

“But they write. In fact your daughter seems to have your gift for

words.”

Tibor was silent for a moment. He turned the essay over in his

hands. “I’ll see to it.”

Sissy reached into her shorts and handed him a counter check

from the Gentry Guaranty Bank.

“Don’t push me, girl, I said I’d take care of it.”

“When?”

“When I’m damned good and ready,” he said, stuffing the essay

into his pocket. They locked eyes. Combat was declared.

Hyram called for the candidate to come forward and accept the

Vigilant Patriot Award. The applause was deafening. Sissy knew if

she let the Vigilant Patriot get away, it was all over. So she walked

right up behind him and whispered, “I have a carbon.”

When the applause died down, Sissy stepped between the two

men and reached for the mike. Hyram naturally gave it to her,

attired as she was in a choir robe. The candidate smiled to the audi-

ence as he tried to wrest it from her, but Sissy held the mike in a

death grip. He glared at her, teeth clenched, and jerked the mike.

She let him pull her toward him and kissed him on the cheek. She

heard a sprinkling of confused applause. She knew he could have

T h e S c a n d a l o u s S u m m e r o f S i s s y L e B l a n c 2 9 7

her dragged away, but he wasn’t likely to do that in front of all

these reporters, who were bound to follow her for her story.

“Isn’t my uncle Tibor something! Let’s hear it for the Vigilant

Patriot!” the ex-cheerleader yelled. The audience cheered in response,

and the candidate let go of the mike.

She introduced herself as Tibor’s niece and said she wanted to tell

them about her uncle’s newest charity—a scholarship fund for a

deserving Negro student.

She glanced out at the audience. Her father had a frozen expres-

sion on his face, but next to him Belle was chuckling.

Sissy continued, “It’s true my uncle, Tibor Thompson, wants to

keep the races separate, but he’s not a bigot.”

She saw Tibor’s eyes flick toward the sheriff, who responded by

shifting his hand to his holster and stepping forward. So she quickly

added, “My uncle’s a good man.” She paused for the dutiful

applause. “He believes in separate education.” More applause, this

time with enthusiasm. “But equal education.” She looked at him.

He nodded stiffly. “And he believes in equality of opportunity.

That’s why he has personally endowed a four-thousand-dollar

scholarship fund . . .” A gasp went up from the audience. “. . . for

deserving colored students to help them get a college education.”

Sissy paused again for the applause. It was scattered at first and

then built and built. She was surprised she wasn’t scared. Her

cheeks were hot and she felt a wild rush of energy. She was elated.

She wondered if she could run for office.

Then she saw her uncle’s look and her knuckles turned white as

she gripped the mike. “It’s my pleasure to announce the winner of

the first scholarship, Clara Conners.”

The applause this time was perfunctory, hot in spots but most of

the audience sat on their hands. It was one thing for the candidate

to do a good deed. It was quite another for the colored recipient of

his largesse to get up on the stage next to him.

Sissy spotted her family. Billy Joe and Marilee were applauding

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wildly for their mama. Hugh was applauding his daughter’s courage,

and Belle Cantrell was applauding a vision of herself as she wished

she could have been.

“We did a pretty good job with our Sissy, didn’t we?” she said to

Hugh.

Chip slid down in his chair, deeply embarrassed. “She’s making a

damn fool of herself,” he muttered, but nobody paid him any

attention.

Hugh turned to his mother-in-law with an expression of courage

she hadn’t seen since he was a young man courting Cady. “What

would you say if the
Avenger
ran a series on the genealogy of our

leading citizens?”

“Including yours?”

“Starting with mine.”

Belle peered at Hugh with new respect and patted him on the

arm. “I’d say it’s about time.”

They turned back to the stage and watched Clara climb the steps.

Billy Joe jumped up, clapping and whistling. Marilee jumped up

next to him, cheering like mad.

Sissy handed the blank check to Tibor once again. He hesitated.

The TV cameras whirled. He scribbled fast and handed it back to

her. A television reporter yelled for her to let them get a picture.

Sissy held it high for the cameras. “Uppity women unite!” But of

course she didn’t say that out loud. And then saw the check was

only for a thousand dollars. She’d hoped for four thousand, so she

wouldn’t have to keep coming back, but this would get Clara

started.

Clara took the check and shook hands with the candidate.

“I hear you want to go to school with Yankees,” said Tibor at his

most avuncular.

“Yes, sir,” said Clara, her voice trembling.

“Well, you have a real good time. And don’t get too cold up

there, you hear?” he said, playing to the audience.

Clara had planned to walk up to him, a tough, brilliant student,

T h e S c a n d a l o u s S u m m e r o f S i s s y L e B l a n c 2 9 9

accepting no more than her due. While she was writing the essay,

she’d run the scene over and over in her head. She’d get back at her

father for all those years of abuse and neglect. She’d make him pay.

And not just money. She had an acceptance speech written and

memorized. It was filled with cutting innuendos, designed to make

him squirm, but now that she was actually in his presence, all sorts

of old feelings she hadn’t felt since she was a little girl came back.

And she choked up. All she could think of were three words. These

she whispered in his ear.

“Louder,” yelled the television soundmen. And, “Give her a

mike.” But instead the evening news would show a pretty colored

girl standing on tiptoes, whispering something into the candidate’s

ear and then running off the stage.

“What did she say?” asked the
Times-Picayune
reporter. But

Tibor just shook his head. The paper would report that whatever it

was moved him. The candidate needed several minutes to recover

for his speech.

The three words Clara had managed to whisper in Tibor’s ear

were “Thank you, Daddy.”

When making a life decision, you can’t trust your head.