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In August ’63, I was travelling by rail from Florida to New York. I was in the a/c observation car with about 10 or 12 other white folk.
We pulled into Richmond and I looked down on the milling poor below, shook my head quietly and continued with my reading of the somewhat liberal “An Epistle to the Congregation of the Castle of St Andrews; with a Brief Summary of Balnaves on Justification by Faith” by John Knox. I was making some notes in the margin as the train pulled out and as I paused for thought, I became aware that a Darkie was standing next to me, so I ordered a Mint Julep.
The Darkie looked at me and said, “I’m a passenger like you.”
Well, I told him that he was not like me, and asked what was he doing threatening me. He said something about wanting to sit down. I asked him if there were no room in the caboose but he showed me a ticket for the very car I was in, so what could I say?
He was a presentable sort of Darkie, one with a suit, so I assumed he was probably the accused in some criminal action and was trying to impress the judge. I therefore checked my wallet and firearm.
The Darkie pulls out a few papers and starts going through them, muttering to himself. He had quite put me off my Godly thoughts. I stared at him for a while, hoping he would stop his mumbling and after about 40 minutes, he looks up and, without the slightest degree of respect, he stares into my face: “You believe in dreams?” he asked.
“We all have dreams.” I replied.
“I had a dream.”
“Like I said, we all have dreams.” I replied. “I had one about a squirrel… this squirrel…”
“… Mine is about the freeing of the Negro.”
“Where’s he locked up?” I asked.
“Everywhere! Look around you!”
I did but he was the only Darkie in the car, so I raised my eyebrows at him.
The he starts with, “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
He wanted a reaction, so I looked at him for a while impassively and considered how best to call the conductor. This seemed impractical, so I said, “Do you get this dream often?”
He replied, “I live that dream. It follows me and inspires me. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.”
“Oh… yes, the table of brotherhood… is that in a bar somewhere? I thought you Darkies had your own bars – y’know, ones with jazz and things like that.”
“I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.”
I was doing my very best to understand this jig but he was defeating me. I’d heard how marijuana possessed them and led to wild fantasies, so I tried to catch the eye of one of my fellows in the car, but none were visible, so I said, “Mississippi? I grant you it’s hot but, I wouldn’t call it” a desert state.” Perhaps you’re thinking of Arizona? Have you been to Arizona? Fine people; fine place.”
But now the guy has got the glazed expression of a drug fiend in his eyes, “I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
My right hand was on my gun. Cautiously, I asked,
“Why do you want your children to live in another country? Are they troublesome?... They grow out of it y’know. I remember when my fourth was about…”
But he interrupted and with even more fervor continued…
“I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but there is little worse than being stuck on a train with some delusional nigra. Where in KJV1611 does it refer to the Lord making “mountains low, rough places plain and crooked places made straight”?
And this is the trouble, isn’t it? It looked like I had a Nigra with a personal interpretation of God’s Word as a travelling companion. The guy was evidently batshit. Some demon had possessed his mind and causing him to spout the first thing that came into his mind.
As a True Christian™ I had the duty to put this man straight. “Look, boy, seems to me that you have a little confusion here. When Jesus returns, it will be from heaven. He will be on a horse with a sword in His mouth. He says nothing about mountains and things. Let me show you…” But, Dear Lord! He started again!
“This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South.”
He stared at me. “You say you’re returning to the South? This train’s going north – you know, across the Mason-Dixon line...”
But he was in his stride: “...With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.” (I did consider this was a likely as getting gold from a coal mine, but I let him rant on.) With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. (He was back again going on about his Darkie Jazz club) With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.”
That was enough for me. I was not going to jail with anyone like him! The very thought was outrageous! I was right when I thought he was being dragged before a court. His only hope was that the court would find him guilty but insane!
Anyway, I left the car, saw him get off at Washington and then returned to my rightful seat.
Now I thought that that was the last I had heard of him until today. Well, not him exactly, it couldn’t have been, but I did note that that it was 50 years come Wednesday that that uppity nigra Martin Luther King caused all that trouble and upset a nation. The television had his speech on and I thought I caught some similarities to my insane travelling companion. I often wonder what became of him?
We pulled into Richmond and I looked down on the milling poor below, shook my head quietly and continued with my reading of the somewhat liberal “An Epistle to the Congregation of the Castle of St Andrews; with a Brief Summary of Balnaves on Justification by Faith” by John Knox. I was making some notes in the margin as the train pulled out and as I paused for thought, I became aware that a Darkie was standing next to me, so I ordered a Mint Julep.
The Darkie looked at me and said, “I’m a passenger like you.”
Well, I told him that he was not like me, and asked what was he doing threatening me. He said something about wanting to sit down. I asked him if there were no room in the caboose but he showed me a ticket for the very car I was in, so what could I say?
He was a presentable sort of Darkie, one with a suit, so I assumed he was probably the accused in some criminal action and was trying to impress the judge. I therefore checked my wallet and firearm.
The Darkie pulls out a few papers and starts going through them, muttering to himself. He had quite put me off my Godly thoughts. I stared at him for a while, hoping he would stop his mumbling and after about 40 minutes, he looks up and, without the slightest degree of respect, he stares into my face: “You believe in dreams?” he asked.
“We all have dreams.” I replied.
“I had a dream.”
“Like I said, we all have dreams.” I replied. “I had one about a squirrel… this squirrel…”
“… Mine is about the freeing of the Negro.”
“Where’s he locked up?” I asked.
“Everywhere! Look around you!”
I did but he was the only Darkie in the car, so I raised my eyebrows at him.
The he starts with, “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
He wanted a reaction, so I looked at him for a while impassively and considered how best to call the conductor. This seemed impractical, so I said, “Do you get this dream often?”
He replied, “I live that dream. It follows me and inspires me. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.”
“Oh… yes, the table of brotherhood… is that in a bar somewhere? I thought you Darkies had your own bars – y’know, ones with jazz and things like that.”
“I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.”
I was doing my very best to understand this jig but he was defeating me. I’d heard how marijuana possessed them and led to wild fantasies, so I tried to catch the eye of one of my fellows in the car, but none were visible, so I said, “Mississippi? I grant you it’s hot but, I wouldn’t call it” a desert state.” Perhaps you’re thinking of Arizona? Have you been to Arizona? Fine people; fine place.”
But now the guy has got the glazed expression of a drug fiend in his eyes, “I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
My right hand was on my gun. Cautiously, I asked,
“Why do you want your children to live in another country? Are they troublesome?... They grow out of it y’know. I remember when my fourth was about…”
But he interrupted and with even more fervor continued…
“I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but there is little worse than being stuck on a train with some delusional nigra. Where in KJV1611 does it refer to the Lord making “mountains low, rough places plain and crooked places made straight”?
And this is the trouble, isn’t it? It looked like I had a Nigra with a personal interpretation of God’s Word as a travelling companion. The guy was evidently batshit. Some demon had possessed his mind and causing him to spout the first thing that came into his mind.
As a True Christian™ I had the duty to put this man straight. “Look, boy, seems to me that you have a little confusion here. When Jesus returns, it will be from heaven. He will be on a horse with a sword in His mouth. He says nothing about mountains and things. Let me show you…” But, Dear Lord! He started again!
“This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South.”
He stared at me. “You say you’re returning to the South? This train’s going north – you know, across the Mason-Dixon line...”
But he was in his stride: “...With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.” (I did consider this was a likely as getting gold from a coal mine, but I let him rant on.) With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. (He was back again going on about his Darkie Jazz club) With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.”
That was enough for me. I was not going to jail with anyone like him! The very thought was outrageous! I was right when I thought he was being dragged before a court. His only hope was that the court would find him guilty but insane!
Anyway, I left the car, saw him get off at Washington and then returned to my rightful seat.
Now I thought that that was the last I had heard of him until today. Well, not him exactly, it couldn’t have been, but I did note that that it was 50 years come Wednesday that that uppity nigra Martin Luther King caused all that trouble and upset a nation. The television had his speech on and I thought I caught some similarities to my insane travelling companion. I often wonder what became of him?
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