RUNIN Anacostia

What is "RUNIN ANACOSTIA"

2010-01-02T22:02:00.000-08:00

The purpose of this Web-book is to provide a portrait of life in the community east of the Anacostia River, often referred by Locals as Ward 8.

This portrait is a narrative non-fiction and is true to life with the exception of some name and character changes to protect individuals' privacy.

The life story of our main character, Sonny Williams, is true based on observations and interviews that I conducted.

In this book, I am combining two distinct but mutually linked sections that have similar themes and messages:

1) My observations and experiences in DC obtained through interactions with my contractors while renovating my fixer-upper on 500 Lebaum Street. (For ease of use, these chapters physically reside in another site:www.runinmaverick.blogspot.com but are available on this blog via the link list provided on the right-hand column.)

While renovating the house, I befriended several of my contractors who provide me a first-hand view of Ward 8 as well as their suggestions on how to improve the neighborhood.

2) The life story of Sonny Williams, the main character of the story who purchased 500 Lebaum Street in 1968 and sold it to me via his daughter as a power of attorney, 35 years later.

When Sonny and Anne purchased their newlywed home, the area in Congress Heights was lively and vibrant. Then came the gangs and the strip clubs, heroin and crack and the once idyllic community went downhill fast.

Through Sonny's voice, I describe his observations and explanations of how Ward 8 turned from neighborly to downright dangerous in a matter of several years.

How to Read

The best way to read this web-book is via the link list that is provided on the right-hand column of the blog. These links are synched together via two separate blogs (My Story and Sonny's Story)

Do I have to follow the Chapters chonologically?

Although it is recommended to read the Web-book by the sequence provided on the link list, you are more than welcome to randomly browse the modules below to sample and try out certain chapters or certain topics that interest you.

What makes this Web-Book different?

1) The "RUNIN" format -- a logical and effective new way to better understand and frame the content. Click here for more information on what "RUNIN" means and stands for.

2) The use of Social Media Widgets provide a more broader and in-depth background information delivering context, education and understanding.

YouTube of old news reports

Google Earth and images

Old Headlines

Wikipedia Widgets

Podcasts of Chapter materials as well as sound effects and narratives spaced strategically throughout the chapters that provide context and understanding

Links of Relevant News Stories

Snap Shots providing contextual content info of all hyperlinks

Timelines

Graphs

Word Pictures from Wordle

Comments and Reactions from Readers

Etc.

Why This Approach?

Because I believe that reading should be interactive, messages should be framed and learning should be visualized.

Living and Breathing Web-Book

As of Jan 1, 2009, I am working on Chapt 30. When the Web-book is completed by the end of 2010, there will be approximately 100 chapters available. However the Web-Book is content-rich and message-driven, so you are highly encouraged to start reading today.

Do you have other RUNIN projects?

Yes, I am working on several. The links are provided via the drop down bar to your right. However, this is the only Web-Book that I'm currently working on.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy the Web-book. Please let me know if you have any questions or inputs.

1968: Arnachy

2010-01-02T10:56:00.000-08:00

Chapter 24

It was Thurs, April 4 1968. Sonny was still working at the Wheeler Road High’s Ice Cream store, looking forward to another card party the next weekend. It was a balmy spring day and things were relatively quiet. Suddenly, there appeared to be a commotion outside. Sonny’s ears pricked up. Did a kid get hurt? Was there an accident? He peered out the window and saw people, old and young, rushing out onto the sidewalks with transistor radios in their hands, listening intently, expressions of anger and utter despair on their faces.

Sonny turned on the TV, and stood speechless, horrified. What! Oh, Dear Lord. Dr Martin Luther King, shot! “This just in -- Dr. Martin Luther King had just been shot by a sniper’s bullet at Loraine Hotel in Memphis, Tennessee,” Walter Cronkite announced.

Sonny’s memories rushed back to a bright and peaceful day on August 28, 1963. He had taken a bus to to downtown and strolled the three mind-numbing miles to the Reflecting Pool to stand in reverence and awe for several hours to hear Dr. King’s memorable “I have a dream” speech. From the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, King delivered the fiery and monumental speech to over 200,000 supporters. Sonny was captivated by the powerful message and Dr. King had transformed the memorial into his own pulpit. The words echoed and reverberated in Sonny’s mind. “And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.”

Later that evening, after the news was out that Dr. King had died, things got very dark in DC literally and figuratively. Mr. Stokely Carmichael, Chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, asked stores in the entire area to close out of respect for the dead leader. As a committed Black separatist, Carmichael had denounced Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., as an “Uncle Tom” and began advocating armed black militancy as the favored means to promote civil rights.

Carmichael’s request soon descended into rioting with willful destruction of property, looting and arson. The unrest was most blatant at the intersection of 14th and U Street NW, the center of a major commercial area in Washington’s black community.

Despite this, the next morning, on Friday, April 5th, Sonny opened up shop not knowing what would transpire that day. The brewing unrest had yet to migrate across the river to Congress Heights and Bellevue. Yet the tension and apprehension were clearly escalating. Sonny hoped and prayed the unrest would stay clearly west of the Anacostia River. But by the afternoon, the crowds, dominated by the youth, ventured out in hordes. Stores were still open, windows were still intact, and display signs were still illuminated. Yet the feeling of foreboding was thick as a blanket. The agitation and hostility mirrored on the faces spelled vengeance. The news from the transistor radios blared out details of the violence that had taken siege of virtually the entire city.

Soon, the angry mobs migrated across the river. They first formed in Anacostia and pressed south, a steady stream advancing towards the neighborhood community of Congress Heights where Sonny lived and pressed on towards Bellevue and Wheeler Road, where Sonny worked.

Initially the unrest consisted of loitering and yelling by the drug and liquor stores and clothing department stores. Then there was littering. Newspapers and torn magazines were strewn everywhere, empty soda cans lay bruised and crushed, and trash cans were turned over, spilling the stench of rotting food in the air. Hatred simmered below the surface as crowds got off the city buses, some coming from Prince George’s County. The angry mobs appeared to grow more violent as they stomped down the roads.

By now a light rain was falling steadily but it did nothing to quell the disorder. The silent rage had turned gradually noisy, with relentless shouting, yelling and running. Things appeared to be getting completely out of control. Still no signs of the police or the National Guard – they were busy focusing their efforts on U Street and 14th and the rest of the city on fire on the other side of the river.

The rage burst into sizzling explosion in a split second. One man, out of control, slammed his fist through a storefront glass door. The glass shattered into tiny fragments, his fist came out bloody and bruised. Another man came behind him and finished up the work with a baseball bat. Meanwhile a mob had gathered around him, some slipping into the store, running right to the cash register. A young man came out with a bag of chips and a soda with a big grin on his face, as if he had just won the lottery.

“Way to go,” someone called out to him.

Youth invaded the stores in scores, taking any and everything they could get their hand on. Hangers overflowing with clothes, radios big and small, even heavy TV sets. A middle-aged woman carried off a case of liquor. A girl in her twenties reached into one of the store windows and came out with some cooking pots and utensils. The mood of the crowd had become bitter and destructive. Windows were being broken on all sides of the intersection. Display signage was ripped out of storefront entrances. It was as if life had lost meaning for the rioters. One could sense the heartbreaking desolation and despair.

Amidst all the violence, the High’s Ice Cream store on the corner of Wheeler Road and 12th, was left virtually untouched, although a small group of reckless teenagers stood outside with bats in hand and looks of wild vengeance etched on their faces. Because the local folks loved Sonny and remembered the many times he stayed up late playing cards , they felt that he was one of them. And as long as he was there, they would not harm him or touch his store.

By now, the whole commercial corridor was damaged and looted. Sonny could hear an angry raucous crowd outside, and he watched smoke emanating from the liquor store across the street. His eyes were still glued to the TV, and he watched in disbelief as virtually every commercial building on H Street was burning, some completely to the ground. The rioters became so emboldened, they started attacking firefighters with bottles and rocks. Crowds as large as 20,000 overwhelmed DC, west of Anacostia. The National Guardsmen adorned in helmets and bullet proof vests, sped up and down U Street and Georgia Ave. But the eastern side, told a different story. There, there were only a few Metropolitan DC police officers present, who became quickly overwhelmed by the relentless surge of mobs. As the looting got out of control, the rioters got more brazen. Hundreds were inside the little department store on the corner and were taking everything they could get their hands on, and destroying anything that was affixed to the building.

At any moment, the violence could spill into High’s Ice Cream. In desperation, Sonny called Mr. Hundley at home.

Mr. Hundley was horrified. “Sonny what are you still doing there? It’s become a war zone. You know they burned our store on U Street. Get out right now!” Mr. Hundley ordered.

A violent explosion sliced the conversation. Sonny looked out the window and saw that the department store was engulfed in fire.

“No, boss, I think I should stay. I just want to make sure that your store is in good hands.”

“Who else is there?” Hundley asked.

“Just me and Frances Lewis. (Frances was his employee) We’re OK. No one is messing with us,” Sonny assured him.

“Like hell you will. Get Frances in your car immediately. Lock up and go home!”

“But boss, as long as I’m here, the rioters are not going to break in. The very moment I leave, all hell will break loose—I know it. I can call a ride for Frances but I’ll stay to watch the store.”

Mr. Hundley would have none of it. “If I lose you Sonny, I lose more than a store. I lose an enterprise. Now get the hell out of there, before I have to come there myself to drag you out. ”

“But Mr. Hundley, the people here told me that as long as I’m here, they will not mess with the store or hurt me or Frances.”

Mr. Hundley’s tone became firm. “Look, Sonny, this is no longer a suggestion. This is a direct order from your superior. It is like downtown Saigon at war, and lives are at stake. You were in the service. You understand what a direct order means.”

The sky was filled with smoke and flames and it seemed like the whole world was on fire. The crowds milling outside the High’s Ice Cream store began increasing, and the guys looked meaner and more malicious. Their patience was beginning to wear thin and they were holding back with difficulty. In glint in their eyes gave Sonny a clear message – go now or face the consequences of staying back.

Reluctantly, Sonny closed shop at 7:30pm. The sound of police and fire sirens filled the air, but at a distance. Sonny walked with Frances to his Chevy, and drove down Wheeler Avenue, avoiding the crowds blocking the streets. The rioters recognized Sonny and let him pass, then started creeping towards the store.

Frances Lewis, Sonny’s assistant at the store was in her early twenties, married with three small kids. She lived with her family in northeast Washington DC, but her marriage had much to be desired. This day, as on others, Sonny dropped Frances off at home in his bright yellow and green 66 Studebaker Speedster.

Afterwards, Sonny arrived safely home by 8:00 pm. Ann was home and exhausted by watching the tragic news. She wanted to go to sleep early because she knew she had to go to work the next day. She was concerned how her patients would be handling the news. Sonny tried to comfort her as best as he could, but he himself felt restless and uneasy.

As he tossed and turned in the darkness, the phone rang. Sonny looked at the time. 9.30. Who could it be? Mr. Hundley? The voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable. It was Louise, one of Sonny’s favorite customers.

Louise was obviously distressed. “Mr. Williams, they done broke into your store. They’re all the way inside and getting their hands into the ice cream and everything else they can reach.”

Sonny was immediately concerned. “Anybody hurt?”

“No. Nobody’s hurt.”

Sonny breathed a sigh of relief. “Well OK. Guess I can’t do nothing about it now.”

Sonny did not say so to Louise, but he was glad he had hidden the money that was in the cash register, and he hoped the rioters would not find it.

Then Sonny calls Hundley. “Hi, boss. Got some good news and bad news.”

Mr. Hundley listened in silence as Sonny briefed him on the situation. Then he said gravely, “Well, I’m sure glad you and Frances got home safe. We’ll swing by tomorrow and assess the damages.”

Sonny felt despondent. All his hard work had gone up in flames. He was back to square one with having to reorganize everything from scratch.

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang again. “Mr. Williams, they done set it on fire.”

Sonny was shocked speechless. He had just stocked up supplies for the week. He had gotten milk and diapers for the little babies and fresh baked bread for the young and old. Now where would the community go to feed their children. He felt helpless, desperately concerned.

Sonny couldn’t sleep that night. He lay awake on his bed. He could hear the sirens blaring, feel the heat scorching. He went outside a couple of times and looked out at the night sky. He could see fire burning and a haze of sulphur and smoke miles away yet seemed so close. He wanted to run, to rescue his store. But he knew it was hope against hope. By now Highs Ice Cream store on the corner of Wheeler and Mississippi was likely burned down to ashes – all his work, all his love, all his livelihood.

At the crack of dawn, Sonny finally got up and got in the car. Didn’t bother to brush his teeth, didn’t bother to shave. He drove like he had a long way to go; he did because minutes ticked like eternity. It was chilly and the atmosphere was somber, the violence had lost its vigor as the wee hours had come and gone. He could see smoke still rising in the distance. When he arrived at Wheeler Road and Mississippi Avenue, the faces of the National Guardsmen showed weariness anddespair. Barricades were set up on the street. Some places with free standing walls resembled the destruction in Normandy – places that Sonny never got to see in the Army. Now he would see it once and for all. Two National Guardsmen in a jeep were blocking traffic and not allowing people up the hill. Sonny told them that he was the store manager and showed them his ID.

“It’s not structurally safe. The building could collapse at anytime,” the guardsman warned. Sonny then showed the Guardsman his military ID card. It was expired but it was good enough to get waved in.

Sonny had to catch his breath. No amount of preparation could have readied him for the sight of utter chaos and destruction. He thought about the thousands of hours he logged driving trucks and how he had wanted to run an ice cream store to spend more time at home. Then Sonny stepped in, eyes wide open --stunned by the extent of destruction. Every single item of grocery was looted, even the cash register was ripped from the counter. The décor was all but completely burned out; even the chill boxes were completely torn apart He had to recover the last deposit he had put away. He remembered he had carried it down to the basement. As he walked down the steps, he noticed that about two or three inches of water had covered the basement floor. He placed a milk crate just below the center beam of the building at the exact location he remembered having hidden the money. Lo and behold, the money, all $500 of it, was still up there, dry and intact, wrapped safely in an Army field jacket.

However, there was no way to open the store. Too much damage and too much unrest to take a chance. Sonny was forced to stay home for about a week.

During the months thereafter, Mr. Hundley had Sonny managing the High’s Ice Cream stores at Walker Place South East and down Central Avenue just east of Addison South East. At each of these places, Sonny helped to get the service smoothened out and the customers pacified and satisfied. Mr. Hundley had assessed Sonny’s skills as a troubleshooter and intended High’s to achieve maximum benefit from them.

One morning Mr. Hundley called him. “Are you familiar with High’s on South Capitol Street?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“OK, meet me tomorrow morning at 0800.”

Sonny and Mr. Hundley together met with the white manager, at the parking lot of the South Capitol Street store.

Mr. Hundley did not beat about the bush. He told the manager, “Mr. Williams will be taking over your store. I am transferring you up town to another store.”

Sonny was really going places. After Monroe North East, Wheeler Road, Walker Place and Central Avenue, now it was South Capitol and Atlantic South East.

The next week, Sonny and Frances started working in the store on South Capitol and Atlantic St SE. The working relationship between Sonny and Frances had thrived through three High’s locations. It was a platonic relationship where Frances looked up to Sonny not just as a boss, but as an older brother. Neither of them realized the gradual change of their relationship from friendship to intimacy. Sonny was the quintessential workaholic. After all, his store was not just his job, it was his life, his everything. And his employees, he treated like family. He was now seeing a lot more of Frances than Ann. The realization exploded one summer night, when Sonny stayed late to stock the shelves. Frances was beside him helping him; after all he was her ride. They were packing the shelves and conversing on a comfortable topic – the children and how they were doing in school. She got close to him handed him the goods as he stacked them neatly one by one on the shelves working from the very top. The next moment, when Sonny came down the steps, Frances suddenly felt dizzy, felt a whirling sensation like a carnival ride. She drew in her breath then closed her eyes. Then she started to fall, fall as if someone was there to catch her. Sonny was there. His arms extended, gently reaching out to touch her. Then he couldn’t resist, started to caress her hair, brush her skin soft like whipped butter. Then he felt the burn, deep from within, the urge to feel, the urge to kiss, the urge to lust. Then he made his move—his lips next to her--first her neck, then her ears, then her eyes soft like shadow, finally her lips, warm and full. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Sonny wanted it all to stop. Images of Ann raced through his mind. Of Ann patiently waiting and staying up for her loved one until he got home. He thought of the fact that he was Frances’ supervisor, that she trusted him like he was her brother. But In that moment of desire, he thrust it all away, thrust it for something new, something fresh, something compassionate. At that moment, all he could think of was this warm, passionate woman in his arms and how much they wanted each other. The next thing he knew, he was tearing off her blouse and kissing her breasts. He swept her down on the floor beside the canned goods, the goods that just a moment before they were stacking away, the goods that meant a lot to the young mother and child, the goods that at this moment stood in the way. As they made love among the cans of food, memories of Ms. K jumping on top of Sonny when he was 19 years old driving the bus to the distance, flashed in his mind. He had waited so many years, now a week seemed like eternity. Then he thought about the affair of Bill Withington down the road on Portland Street. How the women would gossip and how even the men would scorn. How Bill’s wife was so dedicated, watched the kids, cleaned the house, up, down, every nook and cranny. How Bill would be out almost every night on King Street in a different bar, with a different woman each night it seemed. How Bill W. would take his date to the back seat of his 1960 Chevy Bel Air and make love with her all throughout the night. Make her howl through the night as he kissed that lip from the bottom up. How his neighbors would turn the blind and look down in disgust. How he would sneak in through the backdoor with a bottle of Smirnoff in hand. The next Sunday, you would see Bill and Gloria in church. Wouldn’t say a thing to them except “Hi, how are your kids.” Wouldn’t look at the discorn in her face, wouldn’t even care to look anymore. And Sonny felt sad, felt like he needed to say something, do something, hold a hand or lend a ear. But in the end it was none of his business. He always wanted to know how it felt to cheat. He had done it before in the truckstops and motels but in a sense that was different – there was no affection, it was a one-night fling out of town and out of sight.

As the hot summer days flew by, Sonny’s romance with Frances grew stronger., He was distracted by her nearness, and was constantly aroused by his feelings for her. He grasped every opportunity he could, to make love to her. When he went home to Ann in the night, he found her preoccupied with her career and busy caring for the three patients who livedwith them. Even though he was crazily infatuated with Frances, he knew he loved Ann dearly. She was the mother of his kids, it was a completely different kind of love and he felt very little remorse. .

Then during the Christmas holidays, when they were starting to pick up a seasonal rush, Sonny hired another helper named Norma. For Sonny, there were now two desirable women vying for his attention, not one. Eventually, jealousy would make its appearance. One night, after Sonny dropped Norma home from work, Frances became livid as she got out from the back seat. “Bye-bye, you dumb fool! Are you going to screw her like you screwed me earlier today? ” She stomped toward her house in a fury. She did not return to work, and Sonny maintained his pride and did not call her to plead with her to come back.

Since Frances’ abrupt departure, Norma tried to fit into her shoes but failed miserably because of her tardiness. Some time later, Sonny fired her as she proved utterly unsatisfactory.

The Sixties, it seemed, were the years of permissibility and promiscuity, when extramarital love affairs were considered acceptable, and marital fidelity took a back seat. Along with the abandonment of conservatism there was also a departure from what was considered decent in society. The Woodstock Music and Art Fair, with topless women frolicking in the mud and smoking pot, was a historic event held in the rural town of Bethel, New York for four days in 1969 which symbolized the “hippie era” of the 1960s At that time, there was no stigma of STDs or HIV/AIDS. Preceding the era of women’s rights, the concept of sexual harassment was virtually unheard of, and there were more substantial issues such as civil rights to wrangle over, rather than sexual relations with a subordinate or coworker. Even in Congress Heights, stories abound of women’s liberalism and female topless parties.

Meanwhile, life took a different turn for Sonny, when he managed the Seven Eleven store as a franchisee in 1972. At his very last High’s Ice Cream store, one spring day, a well-dressed gentleman in a two-piece suit approached Sonny and asked him if he was interested in being a manager for a Seven Eleven store. The man himself was a manager at another Seven Eleven in NW DC. Sonny took him aside to discuss the proposal and thereafter agreed to go out the next day and check out the location. When Sonny saw the store on Benning Road, and observed in what bad shape it was, he blatantly rejected the offer.

T“Wait a minute,” the gentlemen insisted. “ I have a brand new location opening up on Sheriff Road and Belham Drive. Do you want to take a look?

So, Sonny went along with him and checked out the neighborhood. There appeared to be many truckers going to the Safeway warehouse. Sonny was still not convinced. He wanted some time to ponder over the proposal and also to discuss it with Ann. He drove Ann by there and they checked out the neighborhood once more and he stepped back to allow Ann to decide. She did not take long to make up her mind and the next day Sonny was ready to write a $3,000 check to Seven Eleven to purchase the franchise. Then he informed his decision to Mr. Hundley, Manager for Highs Ice Cream. Mr. Hundley was stunned, to say the least and he begged Sonny to stay. After five years, five stores and a destructive fire. But Sonny seemed firm in his decision to move on. He said that for the past 5 years, he had been overworked and underpaid. Mr. Hundley offered him a raise. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hundley,. it’s way too late,” said Sonny.

But things were by no means hunky dory. Sonny was plunged into a tough, stressful situation from the start. Even for a brand new store, he couldn’t find a decent woman to work the cash register. He wished he still had Frances with him. Not for the romance, although that was good, too. He needed her to run the store. One day, a pretty young woman named Louise Hilton applied for the cashier’s position. She seemed very attractive and Sonny was tempted to hire her. Images of Frances ran through his mind. He was hopeful. Even as this issue sorted itself out, Sonny was bothered by dishonest employees who were stealing from the store. $10 here $20 there. They were also indisciplined workers, with tardy attendance or unexplained absences. In the end, Sonny was compelled to cover for them and this job started wearing him out. He regretted having left his relatively easy job at High’s. He had a good thing going and he had left it for uncertainty. After a year, he felt he could not endure any more. He quit Seven Eleven.

What would he do? Sonny was a good truck driver and he loved that job. He would drive trucks for a living. Sonny had a good job as manager of truck drivers and made about $20,000 per annum which was a decent salary in the late 1960s. Ann had a steady job at St Elizabeths as a dietician. They owned a home and two cars, one of which was a Chrysler. Sonny was living a regular middle-class American life in far southeast DC.

Yet, the riots had utterly devastated DC’s inner city economy, and for years, the commercial district of U Street never fully recovered. Millions of dollars worth of property had been damaged, which included many commercial establishments and homes. With the loss of businesses, thousands of jobs were lost and insurance rates soared.

As Sonny reflected on the history of the area, the situation seemed as poignant as it was arresting.

Washington DC used to be a small, sleepy town until the war. After World War II, a huge influx of day laborers and federal government workers flowed into DC – working class families nearby from Hampton, Virginia and the Carolinas and as far south as Georgia and Alabama and as far north as New York. Families who came looking for a better job, for a better life for better Constitutional privileges.

They settled throughout the city – the middle class mostly in garden-style apartment buildings or if they could afford it, in quaint, brick-front single family homes in the northwest quadrant and the lower income in the tenements and slums of southwest, by the waterfront.

With the District relentlessly trying to rebuild its diminished image in places like Adams-Morgan, the Southwest Waterfront, and other traditional black neighborhoods, the lower income residents became the casualty, and got shoved into the less socially mobile Anacostia.

With the passing of the anti-tenement law in southwest along with the changes in the zoning laws in the far southeast stretches of Congress Heights and Anacostia, this once sleepy town became inexorably divided into two distinct parts; one area housed those who had the means to escape their locality, the other housed those who wished they could. Over the years, the poor oppressed DC residents on one side of the 14th Street corridor do not cross over to the more affluent areas because they tacitly accept this division as a cultural reality.

In the 1920s, Anacostia was rural; it accounted for only 5% of the total city population, yet possessed 40% of the District's vacant land. However, Anacostia's population saw a 56% growth rate from 1920-26. Yet during that time, only four apartment buildings were constructed there, compared to 1,820 detached and row houses. Clearly, Anacostia was a place intended for homeowners.

As Anacostia's population grew by 50%, when the District as a whole experienced a mere 6% population rise due to the movement of blacks into formerly white neighborhoods, and relocation from the more expensive central city to the relatively cheaper and more spacious environs in Anacostia. However, the expansion of the federal government, urban renewal projects elsewhere in the city, and public housing always gave a boost to such movement. At the same time, zoning changes in Anacostia led to the construction of several apartment buildings, subsidized public housing to accommodate displaced low-income families. Among the largest such apartment buildings was the Frederick Douglas Housing on Alabama Avenue with 448 units and Valley Green and Skytown on Wheeler Road with 330 units.

Besides the lower-income Blacks moving to the far southeast, DC was experiencing another type of demographic shift. In 1950, the Washington, DC population had hit 802,000, but in the decades that followed, it declined considerably, the result of an exodus to the suburbs that was typical of older cities in many parts of the country. As the years passed, the area became overwhelmingly black, mostly because the white population sought out new neighborhoods to the north in Montgomery County, Maryland, to the southwest in Arlington and Fairfax counties in Virginia and to the southeast in Charles and Calvert Counties in Southern Maryland – places that typically excluded African Americans.

Most of this population decline was attributed to "white flight" following the desegregation of the city's school system in the wake of 1954's Brown v. Board of Education. Furthermore, coupled with the development of freeways and suburbs, Washington became a predominantly black city, with about 200,000 blacks moving into the city in the 1950s. One freeway, especially, the Suitland Parkway, built on swamp land to provide quick access for foreign dignitaries flying into Andrews Air Force Base into the city. The sad truth is that the freeway, as practical as it was, severely divided the city becoming more segregated and compartmentalized.

Meanwhile the segregation of schools and busing had a huge impact on DC’s demographic shift. Within ten years of the Brown decision, the schools were 90% black; Anacostia's white population plummeted from 82% in 1950 to only 37% white in 1967. On the flip side, where Washington DC had historically been 25% African American, it climbed to 70% black. As the suburbs around the District began to develop and white residents left in droves, many small shops closed and the shop owners followed their customers to the suburbs.

What was more, the hundred thousand or so whites moving out, subtly disrupted the internal power structure of the black community. The low income Blacks were considered the black equivalent of poor white trash. Many of them lived in neighborhoods that struggled in grinding poverty and crime since the late 1960s, when thousands of poor families were relocated to public housing from other parts of the District. This move sent many black and white middle-class families fleeing to the suburbs like northern Virginia and southern Maryland. This was the first suburban migration wave.

Since then, there has been a second suburban migration wave, with African-American families moving out of DC to sleepy suburbs like Prince George's County (PG county). This has led to striking diversity in once overwhelmingly white suburbs. PG County, for instance, 84% white in 1970 to only 29% white today. Currently, 69% of PG County residents are African Americans, and it is one of the few suburban counties that are majority black. It was ironical that, white families, who relocated to the suburbs to get away from the uncongenial atmosphere of living among African Americans, were forced to move again, this time to distant Calvert County. It seemed strange that it should be so, as Calvert County, in 1970, was racially diverse, with 37% of its residents being African-American. However, with the second white flight, Calvert County became markedly less diverse and, today has only 12% blacks in the community. One blatant sign of the transformation is that in the past, Calvert County was a Democratic stronghold, while today, it is solidly Republican.

As these migration waves washed over the demographics of Washington DC, the city population became increasingly black, until the 1980s. Yet, lately, a change can be detected . For instance, in 1980, where the Washington population was 70% African American; today it is down to 59%. The white population has marginally increased to 31%, but the greatest gains have been among other racial and ethnic groups.

An enterprising restaurateur named Wilson opened a soul-food restaurant, the Florida Avenue Grill, an often-crowded restaurant, in 1944, on the corner of Florida Avenue and 11th Street, in Northwest Washington. Eighteen years ago, when Wilosn’s son, Lacey Wilson Jr., began working at the Grill full time, the neighborhood was saturated with well-kept houses and well-fed, happy children. Today, the Grill stands alone in an otherwise vacant lot. In the short time since the District was granted home rule in 1974, Washington went from the promised land to no-man's-land.

"Most of the families who lived here have moved out to Maryland," says Wilson, himself a refugee to "the peace and quiet" of suburban Virginia. Those who stayed in the neighborhood, according to Wilson, are trapped in houses that have lost 30% of their value in the last eight years.

Thus, the story of Anacostia is a story of urban renewal and the expansion of bureaucracy on one side of the river, and the creation of racialized public housing ghettos on the other. The (indirect) role of the federal government in the creation of ghettos elsewhere in the country through loans, the Housing Acts of 1949 and 1954, and subsidies for infrastructure improvements connecting city to suburb has been well documented by Arnold Hirsch, George Lipsitz, Douglas Massey, and Nancy Denton among others. They show that the federal government provided the funds and the necessary legislation for local authorities to create racialized ghettos.

The NCHA and private developers constructed 1,300 units of subsidized public housing in the 1950s and 60s for residents displaced by highway and other development projects in the city and 5,800 families were on the waiting list for public housing in D.C. in 1965. Yet, unfortunately, public facilities did not keep pace with the glut of apartment construction in Anacostia. Inadequate health care facilities in the 1970s forced residents to make arduous trips across the river to the D.C. General Hospital and public health clinics; Anacostia schools in 1970 were filled 83% over capacity; and the Anacostia subway station was among the lowest priority projects during Metro construction during the 1970s. Local residents pleaded with Metro officials to review this decision in light of the lack of work opportunities in Anacostia; fewer direct bus routes to the District, compared with other outlying areas; the topography and street design of Anacostia, which made extensive bus service impractical; and the fact that it would serve 160,000 people. In 1972 the Anacostia Economic Development Corporation challenged Metro's plans to bypass the community entirely and provide direct service to Suitland, Maryland. Although the Anacostia station was retained, it remained one of the last to be built in the initial stages of Metro construction. Rather than renovate buildings like the Congress Park Apartments that comprised 684 apartments in 80 buildings, was built in 1950 and abandoned less than twenty years later, private developers and the National Capital Housing Authority continued to build shabby public housing.

The explosion of apartment construction in Anacostia far exceeded the need for public housing in the 1960s. In 1970, in the Anacostia/Barry's Farm area, one third of the total housing was less than 10-years old garden apartments, which translated into a significant number of foreclosed and abandoned properties. By 1970, the vacancy rate in Anacostia was 4.5%, compared with the District rate of 2.8%. The low income African Americans started moving into Anacostia in droves when the city razed all the tenements and low income housing in Southwest DC and built coops and condos.

Subsequently, the District started housing projects in Anacostia like there was no tomorrow. When the low income people came into the scene, the utility services abruptly stopped. The schools, the trash, the utilities, jobs—they all went downhill and practically disappeared as if the area across the Anacostia River was another country with separate borders and the people spoke an alien language.

Four years later, in 1968, virtually all the shops in Anacostia and many on the other side of the river, were destroyed, during the riots that followed Dr. Martin Luther King’s assassination. Black people were outraged that the city did not close shops in honor of Dr. King, like they did during President Kennedy’s death. Most of these shops were located at Nichols Ave. Ironically, 12 years later, the street was renamed MLK but it took many many years after that for the area to recover both economically and socially. The tragedy is that Dr King had succeeded in life and like Malcolm X was gunned down. Such deaths of high profile public figures are deeply ingrained in the psyches of the black male population. To them, Dr King’s death symbolized the fact that no man in Anacostia was safe.

In this situation, Sonny and Anne were pioneers in seeking out a life in Anacostia. In the early 1960s, middle income blacks started moving into the area. They, like Sonny and Anne, were in search of the American dream. Buy their own home, raise kids, work for a steady, secure government job and retire by age 50. Sonny had already worked for the government as a member of the 3rd Armored Calvary in the U.S. Army, and now, he was an entrepreneur. He had survived a riot and taken a hit with the loss of his Seven Eleven. But Sonny would recover. But by 1990, he retired and wanted to stay home with Anne. By that time, the kids were in high school. John the eldest son was living in North Carolina with his own family.

Meantime, 1990 was the heyday for crime in Anacostia. The area turned so rough that even the police were hesitant to make their rounds. Not even the safe confines of a squad car was a sanctuary from all the madness. No one in their right minds ventured outside after dark. Sonny witnessed firsthand the social horror that was so entrenched in inner-city Anacostia.

The community was known as the murder capital of the world. Night after night, the news media in DC painted ugly pictures of a homicide-ridden city caught in the desperate clutches of depression, death and decay. From the Freeway Phantom murders.

First there was heroin. Heroin was organized crime and it was the big boys. But they didn’t deal with the woman or child.

Chapter 23 Sonny and the Ladies

2009-12-31T07:35:00.000-08:00

One night, Sonny was transporting fresh produce from Miami to New York, with his co-driver, Dave Jewel. It had been a busy day on the highway, with traffic crawling at a snail’s pace. Finally, after eight hours of non-stop driving, exhausted and hungry as the sea, they stopped in Brunswick, Georgia, to get dinner. Even though they had a little more ground to cover before calling it a day and spending the night at a wayside truck stop. Sonny’s instincts warned him to be alert and to be careful. In this part of the country, the Jim Crow laws were the way of life. These laws were state and local laws implemented in the US south and Border States during 1876 and 1965. Legally, black Americans were supposed to receive “separate but equal” status, but in reality, this got translated to discrimination and much less-than-equal treatment to blacks. These laws required that public schools, public places and public transportation have separate facilities for whites and blacks. It seemed so unjust and unreasonable. Yet, Sonny did not let these restrictions affect him or hamper his attitude to life. Being a peace-loving man, he often went out of his way to avoid conflict. There were, for instance, several times that he stopped to eat in the Deep South. Sonny’s first task, when reaching a small town, was to inquire where the colored people ate. When there were no eateries for blacks, Sonny was forced to step into “Whites Only” eating places. He recalls humiliating experiences trying to buy food at “Whites Only” restaurants, when those were the only ones in existence in the area

Late one afternoon, driving through Georgia, Sonny came to a small town. He had not eaten since a late night snack in Richmond, Virginia, so his hunger was intense as a sub-saharan drought. Sonny first searched for restaurants that served colored people, but to no avail. He had little choice. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but the hunger pangs were so overwhelming, that he had lost his sense of reasoning. He drove right into a parking lot filled with Buick Le Sabres and Chevrolet Belairs. But this didn’t intimidate him. He hopped out of the cab and walked right in, completely ignoring the sign that read “Whites Only. No Colored Allowed”.

As Sonny tried to step inside, he was firmly pushed aside.

“Can you read nigga boy?”

Sonny stared face to face at a man with eyes that looked like death warmed over. Hadn’t seen that look since the state trooper pulled him over in Warner Robbins or his drill sergeant at Fort Meade, so mean the Boots would call him “Killer”.

The man grabbed Sonny by his collar and started to yank him out.

“Let him go, “ yelled a man from behind the counter. “We’ll feed him

Sonny turned to see an unassuming Black man wearing a black cap, white shirt and dark tie. “Man’s hungry. Can’t you tell. Have him go outside and come in through the back door. We’ve got some ham and turkey leftovers from lunch yesterday. We’ve done made enough turkey chowder for tonight’s special. No sense throwing good food away.”

Sonny walked out and around towards the kitchen entrance at the back. He walked into the dimly-lit kitchen and stood there, unsure of what to do. Remnants of food, food shavings and other debris could be seen on the dirty tables and the unswept floor. The stale odors were fast dampening his desire for food. Sonny stood aside waiting, while the waitress rushed in and out of the kitchen, serving the white customers in the front dining area. Finally, after about 20 minutes, she came back to the kitchen, looked at Sonny and asked, “So, you want food? There is some turkey pie over yonder.” Sonny looked at the messed up congealed food with distaste. The waitress observed his expression with indifference. “Up to you. Take it or leave it.” The blatant discrimination stung badly, but Sonny was determined not to be provoked. He bought the food and walked out in silence. Yet, whenever Sonny drove south, he was on the lookout for eating houses for blacks. He would rather drive an extra hour than to spend two dealing with frustration and humiliation.

The next day, Sonny was once more at the wheel, and famished from hours upon hours of trucking. Coming to a halt in Macon at the first traffic light, Sonny could see out of the corner of his eye, an elderly black man limping along going somewhere but nowhere fast.

The black man held a cane and on the other dragged a bag of groceries.

Sonny rolled down his window. “Good afternoon sir. Need a lift?”

The man smiled and shook his head slightly. “I certainly would but your rig is too big to take me home. I’ll just find a bench and take the load off for a minute or two before I continue on. I’ll be OK son. Now go on and leave an old man alone.”

“You sure, pops”? I might be driving an 18-wheeler, but I know how to squeeze this rig into some of the tightest spots this side of the Mississippi. By the way, we’ve been driving day and night, and we havent’ stopped for food. Where in God's Country can we please find a warm, creamy bowl of soup and some pieces of bread to chew on?"

The man smiled brightly. He knew exactly what Sonny was talking about. Knew it so well that it brought him tears to his eyes. “The colored folks’ section is on the other side of town, a few miles down the road,” he said as he lifted his cane and pointed in that direction.

“Well hop onboard sir. We’re heading into town cuz that’s the only place a man of color can get a home cooked meal without slipping through the back kitchen door of some greasy spoon. So we might as well take you home so we can at least eat like we’re close to home.”

”Alright, if you insist,” the old man replied.

Jewel jumped out to lend him a hand and Sonny grabbed the bag of groceries. “Man, you’ve got enough food in here to feed a football team for a whole week.”

Soon, Sonny had steered his rig through all those narrow streets and arrived on the other side of town. The man asked to be dropped off a block away from his house, but Sonny insisted on taking him directly home. So Sonny parked the rig a block away and walked the elderly man to his front door. He rang the bell and waited patiently. Within a minute, a middle aged woman gave Sonny a suspicious look but then immediately was glad to see her father.

“There you are, sir. Thanks for the directions. Take care of that knee you hear,” Sonny waved goodbye and walked away. He had not felt this good since he helped out the two elderly ladies on a icy winter day finding a way to bring them fuel oil when their boiler had run dry and everyone else had given up.

Sonny drove his rig further outside of the main thoroughfare because he didn’t want to obstruct traffic. He found a shady spot to park a few blocks away and both men strode casually across the field to the restaurant tucked cozily away amongst humble homefronts and oak trees. As soon as, Sonny and Jewel walked in, they were pleasantly surprised by the elegant décor and the warm atmosphere. There were a few people sipping coffee, reading the local weekly and swapping stories about their community. The setting reminded Sonny of a diner he would visit in Laurel, MD., when he was stationed in Fort Meade. It looked almost identical except this time there were no men in uniform, not even a police officer or a postman.

Sonny took the first table closest to the window that afforded him a view of his truck. As he sat down, his attention was immediately diverted by a different view. It had been such a long time since he had seen someone so young, so fresh so beautiful.

It may have been the color of her skin – chocolate hue with a flush of brown. Her bright round eyes, her long flowing hair, her voluptuous breast. All of a sudden, Sonny felt on top of the world. Felt young again – like he was still training boots for the 82nd, like he was still was boxing Curtis Rowe for the boxing championship in Panama.

“Good afternoon gentlemen. Welcome to Joe’s Diner. My name is Daisy. Can I get you something to drink, perhaps a pitcher of ice cold water or some sweet tea, sun tea or lemonade?”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Sonny and this is my friend Jewel. We have been on the road for practically the whole week, running up and down the Eastern Seaboard like we're some lawless bandits, and I swear, I haven’t laid eyes on anyone or anything as sweet and luscious as you.”

The young woman blushed. “Why thank you,” she said, trying her best to keep a straight face. “Tea, water or lemonade today. It’s fresh and homemade.”

”Sonny was mesmerized by Daisy’s bright smile and her full lips that unveiled a wide row of almost flawless white teeth.

“Wow, doesn’t get much better than that. Tea sweetheart with an extra dash of sugar please.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she felt the look – Deep and sincere penetrating deep into a place thin and clear, a place that no one had aroused since her father died, since her sister got married, since her boyfriend left for a better life in New York City, promised to write but never did.

“You’re mighty flattering, but you might be saying that to every female you come across, at every diner, every truck stop from Boston to Miami. ” Her voice shifted a serious tone as she handed over the menus. Take your time with these Hon. Know you’re hungry so we want to feed you real good.”

“What do you recommend?” Sonny asked.

“The fried catfish is on special and extra crispy. The pork ribs are extra juicy. Can I recommend a side of fried okra or collard greens?”

Sonny shook his head. “The specials look great. But I’ve got an appetite for steak and eggs and perhaps a hearty serving of grits,” Sonny sounded wistful and his eyes glowed softly at her.

Daisy shook her head vigorously. “You’ve been on the road too long, must have lost track of time. Don’t you know it’s dinner time now sweetie.”

“Ain’t no matter. Breakfast goes down good anytime of the day or night, especially when you’ve been driving through the entire night. It’s whatever the stomach says it wants, and right now I know exactly what it’s telling me,”

“I’ll second that. We’ve been eating steak and eggs during the wee hours of the morning, so I could definitely go for something hearty but not too heavy,” Jewel said.

“Well I normally wouldn’t do this for just anybody. But my trucker customers from out of town--now that is different. I’ll talk to the chef and see what we can do back there to special order your dinners exactly the way you like it.”

“Much obliged, sweet Daisy. You’re definitely making this trip to Joe’s Diner ‘s in Macon, Georgia worthwhile.”

The order took a while to prepare. The ice from the cold glass of tea started to melt, the glass sweating at the touch. Almost half an hour later, Daisy finally appeared with the food. Walking right behind her was another young waitress.. Daisy placed the dishes on the table and extended her hand in the direction of her friend. “Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my sidekick an best friend, Jeannette. We went to high school together and we both live just a couple doors away, not too far from this diner, in fact.”

Sonny rose from his seat, extending his hand. “Very nice to meet you . You’re just as pretty and sweet as your friend. I’m Sonny and this is my co-pilot, Jewel.”

Lynette put the dishes down and gave her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, too. When you guys wanted to order breakfast at dinner time, this caught us completely by surprise. But we’re here to please. We had to chase down a few chickens, shake loose a couple eggs, and skin a few potatoes, but in the end, we were able to manage. Then Daisy called me and said that she sure could use a hand. So here I am gentlemen – Lynette Brown at your service.

Sonny appeared mesmerized by the collective charm of the two females. “Well we’re really glad you’re here Lynette, you sure have one the prettiest hands this side of the Mason Dixon line.”

Lynette blushed. “How kind of you Mr. Sonny.” She carried on conversationally as she served them, “So I really admire your rig. I heard the loud roar of the big rig coming down the road earlier today and looked out the window and saw you and Jewel driving into town like you was the 3^rd Calvary or something.”

Sonny chuckled. “Absolutely. I’m glad you got a chance to steal a glimpse. This eighteen wheeler of mine is as strong as Pittsburgh steel and as tough as New York City.. She’s been up and down the Eastern Seaboard all the way north to Pershal, Maine, where it gets below freezing by Halloween and down the coast through DC and all the way south to the tippy end of Key West – God’s Country. ”

Lynette stared in fascination. “Wow, I bet your rig is real powerful.”

“Yes her big engines do rumble and she can definitely coast as smooth as a V-8 on melted butter.”

“Would sure love to see her sometime,” Daisy added.

Sonny pounced at the opportunity. “Well what time do you girls get off?”

Daisy replied with an equally innocent expression on her face. “Well, Mondays are usually pretty slow, so we might be closing up shortly after you guys hit the road.”

Sonny pounded his fist on the flimsy table, the salt and pepper shakers spilled over. “Well what could be easier than that Ladies? , After dinner, we’ll treat ourselves to some of your homemade pecan pie. We’ll stick around while you girls clean up and finish up. ”

“What did you have in mind?” Daisy asked.

“Jewel and I can give you a personal tour and a ride of your lives on my 18-wheeler,” Sonny replied.

Daisy suddenly looked uncertain. “Weeell........ I really don’t know. I mean, we really don’t know you. Most truck drivers we know are kind of gross and mean.”

“What do you mean?” Jewel asked indignantly.

“I’ve seen truck drivers pick their nose on the table then lick their fingers afterwards like they were eating fried chicken,” Daisy shuddered. “We got the impression that you are all like that – Slimebags.”

“Nah, we’re not like the rest of them truckers. Jewel and I, we’re decent human beings.”

“Most of the time them truckers talk trash and say something like this, ‘Hey, if I was 20 years younger, I would take you home with me and make you feel so good that you’ll never go back.’”

A crack of laughter. Then Sonny added on a serious note, “Well, I ain’t that old, but I am not trying to be fresh, either. We sure am proud of our truck and we want you to see it for yourself, if you know what I mean.”

Sonny settled the bill and left the girls a copious tip.

As Daisy and Lynette cleared the table, their excitement was barely concealed. “Wow, we can’t wait. Let’s clean up, so we can go.”

Not long afterwards, the four of them hopped aboard Sonny’s rig. He proudly showed the girls the four spoke wood and leather steering wheel, the horn chain, the CB radio and all the instruments and gauges on the dashboard, enjoying the rapt expressions on their faces. He let Daisy step on the clutch and the brake. He allowed Lynette to turn the steering wheel. She loved the feel of the leather against her palm.

“I could be a trucker,” Daisy said.

“You would be a mighty fine trucker, Daisy. But even the best truckers need directions every now and then, so you’ll have to learn how to operate the CB radio.

Sonny flipped on channel 19, the Truckers Channel. “Ok, Daisy, I want you to come on and say ‘Breaker, breaker’,” Sonny said. “Always listen to what the other party has to say and always be polite when on the air.”

Daisy hesitated for a moment then picked up the receiver. “Breaker, Breaker.”

There was a long pause. Suddenly some random static.

“Breaker, breaker, what’s your handle?” the radio crackled.

“Your name,” Sonny whispered to her ear. “Tell him your name. Say your name is Silver Britches. Ask him if there’s any Smokies around.”

“This is Silver Britches. Umm, any Smokies in the area?” A shout of laughter from the back. Daily managed her best to keep a straight face but let it all go as soon as she released the mike.

“Daisy, this is Benny. There’s a Smokey Bear five miles south on Macon Highway. exit 10. Be careful, he’s catching all the speedsters as they enter their homestretch.”

”Ten four, Thank you Benny. checking out now.”

“Wow, that sure was exciting. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“You’re sure welcome. You’re a natural at this Daisy.”

“And this trucker gave you some valuable information that would be critical if you were hauling a load,” Jewel said.

“Yes, maybe one day. If I ever get out of here, serving customers and making tea,” Daisy replied.

Daisy and Lynette exchanged glances. “What ‘s next? Perhaps we can all go to my place for some drinks,” Daisy offered.

Sonny was relieved. “Sounds like a fantastic idea,” he replied, turning to Jewel, who nodded in agreement, showing absolute excitement and pleasure.

Sonny drove to Daisy’s house as she directed him. He parked the rig a couple blocks away and pulled in slowly his engines on idle. They walked quietly at first, almost on tip-toes, but then began to giggle with a burst of laughter here and there. The neighbors looked through windows, heard the gentle roar of the truck, the couples holding hands. Thought they were whispering but now everyone knew. Even Uncle Jack ,as he looked out from his back bedroom window.

As soon as they entered the house, everyone plopped down cozily in a couch in a darkened room laughing their hearts out.

“So this is quite a lovely place. We are really fortunate that you invited us here,” Sonny said as he looked around the living room, admiring the array of beautiful landscapes in watercolor paintings and other décor adding color on the wall.

“Yes, it’s because of Uncle Jack,” Daisy replied.

“What you mean?”

“We saw you two drive Uncle Jack into town and acted like such a gentleman that you even walked him all the way home.

“Yeah, Uncle Jack is not just family, he’s the local war hero. He served his country as an infantryman in Germany during World War I. So our hope is to return the favor and Sonny since you served in the Army, you know what I’m talking about.”

Sonny smiled and looked into her eyes. War hero during the First world war – what a significant accomplishment. Sonny had served but he had never gone overseas; the only one trip outside the US was to Puerto Rico for the boxing championship.

Lynette opened up a bottle of Whiskey and within minutes the pungent aroma of Jack Daniels permeated the air. They drank hard, swilled down the entire contents of the bottle as if it was raspberry juice.

It tasted great. It had been a long time since he drank this hard. And now with the company of two beautiful woman and a night of rest and not having to drive all night or having to sleep in the back of the truck—nothing could be better.

Then the lights went out.

It didn’t take long for Sonny to find Daisy’s hand on his lap. Didn’t take long before Sonny felt the soothing touch of Daisy’s full, warm lips all over his rough, unshaven face. Her fingers brushed like butterfly wings over his face Then is lips touched her hair, so warm and unruly to his shoulders. Her sweet fragance invaded his heart and smelled like fresh flowers, light as a spring rain.

It became awfully quiet and seemed almost an infinity. Sonny turned around and noticed they were now alone. From upstairs, suddenly a rhythmic back and forth sound of bedsprings creaking, headboard banging.

Daisy ran upstairs. She pushed open the door to her bedroom and was aghast at the sight of two naked bodies wrapped tightly into one, not even pausing to see who had come in, not even caring for that matter.

“That’s not fair,” Daisy fumed. “This is my house. My bed. My mattress. Now get out!”

“Never mind, we can make do with the sofa downstairs,” Sonny insisted.

Suddenly, Daisy rushed towards the bed, almost tripping on a pair of shoes that was lying on the floor and started pushing hard against the two bodies until they were completely off the mattress. A loud thunk on the floor.

“Give me a hand!” she yelled as she pulled the mattress off the bed. “Stop it!” Lynette whimpered. Then almost immediately they continued without missing a beat, but this time on the wooden floor and a comforter that Daisy was kind enough to leave behind. Sonny couldn’t help but smile to see the petite girl floundering as she struggled with the mattress down the stairs,,and in no time, they had a makeshift bed in the living room. Sonny’s passion for the woman overwhelmed him. Earlier, he had felt exhausted to the bones. Now his weariness was replaced by heightened sexual desire. He felt a twinge of guilt as he thought of Anne waiting patiently for him at home. But for tonight he would erase her from his mind, wipe her from his subconscious. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that he spent a lot of time on the road and was lonely. He was being dishonest, but it was part of doing business. The job brought good money, fed he kids and he liked working for Phillip. That was enough for now. There was no more explaining or rationalizing.

However, disillusionment came soon enough for Sonny.

Chapt 22 Sonny Meets Jim Crow

2009-12-30T23:33:00.000-08:00

Oklahoma City, OK, 1939

Sonny’s days at Exxon were coming to an end, and he knew that if he didn’t act soon enough, his bills would continue to stack up with red ink written all over them. Normally, he would walk right by the bulletin boards outside the locker room at work, on the way to the breakroom, or on the way for his daily run. But not today. He had a fairly light schedule ahead, and a flyer on the wall caught his eye. “Driver Needed” it read in bold, obstrusive letters. “Work for Owner Operator” it continued. “Work Immediately”. Sonny’s eyes lit up.

Though this was new and risky business, it appealed to his entrepreneurial spirit, his love of taking risks. It sounded fun and exciting and reminded him of the time, he drove street cars up and down the streets of Baltimore, seeing new faces and making friends along the way.

Sonny intuitively felt this was a good opportunity to test his capabilities. In addition, he was rather disillusioned with the lack of appreciation for hardworking employees in large businesses. He would take a dive an agree to drive the rig for the owner, deliver large loads in short periods and receive a sizeable percentage of the revenue. Perhaps, one day, he would have his own rig, Sonny thought dreamily. Then he could spend more time at home helping Anne watch the house and take care of the kids and the St E’s patients that were like family.

A week later, Sonny began working for Phillip, a black entrepreneur. Sonny found him an affable person and immediately trusted him with his family’s name. Sonny’s job took him from the sunny Keys to the beautiful Maine coastlines and back to Washington DC. He enjoyed traveling, which stimulated his sense of adventure and heightened his awareness of the atmosphere and culture of new places. He worked with a sense of dedication and drove many hours all through the night.His religious economizing paid off with the receipt of a handsome turnover which he presented to Phillip over the few months he worked for him. Sonny was smoking. He made a profit of at least 15 cents per mile. Sonny also benefited through higher remuneration that made a significant difference towardspaying off his mortgage. The biggest drawback of the job, however, was the strain it placed on his marriage, for Sonny and Anne were compelled to spend many days and many more nights away from each other. While Anne toiled hard taking care of the St E’s patients single-handedly,

Sonny logged long hours on the road -- it all started to take a toll on their relationship, on their marriage, on their well being.
Wherever he drove, Sonny heard rile and revolting stories of runaway discrimination all over the Deep South, and and towards the northern edges of Richmond, VA. Sonny hoped that there would never be a day when he would himself become a victim of harsh racial discrimination that was not prevalent in the Army.

He saw too much separation at dining establishments, washrooms, public transportation; there were even separate water coolers.

Sonny could not believe such discrimination was mandated by the state governments.

From Wikipedia: "Jim Crow Laws"

The Jim Crow laws were state and local laws in the United States enacted between 1876 and 1965. They mandated de jure racial segregation in all public facilities, with a supposedly "separate but equal" status forblack Americans. In reality, this led to treatment and accommodations that were usually inferior to those provided for white Americans, systematizing a number of economic, educational and social disadvantages.

Some examples of Jim Crow laws are the segregation of public schools, public places and public transportation, and the segregation of restrooms and restaurants for whites and blacks. The U.S. military was also segregated. These Jim Crow Laws were separate from the 1800-66 Black Codes, which had also restricted the civil rights and civil liberties of African Americans. State-sponsored school segregation was declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court of the United States in 1954 in Brown v. Board of Education. Generally, the remaining Jim Crow laws were overruled by the Civil Rights Act of 1964^[1] and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

It had been a grueling day of hard work. Sonny had just hauled a truckload of furniture and Serta mattresses at a local warehouse, and he was more than ready to finally sleep soundly under his own comforter next to the woman he loved.

With no load to carry he was planning to drive straight home to be back in DC by sunset. Sonny had just left town and was cruising easily on the highway, when he saw in the rear view mirror, a state trooper advancing on him, sirens blasting as if the Governor was in town.

That’s weird, Sonny thought. He quickly glanced at the dashboard. Cruising at a comfortable 45 mph, he was well within speed limits. The trooper couldn’t be stopping him. Nothing seemed to be happening on the road either -- everything seemed in order. He pulled over to let the trooper pass him. Incredibly, the trooper pulled right behind him and when he got out of his cruiser, Sonny could see from his rear view mirror, a tall, lanky man wearing a wide-brimmed hat hanging low just over his eyebrows. Sonny rolled down the window.

“Good Morning sir. What seems to be the problem, officer?”

“You were speeding—going 60 in a 45 mph zone.”

“I’m afraid, this is a huge mistake. Don’t think I was going any faster than 40 since I left Warner Robbins.”

The officer gazed hard at Sonny. His eyes strained upwards under his thick eyebrows. “Get out,” he shouted. His eyes all of a sudden turned dark and sinister.

Sonny stepped out and gently closed the door behind him.

“What are you carrying in here,” the officer asked. “Anything I should know?”

”Nothing officer. I just offloaded my entire load—all the furniture I carried down from upstate New York and now I’m heading back home to DC to spend some quality time with family.”

The officer’s expression was one of utter disbelief. “By the way, you were speeding, I could tell you were definitely on the way home. Has it been that long since you’ve had a piece of ass? But let me see for myself whether or not you’re going home with a full load of whatever you’re carrying or whether you’re going home empty handed.”

Sonny was surprised at this turn of events, but he remained unperturbed. He opened the back of the rig and allowed the officer inside, showing him an empty rig that only had piles and piles of furniture pads and skins, straps and a bucket full of tie downs.

The officer surveyed the scene. He went over to the piles of pads, kicked them hard and said brazenly, “I believe I could use some of these.” He then grabbed the best-looking pads, opened the trunk of his cruiser and shoved them all in.

What next, Sonny thought. Did the officer see all he needed to see. Would he be allowed to go? He waited patiently as the officer seemed to contemplate the next step.

He then beckoned Sonny and pointed to the back seat of his cruiser. “Get in,” he shouted.

Oh, Lawd, what is this now, Sonny thought. This doesn’t look good at all. He wasn’t under arrest, yet he would be under the custody of a police officer who was at racist as it gets. What was the offense? Did he even dare to ask?

Sonny got in and wondered what would happen next. As he sat down, gruesome scenes raced through his mind. Particularly, the memory of Medgar Evers, an African American civil rights activist, gunned down just outside his Mississippi home.

Or the images of the three civil rights workers who journeyed to Mississippi to investigate the murder but became tragic victims instead.

Photography of Medgar Evers' funeral (1963)

He wouldn’t hurt me. There are too many truckers out on the road today. Besides, it’s broad daylight. Sonny was too engrossed with fear that it took him a while to notice what was lying next to him -- a mint Remington 12-gauge shotgun, semi-automatic with a gold trigger.

He had handled one of these before, in the Army at the shooting range. His good friend in the infantry had his own personal gun and would show Sonny how to take it apart and clean it like it was his own pride and joy. A primitive and instinctual part of him wanted to pick it up and feel the cold steel on his hand. Wanted to look inside the bore and see how clean it was. But then reality set in. He was no longer in Ft. Bragg with the 82^nd Airborne.

View Larger MapHe was just outside Warner Robbins, Georgia, in the custody of a Smoky Bear who would enjoy nothing more than to put him behind bars.

He thought about his boss, Phillip, who was relying on him to bring back the workhorse that meant more to him than a roof over his head. Of Anne and his newborn kids who relied on his income to put food on the table and to pay the utilities and the house payments. He couldn’t do any of these inside a cold, musty, Georgia prison cell. Or worse, shot and dead and lying on the side of a backwoods road while buzzards circled above and cars ocassionally zipped by like you were dead possum roadkill or something.

A cold fear swept through him as he stared speechlessly at the officer as he wrote the ticket, taking his time as if there were no other traffic on the road and Sonny was his one prized kill. As the minutes ticked on, Sonny became more and more apprehensive. Wondered if he would ever see Anne again. Finally, the officer lifted his head and gave Sonny an icy stare.

“What’s a nigger boy like you driving such a fast rig like this. It sure is fast, but is it hot as in hot wheel, hot?”

Sonny looked aghast. This couldn’t be happening to him. “No way officer, the rig belongs to my associate, Phillip Johnson. I’ve got the Title and all the requisite paperwork inside my glove compartment. Would you like to see for yourself?”

The officer stared at Sonny incredulously. “Well, my, we’ve got here a smart ass niggar who also knows how to read. Don’t show me no dumbass title. You best instead listen closely and read what I’m about to hand you – that is if you value your life.”

Sonny looked long and hard at the piece of paper in front of his eyes. $25 was the only figure that popped up, the only thing that caught his attention.

“But, you know what? Since you’re going back to DC, there’s no sense in me issuing this ticket today. Why don’t you just give me $50 cash right now and I’ll rip up this ticket to little bitty pieces. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll even mix it with my fresh Virginia tobacco and smoke it in my pipe. That way you don’t have to come back to God’s country just to show up for court. And you’ll be guaranteed not to spend a night in jail.”

Sonny sighed. “I’ll see how much I got.” He had fifty dollars! That was nearly all the money he had to his name.

Sonny reached for his wallet, counted up his money. Two fives, a ten and 10 singles -- “$25 is all I got to offer. Plus, I need a little money to top off the fuel tank and perhaps a cup of coffee and a sandwich.”

The officer looked at Sonny with indifference and suddenly noticed his bright, shiny watch. “Let me see that,” he yelled.

Sonny took off his watch and handed it reluctantly to the officer.

“Nice watch, I see it’s a Benrus, gold, waterproof.”

“Well it does tell time,” Sonny replied. “It’s 17 jewels and it’s taken me to over a dozen states and back without ever missing a beat. “

“I tell you what. Why don’t I keep this watch. I see it means a lot to you. When you get back to DC, send me the money and I’ll return the watch. That a deal?”

“But officer, this is my vintage Benrus,” Sonny pleaded. “It is a special gift from my mother when I joined the Army. It’s reliable and trustworthy and took me to muster on time throughout my tours at Ft Meade and Ft Bragg. Anything but my Benrus, officer, please.”

Did you serve in Korea?”

“No sir. I wanted to go, but I stayed home and trained others to go instead. I joined in 48, straight out of high school and got out in 53, after Truman gave everyone another year of service.”

“Well, I tell you what. I’ve never been nice to a nigger, but I do have respect for any man who serves our country and is willing to put his life on line for what this country stands for.”

The officer rubbed the face of the watch then rubbed his chin methodically. He silently admired the beautifully etched dial, the gold face with antique finish and the dark leather band.

“Alright Mister. You served my country. You paid your dues. You go home. But don’t let me ever catch you in this neck of the woods again unless you want to become a permanent resident of the jail house or you’re coming back to pay your dues.”

“Thank you very much sir. You've been extremely kind and gracious. God Bless You and your family! From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely appreciate you letting me go and also keep my prized watch.”

Sonny swore never to visit Warner Robbins again, even if he had to drive an extra 100 miles to return home. In the end, the officer appealed to patriotism and turned nominally sympathetic. But it was a close call and any option including going to locked up or getting shot up were distinct and real possibilities -- terrifying enough for Sonny to never ever come back.

References

Oklahoma City, OK, 1939, Courtesy of Wikipedia, Photograph by Russell Lee,

Chapter 19 Love Is in the Air and Inside the Newlywed House

2009-07-10T19:32:00.000-07:00

Love floated wistfully in the air and remained there like an anonymous lyric, hopeful and mysterious.

Four years of passionate courtship whirled by, carrying Anne and Sonny to dizzying heights of ecstasy and then plunging them dramatically to disappointment and despair.

When making up after a tiff, Sonny would kiss Anne tenderly and murmur,

“The course of true love never did run smooth.”

“Don’t bring Shakespeare into this,” Anne would retort.

“Shakespeare said that?” Sonny would respond innocently.

Anne would ruffle his hair and hold him close, whispering, “Yes, dear, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

So the days and months fled past, merging into years. In the third year of courtship, Anne, now free from her earlier marriage, wanted to settle down and start a family. Anne and Sonny began to make serious plans for marriage in 1962. There was no question of where they would marry– it would be at the picturesque, glamorously red-bricked Central Methodist Protestant Church built in 1902 at the corner of Rhode Island Avenue and 1^st Street in Washington DC. Anne and Sonny loved this church that had a rich and eventful history. It is now renamed Mt. Bethel Baptist Church.

Anne decided she would like to be a June bride and Sonny readily fell in with her wishes. There would not be any fuss or frills, they decided. What mattered was that they got married. Anne got herself a demure-looking, long ivory silk dress cut in the Chinese style that Sonny loved to see her wear. Her short hair was gracefully styled and adorned with a tiara that held in place a short sequined white veil. She held in her hand a simple mixed bouquet of pastel-shaded blooms.

The preacher’s chambers were decorated for the occasion with bowls of red roses and purple orchids. Sonny was already there when Anne entered like a vision, as Sonny recalled. It was an overwhelmingly emotional moment for the two people who gazed into each other’s eyes, immersing themselves in the love and tenderness therein. As they stood before the priest and declared their marriage vows, Anne’s voice was soft and tremulous while Sonny’s was firm and tender.

“I, Sonny,

Take you, Anne,

To be my lawful wedded wife,

To have and to hold,

From this day forward,

For better, for worse,

For richer, for poorer,

In sickness and in health,

To love and to cherish,

'Till death do us part.”

As Sonny repeated those precious phrases after the priest, he felt his whole being uplifted with an overwhelming love for Anne. When he tenderly placed the band of gold on her finger, an unshed teardrop sparkled in her eye like the sparkle of diamond. Tears of joy for love fulfilled. When the priest said, “You may kiss the bride,” with trembling fingers, Sonny lifted the veil from her face and kissed her lips with passion mixed with deep tenderness. A promise of love was never to be broken.

View Larger Map

(Church where Sonny and Anne got married).

A tape of an orchestra rendition of the Wedding March filled the air as Anne took Sonny’s arm.

“I’m so happy, baby,” whispered Anne, tears gleaming in her eyes.

“So am I, my angel,” whispered Sonny as they came out of the church into the blue skies and sunshine of an early summer day.

They paused for a moment, allowing a staff member of the church to take a photograph of them. A moment of joy was frozen in time. Later, they would arrange their meager collection of wedding photographs in a small album. Once the few visitors at the church wished them joy, Sonny and Anne made their way in bridal attire and all to the popular but tiny Chinese restaurant on Florida and New Jersey Avenue, which had two tables for customers. When the staff saw the newly wed couple walk in, they were in a tizzy, trying to get ready for a wedding meal. The customers in there all clapped and moments later, bouquets of flowers appeared here and there and the tables were laid with some special china. Anne and Sonny were deeply touched by this spontaneous response of the people. The restaurant refused to accept money for the special Chinese lunch they served. What a memorable close to a memorable morning!

The wedding night was spent at Sonny’s home. Said Sonny, “I never heard of vacations.” So, the marriage started without a honeymoon. But Anne did not mind. She was happy and content just being with Sonny.

The first four years of their marriage was spent in a rented house down Queen’s Chapel Road in Maryland. It was a quiet life in a quiet black neighborhood. Anne enjoyed the walks in the Sligo Creek Park, by the free-flowing tributary of the Northwest Branch of the Anacostia River that bordered Queen’s Chapel Road.

View Larger Map

Sonny and Anne forged a strong relationship in marriage and blissfully shut out the rest of the world in each other’s arms. However, Sonny’s job was gradually becoming a burden, not just a necessity. Driving for Central Fuel was not financially rewarding to the newlyweds, especially as they planned to become homeowners now that blacks were allowed to buy houses. Sonny often worked overtime but never received extra compensation. He believed in doing a good job but week after week when his efforts went unappreciated, unrewarded, his attitude toward his job began to change subtly. Also, his trips to Baltimore often saw him return home well past midnight. He missed enjoying time with his wife, walking with her, sharing the day’s news, indulging her with the romantic cherishing of a new husband. The reality was, he would come into a sleeping household and fall into bed beside Anne who was generally too sleepy even to open her eyes. He increasingly felt a sense of being devalued and continued to focus on the elusive dream of owning a house -- his heart throbbed. His mind wouldn't let go. He was fired with the passion of being the master of his own home where he could feel in charge and secure.

Sonny wanted to move way out to Charles County, Maryland, long before the phenomenon of the “White Flight” took place in the borderline suburban communities. With his innate love of the outdoors and open farm country, he wanted to live amongst trees and glades, enjoying long walks, breathing in the fresh air, listening to melodious birdsong amidst peaceful country settings.

Anne, on the other hand, was a city girl and despised snakes, had no particular love for scenic beauty or trees, and insisted on living where she could walk to shops, to boutiques and to work. At this time she was working long hours as a dietician at St. Elizabeths and often returned home late in the evenings. Moreover, she felt a sense of security and wellbeing living in the city that country life would never give her. As she pointed out it to Sonny, the District of Columbia was kinder to blacks than Virginia or Maryland. Sonny and Anne had also toyed with the option of renting rooms to patients at the Hospital for extra income but they would have to live nearby to facilitate this.

Sonny began looking around for any house going in Anacostia in the neighborhood of St Elizabeths Hospital. St Elizabeths, affectionately known as “St. E’s,” was an old established institution whose distinguished history can be traced back to 1855 when it began as the Government Hospital for the Insane. The hospital’s founder, renowned mental health reformer Dorothea Dix defined its early mission as providing the “most humane care and enlightened curative treatment of the insane of the Army, Navy, and District of Columbia.” (1) Wounded soldiers treated at the hospital during the Civil War were reluctant to acknowledge they were in an insane asylum, and said they were at St. Elizabeth's, the colonial name of the land where the Hospital is located. So the name stuck as if it were the most natural thing to happen.To the casual observer it looked more like a small town than a hospital, in its arboretum-like campus setting resembling a sleepy retirement community. This thriving community of nearly 130 red brick buildings is now a pathetic sight, mostly now boarded and in a state of decay. In its heyday, over 8,000 patients received care each year and was a trailblazer in utilizing the newest mental-health therapies like hydrotherapy and Freudian psychoanalytic techniques. It also was the first to have a department focused on psychological research and the first to use dance therapy and psychodrama. Among the notorious character treated there were Richard Lawrence who attempted to kill President Andrew Jackson, and John Hinckley who shot President Ronald Reagan.

Sonny would sometimes accompany Anne to work on his off-days and scout around the area for “For Sale” signs in the front yards of houses. Endless searching turned up nothing positive. Every house looked cozily occupied. As he gazed yearningly at the well-kept front yards, the pretty drapes at the windows and the two-car garages, he wondered when that dream would come true for him.

One evening in February 1964, Sonny chanced to get home early evening. With the TV switched on to a sports channel, he was reading the newspaper when Anne rushed in excitedly through the front door. “Honey, there is a house on Lebaum Street for sale,” she announced, her voice high-pitched with triumph.

Sonny put aside the newspaper in his hand, and gave Anne a thoughtful look. “Relax honey, I thought that house was for rent not for sale,” he replied.

“Well the realtors just changed it this afternoon. I saw them do it,” Anne replied. “Honey, just think. It’ll be real convenient. I could walk to work. We can rent first, then buy. We better take a look at it right away before someone else takes it.”

It had been an exhausting day at work for Sonny and he really wanted to wait until tomorrow. However, he wanted to please Anne, so he put on his jacket and got into his teal blue 63 Studebaker Wagonairre. Anne stayed behind to cook supper. Sonny approached 500 Lebaum Street and gazed intensely at the house.

It appeared quaint if non-descriptive, a 2-storyed red brick house with a deep pitch tiled roof -just like all the other cookie-cutter type houses in this neighborhood, probably constructed during WW II to house the returning veterans. What weighed positive in Sonny’s eyes was, unlike the other houses, this one included a sizeable yard that stretched from the side all the way to the back. In the distance blending into background, he could see the red-bricked ornate buildings at St. Elizabeths.

Inspecting the house from the outside Sonny noted the existence of a full basement. He knelt down by one of the basement windows and tried to peer in through the Venetian blinds. He could faintly make out a kitchen and bathroom. The more he gazed, the more he was filled with wonder. Wow! How spacious it seemed! How deep it all seemed to be! Was it an illusion? He could scarcely trust his own senses. As he explored around the house a few more times, he noted that the backyard was extensive enough to build a cinder block garage. O, wow again!

The next day, Sonny visited the realtor’s office to get the keys to the house for which he left a $10 deposit. Unlike these times where danger lurks in every corner and where people tend to be considered guilty until proven otherwise, in those days, a realtor would trust you with the keys of the house up for sale. Anne took time off from work and together they visited the house, with anticipation and barely contained excitement simmering just below the surface. The very first thing Sonny and Anne noticed upon entering the house, were the steps that led to the second floor. They were 32” steps and wide enough for any adult. This had to be more than just an attic. They climbed the steps and were thrilled with what they saw. There were two rooms up there with the ceiling high enough to accommodate a man six feet tall. Sonny being a six-footer could stand inside the room without his head touching the ceiling. On descending the steps to the basement, the strong smell of fresh paint assailed their nostrils, mixed with the fresh concrete and fresh paneling to a pungent, piercing odor. Sonny realized that this was probably the only house in the entire block with a full basement. Moreover, it was brand new; the owners just had the basement dug out. He could not believe his luck. Looking at the environs, Sonny and Anne liked the homogenous set up that was apparent, with projecting porches and varied rooflines that created a sense of rhythm up and down the street. The houses were standard, relatively simple but each had a stamp of individuality. They stood in the yard watching a few white American neighbors move around nearby, who waved to them cheerily and came over to ask if they were prospective homebuyers. Later, Anne would turn to Sonny and say, “Oh, honey, the people seem so warm and welcoming. I like it.”

Sonny and Anne made a serious review of the environment around 500 Lebaum Street and decided they wanted to live there. A symbol of the American dream had eluded them up until then. How they had yearned for their own house, their cozy little nest that would see them through their marriage. They could not get the house out of their minds. Sonny was enamored by the spacious basement and was dreaming of all the things he could do there. He had always yearned for a two-car garage and a basement. Now they were within his reach.

Sonny was a firm believer in the time-tested truth of the early bird catching the worm. There was no sense vacillating until some one else beat him to it. So as soon as they had completed looking around, Sonny and Anne made one straight trip to the realtor’s office to ask for the price. The agent’s words crushed Sonny’s hopes and the excitement was suddenly dampened. $19,700 with a $4,000 down payment. How could he afford that? That was too much. His job at Central Fuel did not pay much and at that level he did not believe he could qualify for a loan that high.

Yet, giving up without a fair effort was not Sonny’s style. As he mulled things over in his mind, an idea struck him. “Last week this house was for rent, how much was the rent?” Sonny asked, quietly, masking the excitement that was welling within.

“We had listed it for $100 per month” answered the agent, taken unawares.

“I tell you what—we will rent it from you and pay you double that amount: $200. Deposit the other $100 for the down payment. And in one year, I should be able to save enough money to purchase the house.” “You must be in real estate.”

The agent started at Sonny with a new respect in his eyes. “I’m quite impressed. Allow me to present this offer to the owner. Let me call him now.”

In ten minutes, the agent returned with a smile on her face and the keys dangling in her hands. Thirty decisive minutes later with the signed lease agreement in hand, Sonny and Anne fairly flew out of the rental office into the golden sunshine outside, triumphantly grasping the house keys. They leaped into their Studebaker Wagonaire, and as it roared to life, Sonny screamed his heart out. “Lookout, baby here we come. The Williams are comin’ to Lebaum and they’re stayin’ for good!” Sonny and Anne began this new chapter of their life together with thankfulness in their hearts. After long years of hardship and struggle, things seemed to be looking up at last. Congress Heights was a decent neighborhood with a hub of barbershops, small drug, grocery and hardware stores, and family-owned furniture shops. Lebaum Street was snugly tucked away in the heart of Congress Heights, just a stone’s throw away from Bolling Air Force base. Times were good and life was busy and vibrant up on the hill, benefiting substantially from the Air Force base as many service personnel regularly dined and shopped there. Service men and women in their regular blue uniforms were a familiar sight trekking up the hill on Portland Street in the late evening to enjoy the simple pleasures of a frothy beer and a delicious fresh-cooked meal.

The development of Congress Heights can be traced to the housing boom of the 1940s. By the late 1940s and throughout the 1950s, Congress Heights transformed from a quiet, rural environment to a bustling community as it became a critical hub for the U.S. government. The Bolling Air Force base heralded the beginnings of U.S. aviation in the nation’s capital. The base opened in 1918 and Charles Lindbergh’s Spirit of St. Louis returned to the Bolling field in 1927 after its historic transatlantic flight. Bolling also became home to the Headquarters Command of the U.S. Air Force where fixed wing aircraft continually took off and landed up until 1962. At this time, due to airspace congestion around National Airport just across the Anacostia River, the squadrons left for Andrews Air Force base in Maryland, which was a loss, albeit nominal, for the stores along Nichols Avenue.

When Sonny and Anne moved into 500 Lebaum Street, they realized they were the only black residents down a lane of all white residents. Many of them were retirees from St. Elizabeths Hospital, trying to spend their retirement in an environment of peace and quiet. Sonny and Anne imbibed the quiet dignity of their neighborhood and as the months sped by, found their landlord appeared more and more inclined to sell them the house. One year after renting 500 Lebaum Street, Sonny and Anne became the proud owners of the premises. Sonny’s former yearning to move to Charles County, Maryland with its wooded areas and expansive backyards had dissipated. He found deep spiritual satisfaction in sauntering down the tree-lined Lebaum Street onto Mellon Street, drinking in the beauty of the varied shades of green, appreciating the restful formation of arcs as the boughs of trees on either side met above the road, providing welcome shade in the sweltering heat of summer. He would stand mesmerized by the soothing murmur of the summer breeze that blew across the tranquil waters of the Potomac, sweeping the hill and serenading the velvet green leaves.

View Larger Map

An aura of pristine cleanliness clung to the houses and the front yards that struck a deep chord of affinity in Sonny’s innate sense of order in the world. The periodically cleaned roof gutters, the daily swept porches, the regularly raked front yards and the consistently trimmed carpets of grass enhanced the impression of quality living and respectability that Sonny yearned to identify with. The all-pervasive sense of community that yet lingered in the neighborhood seeped into Sonny as he watched people lolling around on their porches, reading the Washington Post or talking to their neighbors. Yet, this sense of security and orderliness had false overtones and seemed precariously balanced upon a gradually vanishing world, with flammable feelings simmering just below the surface.

Nevertheless, the socio-economic outlook for blacks had never been brighter. After President John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, his Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson who succeeded him, made a big difference in the lives of African Americans all over the US. Dubbed by novelist Ralph Ellison as “The greatest American president ever for the poor and the Negroes,” President Johnson lived up to the accolades by championing the cause of human rights and signing the Civil Rights Act of 1964 as one of his first pieces of legislation to get passed. This Act had a threefold favorable impact on the black American population. It prohibited racial discrimination in public accommodations in the US, it authorized the Justice Department to bring lawsuits against states that discriminated against women and minorities and it guaranteed equal opportunities in the work place to all (2). As the federal government continued to grow in the 1960’s, many people came to DC to work and middle class African American neighborhoods prospered.

Sonny remembers Tim and Jane Marshall, an elderly couple, immediate neighbors who appeared to be concerned by stories of blacks trying to move into the neighborhood. Even more, they were concerned about the city’s rash and ill-advised decision to build 60,000 houses east of the Anacostia River. As the days scurried forward into chaos and confusion, concern turned into anxiety and then to worry. The white residents of the area no longer wished to remain in an environment that was increasingly becoming alien to them. When Sonny got into conversation with them, he felt no sense of resentment against black people. What he sensed was a deep feeling of foreboding. Things would veer from bad to worse. Best to leave before the going got tough. Everyday a new “For Sale” board appeared in the front yard of a house in the neighborhood. Another white family had decided to call it quits.

Before the whites moved out of Anacostia, the blacks were restricted to two closed-in areas, Barry Farms and north of U Street in Anacostia. It was very easy to spot the isolated black communities with their litter-strewn cul-de-sacs, dead-end roads and neglected houses. The white community had tree-lined streets, single-family homes and smart-looking cars in the driveway.

As more black families continued moving into the area, there was visible resentment among the white community that had lived there relatively undisturbed for long years. In the early 1960s, the resentment that was consistently building overflowed and spilled into taunting and violence. The white kids in the neighborhood resented the intrusion of black kids into their close-knit swimming sessions at the Fairlawn Pool in Ward 7. The black kids felt distinctly uncomfortable when their white-skinned peers threw cold, hostile glares at them and jeered and ridiculed no one in particular but collectively all blacks. The white kids tried their might to implement an unwritten rule that black kids could only swim at a certain time of the day. If the black kids came in earlier or later than that time, the white kids made sure they never got in the pool. There were times the white kids took immense pleasure in forcing black kids to hang around and wait in line sometimes for over an hour before they decided to allow them in. Most black kids just gave in to avoid trouble. However, there were the stronger, more stubborn ones who refused to be bullied. It appeared to be a situation of “Follow my leader.” As a few black kids stood up to the whites, others joined in, and they were driven to find strength in numbers to survive the taunting of the whites. In time, this led to the creation of black gangs. From one perspective, black gangs originated from the desperate need to survive the humiliation and the torment of racism.

Over the next 30 years, Anacostia’s close-knit neighborhood fell from its respectable middle-class perch to the depths of notoriety. As days sped by, the bustling business of the commercial area changed from conventional stores to a maze of check-cashing outlets, liquor stores, drugs, crime, homeless people, storefront churches and abandoned buildings. In the 1960s, the Interstate 295 appeared to be an anchor in a sea of chaos. In time, it turned out to be a mere shortcut from the suburbs to downtown. Residents complain of a dearth of decent restaurants amid a relative sea of take-outs that pass food to customers from bulletproof glass windows. The area remains troubled by crime, with one-fourth of the city’s murders, according to police statistics for the Seventh District. The area high schools, Anacostia and Ballou, are among the District’s most troubled.

When black families started moving in to Anacostia in the mid 60s, white families who felt their privacy and way of life were being eroded left in search of a less disturbed environment. Yet, there were many who were loath to move out of familiar surroundings.

Nobody realized what dramatic turn of events would take place after Dr. Martin Luther King’s assassination on April 4, 1968. The unbridled violence unleashed on the community removed the last vestige of respectability and sanity from the neighborhood and things got comparatively worse in the 1970s and 1980s that even black families who had moved into the area started to move out, initially to border communities like Bellevue in Washington DC and Oxon Hill in Maryland. As things got worse, people moved further away to the suburbs in Virginia and Maryland. With the white community moving away from Anacostia, the violence between whites and blacks increasingly began to take on the face of blacks against blacks. White racism had well and truly entrenched the feeling in Blacks that they were less than human beings and it not really belong in civilized society.

Unlike the school system throughout the rest of the country, the public schools of Washington DC largely depended on support from Congress. However, the schools remained segregated as like the rest of America. Between 1930 and 1950, the black population in DC doubled, with more job opportunities for blacks exploding with the New Deal program of the 1930s. This inevitably led to overcrowding in black schools, with the problem aggravating during WW II when DC halted school construction. White schools, however, had plenty of room to spare. With the end of the war, there was an initiative to build new schools in DC. Distinction was drawn between White and Black communities. For the Black students, there was a perfunctory conversion of several White schools to Black schools. The White students had brand new schools built for them. In a form of protest at this blatant discrimination, on September 11, 1950, a group of Anacostia neighborhood parents called the Consolidated Parents’ Group showed up with a dozen Black kids at the brand new Sousa School for admission flanked by police escort and a team of lawyers. However, despite this smart move, the principal refused to admit the children. The Black kids had no option but to attend Shaw Junior High, a 48-year-old school with meager facilities - a playground too small for a ball field, a welding shop converted to a makeshift gym and a science lab with a Bunson burner and a bowl of goldfish. The lawyers filed a case against the President of the D.C. Board of Education on behalf of several of the Black students, charging that segregation in itself was discrimination. On May 17, 1954, the Supreme Court ruled that racial segregation in the DC public schools was a denial to Black children of the due process of law guaranteed by the Fifth Amendment (3). Following this landmark ruling, several all-white schools such as Congress Heights Elementary, the Ballou High School and Anacostia High School opened their doors to black students most of whom were children of employees of the Air Force base or at St. Elizabeths. The admission of Black students to all-White high school in DC was an incredible achievement. Anacostia had an elementary school for Black kids, Birney Elementary School established in 1889, and named after James Gillespie Birney, a white Kentucky abolitionist. However, high school age Black kids in Anacostia had no school nearby to attend. They had to commute across the river to the only four high schools in DC for Blacks: Cardoza, Armstrong, M.M. Washington, Phelps and Dunbar (4). When black kids were gradually being admitted to predominantly white schools in DC, the white community began to seek other areas to live.

Sonny and Anne settled down well to life at Lebaum Street. They had no kids yet except Anne’s adopted son Jerry. Sonny’s old friends on the other side of the river were constantly nagging him to host a party. They knew that Sonny owned a large house with plenty of space for good fun. They knew he was a gourmet chef and a gracious host. They knew his expertise in a game of poker. Each time they tried to force the issue, Sonny resisted. He knew Anne’s objections and her voice kept echoing in his mind.

“No wild parties in our house. If you do, I’ll leave you.” The friends, however, would not call it quits. They kept on pestering Sonny and teasing him about who wore the pants in his house. After some time, the teasing irritated him. He could not allow people to think he was under his wife’s thumb. Despite misgivings and Anne’s undisguised opposition, Sonny planned a big party. They would afford it, after all unlike the first days of their marriage when they had to count every penny spent. He would host a non-stop card party from Friday afternoon until Sunday night. All his leisure time over a month, he spent on planning the party. He even mailed out formal invitations. As the big day drew near, Sonny paid a visit to Buckingham Meats, the local meat market down Nichols Avenue and bought a whole truckload of food.

He got fifty pounds of fresh pork chops, loin roasts, hock hams, ground beef, chicken, bratwurst and several kinds of fish.

Sonny loved Duke more than anything. Duke was such a master of jazz, an American music maestro and an immense figure of the Harlem Renaissance who told the history of African Americans through music. Duke challenged traditional representation of blacks in the entertainment industry, and Sonny respected him greatly.

As the party got underway, the liquor flowed - beer, plenty of Seagrams gin, and red wine in a huge bottle called Knotty Head -- the bottle derived its name from the "huge hangover" one would get after consuming the liquor. When the mood picked up the men got down to play poker and blackjack in earnest while the women played a simple card game called Pitty Pat where the suits are irrelevant and the play is based solely on the rank of the cards. Some folks made money, some lost, most just did it for fun. The games continued through the night through the entire day on Saturday, then nightfall and through the wee hours of Sunday.

After nearly 40 hours of non-stop partying, Sunday morning arrived, listless but still conscious. Some folks were still playing unfazed, most were lying on couches or on the floor fast asleep after a boozing binge. Congealed food was yet plentiful upon dishes on the table. The early morning sun was peeping through the partially drawn drapes, but the body was too tired to register.

Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat. The knocker on the front door sounded urgent. Sonny asleep on the carpeted floor got up startled and hurried to the door. He opened the door and was disconcerted to see his mother standing outside with a rather grim look on her face.

Sonny tried to feign a sense of joviality he was far from feeling. “Hi Mom. What brings you here? Would you like to join us?”

Sarah ignored his questions with a brisk, “Good Morning, son,” and brushing him aside, stepped into the house, walked through the living room and knocked on a bedroom door. As she opened the door, her eyes fell on several men in a drunken stupor on the floor. Several others were seated on chairs and on milk crates. One man was dealing with cards. It looked like they were playing 3-card poker.

Sarah stepped up to them and spoke in a gentle but firm voice. “Gentlemen, it’s been over a day and a half. You’ve been here long enough. It’s time to go home,” she said. Then men at first gazed at her, surprised. Then without saying a single word, they all got up, stacked the deck and settled their earnings.

Then Sarah walked over to the backroom. She knocked and opened the door. Several women were playing Pitty Pat. A few children were fast asleep beside them.

Saeah cleared her throat. “Ahem, ladies, you’ve been here all weekend. It’s time to go.” Just like the men, they all got up. “Yes Ma’am,” they answered as they picked up their belongings and started heading out the door. They chorused, “Great party, Sonny. You’re the most excellent host.” Sonny hugged and thanked each of them as they left. Many would go home, some were even considering going to church. Not for Sonny because he had a lot of cleaning to do and he was quite sure Anne would take no part in it. “Thanks for the food, you’re quite a chef,” the last couple said as they complimented Sonny on their way out. “We need to do this again.”

“Definitely,” Sonny replied. (at this point, I wonder what Anne thinks about this wild party? Don’t you say she would leave Sonny if he hosted such a wild party and Where was she when they partied? Why Sarah appeared suddenly? Were Anne mad about the party???)

The year was 1967. Perhaps Sonny knew or maybe he didn’t, but there would be no more parties on 500 Lebaum Street. They partied this weekend. Next year, the world surrounding this community would never be the same.

Back in the world of reality, Sonny’s decision to move on in the field of employment led him to keep alert for possible job openings anywhere. They also had to raise enough money in one year for the down payment. That meant that he, Sonny, would have to come up with about $350 per month for 12 months. One day not long afterwards, he learned that Exxon Fuel was hiring and decided to apply immediately. His diligence was duly rewarded. Exxon Fuel hired him to deliver fuel oil for residential heating. Overnight Sonny and Anne found their financial standing had jumped several notches. Sonny began to make good money and it boosted his morale no end to know that he was finally able to be a good provider for Anne by earning more than she did. The job conditions were perfect for him. He worked in the DC area and could go home everyday and while the day was yet young too, so he got to spend more time with Anne. He sent a fervent prayer of thanks to the high heavens for making life good for him and for providing him with a job that made him feel valued and appreciated.

One particular incident on one particular frigid wintry day touched Sonny’s heart, even moved him to tears. According to his delivery schedule that particular day, he had to deliver fuel oil to two elderly female sisters who lived by themselves down 6th Street NE, between F and G Streets. When Sonny arrived at 6^th Street, his heart sank. Thick, deadly black ice covered the road surface as far as his eye could see. Sure, by this late in the afternoon, the 3500-gallon fuel truck he drove was substantially empty. But it was risky all the same. What if the great lumbering vehicle skidded out of control and slammed into somebody’s house? To make matters considerably worse, the street was hilly and one had to make a 90 degree turn to the left to get there. He would not chance any mishap. Sonny carefully backed the truck in an alley nearby and drawing his thick leather jacket closer round his body and thrusting his gloved hands in the deep well-lined pockets, gingerly stepped on the ice to get to the two females, Edith and Edna. When he rang the doorbell, a bony, knobbly, petite woman, silvery grey hair tied back severely, bundled up in layers of woolen sweaters and overcoats, opened the door hesitantly and peered cautiously at Sonny.

View Larger Map

“Ma’am, My name is Sonny, I have brought heating oil for you.” Sonny decided he needed to put them at ease. “But I can’t get the vehicle onto this road. It is too iced up.”

A fleeting smile brushed across the heavily lined face. “Thank God you are here. But what can we do now?”

“It might be better if I empty the tank a little more and get back here. It might be less risky to come down this road. I will finish the rest of the deliveries I have to make today, and then I’ll come back here.”

It was far from easy to get through the deliveries. There was piled up snow and slippery ice everywhere. Sonny turned and the deliveries were arduously long, exhausting and nerve-wracking. It was almost ten o’clock in the night when Sonny got to the back alley near 6^th Street and parked. The skies were a leaden ash color that promised more snow in the night. As he got down, Sonny realized he had made a mistake in leaving this delivery so late. The ice on the road had steadily worsened and getting the truck near the house would be an impossible feat. He carefully made his way toward Edna’s and Edith’s house to size up entry points and to consider viable alternatives to get the heating oil inside. As his alert eyes scrutinized intently, he noticed that the sisters had a walk-in basement that also had an entrance from the back. Sonny cheered up as he thought of a plan. The 170- foot hose in the truck would come in handy now. He just needed access to the basement. He rang the doorbell once more. An eerie silence greeted him. His heart lurched in his chest as he strained his ears to catch a sound from within. He rang the bell again, with more insistence. After what seemed like an eternity, the same old lady opened the door, this time covered up to her eyes in woolen clothing.

“We had given up on you. We figured you were not coming,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion.

Sonny bowed his head in silent apology. Then, looking straight into her eyes, he said, “Ma’am, I am so sorry. I did not expect to get this late. Driving around was so hard today. I thought it might be easier to take the truck here now. But it is worse than earlier. We have to try another way.”

The lady looked bewildered. “Another way?”

Sonny took a step forward earnestly. “Ma’am, this is what I am going to do. I have a long hose in the truck and I am going to get it through the basement to fill your tank.”

Then he added as an afterthought, “I promise I will not mess up the floor.”

The lady was shivering and her teeth chattered as she practically whispered, “We haven’t been in the basement in ages.” She thrust her hand in her overcoat pocket and took out a heavy-looking bunch of keys. There would easily have been forty keys in the bunch. Sonny’s weariness increased several-fold. He would have to try each one to get to the right key. It took him nearly 15 minutes as he pushed and turned. He would not give into frustration. He kept his thoughts focused on the task. At last, one key fitted and clicked. Oh, for small mercies, thought Sonny in relief. As he opened the door and walked in, the dust almost choked him, as did the stale musty smell that assailed (Shall we change another word, since you use this word for several times throughout the book) his nostrils. As his eyes adapted to the darkness, he quickly assessed the situation and decided how he could get the fuel into the house with the truck parked where it was. He trudged back to the truck, snaked the fuel hose through the backyard, out from the front, up and over and before long the bone-dry fuel tank filled to the brim with oil. He felt a deep sense of pleasure and fulfillment as the fuel gurgled, sloshed and gushed inside. The two sisters were delighted beyond reason and they embraced Sonny with such fervor and gratitude that suddenly Sonny’s eyes blurred with tears.

Back in his truck with the heated air slowly warming his chilled bones, he looked at his watch. It was past 11 p.m. What a day! He had thought he could be home by 7 p.m. to have dinner with Anne and to turn in early. He had underestimated the severity of weather was and the impassable road conditions. He was exhausted but satisfied. He had helped his customers and they were happy. All was well in his little world. Anne was half-asleep when he returned home and listened to his story sleepily. She was happy it all turned out well but she could not understand why Sonny had been moved to tears. She kissed him and was fast asleep in seconds. Sonny was too wired up to fall asleep. He kept reliving the events of the day and was thankful for his job. He felt quite satisfied with his employment and did not anticipate changing it in a hurry.

As fate would have it, the next week Sonny learned that Exxon’s fuel oil delivery department was downsizing and they would no longer need his services. Sonny was crushed. At one time, he he had the ultimate job of his life. He did his job faithfully and thought his employers appreciated him. He shook his head regretfully. Corporate America had no heart. He should have known better.

Sonny scratched his head thoughtfully. From here to where? What would he do next? He knew he loved working with people, but he also had a keen entrepreneurial spirit and he knew how to gain business. He clasped his hands at his chest. Tomorrow he would apply for a new job -- have Faith indeed.

By the way, why are those two girls sitting next to Sonny? Or around his car??? I am a bit confused?

(1) Wikipedia, "St Elizabeth's Hospital"

(2) Wikipedia, "Civil Rights Act of 1964"

(3) Wikipedia, "Bolling v. Sharpe"

(4) Washington Post, "Still True to Their School; For Armstrong's Class of '45, Time to Tell the Untold Story," DeNeen L. Brown, 13 July 1995.

1943-44 photo of Bolling Field from the Ray Gallagher Collection, Alexandria Library

Chapter 10 Sonny's New Pop

2009-04-02T11:46:00.000-07:00

Within three months of their meeting and after an intense courtship that lasted seemingly for an eternity, in a simple but touching civil ceremony, Sarah Williams, divorcee became Mrs Enas Broadway.

And so, Sonny settled into a peaceful and happy family life with his mother and her new flame. He absolutely adored his stepfather who gave him the solid companionship and guidance he had lacked in his life so far. He was there for him on his first faltering ride on a tricycle, when he was scared of the dark and needed comfort, when he wanted a bedtime story – it was Enas who was there more than his mother. As the years wore on and Sonny moved from childhood to his turbulent teens, he found immense comfort in the secure and understanding relationship he shared with his stepfather. He would sit down at his side and listen in awe to the tales of heroism and unsung bravery that flowed effortlessly from his stepfather’s lips. World War II became very real for him as he listened to Enas’ stories about his combat days in Europe – the dangers and fears of being on the frontline, the many touching stories of comradeship among the soldiers that brought tears to his eyes. Sonny’s imagination was stimulated and his spirit was stirred by feelings of patriotism kindled by Enas Broadway and his eloquence. He was impatient to grow up and join the army himself, the years could not fly fast enough for him.

The greatest thing that Enas Broadway did to Sonny was to give him every child’s birthright of a good and peaceful home life. The tempestuous days marred by violence with his birth father became a distant nightmare and Sonny settled down to a fairly uneventful normal life. He made friends with neighbors and became one of the regular youngsters who reveled in a game of softball in the mild and softly blooming spring weather. As Sonny casts his thoughts back to those carefree days, he remembers how it was then, when he was studying at Samuel H. Armstrong High School in Washington DC where he proved himself in sports, especially basketball and football. Armstrong High School on P Street, NW, near 1st Street, was built in 1902 and it served as a high school until 1958. The school was named in memory of General Samuel Chapman Armstrong, a Civil War regimental commander and founder of the Hampton Normal Agricultural Institute in Virginia, chartered in 1870 as one of the first colleges for blacks. It was a school that taught practical, manual skills, following the educational philosophy identified with Booker T. Washington. One of several Veterans High School Centers was located in the school from 1946 to 1964 when it became an adult education center until it was closed in 1996. Sonny boasted that Duke Ellington, too chose to follow a course of commercial art at Armstrong Manual Training School before abandoning it for his musical career.

Dunbar High School, which was named in honor of Paul Laurence Dunbar, an African American poet, became the first high school in the nation to accept African-American students. The new Dunbar school building was erected in 1974 and today, Dunbar High School holds the prestigious distinction of being a Blue Ribbon School. Even at the time that Sonny remembers it was a school that rated very highly in the community and it was the well-off blacks in the neighborhood who got the opportunity to study at Dunbar. It was also the only black high school with a football field. Low-income kids like Sonny were sent to Armstrong where Sonny graduated in the middle of his class in January 1948.

Sonny has good memories of sports during his teenage years. “There were a lot softball back then and there were negro leagues. Mostly one project vs another project. Barry Farms vs Gainesville or Condon Terrace and so on. There was rivalry back then, but it was all competitive friendly, not like the gunning and fighting that you see today." Being a six-footer of athletic build, he loved sports, especially football and basketball. On lazy Saturday afternoons he was always out in the playground, donned in his sportswear and good sports shoes, practicing the finer points of the game with his friends. He learnt to love the outdoors, the thrill of the game, the pride of being in a team, the joyful leap to victory, the dampening regret of losing – all of them helping in subtle ways to build Sonny’s character and personality.

There was also a very domesticated side to Sonny, nurtured by the love he had for his mother. As he grew older, he helped her out by taking on numerous chores. He used to cut the grass and weed the flowerbeds on the weekend, taking care of all the colorful flowers his mother enjoyed planting. They had flowers all through spring and summer, one after the other, abundant, vibrant splashes of color that added nature’s joy to their own. As he watered and nurtured them, Sonny would now and then pick a choice bunch of freshly opened blooms and present the bouquet to his mother. With tears of joy, Sarah would kiss him and arrange the flowers in a crystal vase and place it in their living room. Saturday for Sarah was the day to cook for the two men in her life. She baked pies and made roasts and stews that she knew Enas and Sonny loved. As Sonny thinks back on those days, he remembers how he helped peel potatoes and carrots, cut onions with tears streaming down his cheeks and washed the pots and pans once his mother was done. On Sunday afternoons, Sarah would take out all her silverware and Sonny would take over polishing them. He enjoyed watching the brilliant shine spring from the silver candle stands, the silver dishes and cutlery as he polished off the Silvo on them with a soft polishing cloth. As his mother smiled in delight, he would, almost with reverence, replace the silverware in the beautiful glass cabinet and watch the mellow golden rays of the evening sun kiss the silver sheen into rainbow-hued loveliness.

Chapter 9 Enas Broadway

2009-04-02T11:04:00.000-07:00

One evening, Sarah was on her way home after a particularly busy day at work. Her head was whirling with all the drama and excitement she had witnessed through the day. Oh, wow, the life of the wealthy!! Walking on the sidewalk in a preoccupied state of mind, she didn’t watch her step. She tripped on an uneven stone and went sprawling on the cement blocks of the sidewalk. She sat up, straightened her dress and looked at her grazed knee beginning to bleed and tried to pull down her skirt in embarrassment. Was anybody watching? Oh, what disaster!! But no one seemed to even notice her amidst the hurrying and scurrying at the end of a busy day in the nation’s capital. Suddenly she felt a warm steadying hand grasp her shoulder. A kind-looking black man was kneeling by her looking at her with compassionate eyes.

“Are you OK, my dear?”

“ Oh, ….I guess so. I don’t know how I fell.”

“Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us.” His tone was comforting as was the hand he held out to her. In fact, his entire presence appeared so reassuring. A strikingly attractive man with a distinguished air and military bearing. It was as if his whole being was reaching out to her, seeking the depths of her being. He wouldn’t let go of her arm and boarded the bus along with her and took her home. He left her safely on her doorstep, looked deep in her eyes and said in a deep low voice that sent thrills up her spine, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And so he did. He was waiting outside the hotel as she stepped out the entrance and greeted her with a smile that made her heart leap with a sense of exhilaration. He gripped her hand with both his and she fairly jumped at the intensity of their chemistry. What was happening to her? She felt a tremor of fear at her vulnerability to this man but at the same time, their feelings for each other seemed so natural. She remembered how she watched the shy young rosebuds open in the warmth of the sunrays. She felt the same way.

Enas Broadway took Sarah home again, much to the curiosity of her sisters who wanted to know all about him. Sarah was proud to inform them of his service on the frontline as a soldier in World War II and with the arrival of VE Day how he was dispatched to Japan. He was already a hero in her eyes; there was no secret about that.

So Enas Broadway walked Sarah home every evening, rain or shine. Most days he would come in and spend some time chatting with her in the glow of eventide. They watched the vibrant hues of a Washington sunset slowly fade into an ever-deepening velvety purple. They held hands as they watched the cool evening breeze rustle the leaves of nearby trees, the emerald green turned blue-black in the twilight. As the summer stars twinkled like diamond droplets in the sky, Enas would draw Sarah into his arms tenderly and hold her for long moments in silence before passion overcame him and he would reach for her lips as his trembling fingers caressed her body. Sarah returned kiss for kiss, her own emotions inflamed and sexual desire stimulated as never before in her life.

Chapter 8 Trailways to DC

2009-04-02T10:02:00.000-07:00

Note to Reader: Please join be in Chapters 6 to 20 as we go back in time to read and study the life and story of Sonny Williams (The owner of the little Cape Cod style house on Lebaum Street).

Sarah could not remember exactly how she made it. She was stumbling along a main road, weighted down by her heavy bag with Sonny in her arms, shivering in the stinging cold rain. Would a Trailways bus come her way? She knew she didn’t have to go to a bus terminal like for a Greyhound bus. Anyhow, the Greyhound was not permitted -- the more comfortable, convenient ride was only for whites. She was tired of being forced to give up her seat to white riders and stand by until seats became available at the back of the bus.

The blacks had to make do with the Trailways which had no specific stops, halted wherever and whenever, picking up passengers near gas stations and by the wayside, jamming them packed, making each seat count

Forty minutes later she sat at the end of a crowded Trailways bus, embracing Sonny. She couldn’t help the tears that tumbled down her cheeks. What now? The question rolled like the forest and foothills over and over in her mind. She thought of her two sisters Edna and Angie who had made their lives in Washington DC. She had grown apart from them for long years. Would they accept her now? Would they take her in and offer her sisterly love? If she were in their place, she would do it, but would they? There was little else to do but to throw herself at their mercy. Not for too long though, just until she found her feet over there and would be ready to run.

As it happened, her fears were needless. When she was reunited with her sisters and cried peacefully in their arms, they hugged her warmly and promised to be be by her side. For the first time since she married Leo, Sarah felt pampered and cared for as her sisters bought her clothes and fed her and Sonny nourishing, home-cooked meals.

Sarah took a few days to adjust to her new life and to get her bearings straight. She walked the streets of DC trying to understand her environs, to gauge what type of job would be available for some one like her, hardworking but inexperienced. She went for several walk-in interviews for store-hands. Somehow none of them worked out. They never called back, didn't even show a faint of interest. Sarah would not be discouraged, however. Something would work out somewhere, she thought determinedly.

(Photo Courtesy of Shoppy.com)

One evening in the midst of chatting, her sister Edna told her about a job at Wardman Park Hotel located in the upscale Woodley Park neighborhood on Connecticut Avenue in North West DC. The position was for an elevator operator and the recruiting officer seemed taken up with the plight of this soft-spoken, elegant young woman. She was hired on the spot, and so Sarah began working in the plush, elegant environs of this boutique-style hotel built in 1916, complete with glossy parquet flooring and gleaming French antiques. It brought her in contact with a world she had never before even had a chance to look at from the outside.

From Wikipedia: "Harry Wardman"

A large portion of rowhouses in DC were built by Harry Wardman, in neighborhoods including Columbia Heights, Bloomingdale, Eckington and Brightwood. Wardman’s first houses, designed by architect Nicholas Grimm, included those located at the 900 block of Longfellow Street, NW. To this day, his homes are renowned for their high-quality construction and materials. In 1907, he embarked on a project to build 750 rowhouses in Columbia Heights, which included new design elements, most notably the front porch. However, most real estate agents and homeowners incorrectly assume that their house is a Wardman house simply based on its design; dozens of other developers such as Lewis Brueninger, Harry Kite, Francis Blundon, and David Dunigan built massive rows of townhouses in the District.

Apartments

Northumberland Apartments

The Chastleton
Wardman quickly rose through the ranks and began building luxury apartments — most which were designed by architect Albert H. Beers. His numerous apartment buildings, located along 16th Street, NW, Connecticut Avenue, Columbia Heights, and elsewhere, include:

The Chastleton - 1701 16th Street, NW

The Wardman - 1916 17th Street, NW

The Dresden - 2126 Connecticut Avenue, NW

The Maxwell - 1419 Clifton Street, NW

Northumberland Apartments - 2039 New Hampshire Avenue, NW

Rutland Court - 1725 17th Street, NW

South Cathedral Mansions - 2900 Connecticut Avenue, NW

Wardman Court (formerly, Clifton Terrace) - 1312 Clifton Street, NW

Wardman Row - 1416-1440 R Street, NW

Copley Plaza - 1514 17th Street, NW

Cavanaugh Court - 1526 17th Street, NW

Apartment Building at 2225 N Street

Hotels: In 1916, he built the 1200-room Wardman Park Hotel (now the site of the Marriott Wardman Park Hotel and Conference Center) along Connecticut Avenue in Woodley Park. The hotel was successful, meeting the strong demand due to an influx of government workers after World War I. In 1984, the Wardman Tower, an apartment building located on the hotel site, was added to the National Register of Historic Places.^[1] In 1928, Wardman built the Hay-Adams Hotel, designed by Turkish architect, Mihran Mesrobian, and located across from Lafayette Park. Other landmarks built include the British Embassy.
During his career, Wardman had accumulated a fortune of $30 million and was living extravagantly in Washington and abroad. His prosperity vanished with the 1929 stock market crash, though he managed to continue building middle-class homes. Wardman died in 1938 from cancer and is buried in Rock Creek Cemetery.

The romantic splendor of affluent females in glittering, shimmering expensive dresses with escorts in smartly tailored obviously expensive suits became a common sight. The easy sophistication of the celebrities who breezed in and out to attend functions at the hotel almost took her breath away. It was all so novel to her. She watched with wonderment as beautiful young women in shimmering white bridal attire gazed at their bridegrooms with love-misted eyes. A sudden pain would twist in her heart as she watched their lips meet with joyous passion. Very often she would watch young couples in love, oblivious to the world around them, lost in their own sweet world of youthful love.

Gay laughter and warm endearments twisted the knife further with a deep heartache and twinges of envy. She passionately desired the good life she saw around her, but none of it even brushed her life. She yearned so deeply for a love of her own and a blissful family life. Right now there was only the chirpy endearing warmth of Sonny to fill her hungry heart. She loved Sonny with all her might but her heart yearned for a different sort of love. Oh, to feel the throbbing passion of a lover’s kiss, to enjoy the pleasures of love she never had the chance to in her miserable marriage. One day, she promised herself fervently, one day………I will find my true love………

'30-'32: A Son is Born

2009-04-01T22:28:00.000-07:00

Chapter 7: A Son is Born

Note to Reader: Please join me in Chapters 7 to 20 as we go back in time to read and enjoy the lessons and life story of Alphonso "Sonny Williams" (The previous owner and seller of the little Cape Cod style house on Lebaum Street).

Alphonso “Sonny” Williams saw the light of this world in a small town on Staten Island, New York, on a blustery winter’s morn in 1930. His mother used to tease him how his infant’s squeal matched the howl of the raw Atlantic winter wind that swept across Staten Island that day, churning the icy, grey waters of the Hudson River. Thick mists had wreathed the Outerbridge Crossing and Goethals Bridge connecting Staten Island with the mainland since 1928. As a little boy, Sonny remembers the Hudson River under more benign weather conditions, a calm, blue-grey stretch of water under sunny New York summer skies. Hazy memories of childhood include watching the orange and blue boats of the Staten Island Ferry fleet skim the waters, carrying thousands of people to and from the mainland while the awe-inspiring Manhattan skyline filled him with a desire to reach beyond his own little world.

On some nice weekends when the raspy wind wasn't blowing harsh and rude across the faces and sunlight shone warm and radiant all over the body, Sonny's mother, Sarah, would feel the urge to board the five-mile journey across the Hudson, scrounging the nickel-ferry fare for the two of them, so that they could wander and explore all around the dense city metropolis of lower Manhattan.

On one extended, summer weekend, when the sun sweltered and stayed, Sarah and Sonny caught the subway to Coney Island. She had never seen bikini-clad girls and muscle men in shorts walking and talking along a busy broadwalk. She had never buried her feet on a sandy beach, one that seemed to go on long and forever and wrapped in the ubiquitous warmth of the New York sunlight.

But these excursions into the city and to the beaches were memorable and rare. Sarah had a passion for homemaking and was the quintessential mother and wife, for someone who would appreciate having and loving one.

Whenever appetizing food aromas waft towards Sonny, he is reminded of his mother’s delicious cooking. The mouthwatering bread and pies she used to bake, the meat stews and roasts that filled the air with great aromas and sent him scuttling to her side for a bite of something, the heartening smell of sizzling bacon, in the early morn. However, Sonny’s memories of his childhood are tainted by the disharmony and violence he witnessed at home. His father, Leo Williams, was from the Virgin Islands, a tall, bulky man with a surly expression seemingly fixed on his face all the time. His fits of violence could never be anticipated. If a chair was slightly out of place or if one of Sonny’s toys were in his way, he would raise his voice to the high heavens and yell, making Sonny shiver in his shoes. He would grab at whatever he could and would start throwing them at his mother. He remembers how his mother crouched behind furniture as his father ranted and raved at perceived neglect of him. His angry eyes would seek her out and despite the tears pouring from her beseeching, helpless eyes, he would shake her violently, pull her hair till she screamed and then bang her against rough edges of furniture and on the wall. Bumps on the head and forehead, bleeding noses, split lips, bruised face and arms were a daily occurrence. Even in the innocence of childhood, he hated this man who hurt his mother so much. Despite all she did for him, waiting on him hand and foot all the time he was at home, he never had a kind word or a loving expression for her. She would slave away at trying to make him comfortable and at the most unexpected moment he would turn on her like a mad man. When Sonny was old enough to understand, his mother would tell him that her first marriage was her punishment for an indiscretion committed as a young girl. She got herself pregnant in 1928 when she was yet unmarried. Living among nine siblings, she delivered the baby who was then taken away by her mother to bring up because she did not have the wherewithal to do so. Sonny had reached adulthood when he learned that the person he had played with as a cousin was really his brother.

As a guileless three-year old, Sonny grew up quiet and timid, afraid to say and do things that would start his father yelling. Instinctively he knew the time his father came home. Before the wooden steps creaked and grumbled under Leo’s weight as he staggered up to the entrance, Sonny would clear up all his toys so his mother would not get a black eye. As young as Sonny was, he knew he had two different lives – the carefree, laughing child he was with his mother and the fearful, nervous one when his father was home.

Sonny remembers one terrible night when his father acted more violently than he had ever before. He tore the clothes off his mother’s back and pushed her out the back door into the icy blowing of a freezing winter’s night. Later, when he was old enough to understand his mother filled in the blanks in his memory. As she shivered in the dark night for hours before Leo finally allowed her in, Sarah made up her mind. No more of this, she thought fiercely, as she suppressed her sobs, trying valiantly to cover her nakedness with a rag she had in her hand. She was up even before dawn on that grim December day in 1933. As she lay awake during the long night, she had made her plans. Her head ached and her body had chilled in the freezing wind. Her limbs were sore with beatings. She could not tolerate another night under the same roof with her abusive husband. As she dragged herself to the kitchen to get breakfast going, she marveled at the way Leo could so conveniently forget all the devilish things he did. This morning, it was as if nothing had happened last night. Oh, how could he? As his raucous laughter jangled her nerves, she could hardly wait for him to be on his way to work. Finally, he was ready to leave. As he stomped down the wooden steps and got into his rattling jalopy, Sarah watched from the kitchen window, hardly daring to breathe. Would he have to come back in for anything? Would he decide to take a day off? The driver’s side door creaked shut, the engine spluttered and started up painfully, a squeal of tires, and then, he was gone. Her heart jumped with joyful relief and she sent a silent prayer up to heaven. Please, please, let him not come back till late evening. No time to squander, at any rate. She wiped her hands and got up on a chair to raid her scanty food supply. Some crackers and cheese for Sonny and some canned fish for lunch. She packed her can opener into a grocery bag with the food. She hurriedly got her small overnight bag from under her bed. She pulled her clothes out from her closet and urgently chose a few warm sweaters, two thick pants and some straggly underwear. She took a handful of Sonny’s winter clothes and thrust them all in her case, along with her meager toiletries and their toothbrushes. The next half-hour she spent getting herself and Sonny dressed while making anxious trips to the window for signs of her returning husband.

At nine o’clock in the midst of a freezing rain, Sarah decided it was safe to assume Leo was out of the house for the day. She hurriedly wrapped Sonny up in a thick quilt and slinging her overnight back on her shoulder, she stole out the back door, into their back yard, then out the gate in furtive, swift steps. Even as her heart tripped in relief at this unexpected end to a miserable existence, she was gripped with a sudden fear of the unknown. What would happen to her and her son now? She was like a ferry that had broken loose of its moorings. She was drifting along, being carried by the swirling current of fate to who knows where? As she lay sleepless last night, she had planned what to do. She would get to the bus terminal and buy a one-way ticket to Washington DC. She had enough money with her to buy her freedom in this form. A one-way ticket out of hell. A one-way ticket at the gateway to a new life for her son and herself.

Chapter 6 The Offer

2009-04-01T18:29:00.000-07:00

In the safety and sterility of my truck as I rattled off down the road away from Anacostia and its troubles, my mind was buzzing with all the experiences of the past hours. The hodge-podge of events began to gradually settle themselves in a logical way in my thoughts. Somewhere halfway home, I clapped my hands on the steering wheel in fierce determination. Okay, my mind was made up. I knew what I had to do. No sooner than I returned home, I called my realtor and related the entire strange drama to him and my even stranger involvement in the future of this lost community. I sought his professional maneuvering to make an offer for the house, $5,000 below asking price. In other words, I would purchase it “as is” for $100,000.

As I spoke with my realtor from the cool of the balcony of my high-rise apartment, my eyes feasted on the Washington Monument in the background, with weekend crowds milling around restaurants and shops in Pentagon City. Two communities so close, yet so far. Was I going to be a catalyst for change? A harbinger of events to come?

My realtor delved into the history of Williams’ house and called me back. The house was actually in foreclosure, with Williams not having paid his mortgage for over seven months. The bank had already set in motion the process to repossess the house. What was more, the payoff was just a little below $100,000. For some strange reason, Williams had refinanced the loan a couple months back. It seemed such an unfair twist of fate, a bitter shame that they were losing the house. After forty years of struggle, after forty years of sweat and blood and reams of dreams, you would think that they would have something to show for it.

The next day came, Monday, and soon after my work day I met with Billy at the house. He had beside him a youthful, pleasantly plump-looking woman with, honey-brown eyes and thick hair captured in a tight braid. There seemed to be a substantial age gap between the two. I thought she looked closer to my age. She wore a police uniform and I could tell right away that she worked as a dispatcher for the DC Police. Billy laid his hand on her shoulder as I joined them. “Chito, I want you to meet Tina. Tina has the power of attorney. You deal with her from now on as the seller and for the settlement. Just deal with me for the repairs and renovation.”

“Nice to meet you, Tina.” Tina’s glowing eyes penetrated my gaze and held eyes contact for a long moment. She was trying to tell me something, I felt. Behind the casual friendliness I could see an urgency, a desperation, a plea for help, to get them out of the mess they were in. I felt a strange invitation being silently extended to me, to join as an ad hoc member of the house and to become part of their family. There was no racial division. It didn’t matter that I was Asian. As she held my gaze she knew she could trust me. She knew I would end up being their saviour in preserving their father’s house.

It was all gone in a moment, though. Tina grasped my hand and said, “Very nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I live in Virginia. Arlington to be exact.”

Tina’s five year old son, Daryl gripping his mother’s skirt, looked me up and down in silent, intense absorption.

Tina was suddenly all business-like. “So how much are you willing to offer for my father’s house?”

There were several offers on their house, I knew that by now - a couple of them over the asking price. Yet it seemed that she was more interested in the prospect of my involvement in their house. She seemed to be making a close assessment of me as a person.

“Not much over the asking price,” I replied. “But pretty close to it.”

I was trying to be cordial but I had to maintain a professional demeanor for the sake of the peculiar business transaction that seemed to be taking place. She gave me a hard look. Then her face broke into a warm grin and she gripped my hand in a firm, tenacious clasp. “You are in, that’s for sure.”

I thought I was dreaming. I had not really given a strong offer but it was obvious they had welcomed me into the family with open arms. This was really incredible. Almost against my will, I had got dragged into this family situation, and as much as I wanted to keep my distance, I knew I couldn’t. I was in it with them whether I liked it or not, the rapport and affinity I had felt from the start subtly changing to compassion and a compelling passion to save this house for this family.

As I reflected momentarily on what I was taking on, I felt a surge of panic arise in my throat. I had never tackled anything of this scope. I wasn’t even handy. But deep down in the core of my being, I knew I had to take on this challenge. Unswerving determination gripped me. I would learn construction. I would hire Billy’s team and together we would demo the basement, layout the floor plan and build the rooms to specs. A formidable task may be, but it was my calling both on a personal level and in recognition of Alphonso Williams for all his hard work and commitment.

Chapter 5 Discovering Lil' House on Lebaum

2009-04-01T18:24:00.000-07:00

View Larger Map

Immersed in my musings, I suddenly realized where I was and decided it was about time I made myself scarce. I had barely turned on my heels when a lanky man, probably on the good side of his fifties, with a deeply creased face that reflected the trials and tribulations of this community over the years, walked out the door, and dumped yet another box on the yard. As I looked at him with undisguised interest, I could see that the box was not filled with clothes like the rest, but with some old books and photographs. I felt like an interloper, an intruder, even an opportunist - driving in from out of state in the safety of broad daylight, to exploit the depressed socio-economic conditions of this once stately area, but not having to live with it at night. Is that how I would be perceived?

I wanted to dispel such thoughts at the outset. I went towards him with hand extended, and I was touched when he responded warmly.

Hello, I am Billy,” he said, beaming at me as if he had always known me.

Welcome,” he added simply.

As I introduced myself, I found myself asking if his house was for sale. As soon as the words were out of my lips, I felt a little ridiculous. After all, there wasn’t even a “For Sale” sign there, but the whole day had seemed barely one step away from the ridiculous. I had better watch my step, I thought.

“Yes, this house is for sale. You seem destined to buy it.”
Meantime, Billy was trying his best to play the gracious host. “Please come inside,” he invited in a friendly, easy style, “If you don’t mind the mess.”

I felt a little uneasy at this unadulterated friendliness. Could there be strings attached? Was it exactly what it seemed to be? After all, I was just a moment away from stepping into an unoccupied house with a total stranger. Varying degrees of ominous thoughts assailed me. Was he genuine? Or was he trying to lure me inside – to do God knows what. To shoot me? Stab me? I felt panic rise up to my throat.

I paused for a long second. My belief in human nature won over my fears. I followed him warily, almost reluctantly inside. Standing at the threshold, Billy turned to me, his face awash with pride. “This is my father’s house. This is Alphonso Williams’ house --he owned and maintained it for 40 years.”

As my eyes took in the dim interior of the house, I could see that it looked as old as he claimed. It appeared to be nothing but a mound of haphazardly dumped junk, as if intruders had barged in and raided the house, overturning everything he owned.

If there was a description of perfect chaos, this would be it. The hardwood floor was ugly and bare, the loose boards creaking with every step. The floral wallpaper in the living room and foyer which would have once lent grace and beauty to quiet living, looked sad and forlorn, stained an ugly brown from the smoke and grease of decades. The shabby, threadbare sofa, the broken down bookcase, the chipped dining table and dirty wobbly chairs were pathetically thrown here and there, as if they had outstayed their welcome long ago. A monstrous Sylvania black and white TV almost as big as a bed, sat dejectedly in the living room. It had obviously outlived its usefulness and now merely served as extra area to store more junk. Amidst the thick coat of dust on the TV top was a dusty old RCA record player and an equally dusty collection of old records: Duke Ellington, Elvis Presley. It was a peculiar feeling of having got stuck in a groove in the past, being an uninvited guest witnessing the historic remorseless decline of Anacostia, the whirlwind transformation from genteel, upscale living to this pathetic “down and out” community.

I was bemused, filled with a certain wonderment as I absorbed the dirty, neglected surroundings. The dark drapes jealously kept the sun’s golden rays away, allowing mere flickers of light to heighten the feeling of age and degradation. I breathed in the musty odor of stale air and dusty junk. The bedrooms were simply crying out for attention and long-forgotten memories were flung over the dresser in the form of scattered old photographs, a few hanging on the wall by frail nails ready to give way at any time. It was a dismally decrepit house, to be sure. But what character it revealed! If the walls could talk, what poignant tales of unsung heroism they would relate.

The remnants of bygone energy of Alphonso Williams penetrated my consciousness in the most peculiar way. An honest-to-God hard-working family man who had tried to do his best for his wife and kids and for his community. A few of his local civic awards, dirty and tinged with age were carelessly scattered with the mess of clothes on the floor – trash like the rest of it - irrelevant and forgotten.

Billy followed my gaze as it rested on his father’s bygone achievements. He looked a little guilty, a shadow of regret flitting across his face. “This is all Pop’s,” he muttered. “Back when he was still active, he was a civic man and very popular and considered to be the Mayor of the Block.” I felt a pensive flash of regret sweep through me as my eyes fell on a youthful photograph of Williams in his 20s, fresh and energetic in army fatigues, looking upon the world with winning eyes. His energy was still around, as if he was brooding over why he had lost everything and reliving the idealism of latent dreams.

I never knew Williams, had never met him, but felt a certain affinity with the man who had had so many dreams for a glorious future for his family, for his community – a man who believed in compassion and humanity. I felt a surge of strange desire to know more about him.

“How is your father doing?” I asked gingerly, almost afraid to put my thoughts into words.

Billy shook his head. “Pop is in the hospital now, not doing too good.” I had been afraid of that.

“Will he return to his house?” Billy shook his head again more vigorously. “I’m afraid he lost his mind. He’s in the VA and he’s in good hands. My sister Tracy just wants to put the house on the market.”

I couldn’t understand why I was getting drawn into a family situation which really had nothing to do with me. “Why don’t you just keep this house? You and your sister can live here. I’m sure you can fix it up.”

Billy shrugged his shoulders. “Tina says there are too many memories. We live up the road at the foot of Lebaum Street. We’re fine there and we can always keep an eye on Pop’s house. Besides we’re behind in our payment and need to payoff the mortgage.”

I couldn’t really grasp the logic of this reasoning. But then who was I to judge? There was no way I could put myself in their shoes because I had not experienced the hardship and depravity that shook this community and tore this family apart.

If I had been shocked earlier, what I saw down in the basement absolutely horrified me. The miserable environment above had in no way prepared me for the hellhole down below. The basement was in impenetrable darkness, smelled dank and musty, with dirty, stagnant water creeping relentlessly up my ankles. The mold and the mildew told their own story and electricity in this household was very much a thing of the past. Pepco had turned the electricity off months ago.

Billy obviously didn’t realize the traumatic effect his house was having on me. He continued nonchalantly, matter-of-fact. “This is the recreation room where the tenants hung out. There was a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room down here. We had four tenants here at one time and this is where they watched TV and ate. There’s a heck of a lot of space.”

I shrivelled my nose in disgust. This was the last straw. The entire specter was nauseating. I couldn’t take anymore. How on earth was I to even envision six people in this house. Insane guests too!! The eeriness of the atmosphere was getting to me pretty badly. I felt chilly goose bumps as my eyes played tricks on me – shadowy images in the darkness...... Had anyone ever been raped or murdered here? Were there revengeful spirits lurking around to pounce on the unsuspecting? Ugghh....... I had to escape this prison and breathe in some God’s own fresh air.

As we stepped outside from the rear basement entrance, I filled my lungs with the cool air, trying to shrug off the dark moments of a while ago. The beautiful St Elizabeths red brick building with its boarded windows arose from beyond, symbolic and apologetic to this economically deprived community. In its heyday, this teeming campus had housed thousands of mental patients.

Billy looked at me quizzically. “Well, what did you think?”

What was I really supposed to say? I didn’t want to hurt his feelings so I tried to be diplomatic. “It was interesting.” Even as the words left my lips, I knew that all I wanted to do was jump into my car and drive off without a backward glance and leave Anacostia behind forever like a hideous nightmare never to haunt me again.

So much for my intentions. Billy appeared to have taken my words in their very literal sense. He was suddenly infused with energy and latent excitement. “Great. If you trust me, I can round up a bunch of guys and we can do all the renovation inside as well as outside for a grand total of $15,000.”

I have lived long enough in this world to recognize an untruth when I see one. And I knew that Billy was lying through his teeth. Did he really think this dump could be repaired for $15,000? That money wouldn’t pay to move all the junk out of the house. But then, on second thoughts, some of this junk might be worth something and we might be able to barter it. What was more, I wanted to believe this man. I desperately wanted to believe him. I needed to reassure myself of the genuine humanity of people living in the depths of degradation. God knows how skimpy my budget is. Probably $15,000 was all I could afford to spend without hurting my delicate financial balance. So I deliberately ignored the nasty nagging doubts that assailed my saner self. I had to make a gigantic effort to sound enthusiastic.

“Super, sign me up. You have good people?”

Billy appeared to be leaps ahead of me. “Well, I could do the drywall and refinish the floor. I could even do some of the exterior work: siding and replace some of the shingles on the roof. My good friend is an electrician, a former Sailor—you’ll like him. We don’t need new wiring just replace some receptacles and of course a new circuit in the basement, depending on what you want to do down there. We will also need a good carpenter to build the framing and to hang the doors. There’s a lot to do but all very manageable.”

As I listened to Billy’s plans, a strange surge of compassion and goodwill coursed through my veins. It was not for my benefit that I felt this intense motivation. It was for the sake of a man I had never even seen in the flesh. It was a deep compelling wish to complete the renovation for Mr. Williams’ sake. Alphonse Williams may be hospitalized and on a respirator and may never see the light of day. But something in me felt that if was a debt of gratitude society owed this man for his hard work for a better life for his community. I felt someone had to recognize the sacrifice this man had made for the sake of posterity, maintaining this house in stellar condition through lean and mean times, rejecting a more comfortable life for himself so others could bear the fruits if his efforts. Some one should be large-hearted enough to restore it to its original standard or better. Was that person going to be me?

The whole situation was beginning to overwhelm me – I had to get away from here to clear my thoughts. I needed a neutral environment to make a decision, one way or the other. I turned to Billy to ward off any more attempts to influence me. “Billy, don’t say any more. Let me think about this and come back to you in the next day or two.”

Chapter 11 Private Sonny

2009-03-30T20:59:00.000-07:00

The years did finally speed up to leave Sonny transformed into a resilient, self-reliant young man, sturdy, rugged and as sharp as a whistle. Having gotten through high school by 1947, 17-year old Sonny, still a raw and fresh-eyed teenager, volunteered his services to the army. Stationed in Fort Meade, Maryland, as a Buck Private, he earned a measly $75 a month, which satisfied him at the time, as the army provided him a room and board as well.

The romantic in Sonny was enchanted by the location of Fort Meade. It was a nature’s paradise with virgin forestland, tall and shady beautiful trees and endless vantage points for Sonny to watch wildlife undisturbed. The Hummingbirds, the bluebirds and the Purple Martins looked fascinating as they pecked about looking for grub. The black squirrels so furry and endearing scampered about looking for nuts to store for winter and spotted deer enjoyed free run of the base. Sonny would get so deeply moved by these encounters with nature, he turned his after hours into creative writing sessions, allowing his spirit the freedom of flight into poetic fantasy.

The struggles his mother went through during his childhood had left an indelible mark on Sonny for he adhered to a frugal, almost reclusive existence without parties, drinking or smoking. He distanced himself from frivolity and extravagance. Living so frugally, he was able to set aside some money for a rainy day, even from the paltry salary he was paid. His solitary existence it didn’t bother him overmuch. Books on any topic were his friends and when he was not absorbed in observing wildlife or writing poetry, he could be found with his nose buried deep in a book. He was not one for travel either. Though he loved the company of his mother and stepfather, he rarely spent time out of town. When his mother spoke with him on the phone, she would plead with him to come home on weekends. The yearning so obvious in her teary voice never failed to tug at his heartstrings and he would relent and plan a trip home. From Anne Arundel County where he was based, it was a two-hour bus-ride to Washington DC. To see his mother’s face light up on seeing him and the warmth of her hugs were worth all the hassle of travel. The man-to-man chats with his stepfather gave him the strength and reassurance he needed to be the totally committed soldier of his dreams. Or at least to come somewhere close to it. His doubts and fears miraculously vanished when Enas Broadway soothed his spirit with a gentle philosophical turn of phrase.

So in time, Sonny adjusted smoothly to his soldier’s way of life. He already had an alert, vigilant disposition and he had trained himself to be observant. His ability to zero in on what interested him combined with his innate capability to steer a vehicle, made him a much sought after tank driver for the 2^nd Armored Cavalry Division, driving their M24 tanks and personnel carriers. The M24 Chaffee was arguably the best light tank of World War II, able to deliver relatively large caliber direct fire with an excellent 75 mm M6 gun. Sonny was proud of this fact even though his relationship with heroism was destined to remain vicarious. Every time he sat at the driving seat of an M24, his thoughts would wing back to the tales of bravery Enas Broadway had related. Time had dulled the pathos of life and death situations but the characters seemed so real yet. There were times when Sonny felt the tears stream down his cheeks as he felt the pain and heartache of his stepfather. Would he have measured up to him? What is the choice he would have made when faced with certain death in saving his buddy? For Enas Broadway there had been no choice. He saved his buddy and almost lost his life. Located in the relative safety of the US, there were times Sonny sorely wished to experience the spine-tingling thrill of danger in the air or the oppressive fear of his life constantly on the line.

Chapter 12 Valley Forge VA

2009-03-30T20:55:00.000-07:00

A year or two later, Sonny realized that facing danger and dying was one thing, but facing danger and being incapacitated for life was something totally different. The sobering truth struck him real hard during one weekend visit to Valley Forge Pennsylvania Hospital to participate in a boxing tournament dedicated to war veterans who were war wounded. Sonny, now 5’ 10” and weighing 170 pounds boxed in the Light Heavyweight category. Before the tournament while the other fighters were warming up, Sonny wanted to warm up his heart instead. He decided to sit with the veterans, bond, share emotions and listen intently to their life stories.

Each of those veterans had their own story of unsung heroism to relate. They had all been patriotic young men filled with a deep desire to make a difference in the world. They were young enough to believe they could. And they all paid dearly for it. Many were double or triple amputees and some had suffered severe burns. One guy had sadly lost his ears and had just a small stub for what once used to be a nose. His name was Phil, a P-38 Pilot from Baltimore who was attached to a unit in North Africa. Flying missions over the Mediterranean, Phil spent much of his time escorting bombers to southern Germany or across the Balkans, attacking targets in Yugoslavia.

On only his 2nd mission to Vienna on August 1944 he was strafing a large concentration of trains and locomotives in Hungary when he caught a wing tip on a tree and cart wheeled forward crashing to the ground on its back. Phil was badly burned and as he was climbing out of the flaming wreckage, the Hungarian soldiers captured him and lugged him in a horse-drawn cart to a Catholic hospital in Kormand, where he was expected to die. With resolute strength and stamina, he survived, and in a couple of months, a couple of Hungarian guards took him to another hospital in Budapest by train disguised as a Czech prisoner-of-war. On the train two German soldiers came up to him and put a gun to his head threatening to shoot him as a spy in disguise before letting him go. It was just one of the many close calls he was able to survive.  

Eventually Phil joined up with other Prisoners of War and were led to Frankfurt forty-five days after leaving Budapest. Phil was interrogated and deloused then led to a huge room where several hundred starving Russians were lying on the floor. The stench was so overwhelming one of the prisoners fainted. A few days later they were all sent off to Numberg in crowded boxcars.

Phil was in terrible shape. To sleep he had to roll his eyes up into his head. In the mornings he'd had to wipe the caked pus from his eyes with a dirty piece of gauze, while staring at his horribly disfigured face from a cracked piece of mirror.

Later in 1945, all the POWs were liberated and flown home for hospitalization. Eventually Phil made it to the VA Rehabilitation Center in Valley Forge where he had been recovering for the last few years, hoping one day, soon to be back on his own two feet.

At the end of the talk, Sonny had completely broken down in tears. His heart went out to the Veterans and War Wounded who had served unconditionally and sacrificed almost everything they had for their country and cause that they held so near and dear.

With some of their injuries, it became challenging to return back to normalcy and the lives they once knew. Some could not make their relationships with wives or girlfriends work. Their injuries and the pain and memories of the insuppressible horrors of war had taken a huge toll, but now they had embarked on a slow but steady road to recovery. Some had become strangers to their own families. Some who were severely wounded could not handle the compassion or perceived charity they received from their loved ones and preferred to live in a world away and to heal peacefully in this sanctuary where doctors and nurses catered to their needs and their brothers in arms who were coping with the same life situations consoled with each other so that they could come to grips with what had transpired. It was not easy to comprehend, it was not easy to hear. One or two broke down when speaking of their children who they deeply missed and wanted to be with again. The war was over and the world had moved on. It was their private tragedy now.

As Sonny listened and watched, he was filled with admiration for these hard-core men who had given their limbs and lives for our country and who had adapted themselves to life stoically, even cheerfully, despite their heart-wrenching handicaps. It seemed to him a reinforcement of what Valley Forge stood for, the suffering and stoic endurance of American soldiers – a modern day version of the patriotic young men in George Washington’s Army. In their own way these men appeared content with their lives, smoking and laughing as if they had no care in the world. Sonny was determined to do his very best to lift their spirits. Unlike, them, he had never fought in combat, never even stepped foot on foreign soil. But tonight, he would fight for them and tonight, they would cheer for him.

Chapter 13 The Bout with Curtis Lowe

2009-03-30T20:50:00.000-07:00

Sonny fought with single-mindedness in the ring, his spirits lifting each time he heard the cheering, the laughter, the cries of excitement – they were enjoying themselves, no doubt about that, and that was what Sonny wanted. With each cheering Sonny got an extra spurt of energy as adrenaline pumped faster into his blood stream. He surpassed even his own expectations. His opponent fell down heaving and gasping, glistening with sweat, with no energy to get to his feet. Sonny won by a huge margin that night.

The second night was more challenging for Sonny where he had to fight with champion boxer Curtis Lowe. Curtis was 5’7” and 159 lbs. Sonny was physically more intimidating at 5’10” and 175 lbs. But he was only 21. Curtis Lowe was a mature man, chunky and stocky, and mean-looking. Twinges of nervousness struck him. Could he match up to Lowe’s fine-tuned skills and superior strength? He would definitely give his best shot. As during the previous night, what were important to him were the enjoyment and the entertainment the veterans derived from it. So, that evening, under bright ring lights he met with the formidable Curtis Lowe as the veterans cheered and yelled for him. He had become a veritable hero to them overnight.

The match started out pretty evenly matched. Curtis Lowe, his black eyes gleaming malevolently, his lips pursued stubbornly stood with fists clenched in readiness. Sonny reined in his emotions and stood equally prepared, undaunted. He made sure to circle his opponent, never staying more than a few seconds directly in front of him. He adroitly avoided the punches that were rained on him. Neither lost balance. Sonny threw a left jab followed by a straight right. Curtis responded with a right jab and a left hook. They blended a good combination of punches that kept the crowd on their feet and cheering loudly. Curtis was a skilled boxer. Sonny was a budding novice, but he was motivated and committed to fight hard. Sonny tried hard to concentrate and not throw too many punches. He was determined to save his energy to give the ultimate punch that would ensure victory for him.

In the second round, Curtis played foul and landed Sonny a low hook in the groin that dazed him had him writhing in pain. The crowd was tensed and breathless, anxious for Sonny as Curtis Lowe kept the pressure of agonizing blow after blow. Sonny needed a break. Couldn’t wait till the round ended, as he said afterwards.

Two more rounds left. Back in those days, they only fought four rounds to prevent guys from too much injury. For much of the time it was a tense and close fight. At one time Sonny feared he would have to concede victory to Lowe. He looked around to search, yearning for divine inspiration. In his blurred and unconscious vision, he could see the many faces all around, some jeering, some grimacing, all torn. The one that he made out and could not forget was the indomitable face of Ray, WW II veteran and fighter pilot extraordinaire. He stood there, still, hopeful and impassioned and for that moment, he gave Sonny something to shoot for.

Instinctively, Sonny’s survival instincts revved full throttle. He wanted revenge. He was so charged up that he jumped into the ring and went after Curtis with jabs. It was his favorite punch and the most important punch in a boxer’s arsenal. Sonny twisted his arm in a corkscrew-like motion before the impact. This produced a snapping sound so loud it reverberated through the entire arena. Sonny willed his entire strength into a final hook punch that caught Curtis off guard. Sonny executed it with such precision and speed that Curtis was knocked off balance and fell immediately to the floor. It was a clear knock out and it took 1 minute and 39 seconds to see it through. So, in the end, Sonny stole the limelight from Curtis Lowe and had all the veterans crowding him, cheering him and thumping him on the shoulder. The margin of victory was relatively small, but it was an unforgettable night for Sonny.

Chapter 14 Champion Fighter

2009-03-30T20:45:00.000-07:00

This unexpected thrust onto the spotlight got him the Army’s attention and not long after that, in 1950, he had to face Curtis Lowe again at the All Army Boxing Tournament in Panama. He had been reaching beyond himself in training for this event and he was physically and mentally geared to face his arch rival. So as he met Curtis Lowe again in the boxing ring, this time around, Lowe’s tough, ruthless stance and expression did not throw Sonny off balance. With equal determination, he met him punch for punch and stood up unwavering against his overbearing manner. But Sonny was champion once again. The thunderous clapping and cheering made Sonny’s spirits soar. Holding the glittering gilt trophy high in the air, Sonny faced the exultant spectators. Amidst the roar of the thunderous applause, he suddenly missed his parents. He felt a stab of loneliness, wanting to see the pride and joy in their faces as they watched him prove his skills and strength. As soon as he could get away, he went straight to a phone booth and called Sarah and Enas. They were absolutely overjoyed, stunned, never realized that a local boy from Armstrong could win a national title.

A little later after in the locker room, after the celebrating had subdued, two distinguished white guys in coat and tie approached him with an unexpected proposal.

“Son, what we want to find out is, are you interested in fighting off-post in Baltimore?”

Sonny looked surprised. “I don’t think the post would allow me.”

“The post doesn’t have to know. The matches are on Friday nights and on the weekends,” said one of the guys.

“And why should it interest me?”

“Well, you actually get to keep the prize money,” was the innocuous reply.

Images of the new car in town, the Studebaker, filled his mind. He might be able to afford it finally.

“Here you are, son. Think about it and call me when you get to Maryland,” one guy handed him his business card.

After much contemplation and several sleepless nights, Sonny made the call and accepted the proposal to play off-post despite a niggling fear that he could not shake off. And so, he trained and won two consecutive matches. He had a little cash in his hand now and he sent a major portion of it to his mother and kept a little aside to buy his dream Studebaker one day. He also decided not to push his luck too far. If the Army found out, he would be in deep trouble. All the money in the world would not be worth getting in trouble with his chain of command.

Chapter 15 Losing Virginity

2009-03-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

It was now Sonny’s second year in the army and he was still a very solitary figure who rarely dated because he preferred his own company. The obvious charms of the opposite sex left him unmoved, probably because he was too shy to even look at them. Nevertheless, he did volunteer to drive the females to the regular Friday night dances, which the GIs enjoyed in the summertime. The long sultry summer evenings enticed the GIs and their partners to let their hair down on a Friday and sway to the R&B and Blues that wooed their stressed-out spirits. Sonny would look on with disinterest at the cuddling couples and the steamy embraces. He couldn’t relate to these feelings and felt more than a little isolated in his hermit-like attitude. Once in a while he would feel he was being stared at. He would look up to find an interested female gaze upon him, eyes which blatantly gave him come-hither looks. He would blush and look away, not yet ready to love a woman. Of all the women Sonny had come to know, he never imagined that Katherine Wilson would become such an ominous figure in his life. What made him a little uneasy were the intense glances Katherine Wilson would focusing his way. Katherine Wilson was a hefty middle-aged woman with a big bosom and voluptuous lips, a formidable chaperone for the young women after the dance. Sonny had to drop off the women at their residences in Baltimore and Washington DC before finally dropping off Katherine Wilson.

One Friday night as myriad stars glimmered in the sky and the full moon bathed the world with its' soft silvery light, Sonny drove through the silent streets of Washington DC and Baltimore, dropping off the young service women one by one. Finally, there was only Katherine Wilson left to be dropped off. From his rear-view mirror, Sonny saw the female figure making her way to the rear of the bus, not sure why she did so, he kept driving. As he drove in silence, Sonny had the weirdest feeling that the evening had a surprises ending in store for him yet he couldn’t fathom what it would be. Sonny stopped the bus in front of Katherine Wilson’s house and waited patiently for her to get off, but she did not attempt the leave the bus that night as tradition dictated. Instead, he heard her deep resonating voice, “Mr. Williams, would you please come check out this noise back here!” He felt bewildered as he sat there, not knowing she spoke off. What could possibly be wrong? He felt a little overwhelmed by Katherine Wilson and did not wish to antagonize her by disobeying. He strode to the rear end of the bus and tried to listen to the sound of the running engine. Everything seemed to be in order. “Well I don’t hear any noise, Ms. Katherine. It may just be the exhaust", he retorted. Back in those days buses had their motors in the back, rather than in the front, so it could have been anything. “No, no, no…there iiiiissss a noise and it is comin’ from the bottom of the bus. Would you pleasseee listen for this noise?” What was her problem he wondered. Later on as he reflected on the events that transpired that night, he could have kicked himself for not recognizing the ploys of a lust-filled woman. As Sonny crouched on the ground and put his ear to the floor attentively, trying to listen for this ghost noise that could be coming from under the bus, he felt the pressure of a body on his back. Suddenly one arm came under him and flipped him over with no struggle. Looking up into her lustful eyes, he closes his eyes thinking he had finally lost his mind and his imagination had gone rampant. But it was not his imagination for he felt the cold of damp air against his lower body as she pulled his zipper down. He heard the rustle of his cloths as she pulled them down his body. He could also feel clammy, yet warm hands groping him, touching, grasping, caressing. His body assaulted by alien sensations that were not altogether distasteful. In fact, he liked the feelings that were swamping his better judgment. He allowed himself to be led and gave into the pleasurable sensations Katherine Wilson’s surprisingly agile fingers were arousing in him. Then, she was on top of him, pushing herself onto him with deep, vigorous thrusts that first amazed Sonny, then, frightened him because of the acute pain it brought him, as if she were impaling him. He began to scream out, “Ms Katherine, please stop, you're hurting me, Ms Katherine, stop…….” But she didn't stop and he felt so used. He remembered the moment until this day when his body gave in and he erupted, and as she lifted herself from his body all she said was, "thanks for the ride". She left him there lost, dazed and completely disoriented. What could he do or even say about this moment. While he knew this moment could never be repeated, he also knew he could not speak of it, his pride would not allow any thought of it again. Later as he recalled that moment, and how he felt his world was going to end. He remembered fear in that early morning and even though it only took about 2 minutes, it affected his entire life from that moment on. A silent torment digging at his heart, carving out a place in him, a place he could never get back and a place he could never forget. Later on, in the quiet of his bed, Sonny reflected wryly that of all the ways of losing his virginity, he had never in his wildest dreams anticipated this. But he sure didn’t want to tarnish his views on sex by allowing the likes of Katherine Wilson to take advantage of his inexperience in that sphere. He made sure that he kept his distance from her and got down from the bus and stood away when he dropped her off after the Friday night dances. He was surprised she never tried anything again maybe it was because she saw his reaction. Once for just a moment, as she walked from the bus, she looked back at him and he saw something foreign in her eyes. Maybe it was remorse or maybe it was another attempt to throw him off so she could get her claws into him again, but he never found out. Luckily for him, summer was almost over and the dances stopped too and he never saw Katherine Wilson again. But in his heart, that secret torment she gave him, creeps out and he imagines where she maybe and who else she had scared with her brand of loving.

Chapter 24 From Driver to Manager

2009-01-31T22:46:00.000-08:00

On a trip to Dade City, Florida not long afterward, Sonny found himself thrust into an unusual and unanticipated situation. Phillip informed him on the phone that the load he had to pick up would not be ready for another 48 hours.

View Larger Map

Sonny was exasperated. He could have been home with Anne. Why was this happening to him? The more practical side of him decided it was best not to make a fuss and he chose a truck stop to get a room for two days.

After checking in, he stopped at an auto shop for some urgent repairs to the rig. A few moments of persuasive negotiation and the mechanic agreed. Sonny left the keys of the truck with the mechanic without a second thought. Hungers pangs swirled and whirled, making him almost dizzy. He just had to have some food. Afterwards, with a warm meal inside him, satiated and comfortable, Sonny decided to relax at a game of pool. Filled with joie de vivre after his game, he yet felt the need to rest his tired bones. With visions of a bed filling his mind, he made his way back to the rig to get his knapsack of clothes and toiletries. He walked to the parking lot, to the spot where he remembered he had parked the truck. Other trucks were around. His truck was missing. Impossible, he said aloud as he looked around in bewilderment. Horror stories assailed his imagination as he stood indecisively He tried to shrug off his anxiety with the comforting thought that the mechanic must have taken it to the shop. When he walked over to the shop, his truck wasn’t there either. Neither was the mechanic. Even then Sonny would not lose hope. The mechanic took it out for a spin, he thought, to do a drive test. He sought out the dispatcher to inquire the whereabouts of his truck. What she told him shocked Sonny speechless. Two hefty men had come by and introduced themselves as employees of the big rig company. Without standing on ceremony, they had unlocked the rig door, covered the tag, and had driven the truck away. Sonny could hardly believe his ears, but it did not take him long to realize what had happened.

He slapped his forehead in dismay. “Dammit, they repossessed the entire rig.” Sonny immediately called Phillip. “You need to tell me what this is all about,” Sonny’s voice was icy with vexation.

Deep silence at the other end.

After a few moments, Phillip spoke up in a guilty tone. “Sonny, man, I owe you an apology. I knew this would happen sooner or later. I have been behind in my payments.”

Sonny would not buy that excuse. “You fool. With the amount of money I was bringing home, there is no way you could be behind.”

Phillip refused to admit irresponsible behavior. “Sonny, I just was not a good bookkeeper and I had family issues back home that drained my cash flow.”

Sonny’s disillusionment was almost tangible. “But why didn’t you tell me? At least you could have been honest with me.”

Sonny later learned that the bank that carried the note was urgently trying to contact Sonny to persuade him to take over the note to avert the repossession of the rig. A pity indeed for Sonny would have unhesitatingly grabbed the opportunity to be an owner operator. Too bad that Sonny was constantly on the road and could not be reached. With no load, no truck and no knapsack, there was no reason for Sonny to stay. He decided to hitchhike right away.

In the dark starless, humid night, Sonny stood by the wayside, watchful for approaching vehicles. It appeared to be a quiet night and the roads were desolate. A couple of hours later, a big rig pulled up close to him in response to his flagging. The driver Chuck appeared to be a pleasant man but rather brisk as he was running on a very tight schedule. He had to take his load to New York City within 18 hours. He had a 16- hour drive ahead of him which allowed him only two hours to catch some sleep.

“Well, I believe you are in luck. I am experienced in driving rigs. Let me take over and you can slip in the back and get some sleep. I will get you there,” said Sonny.

Chuck was rather hesitant but as he continued talking with Sonny, he realized he was speaking the truth and accepted his offer with a deep sense of relief.

As Sonny took the wheel, the first thing he did was to get a feel of the clutch. The clutch action was incredibly smooth. The pedal effort was minimal. Oh boy, this was going to be child’s play. He drove non-stop and following a smooth as silk drive, they pulled up at Lebaum Street in a record 13 hours. Chuck had 5 hours to get to New York City and he had rested well.

Sonny decided he needed a change of scene and began looking for jobs in completely different areas. Finally, he was rewarded in his unrelenting search for employment. He was called in for an interview at High’s Ice Cream at 12th and Monroe Street NE Washington DC. High’s Ice Cream which was founded by L.W. High in Richmond, Virginia in 1932, had been later bought over by James R. Gregory Jr. and two partners, in 1938. By this time there were 16 High’s Ice Cream stores and an ice cream plant in Richmond. Although High's had hand-dipped ice cream and other dairy products, ice cream was its specialty and trademark product, especially the lime sherbet. It was much sought after on a hot summer day. High’s also served fresh home-made soups, deli sandwiches and grilled items. High’s had become a favorite place for young people to hang out after school. On summer afternoons, young people gathered there to socialize, smoking in the parking lot or playing pinball inside the store. By the late 1980s there were some 350 High's Dairy Stores and restaurants in Virginia and Maryland, but by 1987, many of them were sold to the owners of Seven Eleven.

Sonny managed High's Ice Cream store at Monroe Street from 1966 to 1971, and by all accounts, he was a model manager. He was a hard worker, and a caring person who enjoyed interacting with other human beings. The store was located in a quiet residential area, where kids played outside and young mothers stepped in to get milk for their babies. Soon, all the local kids loved him and often called him “Pops.” Sonny’s charisma and dedication did not go unnoticed by the management, especially by his boss Mr. Hundley.

A few months later, Mr. Hundley called Sonny into his office. “I need your help at another store, Sonny,” he said.

The trouble spot was the High’s Ice Cream store on Wheeler Road, stricken with a spate of robberies and a manager who, among other things, was reckless with finances and prone to fits of rage. He was known to grab rowdy kids by their hair and yank them out of the store.

Sonny felt awkward. “Mr Hundley, I sure appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to go to no Wheeler Road. I enjoy working on Monroe St.”

Mr. Hundley brushed his words aside. “Well, Sonny we know you do and I’ve heard nothing but great things about you. That’s why I’m nominating you for this job.”

Sonny had to ask, “Does it come with a raise?”

Mr. Hundley refused to take the bait. “Well, why don’t you take this new store and see how you can turn it around first? Then we’ll definitely talk about a raise.”

Sonny realized he had little choice but to accept the offer. He took the position at the Wheeler Road store and tried to apply the same people skills that he used in the previous store. However, the customers in the area viewed him with caution and suspicion. Sonny realized he had to amend his strategy. He set about his plan with zeal. He started making notes about each customer so he would know what made them tick. He would ask Robin whether she got an A in her last exam, and Johnny whether he scored a touchdown in the last game. He sympathized with Auntie Lillie about her painful arthritis. He would offer treats to the kids or an extra loaf of bread or jelly to the old lady who was just making it on welfare - out of Sonny’s own pocket, of course. Within a few weeks, he had won over all the local kids. The people in the area changed their opinion because he treated them with respect and understanding.

However, Sonny did feel a tinge of resentment that he did not get the same fringe benefits as his white counterparts who were paid better and got more time off. But he decided to make the best of it. He started making friends with the locals. One thing he noticed was that the playing cards was an enjoyable pastime on weekends. One day, Sonny asked if he could join them.

“Sure thing,” a neighbor replied. “We’d love to have you. But when you come, you best call your wife ahead of time and warn her that you might not be coming home till real late. We like to burn the midnight oil playing poker.”

Sonny smiled. “No problem. I love to play poker or Blackjack. If it’s going to be that late, best not go home at all. I have bedding in the back of the store and I gotta open up early the next day anyways.”

So Sonny started spending much of the weekend playing cards with the locals and away from home. Meanwhile, Anne was slaving away taking care of the house and she spent many nights alone wondering what Sonny was really doing.

Meanwhile, Sonny’s new friends began to nag him about hosting a party. They knew Sonny owned a large house with several rooms and a large back yard. They knew he was a gourmet chef and would be a gracious host. They knew his expertise in a game of poker. Each time they tried to force the issue, Sonny resisted. He knew Anne’s objections and her voice kept echoing in his mind. “No wild parties in our house. If you do, I’ll leave you.” The friends, however, would not call it quits. They kept on pestering Sonny and teasing him about who wore the pants in his house. After some time, the teasing irritated him. He could not allow people to think he was under his wife’s thumb.

Despite misgivings and Anne’s undisguised opposition, Sonny planned a big party. They could afford it, after all, unlike during the first days of their marriage when they had to count every penny spent. He would host a non-stop card party from Friday afternoon until Sunday night.

Sonny used all his leisure time for over a month to plan the party. He even mailed out formal invitations. As the big day drew near, Sonny paid a visit to Buckingham Meats, the local meat market down Nichols Avenue and bought a whole truckload of food. He got fifty pounds of fresh pork chops, loin roasts, hock hams, ground beef, chicken, bratwurst and several kinds of fish.

Came the Friday of the party and Sonny was ready to play host. As the late evening sun turned shadows longer, men and women in party attire descended in groups. Colored lights on the trees winked and sparkled and tuneful jazz and rhythm and blues of BB King, Jimmy Brown and Duke Ellington wafted from the Sonora record player. As the party got underway, the liquor flowed - two kegs of beer and a case of ice in the bathtub, cheap wine in huge bottles called knotty head, and plenty of Seagrams gin.

When the mood picked up, the men got down to playing poker and blackjack in earnest, while the women played a card game called Pitty Pat. Some folks made money, some lost, most just did it for fun.

The games continued through the night into Saturday and then into Saturday night. After nearly 40 hours of non-stop partying, it was Sunday morning. Some folks were still playing unfazed, most were lying on couches or on the floor, fast asleep after a boozing binge. Congealed food was yet plentiful upon dishes on the table. The early morning sun was peeping through the partially drawn drapes.

Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat. The knocker on the front door sounded urgent. Sonny asleep on the carpet got up startled and hurried to the door. He opened the door and was disconcerted to see his mother standing outside with a rather grim look on her face.

Sonny tried to feign a sense of joviality he was far from feeling. “Hi, Mom. What brings you here? Would you like to join us?”

Sarah ignored his questions with a brisk, “Good Morning, son,” and brushing him aside, stepped into the house, walked through the living room and knocked on a bedroom door.

As she opened the door, her eyes fell on several men in a drunken stupor on the floor. Several others were seated on chairs and on milk crates. One man was dealing cards. It looked like they were playing 3-card poker.

Sarah stepped up to them and spoke in a gentle but firm voice. “Gentlemen, it’s been over 40 hours. You’ve been here long enough. It’s time to go home,” she said.

The men gazed at her, surprised. Then, as her words sank in, they all got up without a word, stacked the deck and settled their earnings.

Sarah walked over to the backroom. She knocked and opened the door. Several women were playing Pitty Pat. A few children were fast asleep beside them.

Sarah cleared her throat. “Ahem, ladies, you’ve been here all weekend. It’s time to go.” Just like the men, they all got up silently. “Yes Ma’am,” they answered as they picked up their belongings and started heading out the door.

As they reached the front door, Sonny stood by sheepishly. They chorused, “Great party, Sonny. You’re an outstanding manager and the most excellent host.”

Sonny hugged and thanked each of them as they left. “See you at the store tomorrow.”

Most went home, some were even considering going to church. Not for Sonny, though. He had plenty of cleaning up to do, and he was certain Anne would take no part in it.

“Thanks for the food, you’re quite a chef,” the last couple said as they complimented Sonny on their way out.

“We need to do this again. But next weekend we’ll meet in the Projects. This place is nice, but at least there, we won’t get kicked out.”

“Definitely,” Sonny replied.