Tulsa Burning Read online

  Tears started running down my face, and I didn't even try to wipe them away. I just followed after them, with Cinda still holding my hand. I looked around at the people then. I hadn't seen Sheriff Leonard, his wife, and my ma come into the cemetery, but they was there. Mrs. Leonard was in a big wooden chair with wheels on it like crippled folks ride in. I figured they must have drove in the big gate on the other side, and sure enough the black automobile saying "Sheriff' was there.

  I looked at the motorcar and at the sheriff, and I waited. I waited for that old familiar feeling of hate to fill me up. That's the man that killed old Rex, I told myself. He's the selfsame man that plotted to get Isaac hung. He ain't got one decent bone in that puffed-up body. I just stood there thinking all the bad thoughts I could about the sheriff, and I waited for the hate to come.

  It didn't come, and I was just plumb flabbergasted. What was happening to me? I felt tired and sad, just too tired and sad to have anything left inside me for hating.

  The preacher started to speak. "Friends, we're here today to lay a precious child to rest." Just then he got interrupted.

  "Preacher," Daisy said, "I got something that's burning to be said." I could feel that crowd holding their breaths, listening. "It's about Isaac Mitchell." She leaned her head in Mrs. Mitchell's direction. "Most of you know this is Isaac's mother, Martha. Well, I want all of you to hear me say that young man did not do one thing to cause the death of our baby. I seen the whole thing, standing in the door to my Café. Lida Rose run right out in front of him. There's not a person here, including mighty Sheriff Leonard, who could have done anything different from what Isaac done. I don't want any more talk about punishing him. He's hurting enough. Let's just have peace!" She did start to cry then, but she got out one more word, "Please."

  The preacher opened his Bible. "There's nothing better for me to say than what this woman has just said." He did say something though, and he read from the Bible. I wasn't listening on account of I was too busy starting to understand what was happening inside me. I looked back at the sheriff, and sure enough, I knew I was done hating him.

  Oh, don't get me wrong. Sheriff Leonard wasn't never going to be a person I liked, and I sure planned to keep my eye on him. But I wasn't going to waste no more time or energy on hating him or trying to get even. Maybe I was just too tuckered out, or maybe it was Daisy and Sim walking with Mrs. Mitchell between them that sort of broke my heart and let the hate seep out. Maybe it was a little of both.

  When the preacher used the shovel to get the first dirt, I caught Cinda's eye. She looked at me like she knew what I was thinking. What I was thinking was that I was glad I didn't have to use that shovel to cover over the grave of Lida Rose Harrison, who had made me her pretend brother. I decided right there that if I ever had me a little daughter, I would name her Lida Rose.

  Folks started walking away then. Wasn't nobody making much noise, just talking real soft to one another. I saw Widow Carter and Oily. I left Cinda and went over to them. "Mrs. Carter, ma'am," I said. "I been wondering if maybe you might take me on to work on the place." I got sort of nervous then, and I stopped to get a big breath. "I'd be hoping to go back to school in the fall, but I could still work before and after and all this summer."

  "I expect you'd be good help," she said.

  Her saying that gave me courage to go on. "Well," I said, "the thing is, I'd be needing a place to board too. Sheriff Leonard's throwed me out, not that I could stay there anymore anyways."

  "We've got plenty of room." It was Oily speaking up, just like a regular person, and he was smiling.

  The widow smiled too. "You'd be good company," she said. "Your mother too. I asked her before, but she told me things was settled with the Leonards."

  "Well," I said, "things are sure enough unsettled now. At least, as far as I'm concerned. I'm thinking Ma might be staying where she is."

  I thanked Mrs. Carter, and we said our good-byes. I told them I'd be over to their place in the afternoon. When I turned away from them, I was surprised to see Daisy waiting for me.

  "Nobe," she said, "I reckon I won't be seeing you for a while. Me and Sim aim to keep the Café closed, sell it if we can. We're going to move over toward Oklahoma City, where Sim's people live." She reached out and took my hand, and she pressed something into it. "Your pay," she said.

  It was a ten-dollar bill. "This is way too much," I said and held it out to her.

  She wouldn't take it back. "We want you to have it," she said. She reached out and hugged me. "I hope we meet again someday, Nobe," she said. Then she pulled back and sort of nodded toward the grave. "We've ordered her a stone from Tulsa," she said. "It will say, 'Bloomed on earth to blossom in heaven.'" She touched my cheek, turned, and walked away.

  I stood there thinking about Lida Rose's stone. Then I looked down at the ten dollars in my hand, and I knowed what I would do with that money.

  I looked around then for Sheriff Leonard, his wife, and my ma. They was pretty near to his big automobile. I hurried in that direction. When I was close, I called out, "Ma."

  She turned to look at me, and then she walked toward me. "Ma," I said again, and then I told her about how I would be living at the Widow Carter's. "She said she'd like to have you too," I said.

  "Mrs. Leonard needs me," she said. "Mavis has come to count real heavy on me. I can't leave her now." She didn't look at me, just down at the ground.

  "Well," I said, "just thought I'd mention it." I was sure hoping it was the sheriff's wife, not the sheriff, that had come to depend on my mother.

  Ma looked over her shoulder. The sheriff had his wife in the motorcar, and he was going around to the driver's side. "I got to go, son," she said, and she did. I didn't watch her go.

  Chapter 11

  SO I SPENT THAT SUMMER working in Widow Carter's fields. It felt real good. I missed Lida Rose, Daisy, and hearing folks talk at the Café, but being outside again felt good. We cleared a section that hadn't ever been plowed before, so I was back at picking up rocks, heaving them at the fence line, or toting them if they was too big to throw. It made me smile, thinking that I was glad to be back fighting Oklahoma rocks.

  Some days, just about dusk, I'd go out in the big field of alfalfa hay, and I'd just stand there smelling the sweetness of that hay and waiting for the stars to come out. It made me feel good in my soul.

  Two real important things happened later that June. The first thing was the letter from Isaac. It come after I'd been at the widow's for a couple of weeks. I was so excited about reading what Isaac had to say that I didn't even notice the first line, the Dear part. I just went to reading the main part.

  I wanted to let you know that I am okay. I am in a town called Langston, over by Guthrie. There is a college here just for colored people, and the town is all colored too. They've asked me to teach at the college this fall, and I think I will like that.

  I will be coming back to see Mama. No one is going to make me afraid to go home. I will be coming to see you too.

  The note from Lester did not contain a blessing. He did not say one word about being proud of me or loving me. He just said that it was time for him to move on down the road and that maybe he would see me again someday. 1 guess I should be pleased because he certainly never wrote me a good-bye note before. However, 1 am not pleased, but you know all about that.

  I'm still thinking about how I want to speak out for colored peoples rights. I wont ever be angry and full of hate like Lester, but I am thinking of using my real name, Cotton, when 1 start my new job in the fall. I hope it wont hurt my mother too much.

  I can never, never thank you enough for what you did for me. I had said my prayers and was prepared to meet my maker. Believe me, though, I was certainly not disappointed when you caused a change of plan. In my heart you are my brother. Know that you have the blessing of your older brother!

  I noticed the first line then. He had wrote, "Dear Noble," and that was something he had never once before called me. I put that letter
in the drawer of a chest in the room where I slept, and I knew I would keep it always.

  The other thing that happened was that my ma showed up at the widow's door with her basket of belongings in her hand. We was eating supper, the widow, Oily, me, and two hired hands. There was a knock, and Widow Carter went to the door. She come back with my ma.

  "Look who's here, Nobe," she said.

  I got up and went over to take the basket from Ma. I wanted to hug her, but it never was the way in our family, hugging each other. "What happened?" I asked.

  "The sheriff tried—" She stopped and looked down at her feet. "I'll go back to visit Mavis when I can, but I can't live in the same house with that man. I should of listened to you, son."

  I wondered how Ma had got out to the widow's place. I knowed she didn't walk, because there wasn't a lot of dust on her feet. I didn't ask, though. It seemed like Ma didn't want to talk much.

  "Here's your place, Vivian," Widow Carter said, and she put a plate for Ma on the table. The fried potatoes sure did taste good that night!

  Basil Bailey and Willie never did make it back to Wekiwa that summer, so me and Cinda didn't go up for any more airplane rides. We did get to go to a picture show over in Tulsa, though. The widow had some shopping to do over there, and she drove me and Cinda to see the show.

  I was real excited about seeing a real picture show, but when we got there, I didn't feel so good. What was showing was Zorro. Of course, I went to thinking about Lida Rose, and my heart started feeling like someone was squeezing on it real hard.

  For a minute I stood there, thinking maybe I wouldn't go in, but I did. The thing was, I had figured out by then that there wasn't no way to avoid that hurting inside. I never knew when something would come along to set it off. I figured I might as well learn to live with it.

  I did think about Lida Rose seeing the real Zorro riding around, but I had me a good time too. It was purely nice to set there with Cinda in the dark, holding her hand and getting lost in the story.

  The picture show took some of my money, but I had enough left for what I had planned. I bought a bag of cement mix. I borrowed one of the widow's wagons and a couple of horses. I took the cement, some boards, a big bucket of water, and my marbles. I took a couple of other things too, and I drove over to the cemetery.

  I went to my pa's grave, built a frame with the boards, mixed the cement, and made him a stone. I took the other two things I had brought out of my pocket, the two keys to the telephone box. I dropped them down into the wet cement on account of I had decided I would never use them again.

  Then I took my prize marbles, and I spelled out Pa's name, Melvin Chase. It looked good there in marbles of lots of different colors. I wrote the years of his life too, 1884-1921. For a long time I just stayed there beside his grave.

  I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't find no words for what I wanted to say. I started to think that maybe Pa was in heaven after all. It would sure take God to understand a man like him. I figured if Pa was up there, he'd likely be able to look down and know the words that I wished I could say.

  When it was just about dark, I left the cemetery. Our old place wasn't really on the way to Widow Carter's from the cemetery, but I went out of my way. I wanted to see the old place and the ghosts that I knew would be there.

  Sure enough, I saw them both out by the barn. I didn't look much at the man. I guess I was thinking I'd already spent a good bit of time with him that day. It was the little fellow I wanted to see. He had the same blond hair, and he had on the same worn-out striped overalls. He had the same terrible lonely look on his face, too. That look plumb broke my heart.

  I didn't get down from the wagon, and I didn't drive close. I just set there on that wagon seat, and I called out, "Don't be so sad, little fellow," I said. "It gets better. I promise it does."

  Author's Note

  Nobe Chase and the other characters in this book are fictitious. There is no Wekiwa, Oklahoma, outside of Tulsa. I wish I could say that the race riot also grew out of my imagination. However, the terrible event really occurred.

  In 1921, Tulsa was in many ways two cities. African-Americans lived in Tulsa, but they were not welcome in stores and businesses owned by whites. A section of Tulsa called Greenwood was a prosperous African-American business district. It was often referred to as the "Black Wall Street of America." Greenwood was a thirty-five-square-block area containing, besides homes, every kind of business. There was also a public library, a hospital, two schools, and twenty-three churches.

  On May 31, 1921, a young African-American man was accused of assaulting a white woman who operated the elevator in a downtown building. The young man was arrested. Inflamed by irresponsible newspaper reporting, a huge crowd of white men gathered at the courthouse where the young man was held. They talked of lynching. A much smaller group of African-American men also gathered to protect the young man.

  Angry words led to gunfire, and the race war started. The trouble moved to the Greenwood area, where the burning of the thirty-five-square-block area began. Martial law finally stopped the riot. However, more than 1,000 African-American homes and dozens of their businesses were only ashes. All twenty-three of the churches were destroyed. The number of deaths, most of them of African-American, is estimated to be between 27 and 250. No one knows for sure.

  The citizens of Greenwood were strong enough to rebuild their community, and in ten years it was as prosperous as ever. Greenwood thrived until desegregation made it possible for African-Americans to live and do business in a broader area. In town today stands a lovely building known as the Greenwood Educational and Cultural Center.

  Growing up in Oklahoma, I had no idea such a terrible thing happened in the city only sixty miles from my home. For a long time knowledge of the event was suppressed, and no one talked about it. Only in the last few years has the event been chronicled in Oklahoma history books. Recently there have been articles in national magazines, and several books have been published on the subject. I wanted to add a book for young people to that list. It is the young who must learn from mistakes made by earlier generations. It is the young who must fight against prejudice and cruelty in the future.