11,906. RUDIMENTS, pt. 744

RUDIMENTS, pt. 744
(left a mark on me : slavery pt. 0ne)
Looking back, there's always been

one thing that stands out to me. In

1957, when we went to Washington

DC and Fairfax, Virginia,, right on

to the seminary presences of the

early 1960's, and then, even later,

in NYC at 'Romeo's'  -  a spaghetti

and pizza place on 42nd, and even

to Mr. Rush, the orderly and door

guy at the Studio School, of whom

I've again just recently written. The

attendant 'serving' class, doing the

subservience and biddings of others,

white actually, were always black.

It struck me broadside on that DC

trip, and I was still only a little kid.

We stopped in some huge food place,

like a warehouse almost, of cafeteria

style food, people calling out orders,

a large center section where the food

was and the cooking went on, and,

circular and out from it, people all

gathered for their trays and orders,

etc. Pretty much a mob scene. And

it was segregated. 1957. Little Rock,

and all the rest of that  -  anything

here having to be done by other, for

others, was done by black people,

in obvious subservient positions.

-

It's all a funny legacy; of something

denied. The seminary slaves were

all black. The guys at Romeo's, the

cleaners and busboys, anything of

dirty hands, were black. We all knew

that, and it was a common knowledge

even though those of us here, up north,

as it went, were of a superior and

better ilk, of the type NOT to do

that. It was all bogus, a strange and

shaping cultural myth. Most every

downtown (and uptown too, I'd

wager) street in 1960's NYC had

blood on its hands : bondage, theft,

selling people, stealing people,

children dragged off. Sure, there

were 'colored asylum' homes and

sanctuaries. In the 1800's they

were mostly for the ones who'd

not gotten caught up in any of the

riots and race wars that swept the

early city as regularly as smallpox

and yellow fever epidemics did.

There were NYC blacks hung from

lampposts and street fixtures often

enough, and those were merely the

ones a person saw. As I walked

some of those places, even in

1967, with only a bit of the old

knowledge and presence still 

hovering around me, I was 

swathed in that discomfort. I

was able sense and to feel what 

had gone on. Some of those

dead, I just knew, were yet 

around, and I heard, as well, 

their sounds. It was a volatile

world, 150 years previous;

one when  people still walked

the city, got to places and made

communication, on foot and in

darkness. Streetlamps and roads 

were an oddity, and the sacred

travel was between sects and

secret groups; those abiding, and

those NOT abiding, what was

around them. Violence and death 

were easy, when 45 was 

considered old.

-

I saw segregation in the seminary,

but in its subliminal manifestations.

The ideas of God were used, often,

to cover this up  -  by fact of Nature,

WE were all white. To begin with

the most obvious fact. Aristotle

had once declared Slavery to be a

part of the natural order of things:

'The lower sort are by nature slaves,'

and 'it is better for them as for all

inferiors that they should be under

the rule of a master.' I found that

disquieting, almost as much as I

did Biblical bases for slavery when

I came across them : 'When a man

sells his daughter as a slave...' 

(Exodus 21:7, and Leviticus 

25:44-46). Just as examples. I

needed to ask, what's up with

all this? St. Paul exhorts slaves to

obey their masters (6 Ephesians /

1 Timothy). Yes, I know all that

is old matter; but so is the entire

deal, Crucifixion, Resurrection,

and all the rest. Where are we to

stop? There were days when I

could hardly take milk or food

from some star-eyed black person

waiting on me. It wasn't right,

and nothing made sense. Like a

fool, I stayed quiet. Who ever,

after all, had heard of a 13-year

old revolutionary? In about 3 

years, I'd gotten the heave-ho, 

and everyone had heard.

-

It was only later, years later,

that I'd grown enough to put

all that aside. I moved on; my

own concerns had changed.

I saw things differently  -

heck, I saw a whole different

world. One that no one else 

shared and that I'd not yet

developed the language to

portray; whether anyone got

it or not. Charles Dickens, on

a book-tour of the United States,

in 1841, read, in a NY Hotel

over his morning toast and tea,

('I was quite struck by how all

this is cooly read as part of

current news and small-talk'):

"Ran away, a negro woman

and two children. A few days

before she went off, I burnt

her with a hot iron, on the

left side of her face. I tried

to make the letter 'M'"....

"Fifty dollars reward for

the negro Jim Blake. Has a

piece cut out of each ear, and

the middle finger of the left

hand cut off to the second 

joint:"....."Ran away, a negro

named Arthur. Has a considerable

scar across his breast and each

arm, made by a knife; loves 

to  talk much of the goodness 

of God." There were times,

I swear, when I ran across

Jim, and Arthur, and that

woman 'M,' stealing along

the same cross streets I was.

-

I realize the seminary stuff

was all somewhat different,

and they were (I guess) being

paid for their work and had

their own freedom, but, still, 

they were southerners, with that

drawl, and they were sorrowful

blacks as well. It reeked to me

of bad service, and left a mark.

On me.