been layin’ an’ bullshittin’ too long,’ Baker commented as the men read the paper.
‘Fo’ hundred years,’ Speedy Cotton mumbled.
‘Thomas said when he was elected that by the enda September he wuz gonna have everything laid out like a train set … I don’ need ta tell nobody that iz October eighth an’ we ain’ heard from the nigger yet. He ain’ nowhere near organized an’…’
‘He a damn Tom!’ King said. ‘I tol’ yawl he wuz a Tom!’
The members of MJUMBE all nodded. Baker glared down at them as though they were to blame. Ben King and Speedy Cotton sat on the same side of the table as usual, a set of diagrammed football formations in front of them. Fred Jones, Jonesy, tapped a deck of cards on the side of the table. Abul Menka, the only MJUMBE member who was not a football player, sat in the corner of the room with his feet propped on the window ledge.
‘So na’,’ Baker went on, ‘it’s pretty clear t’me that if anything gon’ get done, we gon’ do it!’
‘Right on!’
‘I wanna know what yawl think ’bout the stuff,’ Baker said gesturing to the paper. ‘We gotta have it t’gether ’cuz we gon’ be meetin’ wit’ ev’y man, woman, an’ chile on this campus in ’bout fifteen minnits.’
‘That wuz the meetin’ we heard bein’ announced?’ Speedy Cotton asked.
‘That wuz it!’
‘Then this las’ deman’ means Calhoun gon’ get these deman’s t’night?’
Baker smiled. ‘I think you catchin’ on.’ Baker, King, and Cotton shared a loud laugh.
‘What ’bout practice?’ Jonesy interrupted. ‘We s’pose t’be at practice at fo’ thutty.’
‘No practice today.’ King snorted. ‘We gon’ be bizzy.’ He laughed.
‘Why today?’ Jonesy asked. All four men knew that Jonesy was the worrier. He was never comfortable until he was on a football field where all he had to do was knock hell out of anything that moved.
Baker ran a big black hand over his bald-shaved head. ‘I figger we got a surprize fo’ Calhoun. He been in Norfolk for two days an’ he ain’ gittin’ back ’til ’bout six t’night. By then we be done had our meetin’, ate, come back an’ wrapped everything tight …’
‘What ’bout Thomas?’ King asked.
Baker frowned. ‘I’m gittin’ to that… if Thomas ain’ at the meetin’, an’ he may not be …’
‘Why wouldn’ he be there?’
‘Look. Lemme say the shit. All right? … Thomas ain’ got no classes on Wednesday so he don’ be here. All right? So if Thomas ain’ at the meetin’, after we come back an’ git our shit right, we gon’ call ’im an’ tell ’im to come over here an’ do somethin’ fo’ us.’
‘We gon’ blow his min’ this time,’ Cotton laughed.
‘Him an’ Head Nigger if shit work out.’ Baker laughed louder.
‘We gon’ have him take Head Nigger this list?’ King asked waving the demands.
‘I wanned to s’prize Thomas.’
‘It’ll s’prize a lotta folks,’ Cotton remarked.
King, Baker, and Cotton enjoyed another good laugh. Jonesy simply frowned and Abul Menka, as usual, did nothing.
‘What if Thomas don’ dig bein’ out the driver’s seat?’ Cotton asked, getting serious.
‘Either secon’ or nothin’,’ Baker said setting his jaw. ‘From now on we runnin’ shit!’
Baker continued to go over the afternoon in his mind. The four o’clock prompting for the MJUMBE team had set the stage for the four-thirty rally with the students. The five of MJUMBE had left the meeting room together. They had strode across the Sutton Oval that was set in the middle of the campus to the Student Union Building. They crushed the dead grass beneath their feet and quickly scaled the thirteen steps that led to a balcony overlooking the crowd of students that had already begun to gather. All five were dressed in black dashikis. All except Abul Menka were heavily muscled athletes who had shaved their heads when the coach complained about bushy heads not allowing helmets to fit tightly enough. All five were intent and stern-faced, silhouetted by a fading red disc that had darkened their bodies during an early-autumn heat wave. All bad. All Black.
The student response to Baker’s demands had been greater than even he expected. He had thought there might be some question as to his authority. Nobody had even mentioned Earl Thomas. The students seemed very unconcerned as to who actually became the leader for the change the campus needed so badly. All they wanted was action.
Baker had been in his world. He bathed in the light of the handclapping, whistling, and shouted support heaped upon him and his comrades. It seemed that with the reading of each demand the support grew. He had said everything he could think of about Ogden Calhoun, the Head Nigger, and the members of the administration. When he finished, the five men marched through the crowd that still stood chattering like monkeys. All Baker could hear was:
‘Do it, Brother!’ and ‘Right on with power!’
There was little they could do now but wait. Wait and think. Baker knew that the support had been good, but he also knew that Ogden Calhoun had a reputation as a destroyer of student dissent. The Sutton president had been asked recently how Sutton had escaped the student disruptions that had rocked other Black campuses. Calhoun had replied to the interviewer: ‘I have a saying for students on my campus. It says: “My way or the highway!” In other words: “If we can’ git along, you goin’ home!”’
So the lines were drawn. Calhoun had no room in his plans for student disruption. MJUMBE had no plans for going home.
Baker’s mind drifted. After the afternoon meeting his plan had started to become shaky. Just at the point when his name was on the lips of every Sutton student, he was knifing himself in the back by having Earl Thomas notified. He hated to think of turning the least credit over to a man he considered an enemy, but there was really no way out of it. While running for Student Government president he had preached Black collectivity; all political factions putting their heads together. And there was no denying that Earl Thomas was a smart politician. The election had proven that. Then too, if Earl endorsed Baker, another bloc of students would fall easily into line.
In late August when Jonesy had arrived for summer football training Baker had started talk about MJUMBE. ‘If you ain’ out fo’ nuthin’ but revenge on Thomas fo’ beatin’ you,’ Jonesy had said, ‘forget it.’
‘I ain’ lookin’ fo’ nothin’ but progress,’ Baker had sworn. ‘I think MJUMBE can serve a two-way purpose. First, Thomas gon’ move if he know somebody lookin’ over his shoulder. Second, all the athletes would be down to back Thomas up if we wuz organized an’ spoke fo’ him.’
The possibility that MJUMBE might give Earl its backing was what had sold Jonesy. And now
