A Brownstone in Brooklyn
By
Julius Thompson
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Published by Julius Thompson on Smashwords
A Brownstone in Brooklyn
Copyright 2011 by Julius Thompson
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A Brownstone in Brooklyn
By
Julius Thompson
Chapter One
Andy Michael Pilgrim flipped the tears from his face as he snapped his head across the wet pillow. The anxiety generated in his mind created a sense of motion in his body that felt like his bed was cresting and ebbing like a boat on a stormy emotional sea. Andy sprung up from the bed, cupping his face in his hands. How will I handle the leaving?
Tension pushed Andy back onto the bed. Anxiety brought the walls closer. Keeping his eyes closed, he slipped deeper into his thoughts. ‘When I left to spend that summer in Georgia’, Momma cried. Andy rolled over in his sweat. ‘Now, I can’t imagine how she will react.’
He opened his eyes and faced the window that beckoned about four steps from his bed. Andy kicked the forest green sheets and maroon comforter off his sweat-covered body.
He felt for the remote on the night table. The light from the TV screen penetrated the darkness. What Andy saw was one of those old black and white movies. It was a scene where a young boy was leaving home for the army. The young boy felt his friend’s mother horror when she read the telegram from the army telling her about the bravery of her son, and how he died defending his country. Now, the negligible chance of the young man’s survival was evident in his face. The young man’s face on that television screen reflected how Andy felt.
Gradually, Andy drifted back into a restless sleep. The roar of a Brooklyn City bus, speeding down Gates Avenue in Bedford-Stuyvesant, startled him. A young person of the sixties shouldn’t be scared, but he was. After all, he remembered sitting on the stoop in front of the Brownstone and a bullet streaking over his head. Andy ducked. If the bullet were meant for him, ducking wouldn’t have done any good. At this moment he ducked, but fear was still biting into his being.
The television showed a lover’s quarrel bringing conversation into the room. Now, the soldier and his sweetheart looked at each other and realized this could be the last time they could see each other. The soldier kissed his girlfriend and then walked out.
Andy turned off the TV and turned on the radio. The soul station, with the famous call letters WBLS-AM, was playing. The announcer said the weather was typical of late spring: hot, humid and in the nineties. What caught Andy’s attention was the last thing the announcer said, “President Lyndon Johnson ordered an increase of American forces in Vietnam.” Andy thought the Vietnam War would dissolve as a fairy tale of heroism on the cover of Time Magazine. Now, it was up close and personal. Since he got the letter that required him to appear at the military draft board for his physical, he’d spent many sleepless nights worrying about his future.
Andy flipped his legs over the side of the bed. Time passed. He heard another bus, gliding past his family’s apartment, finally squeaking to its regular scheduled stop at Gates and Nostrand avenues.
Andy stared at the window, walked over and gazed at the four-story building at the corner, adjacent to Mr. Possum’s candy store and about a half-block from his own apartment building.
Four a.m.
In five hours he would face the military draft board. It was either finish City College of New York or board a military jet to Southeast Asia. Here’s the Vietnam War with all its bitter reality.
He turned and walked to the bed and plopped down. He rolled over on his side and faced the wall. The street light shimmered, danced and made vague images on the yellowish gray wall.
He swayed with the rhythm of his thoughts, “Vietnam, Vietnam, I don’t want to go!” Still it was time to dress and catch the subway to his appointment with the draft board.
Andy stretched, jumped up and walked to the bathroom. He switched on the light, turned on the warm water and looked into the mirror. He leaned forward and stared. His skin was a deep Milky Way chocolate and his eyes a light water color brown. His hair was very soft, curly and parted on the side. His lips were dark, but had a reddish tint. His look was exotic with a feel of the West Indies. Hi gaze revealed something strange. ‘This isn’t me…my eyes, my nose and mouth are mine, but it’s not me.’ What stared back were blood-shot eyes, caused from a lack of sleep.
He put the wash cloth into the warm water and squeezed the soap lightly. On the radio the Drifters sang “Up on the Roof.” Andy knew some of the words and continued to sing as he walked back to the bedroom.
The song faded out. Andy walked over to the radio and turned the knob creating an eerie yet comforting silence. He walked to the bedroom and put on his clothes, which he’d ironed and laid neatly on the chair. He dropped four quarters and eight dimes into his pocket for his rides on the subways today.
Andy walked to his mother’s bedroom. He stared at Golda, and looked at the empty spot next to her. His father, Marvs, left at 3 a.m. fro his job with the Metro Yellow Cab Company.
Andy walked toward her, and could see she was tossing and turning in her sleep. Last night she cried and hugged him. She released him, crawled into her bed and sobbed.
This morning she rolled over, looked up and grabbed Andy and pulled him close. Andy kissed her on the cheek. “It’s time, I don’t want to go, but I’ll call and tell you what happened.
Releasing her son, Golda slowly let Andy’s hand go, “Andy, baby, I hope everything goes all right. I don’t want to lose you to no war.”
“If everything works out, “I’ll be able to finish City College.” He pulled his hand away and walked out of the room.
“Be careful.”
Chapter Two
Six a.m.
Andy closed the metal door of his fourth-floor apartment and walked down the three flights of wooden, tile-covered stairs. He hesitated at the front door, took a deep breath, opened the door and walked onto Gates Avenue, past Mr. Possum’s Candy Store, the barbershop and eventually reached Nostrand Avenue. He fast walked the six blocks to Fulton Street where the “A” train would convey him to downtown Brooklyn.
On the Nostrand Avenue subway platform, he slipped a dollar through the small u-shaped opening in the glass to the cashier. She pushed back a token.
Andy walked through the turnstile, heard the coin box click, pushed the arm and walked onto the platform. It seemed he should be riding the subway all the way to 137th Street for his classes at City College; instead he was catching the Euclid Avenue BMT subway to the draft board in Sheepshead Bay.
At the edge of the platform, Andy peered down the tunnel into the darkness, then stepped backward, to the bench, sat down and closed his eyes, ‘I’m afraid.”
The rattling train’s blaring horn sounded in the distance, ‘I won’t get on that train.’
The train’s screeching wheels sent chills racing up and down Andy’s back.
He yelled out loud over the trains squealing stop. “I’m not going!”
The subway pulled into the station, “Vietnam or college?”
Andy walked back toward the tollbooth, then turned and sprinted through the subway car door.
The doors closed.
Andy plopped down onto the hard gray plastic seat. Some people were reading The New York Daily Times and some The Daily News. Some wore blue sanitation uniforms and others in pinstriped business suits heading to jobs in the tall buildings of Manhattan.
Andy leaned his head back onto the large plate-glassed window. The tunnel lights were blurring and blending as the train sped though the tunnel. Just like his thoughts that rammed against each other so did the lights along the tunnel walls. The lights weren’t clear and like his thoughts, obscure.
Andy stood up, walked toward the door as the train pulled into Hoyt Street station. He turned, watched the door close, and then walked through the tunnel to the BMT station and to the train that would take him to his destiny. The 15-minute ride seemed longer. Andy got off the train and stared at the old three-story red brick office building that housed the draft board.
Chapter Three
Seven-Thirty a.m.
It seemed every eighteen-year Brooklyn male was in one of the draft lines moving toward a military man at a desk. Each interviewer had a stack of papers and when a potential draftee approached, the military man searched for his paperwork. Before a young man would walk up to the desk, the apprehensive inflections of Mong, Spanish and Brooklynese would give away a nervousness that infected the next man in line.
The rich kids from Flatbush didn’t have to worry; influential people would get them a draft exemption. Andy noticed the general poor-class appearance of everyone. He saw fear in the faces of the young men as they inched forward. He saw his friend, Jose Morales, from Eastern District High, and an Asian fellow, Tony Yang that he competed against in an Academic Bowl at Brooklyn Tech.
“I’ve been dreading this say,” Jose said.
“You’re not the only one, I haven’t slept much, “Andy said, “sweated, tossed all night long.”
“Same here, anyway, good luck.”
“Same to you.” Andy walked towards the glass doors.
“Have your letters ready,” a military officer barked, looking at the young men.
Andy handed his draft date assignment letter to the military officer with the steel-gray eyes. He glanced and pointed to a door on the right. After looking at each letter, the potential draftees went left or right. The man at the desk looked at Andy and took his letter.
“You’re in college?”
“Yes sir, I’m a senior at City College.
“Any Illnesses?”
“Yes sir, I have a chronic sinus problem. I’ve had those drained two or three times, the doctor thought they’d have to be operated on and sometimes it gets so bad they bleed and bleed….”
“Okay, Okay are you an only son?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Get your physical and come back to me when you’re finished. Bring the results back.”
Chapter Four
Eight-Thirty a.m.
Andy walked into the room, with what seemed like hundreds of young men, they were given paperwork to carry to every station. There were urine samples, then needles punctured arms for blood samples, and cuffs tightened for pressure readings. Doctors peered down throats. From one group of doctors to another, they went.
Ten-Thirty a.m.
Andy walked back to the first desk, where the military officer was waiting. Now, he would be told. If he received an “A” rating, he’d be drafted. The military officer handed him he completed paperwork. The officer peered over each page. Andy swayed a little, and thought, Saigon, here I come.
The officer looked up, “Mr. Pilgrim, upon review of our records and the results of the physical exam the army has found you…4F.”
Andy Blinked.
“You may go.”
“Thank You.”
Andy turned toward the double-doors. He looked down the street for a pay phone. He sprinted toward the phone booth, opening the door and reaching for the receiver. Andy saw other young men making calls. There were cheerless faces. Andy fumbled in his pocket and found the exact change for the price of the call and dialed his home number.
“Momma, I’ve been turned down! I’m 4F because of the chronic and severe sinus infections. They said it was a good possibility of that leading to something more serious, because of that they wouldn’t take me into the army.”
“Thank God!”
“Momma, it’s a big burden off my shoulders.
“You coming home?”
“Naw, I’m going to City College and I’ll see you tonight.”
Andy hung up the phone, turned and walked down Euclid Avenue to the BMT subway station. AS he glanced back, the line of potential draftees was still coming out the door. Andy’s sigh of relief reverberated off the old office building.
Chapter Five
Golda heard Andy’s steps when he left earlier in the morning. She closed her eyes and prayed. She never stopped praying until she heard the phone ring.
After hanging up the phone with Andy dialed her close friend, Sister Love, who lived on the third floor.
“He’s not going.”
She then called the office of the Metro Yellow Cab Company and left the same message for Marvs.
Golda hung up the phone and rolled over and stared out the window, “No war for my baby.”
She cried.
Chapter Six
Sister Love
From New Orleans she brought her distinctive personality to Brooklyn. Her friends called her Sister Love because she loved everything with passion. Her flavor spiced everything and everybody. She could also hate with passion. Her name was spontaneous, nobody put any thought in the name, and it just evolved. She was a passionate woman. Passion for her was love and love was her passion.
She knew every juicy incident that happened in the lives of everyone living in the four-hundred block of Gates Avenue. Some people said that as something unfolded, Sister Love was there recording every detail.
From her apartment window, which people called the “Eye That Knows All”, Sister Love observed her neighbors’ lives. She kept the big picture window clean so nothing cold diminish her view of live on Gates Avenue.
Gates Avenue meandered through the middle of Bedford-Stuyvesant like a long strip of concrete ribbon that twisted and turned creating an avenue of change. Brownstones, separated by multiple story-reddish–toned apartment buildings, bordered both sides of the street.
There were old-generation Blacks left on the Four-Hundred block, who migrated in the forties and early fifties from the deep south, but now the northern-bred sixties generation was transforming the residents’ static ideas in this Brooklyn neighborhood.
The four-story Brownstone at 423 Gates Avenue was located in the block where the Civil Rights movement, gangs and drugs were seeping into everyday existence. All these changes Sister Love noticed with a weary eye.
Sister Love reached for the window cleaning fluid. She sprayed the mist on the dirty window pane until the milky fluid formed droplets that rolled down the glass. She glanced back to see if Jon was awake.
“Get your lazy butt up and get ready to get outta here,” She continued wiping the window pane.
All morning she cleaned the apartment, the windows being last. Her eyes squinted in the sun as she watched Jesse Towns walk out the door and down Gates Avenue, “Keep walking you son-of-a…” She caught herself. “Don’t look back or I’ll shoot you! You ain’t selling this building.” She hurried to get ready to catch the bus for her job at the A&S department store in downtown Brooklyn.
Sister Love walked to the kitchen and got a glass of water. She walked into the bedroom, threw the blanket off Jon and tossed the cold water in his face. “What the…” Jon leaned his body up, half asleep and put his bare feet on the cold wood floor.
“I said get up and outta here! If I have to work, then you’d better find some of your old cronies to be with because you ain’t staying in this apartment while I have to work that A&S lunch counter.” She walked back to the window and saw Towns enter the barbershop.
As a nine-year old kid Towns was called a fidget, which was considered a half a midget. At 5-2, you don’t get much respect. When you look at Towns you see two ears sticking out from a head positioned a miniature frame. Now, he owned 423 and wanted to clean out the residents to make room for efficiency apartments. Towns was in deep thought.
Towns rubbed his chin and pondered if I can’t make efficiency apartments, then I’ll sell to urban renewal and get rid of the problem and ease his money strapped condition. If only those urban renewal people hadn’t alerted the residents. Damn, I would’ve been free to do what I wanted with the building. Now, those families are getting so they hate me and sometimes I don’t want to go back to my basement office.
That Pilgrim boy, Andy, knows too much. He’s s smart one. I could’ve sworn I heard him listening in on my conversation. Well, guess what, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do that again. I’ve got a few surprises for him.
The Yellow Cab’s brakes squeaked, making a loud racket that brought him back to reality and caused Towns to search for the noise. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a pair of eyes staring from the second floor window. He thought I’d better get outta that crazy woman’s sight. Towns turned, walked toward the Hair is Art Barbershop.
At the center of the block, next to Mr. Possum’s Candy Store and Yang’s Chinese Laundry, stood the barber shop where people talked politics and who was sleeping with whom, the latest gambling daily number and the current news from the civil rights front.
Steward’s Music Exchange stood at the corner of the block where you could buy the latest hit song on a 45 record and play your illegal daily number.
The four-hundred block of Gates Avenue had everything from fast-food places, to places to find the body of a person before they went to their final resting place. People lived next to the two funeral homes, across the street from each other.without feeling squeamish. It was as natural as living next to the fish market, Chinese laundry or the candy store.
Towns walked into the barbershop, just as James Randall turned the corner from Nostrand Avenue. Randall’s light-brown eyes were in stark contrast to his dark skin that seemed to come from all the time spent working under the hot sun in the tobacco fields of southern Virginia. His skin was in contrast to the light tint of his eyes. His eyes scanned the block to see if there was anybody watching as he walked toward the apartment. A scowl was a permanent fixture on his face. He grunted to Sister Love as she came out of the building.
“Stop looking ugly,” Sister Love smiled at Randall, who unlocked the door to his apartment, almost slamming the door in her face. “And a good morning to you...” She greeted him as she was walking out the door. Sister Love learned from her common-law husband Jon, who is from Richmond, Virginia, that he suspected Randall of being the prime suspect in a murder case. Two men fought in a bar and Randall was the one still living.
Sister Love made the walk to the bus stop, for the fifteen-minute wait for the B-52 bus. She passed the barber shop and gave Towns a dirty look. He pulled the newspaper in front of his face. She knew Towns had broken some laws involving taxes. He was in trouble and trying to get money to keep the government from taking the brownstone. If pushed, Towns knew she could call and get in put in jail.
Sister Love’s light-brown skin and gray eyes gave her a look you found in the Creole’s of New Orleans. She still had a slight Louisiana accent. Today, she sported a brown wig, one of the many from her varied collection, which included a blonde, brunette and multi-colored. She never had much natural hair, so Sister Love always wore wigs. From her teenage years she developed her wig collection. Jon teased her about her wig collection and how she had enough of other people’s hair. She always yelled back, “I bought it, so it’s my hair.”
Sister Love leaned against the bus pole. Al Green’s latest hit “How Can You Mend A Broken Heart” could be heard from the loud speakers outside Steward’s Music Exchange.
She leaned forward to see if the bus was coming and there was a glimpse of it about three blocks down Gates toward Broadway. Then her gaze moved to the apartment building and thought that James is really worried about something and anything could set him off.
Randall slid the backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor. He walked to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, then back went back to the living room and found a chair. He opened the beer and took a big gulp. The cool beer washed the grit down his throat. Cleaning the classrooms at Brooklyn Boys High all night and into the morning made him thirsty, but he knew better than to drink on the job, that was one of the reasons he left Virginia. At least the Richmond authorities didn’t know where he was hiding. This block, in the heart of Brooklyn, was a nice resting spot. He may have to move soon, but for now this was home. Randall slid into deep thought, I hope this deal with Peter Paterson works out, and if it does, I’ll have some big bucks and get out of Brooklyn.
Randall stopped smiling when he lost one tooth on the left side of his mouth, from a fight, and one on the right side from an encounter with his girl friend’s fist. He wouldn’t be a smiley face model. He felt people were always looking at him to be critical.
He felt if people couldn’t get close to him, then he didn’t have to reveal a lot about himself. Randall leaned further back in the chair, closed his eyes, but not his mind to his thoughts. Fear of discovery can make you do strange things.
Sister Love found a comfortable seat in the middle of the bus, across from the exit door. As the B-52 bus headed downtown, she leaned back and watched the various city blocks pass.
Towns waited his turn. He pulled his New York Daily News down from in front his face and watched as Sister Love3 got on the bus. He figured Randall was in his apartment and after getting his haircut; he’d get in his car and drive to Jamaica, Queens. He didn’t want to stay in this area, because he thought living in Queens made him superior to these folks in Brooklyn.
Chapter Seven
The most special times in a person’s life are not meant to last forever. They’re like bubbles rising from a plastic ring dipped into a soapy solution. The soap bubbles rise, with the sun flashing brilliant colors, then bursts into a showering memory mist.
From her bus window, Sister Love watch the little kids running in the spring breeze making bubbles and rise and fall. They giggled and pranced around an imaginary pole. She watched as the bus turned the corner to the street that would take her to downtown Brooklyn.
She thought about her family, which she called her neighbors, who lived in the brownstone. Even when she had drinking binges, she had people looking out for her. She smiled when she thought about the time she staggered up the steps and sat down in a kitchen chair, when there was a knock at the door.
As she opened the door, there stood Andy Pilgrim. “Sister Love I found your hair on the stairs and thought you might have misplaced it.” Andy kept a straight face as he handed the wig to its’ rightful owner. Sister Love closed the door and let out a big brassy laugh that scared her husband. “Go back to sleep.”
The bus turned the corner onto Fulton Street, with downtown Brooklyn off in the distance, brought Sister Love back to reality. She looked, saw the Brooklyn Fox Movie Theater and knew she was near work. She closed her eyes, just for a few seconds, and knew when she got home, she’d have a talk with Randall.
The ringing phone startled Randall and he squeezed the chair with a death grip. Randall stared at the phone, but didn’t answer. He kept saying to himself keep ringing, but I’m not going to answer, damn I’m out o f cigarettes. Possum better have some this time. Randall grabbed his coat and walked briskly toward the door. The phone was still ringing.
He closed the door, almost knocking Golda down as she turned the corner on the steps.
“Sorry.” Randall steadied Golda.
“In a Hurry?”
“Just going to Possum’s for some cigarettes.”
“I’m going to Long Island, Mrs. Freedman is having an afternoon brunch and I have to serve.”
They walked down the steps. As they passed the barbershop, Towns was getting into the chair and quickly turned his head when he saw Golda and Randall passing the shop.
Randall stepped into Possum’s candy store.
Golda kept walking. She hummed the tune from Ketty Lester’s “Love Letters” that was playing over the music stores’ loud speakers “I’ll kiss the name that you sign and darling then I’ll read love letters straight from your heart…I’ll memorize every line and I’ll kiss the name that you sign.”
Her body swayed to the melody that had a blues feeling and reminded her of Georgia and that down home country feeling. Golda crossed the street and waited for the Norstrand Avenue bus to take her to Atlantic Avenue and the Long Island Railroad and then the ride to the Hamptons in Suffolk County.
The barbershop was a social center as well as a place to cut hair. “Not much from the top and a lot off the sides.” Lenny moved Towns head from side-to-side to get the best angle.
“That Martin Luther King fellow is getting our community together.”
“Yeah…but you know it’s going to be trouble in all the Negro ghettos, especially in cities like Detroit, Los Angeles, St. Louis, Chicago Newark, Philadelphia and even in New York whether it’s in Harlem or Bedford-Steyvesant.”
“Hell… if they want to bring it on, do it…bring it on, people are game,” someone yelled from across the room. “Look at this block, if it wasn’t for this barber shop, Possum and the music shop we’d have nothing. And around the corner on Nostrand going toward Marcy or even the other way toward Lafayette we own nothing…you hear me, nothing.”
The sound of the clippers and the voices from the television lent an interesting background to the conversation.
“All that’s well and good, but what makes me mad is some people in our community are some of the biggest leaches.”
Towns visibly cringed.
“They say they’re for us and yet, they’re like the white folks who own places on Gates Avenue, and leave for nice homes in places like St. Albans, Queens.”
Towns wanted to get up and leave but couldn’t since Lenny was still cutting his hair. “I know they’re talking about me.”
“Relax Mr. Towns…I almost cut you.”
“Sorry.”
Lenny finished the stylish cut with a strong brushing and some spray cologne. Lenny unhooked a button so he could remove the white cape covering Towns’ Clothes so he wouldn’t be covered with hair. He did that with a flourish, knocking hair on the floor around the barber’s chair. Towns, got out of the chair, gave the barber a good tip and exited the shop. He headed to his office in the brownstone.
“Good…everybody’s gone.”
Towns climbed the flight of stairs and closed the door behind him. He called the Housing Authority and got the answer he wanted, It was time to get rid of the building.
He placed the phone back into the receiver and stared toward the cabinet. He heard the squeaking hinges on the door. He turned. Towns started and didn’t blink. No sound came out of his mouth.
“Bang!”
Towns crumpled on the floor.
Chapter Eight
After four children, Trina Paterson maintained her shape. She was 5-4, light complected and carried herself with a quiet dignity. Male suitors called her a pretty redbone.
Today, she moved around her apartment, cleaning, making sure it wasn’t a disaster. Her youngest child left for school a couple hours earlier. Her family kept her active, including the one that was a part-time bartender at the Brevort Theater on Bedford Avenue. When the “Soul Reviews” came to the neighborhood he found work. Other than that he was unemployed.
Her son, Peter, worried her the most of all her children. He was a natural athlete, but failed in school. She loved watching him pay basketball for Boys High. He was a prizefighter on the court, with a boxer’s mentality. People didn’t realize this was part of his personality and gamesmanship. A lot of people didn’t like him. A lot of people did.
He had hoop dreams. He had hope, He wanted to do something with his life. However, he wanted it quick. He wanted it fast. He wanted money. The best way to get money was to sell drugs. To get the drugs he joined neighborhood gangs. He dropped out of school. Peter changed forever. He was a drug dealer.
When he lost his dream, Peter hated anybody that was doing something with their lives. Trina was afraid for Andy’s life, for she knew Peter hated him. She knew he was planning something, but she couldn’t make him tell her. She prayed for Andy.
Trina worked around the house, trying to figure out what she could do. Her latest boyfriend, Fred was on a construction job in Flatbush and might be home for lunch, so she’d better have his food ready
While washing the last of the breakfast dishes, she thought she heard a loud noise in the basement. She wasn’t heedful or cared, but she did hear somebody walking and slam the front door.
She walked through the living room and into the children’s bedroom facing Gates Avenue. The apartment were built like railroad cars where you could see from one end to the other. Someone in a green athletic jacket, with a gold trim down the sleeves and legs, was walking out the door. He looked up and down the street, moved in the direction of Elm Street, opposite Norstrand. Trina walked to the kitchen and finished the breakfast dishes. She cringed.
At first Towns wasn’t aware of his surroundings, then he moved and a searing pain shot through the upper right side of his body. He reached, felt something sticky on his blue shirt. Towns turned his head and saw blood dripping from the wound.
Towns leaned forward, but felt slightly dizzy, He continued until he reached his feet. He staggered to the door and used his one good side to crawl up the steps. He grabbed the railing along the wall. At the top of the steps, nearing the Paterson’s apartment, Towns leaned forward and taped on the door.
“Help me.” No one answered.
He tapped louder.
Trina looked through the eye-level keyhole.
“Who is it?”
“Help me.”
She opened the door, with the safety latch still attached and looked down the crack between the door and the wall and saw the bloodstained Towns. Trina stepped back from the door. She eased forward and unlatched the door and reached down to Towns.
“Oh my God…what happened?”
“I was taking something out of the file cabinet when I turned around and saw this man. I didn’t recognize him and the next thing I knew I had this stinging in my chest.”
“Wait, let me call the ambulance and stay right here!”
Towns propped himself against the hallway wall ad tried to keep from slipping into unconsciousness.
“They’re on the way.”
Trina didn’t like Towns, but she was overcome with the thought of another human being hurting, She brought a pillow and made Towns comfortable.
In a few minutes, Trina heard sirens and went downstairs to open the front door, The emergency squad came and carried Towns to Kings County hospital.
Chapter Nine: Saturday on Gates Avenue
The street was alive with people hustling to neighborhood stores to finish shopping. The street buzzed with news on his Towns Shooting.
Towns was back in his home in Queens, after his visit to Kings County Hospital
“Who knows,” a customer answered.
“Somebody in that building doesn’t like him and it’s going to get worse…they didn’t want to kill him, just send a message.”
Lenny kept cutting hair.
Outside people visited the Music Exchange or Possums’ candy store. The Chinese laundry was busy as people were leaving dirty clothes and picking up freshly starched shirts and pants. There would be Cocktail Sips (parties) around Brooklyn, but a lot of people were getting dressed for the Soul Review at the Brooklyn Brevort Theater.
The teenagers were singing the lyrics from The Drifters’ hit song “Up On The Rood” and The Miracles’ “Please Mr. Postman.” Mary Wells’ “My Guy” had the younger Brooklyn crowd ready for love. Everybody was waiting for the last act at the Brevort with the melodious Al Green singing his hit “How to Mend a Broken Heart.”
Early afternoon was a busy time at 423, with every apartment bustling with domestic duties, and preparation for going out Saturday or spending a day at church on Sunday.
Andy was sleeping when he heard Golda on the telephone calling Trina discussing the shooting of Jesse Towns.
“Can you believe it?”
“He deserved it…but I’m glad it was only a flesh wound and he’s home now.” Golda said.
“Yeah…he’s trying to put us all out in the street…”
“How’d they get into the basement without someone opening the front door?”
“You know as well as I do that somebody in this building is involved…I mean we’ll all be suspects if something happened to him,” Golda said, walking toward Andy’s room with the phone, which had a long extension cord, pushed hard against her ear.
“Listen I’m going to call Sweet Thang and Mother Nature to see if they’ve heard anything.”
“Tell both of them to keep everything cool on Exeter Street.”
“I will.”
“…call me back and let me know if you hear anything…goodbye.”
Golda hung up the phone.
“Andy…Andy.”
“I’m up…why don’t your friends have real names?”
“You mean Mother Nature, Sweet Thang and Sister Love?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it just make us different.”
“They call you Momma and Poppa and I have trouble telling who’s who.”
“I know, ready to eat.”
“You bet.”
“Big date tonight? “We’re going to the Brevort…to watch Little Stevie Wonder, but they’ve got the oldie crowd…”
“I’d rather hear Linda Jones and Ketty Lester than that Marvin Gay.”
“Well, Leslie and I will just have to endure those old folks until they put the real singers on stage.”
“Leslie Groves?”
“Yeah, my dark complexioned beauty with the long black hair that shines the polished coal. She’s the best looking girl at Brooklyn College. It’s going to be great at the Brevort.”
Chapter Ten
Andy and Leslie got off the Brooklyn City B-38 bus at Bedford and Fulton Street. They strolled down the short block to the Brevort Theater. They held hands and moved toward the long line that formed outside the theater. The late Saturday afternoon sun caused some of the people’s eyes to squint as the lights flashed on the marquee.
Brooklyn’s hip crowd was in the lobby of the Brevort. The “Cool Cats” and their ladies arrived from Bedford-Steyvesant, Flatbush, Brownsville, East New York and Bushwick. Growing up in Brooklyn meant dressing and imitating your favorite singing group.
If you were a wanna-be member of the Temptations you wore black rimmed glasses that complimented an Afro hairstyle that was so high it forced you bend at the knees to get inside the doorway. You would sing the lyrics to your favorite girl.
This crowd showed Brooklyn was the place to be in the sixties. The songs of the sound groups helped retain a spiritual center when H. Rap Brown was saying “Burn, Baby, Burn,” Martin Luther King was shouting from Atlanta that “We Shall Overcome” and Malcolm X was spreading “the bullet or the ballot” in Harlem.
It was a time of the radical racial consciousness when Negroes became Blacks and processed hair was replaced with the natural Afro. After the James Brown Anthem “I’m Black and I’m Proud,” people walked with their back straight. When Martin Luther King said, “Nobody can ride your back if you keep it straight,” the gulf between him and Malcolm wasn’t as wide.
The love ballads of The Temptations and other groups were saying that the power of the people came when two people held hands. Women were put on a pedestal and men swore they would do anything for the love of a woman.
Tonight, everybody wanted to be an icon of fancy dress and fancy steps when the after-concert parties got underway. Everybody went to parties called “Blue Lights In The Basement” because the parties were in basements of Brownstones and the ceiling lights were blue. Everybody would be ready to show off when the concert was over and the basement parties began.
Now, everybody was in place where all outside pressures were suspended and the universe consisted of the people on state and the audience. It was a time for soul love. The walk, the style and the funk was on stage.
Andy squeezed Leslie’s hand and moved closer to kiss her, ever so gently on the lips. He moved back and smiled as Lenny Welch sang “When you give love and never get love you better let love depart…I can’t get you out of my mind…you made me leave my happy home…since I fell for your.”
They moved closer and held each other tighter. Throughout the concert Andy and Leslie stayed in this position.
It didn’t seem like two hours passed, bust it had and the couple was slow dancing together at Kim’s Blue Lights in the basement party on Herkimer Street. The Blue Lights made enough light as Andy and Leslie swayed to the music of Jerry Butlers’ ‘Your Precious Love.”
When Butler sang, the couples moved slower and touched each other intimately. When he got to the part of being “so lonely and so blue” there was enough heat generated to run the electricity in Bedford-Stuyvesant for a week.
Midnight Love.
Andy and Leslie walked down Green Street to her house. He walked to the iron gate and stopped. Leslie opened the gate and looked at Andy.
“What an evening.”
“It was.”
Andy pulled her close. He wanted to rhyme a love thought but out of words.
The kiss was long.
Chapter Eleven
Andy reached, pulled the collar on his jacket up and around the back of his neck. He walked down the street away from Leslie’s house. The light from the street lamps created shadows and lighted areas along Green Street. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh as he turned the corner and headed toward Broadway.
He didn’t notice the men sitting in the car. They watched him as he passed the car, heading toward the corner. As he passed, the car door opened. Quickly, two men stepped out of the car and lunged at Andy.
First came the hard thud, as a fist almost knocked the breath out of Andy’s chest. As he was falling to the cement, another fist caught him in the side. Andy was dazed. His legs buckled. He crumbled onto the cement. He felt a kick in the stomach, like hot lead eating at him. He looked up and recognized Peter Patterson.
Andy faded in and out of consciousness. He felt his body move, but not under its own power. He heard a car door slam and felt his head snap back against the front seat.
Andy heard Peter say, “Next time you won’t get up!”
Ben Cain drove the ford slowly down Gates Avenue, cut through Boykin Drive until he reached Lafayette Avenue. He stop the car in front of the slap-board house. Peter jumped out the back seat and Ben the front. Both helped a groggy Andy up the stairs to the second floor apartment.
Andy felt himself being dumped in a straight back chair, in a dimly lit room. He felt his head roll from side to side. He tried to clear his thoughts. That came when Ben threw a jar of cold water in his face.
Andy opened his eyes with a gun in his face.
Peter smiled.
Andy heard a click.
Peter pushed the gun forward and it touched Andy’s temple.
“That chamber was empty.” Peter pulled the trigger, cocking it, getting it ready to send a bullet into Andy’s head.
Ben laughed.
Peter pulled the trigger and again there was a click from the empty chamber.
Andy’s forehead flushed out sweat as his heart skipped a beat.
Peter pulled the gun away from Andy’s head and laid it on a table. “That was the appetizer.”
Ben slapped his thigh and laughed out loud.
“Now…here comes the main course.” Peter picked up a needle with a long silver tip. “You’ve had it too good. Everybody loves and protects Andy…and hates me. Well, I hate you. You’ve got everything going for you. I’m going to put a stop to all that favoritism.”
Andy watched as Peter squeezed the base and liquid oozed from the tip. “No! ... No!” Ben grabbed Andy from the back and held him down.
Peter ignored his cries, moved forward and punctured Andy’s right arm with the needle. The liquid flooded into Andy’s veins.
Golda worried. It wasn’t like Andy not to call or let them know if he was going to be late. And with the towns shooting, she was on edge.
“Stop pacing,” Marvs said.
“I can’t help it.”
“He’ll be alright.”
“Something is wrong.”
Andy opened his eyes. He tried to move, but his body ached. He tried to figure out what happened, but his mind was still engulfed in a fog. He heard voices. He tried to speak. Somebody was restraining him.
“Try not to move young man.” A policeman looked into his face. “Somebody roughed you up…can you speak?”
“Yeah,” Andy sat up, holding his ribs. He felt a little dizzy, then the stinging caused him to grab his right arm.
“How’d you get here?” Andy asked the police.
“Somebody called the precinct and said to come to the corner of Green and Broadway that a man was dead. You’ve be unconscious for a while. How’re you feeling? We’re going to take you to Kings County for observation and then call your home. We’ll need a statement…Do you know who did this…?”
“I…No, No I don’t,” Andy hesitated, still holding his right arm.
The phone rang close to two in the morning. Golda yanked the receiver out the base. “Oh, My God…Can we come and been beaten up.”
Marvs and Golda grabbed their coats. Golda was the first out the door and Marvs followed , locking the apartment door.
Sister Love heard the noise and came to the door to investigate. “It’s Andy…he’s in the emergency room at Kings County. Somebody tried to beat him up.”
“First Towns now Andy.” Sister Love closed the door as Marvs passed following Golda down the steps.
Peter Paterson peeped through the crack in the door as Marvs closed the front door. He Smiled. When he heard the door closed, he looked to see if Trina was sleep, then he closed the apartment door, walked out onto Gates Avenue, toward Nostrand Avenue turned the corner and headed toward Lafayette Avenue. He’d meet his partner, Ben Cain, to finish getting the dope for distribution.
The twenty-minute ride seemed like an hour, but they got to the door of the emergency room safely. Marvs was a good driver.
Golda and Marvs walked into the emergency room and saw the usual Saturday night Brooklyn carnage. Wounds from gun shots and knives had caused damage to many people. Red was a dominant color seeping through clothing.
“Marvs.”
“Relax Golda.”
They weaved through all the bodies and headed to the window and a nurse. “We’re looking for our son Andy Pilgrim, who was brought here by a policeman.”
“Well lady the police have brought a lot of people here some shot, some cut and some dead…”
“Golda was about to explode when Marvs grabbed her arm.”
“Please miss…”
The nurse looked at the couple. “Let me check my records…yeah, he has some bruised ribs and lump on his head, but he’ll be alright. I’ll take you too him.”
She opened a door, Golda and Marvs walked through, and followed the nurse to a small area with white plastic curtain in front. She pulled the curtain and there was Andy with a white bandage wrapped around his chest and a band-aid under his eye.
“Andy.” Golda rushed to her son. She wanted to hug him, but didn’t because of the injury.
“Thank you,” Marvs said to the nurse.
“He’ll be alright…give him some aspirin. We game him some penicillin and treated the wounds. He can go home.”
Golda threw the shirt around Andy and Marvs followed her as they headed out of the emergency room. They walked briskly. Marvs opened the back door for Andy and the front for Golda. He got behind the steering wheel, turned the key and when the car purred he pulled away from the curb.
“What happened baby.” Golda turned toward Andy.
“I left Leslie’s and then the next thing I knew I was jumped.”
“Oh my God.”
“Why?” Marvs asked.
“I don’t know, “Andy paused, “I saw Peter.”
Golda froze and Marvs stared ahead as he drove down Bedford Avenue.
“Are you sure?” Marvs asked.
“Before I passed out, he said next time you won’t get up.”
Andy didn’t tell his parents all that happened. He rubbed his right arm and kept quiet. He didn’t know what Peter put in his arm, but he’d find out.
“Something has to e done or he’s going to kill you.” Marvs said.
“We’ve got to move or do something.” Golda said.
“We’re not running. Don’t mention this to anybody. We’ll decide what we have to do,” Marvs said.
Andy looked out the window. “I’ll have a day to recover. I can’t miss any classes at school. I hope I’m well enough to speak at church tomorrow. Graduation is coming up and I’ll be out of her soon enough.”
“I hope so.” Golda sighed.
Chapter Twelve
The red brick row house sat in the middle of Lafayette Avenue, three blocks from Gates Avenue and the four-hounded block. Two windows on the first floor and two on the second floor were boarded up with plywood in the front facing the street. I the back, the first floor windows covered with plywood and plastic. The upper floor windows had no glass, so Peter could look out on the back lots.
Peter sat at a table with two other, from the neighborhood, putting cocaine into a plastic zip lock bag so small that you could fit the head of a lead pencil. There were plastic bags ranging in size from the size of a thumb to an ordinary size freezer bag. Now, the two drug dealers were putting the cocaine into bags for distribution.
The phone rang.
“Yeah, Ben and I scared Andy, I put a little something in his arm…OK.” Peter slammed the receiver back into the base.
“Hole the bag still,” Peter ordered, filling each bah with its; lethal contents. Zipping the bag and placing it into containers that would be carried to drop off points.
“I’m trying,” Ben yelled back.
“How’s the recruiting? Peter asked.
“Cool,” Ben said, “I went into the high school and got with some special education kids. Randall was very helpful in getting a place near the boiler room where we could meet. They don’t know better, and they’ll distribute the stuff.”
“Good,” Peter said. “We’ve expanded our business.”
“Do you think we ought to lay low since we scared Towns and Andy?”
“No, we keep the heat up,” Peter continued filling the bags.
Chapter Thirteen: Sunday Morning
Andy rolled over in his bed, sore and worried. His face was bruised and his right arm was sore. He didn’t know if Peter had put heroine in his veins. Andy cried as he though about what could happen to his life.
He cringed when he visualized all those heroine addicts dozing on the corners and urinating on themselves. Andy prayed.
He knew he would speak at the Holiness Church around the corner on Nostrand Avenue in the afternoon. He didn’t want to disappoint Elder Frank George.
Andy struggled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. Each step gave him new confidence and strength. He made it to the refrigerator, opened the door and got out some milk and a piece of his mother’s lemon pie.
The kitchen clock said it was noon.
“Up Andy?”
“Yes ‘em.”
“You feel like going to church. We went to morning service and said that you might speak at this afternoon’s service.”
“I’m going to speak.”
“Ok, we’ll leave around two.”
“I’ll be ready.” Andy walked to his room. He sat in the windowsill and watched the traffic. A cold chill chases him to his bed. He stretched across the bed and closed his eyes.
Golda called to him around one and Andy showered, dressed in his navy blue suit and light blue tie. He looked sharp. The swelling in his face wasn’t too obvious.
When he walked into the living room, Marvs and Golda were dressed.
“Very handsome” Golda said.
Andy smiled.
They walked out of the apartment, down the steps and onto Gates Avenue. They crossed the street onto Nostrand Avenue. Nearing the church, well-dressed members were walking into the building. The woman wore the bright yellow, read and blue hats, tilted to the side. Talking softly at the entrance. Men, in their blue, black and pin-stripped suits, adjusted their ties.
Andy’s elbow, proved very useful as Golda walked, breathing a little heavy, up the steps.
“Praise the Lord,” said Elder Frank, one of the leaders in the church and a fan of Andy who coached him and Peter on a basketball team at Public School 305. “It’s good to see you Andy.”
“It’s good to be here Elder Frank,” Golda said. “My boy is going to graduate from college in a few months and then become a sportswriter.”
“Congratulations,” Elder Frank said. “Make us proud. And Andy why didn’t you drag some of your heather friends to church.”
“I promise next time I come to church, I’ll drag many as I can.”
Both smiled.
They walked into the sanctuary. It was big, with stained glass windows on the open side. The closed side was attached to the Laundromat. The ceiling was high. The altar was impressive with vases of live flowers in the front of the pulpit. The choir loft was in the back of the sanctuary, and filled with flowers.
Marvs, Golda and Andy sat down in the third row from the front in the center aisle. Andy took the bible from his mother and looked at the passage he would read to the congregation.
It was time for the service. The minister moved from his chair in the back of the pulpit to the microphone. A hush came over the people.
And then the choir started with “Precious Lord.”
It was slow as the lead singer started with, “Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on and let me stand. I am tired. I am weak. I am worn…”
Golda looked at Andy and held back tears. She prayed.
The choir finished with, “…lead me home.” The congregation responded with “Amen” echoing harmoniously.
“Amen!” said Minister Charles, “Elder Frank will introduce the young man who will read the scripture lesson.”
Elder Frank walked from the left side of the pulpit to the microphone, “Give our Choir another ‘Amen!”
“Amen,” could be heard from all parts of the church.
“And now we’ll hear from a young man who grew up in the church,” Elder Frank said. “He could’ve joined the rest of the gang members and dope dealers, but because of a strong mother and father, he’s a quality person. Mr. Andy Michael Pilgrim will now read the scripture lesson.”
Andy eased past his mother and father. Golda squeezed his hand lightly. She passed him the Bible. He smiled at her and walked to the pulpit. He approached the pulpit and gave Elder Frank a strong handshake. He looked over the congregation and found his mother and father’s faces.
He opened the bible, spoke clearly and distinctly, “My text is from the Old Testament, the Book of Ecclesiastics. Chapter Three verses one to eight. And now the word of the Lord: “To the heaven…” Andy read all eight verses.
Andy looked at the last verse, “A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war and a time of peace,” then slowly closed the bible. He held it high in his outstretched hands.
“The Word of the Lord, for the people of God,” Andy said.
“Thanks be to God,” the congregation responded.
Andy stated to walk from the podiums, when he turned and walked back to the microphone, “May I say something?”
“Speak, Young man,” the minister said, a bit bewildered.
Andy looked on the anxious faces and focused on his mother and father. All eyes were on Andy. This didn’t bother him.
“When I was reading that last verse, I was thinking about my life. I feel that there is always a time for love in this world the love of a mother and a father and the love of God. When we walk the streets, death can come anytime. Whether it’s the slow death of heroine addiction or a bullet in the head. We must stand for something. I will walk as straight a path as I can with the help of God.”
Andy walked from the pulpit back to his seat. Andy prayed as he rubbed his right arm.
“Praise the lord,” the minister said, “Praise the Lord”
Marvs and Golda hugged Andy. After the service, people still came up to Andy. Some hugged Marvs and Golda, other hugged Andy.
Chapter Fourteen: Monday Morning
Andy was sore from the attack on Saturday night. He could move, but had trouble breathing. For a couple of days he was worried about going into the army and didn’t realize that he needed and expensive book to finish his Eighteenth-Century Novels class. He didn’t have the money.
His parents gave him as much money as they could but sometimes it was a struggle. Sister Love gave him money for extras. Andy turned his face to the wall. If it wasn’t facing the Army, it was overcoming problems finishing his final year at City College.
The door creaked and Andy turned to see his stepfather, Marvs stepped into the room. He was short, 5-8, with some extra pounds around the waist. His dark skin glistened in the light from the street. He had a way with him that reminded you of a college-educated person. He spoke English with a distinctive voice and his knowledge of the world impressed everybody who stepped into his yellow cab.
He was fully dressed, moneychanger on his side and ready to hit the streets of Manhattan.
“Where you going so early?”
Andy raised up on his pillow.
“I’ll meet you at the bookstore at eight. I’m going to work the streets for a couple of extra hours so I can get the money. I hope you feel better.”
Marvs stepped further into the room before retreating back through the door.
“Thank…”
I told you as long as you were going to college, we’d do anything to help you…be right in front of the bookstore.”
“I will.”
Marvs closed the door and Andy heard him walk down the steps.
Andy leaned back on the pillow and thought how fortunate his mother was in finding a good man to take care of her child. They escaped an abusive situation in Bush Chapel, Georgia. And found somebody to build a life.
Andy said a prayer of thanks.
Chapter Fifteen
The soreness in his shoulder, from the gunshot wound, made Towns cringe when he sat up in his chair. A few days at home and the hurt still caused him to labor at doing simple tasks, like raising a glass of water to his lips. He was getting better. At least this time he didn’t spill half of the soda on his shirt. For the moment he felt safe in Queens.
The phone rang, startling Towns. HE jumped, pulling his sore muscles so hard they twitched and ached. He reached for the phone through the pain barrier.
“Yes.”
Towns wanted to grunt from the pain, but didn’t give any indication of the pain. “The money will be there…I’ll call later. Did you scare Pilgrim? You what?”
Towns put the phone in the receiver and leaned back in the chair. He closed his eyes. A cold chill made him shiver as he realized Peter stuck Andy with the needle and put dope in his veins…heroine. He opened his eyes, adjusted his position so he could flip the radio. The soothing sounds of the Motown songs playing on WDAS, kept him company. As he eased back in the chair, The Temptation’s song “Just MY Imagination came over the airwaves.
Towns dozed.
He though of his close encounter at the Brooklyn Brownstone when he turned around and faced that gun. He knew who shot him, but he couldn’t get a clear view of the gunman. All he felt was pain and then he was out.
With his recovery he’d closed the deal on 423 Gates Avenue, tearing the building down and make money. The gunshot wouldn’t stop him from completing the deal that would change the appearance of that block.
Imagination had got him this far in life, where he owned properties in Brooklyn and Queens. After the shooting, he’d moved his office to Queens…can’t trust those folks over on Gates Avenue anymore, but it won’t be long before it won’t matter what they think.”