Chapter 14 Hairline Crack

CHAPTER 14 HAIRLINE CRACK

We made it through the winter months with the little money we brought with us, and it was a blessing when spring came. The first job I tackled was the roof and it was a godsend and a blessing, because the big red Cadillac convertible that passed our house daily came to a stop.

"Hey neighbor, yuh looked like yuh know what yuh’re doing," the old man shouted with a Southern drawl, "got a moment?"

"Yeah sir," I shouted back using the word sir, knowing southern etiquette when speaking to an older person, "what can I do for you?"

"I’m Otis Magee," he shouted as if I should know him; but to the contrary, I had only heard about him when I was in school, and what I heard was not good, "I live down there on the corner," he raised his arm over his head and his thumb pointed behind him, "with the big Magnolia tree. I’m a builder and I’m looking for some help. Yuh interested?"

"Yeah," I shouted back and I started moving toward the ladder.

"What’s your name neighbor?" Otis asked.

"Dan, Dan Walker," I shouted back.

"Dan don’t come down," he ordered. "I’ll be driving back and forth and when yuh are finished. I’ll stop by and we will talk," he waved and shouted over the screeching of burning rubber "see yuh later."

Otis was a godsend, and I worked for him until he became so mean and ornery we would about get into fist-a-cuffs. The last day I worked for him, he started throwing lumber up to me and James standing three sections high on scaffolding. If we dropped any, he cursed us up one side, down the other, and threw it even harder the next time shouting, "Catch the god damn board." The material ricochet off the cross bars and shot past James’ head and fell back to the ground. "God damn yuh, I said to catch the god damn material."

"Don’t throw it so hard Otis," I shouted maintaining the fruitage of the spirit"

"Don’t tell me how to throw the shit, just worry about catching it," he picked the fallen fascia board up and once again tried to knock us off the scaffolding. It hit the top rail, shot up, hit the varge rafter, slid off, and landed on the plank. I looked down. He was smiling. I picked up the board, he shouted, "James, give me the next measurement."

"Otis," I shouted. He glanced up and I shot the fascia board right back at him, "I said don’t throw the boards that hard at us. You’re gonna hurt one of us." The fascia board stuck into the soft muck in front of him.

"Yuh’re fired! Get your tools and get off this job," he shouted, "I don’t need you."

"I quit," I shouted back and began my descent from the scaffolding with James shadowing me.

"James, where are yuh going," Otis asked. "Get back up there and let’s get to work."

"Nah sir, Mr. Otis, I quit too," James said.

"Nigger if you don’t get back up there, you’ll never work for me again." James and I continued down and swung off the lower section and started picking up our tools on the way to our trucks not saying a word until he called out, "Come back here and I’ll pay you for today’s work."

"Really," I asked shocked.

"Mr. Otis, yuh pulling my leg," James said, surprise written all over his face as his white teeth made his black skin seem even darker.

"No, I’m not joking. I’ve never beat a man out of his pay," he answered pulling out his wallet and handed us thirty dollars each, "This should cover the two hours you boys put in. Take the day off, have a bair or two and think about it. I’ll see y’all tomorrow."

James and I took Otis’ suggestion and left. I followed James from the job site down an old gravel back road into a parking lot filled with beat up pick up trucks and old Cadillacs. The painted sign on the dilapidated building read, The Brier Patch. James slid out of his truck, motioned to me and said, "Come on, let’s get a "bair."
I opened my truck door and joined him step for step. The rhythmic blasts of the saxophone and Wilson Pickett’s booming voice singing, "…All you wanna do is a ride around Sally, ride Sally, ride" sent my memory back eleven years to an "off limit" district in Waikiki, Hawaii. The same song was playing then, "…All you wanna do is a ride around Sally, ride Sally, ride" and the same feeling of uneasiness began to creep up my spine now as it did when I stepped into the all black bar where a near nude woman was dancing the Pony in the middle of the bar. I could still see her in her six-inch heels, the tautness of her legs and the bouncing of her breast with each galloping step.

We reached the door and as James stepped into the joint ushered by his shadow cast before him by the sunlight everyone turned around to see who came in. My shadow followed James’ and as I appeared through the threshold the joint became a buzz saw of low murmurings and sneers several octaves lower than the jukebox blasting, "…All you wanna do is a ride around Sally, ride Sally ride, ride Sally ride." The further I advanced with James the clearer the sneers and snide remarks became the backup vocal to, "ride Sally, ride."

The good looking girl with her skirt so high you could see paradise strolled over to James, put her arms around him, and ask in a condescending voice, "Whas ya got wit you baby?" The hair on my neck stood erect. I felt out of place, and as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. James kissed her neck and shouted over the final lyrics, "Be cool brothers--this is Rags, my friend. He’s a cool honky." He’s the "honky" that parties with the Mcfees."

I was a celebrity with the blacks and did not know it. James sanctioning me as his friend made all the difference in the world, and after he related the incidence between Otis and me, the biggest man at the bar began wheezing as his king size belly rose and fell with exerted laughter saying, "Serve dat ol son of bitch rat. He keep dat shit up and he be building houses alls by himself."

"Dat ol bastard is gwana runs out of help," said the bar tender. "Y’all all useta wurk fer Otis one time or nutder, hadin y’all?"

A roar of laughter, and shouts rattled the large glass window. "Y’all ditn’t come jere to talk; so, yuh want yor double shot of S C bro," the bar tender ask James as he began pouring the double not waiting on an answer. "Wauta yore drink Honky?" I must have looked dumb struck as a deer "caught in a crossing" so he repeated, "Boy, wad id be fer yuh?"

"M-i-l-l-ers," I stammered over the scratching of the juke box's stylus tracking a groove as it engaged the screeching voice of James Brown's "Ohhh, I feel good…"

"Can or bottle?" The bar tender inquired.
The words, "I knew that I would now…" forced me to shout, "Bottle," topping the voice of the "Father of Soul."

The bartender slid the double to James and set an iced covered can of Millers in front of me.

"Jere’s yore bottle," he laughed and everyone at the bar joined in, drowning out the song.

I raised the can in a salute. "Here’s to the Brier Patch," I said, lowering the beer can to my lips and took a long guzzle, "a-a-a-ah, best bottle of bair I’ve ever had." The Millers tasted good and it agreed with the sign hanging over the bar bragging, "Our bair is colder than a well digger's ass. The ice chips fell into my open collar and instantly melted which caused a shiver to run through my shoulders. I sat the can down, James burst out laughing, and several of the customers came over and gave friendly slaps on my back

Someone shouted, "Yuhs alrit in my book."

One of the girls came over and put her arm around my neck slid her other hand into my hip pocket and asked in a sexy throaty voice, "Whats can lit’le ole Mattie do fer yuh?"

"N-nuting," I stammered slipping back into my old Mississippi brogue letting my eyes drift deep into her exposed cleavage, "I’m married."

Mattie giggled, and joined James Brown as her lips touched my ear sending shivers coursing through my body as she whispered the words, " 'I feel nice like sugar and spice, so nice, so nice, cause I got you. When I hold you in my arms I know I can’t do no wrong now, when I hold you in my arms, my love can’t do me no harm, so good, so good, cause I got you--so good, so good, cause I got you, hey yeah.' "

"Mattie! Gits away from dat boy. We doesn’t need no trouble here. Anyway yuh need moe than dat boy can give yuh," the bar tender shouted, followed by an outburst of laughter which drowned out the last musical rift.
I took another long swig, finished off the beer and patted James on the back, "Buddy, I hafta git."

Mattie patted my butt as I left James sitting at the bar, "Whens yuh wants some action baby, come see Mattie." I ignored her.

"See y’all later," I said raising my hand over my head waving good-bye.

"Yuh is alrite," some one shouted as I pulled the door open.

"Rags, yuh's always welcome here," the invitation came from another unfamiliar voice.

"Thanks, I may be back," I lied knowing certain I would never return. I pushed the screen door open and it responded with a squeak as I stepped onto the rickety porch covered by the tattered lean-to awning offering defused shade from the noon sun.

I was shaken, unnerved, and my conscience pricked me. Boy, am I glad to get out of there, I thought taking the key out of my right pocket inserting it into the ignition of the old 68 GMC.

I guess I would be known as a sneak, because I didn’t tell Trisha where I was or what I had been doing, but I did tell her I had quit my job and she became as unhappy as an old wet hen with my quitting Otis. "What are you going to do," she asked her voiced possessed a tone of extreme concern. "Our funds are getting lower and lower..,"

"I know that, but I ain’t gonna let some jerk knock me off a scaffolding. I will run an ad and start my own business. Don’t worry!"

"What am I suppose to do? Not one thing has gone right since we got here," she said. She was right--Tren closed Rachelle’s finger in the hinged side of our front door, and we had to take her to the emergency room and get the tip reattached. The following week Lit'el Rags wrecked his bike and I had to dig a rock out of his knee and take him to the emergency room to get stitches. The next week Rachelle slipped while climbing a tree and rammed a branch stub in her thigh. This time the doctors ask Rachelle what had happened. I began to explain the accident.

"Shut up! This is the third time in three weeks you have brought one of your children in for medical care I want to talk to your daughter," the doctor's voice was intimidating and I followed his instructions and shut up. Rachelle explained how she was climbing the tree and slipped. In the interim, they cleaned and stitched the wound. The doctor apologized and explained there had been a rash of cases of child abuse and they were mandated to inform the city police of any suspicious accidents.
No, it had not been a good year and the next day I did not make it any better when

Otis stopped and ask, "You coming to work?"

"No, Otis I’m not. I quit."

He gunned the engine and said, "Okay, I gotta get." He was just as calm with my quitting as he was with my hiring.

The only ray of sunshine came when Trisha handed me the new February 15, 1978 Watchtower magazine. "We just got the new issue today. Read Questions from the Readers," she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Why," I asked, "is there new light?"

"Just read it," she said. A smile spread across her lips, "you’ll be pleasantly surprised."

"I don’t want to read the magazine right now," I said. "just give me an inkling of the article and I’ll read it later."

"No, read for me, okay," she pleaded. "you won’t be disappointed." I turned to the rear of the magazine where the Society placed Questions from the Readers and I scanned the first paragraph on page 30 and saw "oral sex." My interested peaked and I began reading the article:

"In the past some comments have appeared in this magazine in connection with certain unusual sex practices, such as oral sex, within marriage and these were equated with gross sexual immorality. On this basis, the conclusion was reached that those engaging in such sex practices were subject to disfellowshipping if unrepentant. The view was taken that it was within the authority of congregational elders to investigate and act in a judicial capacity regarding such practices in the conjugal relationship. A careful further weighing of this matter, however, convinces us that, in view of the absence of clear Scriptural instruction, these are matters for which the married couple themselves must bear the responsibility before God and that these marital intimacies do not come within the province of the congregational elders to attempt to control nor to take disfellowshipping action with such matters as the sole basis." W78, 2/15 p 30-1
I glanced up and asked, "What you think honey?"

"I’m glad I’m not on my period," she stepped toward me and a hint of perfume filtered through her tight jeans as pressed her thighs into my face. "I can’t wait until tonight when the kids are in bed." I ran my tongue over my lips and let my smile speak for me.

My thoughts turned verbal and I muttered, "About time, they get out of the bedroom." The February 15, 1978 article was the sixth article discussed on oral sex. The thought, I wonder if those who were disfellowshipped will be re-instated crossed my mind, but knowing retroactive was not in the vocabulary, of the Faithful and Discreet Slave Class, the past sanctions remained, and it became benign and a non-issue.

There it was; new light in ink, on page thirty, once again removing the sanction placed on behavior in the sanctity of the bedroom. "I probably shouldn’t say this Honey; but, it makes me wonder who of the Governing Body got married, doesn’t it?" A devilish smile punctuated my statement, and a twinkle appeared in Trisha's eyes.

We anticipated the evening hours through out the day and after the kids settled in bed we made a couple of relaxing Wine Coolers, lit candles around the tub of steaming water as my lover reclined into my arms. We sipped our drinks, kissed, and did not bother to dry off as we raced to the confines of our bed. The new dimmer switch set the lighting perfect as it generated a soft glow which reflected from the mirrored headboard giving off enough light to expose our images making love. I received a twinge of conscience each time she gasped as my tongue caressed her inner thighs, and a fleeting thought came over me. If Jehovah can’t decide what is right and what is wrong, why should my conscience bother me, and as quick as the thought appeared I pushed it aside and turned my fill attention to how my lips kept seeking her. I drank her passion and love. Throughout the night until the early dawn, we consumed each other.

Exhaustion enslaved us as we woke the kids for school. I placed an ad in the classified section of the Enterprise Journal and helped a brother build and install concrete septic tanks until I received a business call requesting an estimate. The job was in the "Black" side of town referred to as "Algiers." I gave them an estimate for a carport and new roof. It was a large job so I called James, but he was working. I had no other choice. I ask the last person on the face of the Earth who I did not want to ask--AdamThompson. Yeah, that’s correct, the same Adamwho the congregation sent to Bethel had now returned to McComb. In his stint at the world Head Quarters of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, he found Sophia, a nice Italian girl he brought home and married. Let us say the congregation came to his aid again, took up another collection and paid Sophia’s way to McComb where they were married and renting our granny unit. Adamwas under the impression since Sophia was serving as a Special Pioneer he was exempt from paying rent, so all I received from him was the first month’s rent. I did not have a mortgage on both properties so I let him slide month in and month out. When he did not make his pioneer hours he was removed from the pioneer’s list and the congregation stopped "palming" him, and he bummed from one job to another.

Adamand I worked well together and completed the Algiers’ job. I received more business calls and took Adamin as a partner, nothing legal, just split the jobs fifty-fifty, and as time went by I did the work and Adamslacked off claiming he was doing public relations work, and with his public relations in full swing we were getting less and less work.

What else could start to deteriorate? It was not long before I found out as several members of the body of elders visited me concerned over the blatant friendship between the McFees and my family.

"Dan, this is Mississippi, not California. We still have racial problems here," Jimmy said.

I blew them off, "Look I have lived in the same neighborhood all my life and my neighbors have known me since I was just a boy, ain’t nobody gonna hurt me. Matter of fact I don’t think anybody really cares what I do or who I have over."
"You are not the first family who has tried to socialize with our black brothers. We tried, we have all tried, but there were innuendos and rumors running throughout town about us--even bomb threats received. We corresponded with the Society concerning inter-racial association."

"Jimmy, I’m not trying to be ornery, but the McFees and my family like each other and our kids get along great Sandra and Tren just love each other. I haven’t had any trouble while having them over here and when we go see them we give a nice witness to their neighbors. Their neighbors come over and want to know what is going on. We get to witness to them and several have come to the hall as you well know."
"The Society’s suggestion is--, we keep the socializing to a minimum or do our visiting at the Hall; so, foretold, is forewarned," he said and gave me a friendly slap on the back. "You know buddy, just because we don’t visit does not mean we have anything against our black brothers. It’s just playing it safe."
Bro. Louie, Sr. gave a talk on congregational needs during the following service meeting, which dealt with interracial association. "…while association among our brothers are commendable we need to be careful that showing our love for each other will not incite those who hate Jehovah and his people. I suggest it would be better if, our white Brothers visit us in our homes, as it is more tolerable at this time." A cold shiver ran down my back, I was embarrassed and my heart went out to the entire congregation of the black brothers and sisters. I wondered just how far had the Society advanced from the days of "Jim Crow." They had court decisions overturned on every human rights issue, but did not want to make an issue of the right to racial association.

Brother Willington, and Brother Reed, lived through the days of the "Jim Crow" law as well as been in the organization long enough to remember the Society’s view on the Negro Race.
"...The negro race is supposed to be descended from Ham, whose special degradation is mentioned in Gen. 9:22, 25. (Zion’s Watch Tower, August 1, 1898, p. 230)
The Watchtower of April 15, 1900 said the following regarding blacks not participating in the "pioneer" work:

"There are probably as many as a hundred colored brethren on the Watch Tower lists, some of them clear in the truth, and very earnest in its service, financially and otherwise. We have received letters from several of these, who had intended engaging in the volunteer work, expressing surprise that in the call for volunteers in the March 1st issue we restricted the inquiry to white Protestant churches. They rightly realized that we have not the slightest of race prejudice, and that we love the colored brethren with just the same warmth of heart that we love the white, and they queried therefore why such a distinction should be made in the call. The reason is that so far as we are able to judge, colored people have less education than whites -many of them quite insufficient to permit them to profit by such reading as we have to give forth. Our conclusion therefore is based upon the supposition that reading matter distributed to a colored congregation would more than half of it be utterly wasted, and a very small percentage indeed likely to yield good results." (p. 122)

Once again through the Society’s writings they held to their opinion concerning blacks. They published this saying:

"Noah declared, prophetically, that Ham’s characteristics which had led him to unseemly conduct disrespectful to his father, would be found cropping out later, inherited by his son, and prophetically he foretold that this degeneracy would mark the posterity of Canaan, degrading him, making him servile. We are not able to determine to a certainty that the sons of Ham and Canaan are the Negroes; but we consider that general view as probable as any other." (Zion’s Watch Tower, July 15, 1902, p. 216)

April 1, 1914 Watchtower Magazine released another article placing the Negro race in a somewhat servitude position through the magazine’s viewpoint:

"If nature favors the colored brethren and sisters in the exercise of humility it is that much to their advantage, if they are rightly exercised by it. A little while, and our humility will work out for our good. A little while, and those who have been faithful to their Covenant of Sacrifice will be granted new bodies, spiritual, beyond the veil, where color and sex distinctions will be no more. A little while, and the Millennial kingdom will be inaugurated, which will bring restitution to all mankind - restitution to the perfection of mind and body, feature and color, to the grand original standard, which God declared ‘very good,’ and which was lost for a time through sin, but which is soon to be restored by the powerful kingdom of Messiah." (p. 105-106)

"While it is true that the white race exhibits some qualities of superiority over any other, we are to remember that there are wide differences in the same Caucasian (Semitic and Aryan) family; and also we should remember that some of the qualities which have given this branch of the human family its preeminence in the world are not such as can be pointed to as in all respects admirable....The secret of the greater intelligence and aptitude of the Caucasian undoubtedly in great measure is to be attributed to the commingling of blood amongst its various branches; and this was evidently forced in large measure by circumstances under divine control." (Zion’s Watch Tower, July 15, 1902, p.215-216)

Once again, as late as 1929 the black brothers became the subject of degradation through the pages of the Golden Age Magazine, known today as the Awake! The newer black publishers who were younger and had not gone through the civil rights movement did not know of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society’s past view, nor did the majority of us younger whites, because the Society did not write any study articles concerning their racial history. The black brothers who were serving today in the McComb congregation received their appointments serving Jehovah in the black segregated Kingdom Halls under an earlier system did know how the Society felt about interracial marriage as an article was published asking the question

"What is the view of Jehovah's Witnesses toward interracial marriage? .. [while interracial marriages are not intrinsically wrong, 'deep-seated prejudices' remain 'in the world' and] "A Christian, being realistic, must face life as it is - not as he wishes it might be." {WT Dec 1 1973 755-6} [i.e., if such a marriage would compromise one's potential to give a witness for Jehovah, it might be theocratically imprudent to pursue it]

During the circuit overseer’s visit, the body of elders presented my letter of recommendation from the Clearlake congregation and the C O agreed to send a letter of recommendation to the Society for my reappointment. Our body of elders received a response from the Society four weeks later and through Holy Spirit, I was reappointed.

Louie, Junior who served at the World Headquarters of the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society in New York for four years became a ministerial servant there had the credentials and by all rights should have been a shoe-in for an appointment as an elder. He was articulate and knowledgeable in the scriptures and he could answer any question concerning the Society’s doctrines. He was serving as a book study conductor and all the black publishers were looking forward to his appointment as an elder--but he was passed over, and upon being past over, several brothers approached me about their concerns of the ratio of blacks to whites in the congregation. I reassured them there would be no discrimination on my part, and Jehovah’s Organization did not tolerate prejudice.

I felt strange taking over Louie’s book study group with him serving as the assistant. The first official act as the book study conductor was to assign all the qualified brothers to rotate in the reading assignments as well leading our group in the opening and closing prayer, and these arrangements satisfied everyone.
Louie, Sr. dropped by the house one day and we began talking about the black and white issue and he reminded me, You remember when I told you I was glad you returned because I believed Jehovah had sent you back here."

"Yes, I remember. What is the problem Louie?

Louie nervously grinned and rubbed his hands together, "There are problems between the blacks and whites here-"

"Yeah, I know. You told me you couldn’t hire a white man when I ask you for a job."

"I also told you my crew was all black and beside my son everyone else is worldly, you would never have lasted out there. They would treat you like a nigger, excuse the pun, anyway that is water under the bridge. I need you to be a character reference for me, because you know how construction works. You know sometimes you go over budget, run into unforeseen problems; and with all that you may be late paying your bills and run over on your completion date."

"Yeah, I know everything you are saying is true, s-o-o-o?"

"Brother, I’ve been building houses longer than you have been alive, and never had any problems until recently, now there are complaints not only from the whites but from the blacks too, even my brother-in law is starting to find fault and complaining. My suppliers are telling me several people have inquired about my business practices and if I’m current with my payments. I believe I am being drummed out."

"Are you? I ask.

"What? Louie asks.

"Are you current with your bills and payroll?"

"You know how it goes Dan. I pay when I get paid."

"Okay, look Louie all I can do is come to the judicial meeting if asked, but I haven’t heard anything about you since I returned. This is the first I heard. You can depend on me."

I began to call around and inquire about Louie. I called some of his clients, long time friends, wholesale suppliers and the consensus I discovered was; he was well liked, he overbook appointments, usually was late for appointments, most of the contracts were completed even if not on the specified completion date. The worst complaint was from Sister Jones, who implied her watch came up missing after he came over for a walk through and gave a bid on a remodel job. I called Brother Reed and told him Louie had came over we discussed the problems he was having.

"He told me you and he was having problems, what’s your side of the story?"

"Brother Walker, I don’t want to start any problems. He is family and his sister is my wife," he said and I could hear concern and regret in his voice.

"I know that, but if you have any complaints about his business practices then this is the time to say something. Our actions reflect on Jehovah’s Organization, and our objective is to keep the Society free from reproach," I said parroting the Society.
He tried to side step the issue as he hemmed-hawed around. His voice implied, I really stepped into it this time as he said, "All I know is Louie has money to go to this assembly and that assembly, throw get-togethers, gives public talks out of town. The crew and I have problems getting paid. That’s all I’m gonna say, and I probably should have kept my mouth shut."

"Brother, if there is any wrongdoing, Jehovah is going to find out one way or the other. The committee will be fair, as the meeting will have Jehovah’s spirit directed upon it. Let’s just rely on Jehovah and everything will work out."

"Don’t tell Louie we talked. I gotta go. See you at the meeting," he said
A month passed and I received a phone call requesting my presence at the judicial meeting concerning Brother Louie Willington. It was set for a Saturday night. There were ten vehicles in the parking lot when I arrived, more than I expected to see and the majority of them were unfamiliar. I open the door to the Kingdom Hall and saw everyone sitting in a circle and I sat down beside Jimmy Morton. Twelve brothers formed the circle, our four elders, and five elders, which I recognized from their giving Public Talks in McComb.

The committee chair began the meeting with prayer and after he began asking questioning Brother Reed, Brother McFee, and Brother Smith. Brother Reed tried to white wash his story to make nothing out of it. Brother Smith said he always had problems getting his pay on a regular basis, and Brother McFee said it was a common fact all the wholesale suppliers complained about Louie being late with his payments. I was questioned and I did not tell them what Brother Reed told me, but I related Sister Jones’ story, and as soon as I opened my mouth I wished I had put a sock in it, I became the source of hearsay. It was Sister Jones’ story, not mine; she should have been there, not me. I should have asked to be dismissed due to ignorance instead of letting myself get caught up in the moment.

The meeting came to and end. The chair informed us they would contact the Society and get their recommendation and at which time they would inform us how to handle the situation. The special committee panel dismissed themselves for privacy and returned in agreement that Brother Willington should continue serving in his position until they received the Society’s recommendation.

The Judicial committee received a response from the Society and set a date to present the recommendation. Jimmy read the letter during the Thursday night Service Meeting. The Society recommended the removal of Brother Willington from his position as elder, mixed no words as he stated "for actions unbecoming of a Christian." Gasps and murmurings resounded throughout the auditorium followed by applause when Brother Morton concluded the announcement, "We will be looking forward to Brother Willington’s re-appointment in the near future." Brother Morton’s statement informed the congregation that we should not shun or mark Louie. The congregation accepted the news better than I expected even though there were murmurs about the ratio of blacks to whites, and murmurings of "it won’t be long until we will not have any representation."

McComb seemed to have been a mistake, jobs were hard to find, wages were low and it began to look as if we would not be able to make it through another winter and now, there was an undertow of racial discontent. "It took 121 years to get a black man in a top administrative position in the WTS. It has been 7 years and several GB members have died but no others," Blondie from JWD brought out in a recent discussion.

I was never so happy as when I answered the phone and heard, "Rags, this is Willie. How are you? Betty and I saw Lurene this past week, and she said you may be interested in moving back to California. Are you?"
I did not want Willie to know what a hell this move to McComb had been. "We might be. Why?" I ask.

"I bought a piece of property in St Helena with Pete, Emmett, and several brothers who live in St. Helena. We are planning on building a tract of homes and there is one extra lot we are going to sell after we have our houses built."

"Sounds good to me, but where do I come in?"

"I’m the project manager and part owner. I can get you nine bucks an hour."

"Willie, I’m making twelve bucks here when I work. My house is paid for. I don’t want to sound greedy, but--"

"Dan if you come out, I’ll guarantee you I’ll get fourteen an hour. You know Betty and I love you and Trisha as if you are our own. We want to give you a chance and help you out." The five-dollar increase without batting an eye should have been a red flag, but it was not; naive and trusting was my nature and I jumped on the chance to move back to California, and I felt privileged that I was thought of as a son, and should I question my "Father Figure."

"Give me your phone number and I’ll tell Trisha what you said." I wrote the number down and told Trisha about Willie's offer. There was not much of a discussion about it. Trisha wanted to know when we could pack up. We put our arrangements together and told the brothers we were moving back to California and about the opportunity, we had. Jimmy bought my pick up truck. We placed our house with a realtor and then rented it to a brother who just moved to McComb with his family. We were off. "Voila!" "Dictum factum", no sooner said than done, we left McComb as fast as we arrived.

"Déjà vu" greeted us as Willie, Betty, Pete and his family came running out to see us. We drove out to the construction site and discussed the project and their visions. I was not part of the vision except on the aspect of working for them as a framer. I was not led to believe I would be given a chance for anything, and I was not. I tooled-up the following morning after our arrival, signed my W2 without a question. The secretary did not mention wages and I did not ask. I took Willie's word as gospel, walked over to the safety meeting and listen to Brother Klienman as he read a portion of the OSHA manual. He closed the manual tossed it along with the binder onto the unit of two by fours stacked beside him. "Brother Lopez that means you will have to wash your lunch down with something other than Dos Equis. You know aqua or coke?" Laughter broke out throughout the crew and wisenheimer remarks flew around as humiliating javelins until Brother Klienman shouted, "Let’s hit it, times-a-wasting."

We started to scatter when I heard Willie shout, "Rags." I turned around and saw him step out of the job shack, wait up. I got some good news for you." He had a little spring to his step and his smile was broad and appealing. He took a deep breath as we met and with affection placed his arm around my shoulder. I could tell he was proud of himself and pride ushered out when he said, "Emmett agreed to give you 11and hour."

I was dumb-founded and in disbelief as I repeated his words in reverse, "Eleven an hour? Emmett agreed." You promised me fourteen if I showed up. I was making twelve in Mississippi. I came out here on your word. You-you-you," I was lost for words, but "you promised me," blurted out and I knew I was getting another unfortunate screwing from another trusted friend. I continued to expound the point, "you told me you were part owner and project manager. What happened? You called me. I didn’t call you. What does Emmett have to do with my wages?"

"This is Emmett's project," the crow’s feet around Willie's eyes disappeared with his smile and his lips thinned, "I run the job, Dan that is all I do. Everything goes through Emmett. There isn’t anything I can do."

"You lied Willie," I said raising my hands in disgust with both him and myself. I had never called a man a liar to his face before, and I hated doing so now. I found it objectionable to be cruel or confrontational, but I needed a release, my head was pounding with each beat of my heart. "I am in a bind. I’m close to being out of money, I'm living in an old farm house full of rats gnawing in the walls, and you say there isn’t anything you can do." My fist clinched in a ball and the strike burned when it landed in my open palm emphasizing my question, "Why?"

"Lurene told me you may be interested in coming back, and I told her I would give you a call."

"Well, you got me here and there isn’t much I can do, is it?" My response came out as broken as my spirit. I was taken advantage of, or I let myself be taken advantage of. Mass hysteria ran amuck. I thought, when would I learn? When will I start standing up for my rights? When will I get a backbone, demand my rights, and expect such. This was just another case of letting someone run rough shod over me for the shake of peace, and looking back sometimes peace is not worth keeping.
The subject died and so did my respect for the St. Helena brotherhood. St. Helena was a learning experience. It taught me the difference between the haves and the have-nots in the organization, and the most daunting experience came after being assigned the position of Calistoga book study conductor and taking a car group to work Calistoga Road in field service and watching the caravan of cars led by Willie and Betty. Willie's son and his family, Emmett and his wife, the Shires, and the Puckers pass us. Emmett motion for me to pull over. I found a side road and turned onto it. He pulled off the road onto the gravel shoulder and stopped in front of us. A wide smile appeared as he leaned into the car through the driver's window.

"Brother Walker," he said greeting me, "I wanted to catch you before you left the Kingdom Hall. Several of us are going to Santa Rosa shopping. We need to start decorating our homes, but I also need this territory completed," he removed a territory card from his breast pocket, "we are right here on this road," he pointed to the map, "I need to have this road worked and returned to Service Overseer. Would you mind having your group work it?"

"I guess not. I’m not familiar with this territory, though." I answered, leaving wiggle room with my excuse of not knowing the territory.

Emmett was sharp, "Sister Wakefield," he pointed to the rear seat, "knows the territory. She’ll help you; however, if you follow this road and work the last four ranches past the Franz vineyard you will run into Highway twelve, turn left when you reach Glenn Ellen and another left onto one twenty eight at Oakville. From Oakville, you know how to get home. Right?"

"Yeah, we will finish your territory," I said begrudging I didn’t have the gumption to tell him to finish it himself."

"Thanks, I owe you one. Don’t forget to fill in the "not at homes, okay."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, "have fun."

He swaggered back to his car scrapping the heels of his cowboy boots through the gravel making small clouds of dust covered the cuffs of his dark blue suit trousers. A puff of blue smoke escaped the exhaust pipe into the warm morning air as he gunned the engine. He made a three-point turn around and spewed gravel at us as he accelerated pass us.

"That group is always sending their groups out and then heads off to Santa Rosa or Napa to shop," said Sister Wakefield as she reached her old wrinkled arm forward and patted Trisha on her shoulder. "You will see what I’m talking about if you stay here. I just don’t know how they get their time in."

"They may have studies, and then they all give public talks and have family studies." Trisha answered.

"I guess, it is not any business of mine any way. Jehovah sees all, so I guess I’ll leave it in his hand," the old sister said as she removed her hand from Trisha and began brushing Tren’s dress trying to straighten the wrinkled pleat.

I did keep track of who was at what meeting and I attended the field service arrangements after the Sunday Watchtower study though I never went out in service. It was a big farce, and everybody knew it, because we would run over each other at Safeway and make excuses why we were there and not in service.

The project continued into the completion phase. I received a two dollar an hour raise and everybody else began occupying their homes. The week Brother Molar, who was the chief building inspector for the city of St. Helena, signed off the permit for occupancy for Willie and Betty I received my pink slip. The Calistoga brothers got their houses and I "got" to find a new job. How ironic!

Staring down at the pink slip, I asked myself, what happened to, ‘we have enough work to keep everybody busy into the near future.’ This must be the near future and I had not prepared for its arrival; and not prepared, was an understatement even though we were beginning to break even from our move. Our bank account was moving from red to black, and by God, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Wow! What a privilege it is, to be part of a family "that loves you like their own."