BLACK PRESIDENT, CHAPTER 10, & 11. Leon tries to recover from his fall, as nephew steals a truck out of the garage. Birdie seeks help from Kennedys during Freedom Riders marches.

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CHAPTER TEN

Soon after Leon took a battery of tests to determine if nerve damage might be causing his impotency, he learned that his young nephew, Sherman, had stolen a truck. The kid had rustled the keys to a 1939 Dodge pick-up at Ron’s Garage and had taken off down the highway. What had gotten into him, Leon wondered? Sherman had ultimately crashed the pickup against a highway fence 80 miles away, somewhere out toward Wenatchee, Washington. Where the hell was Sherman going? Idaho? Montana? Canada? At any rate, Leon had to get someone to drive out with a tow truck to retrieve the wrecked vehicle. He didn’t look forward to repairing it all over again, or explaining the delay to the owner. When Sherman’s mother, Stacy, called she was crying into the phone, asking Leon for forgiveness, hoping he’d refrain from pressing charges. For twenty minutes Leon put up with her blabbering and excuses before breaking in.

“Your son is a thief, Stacy, and if he doesn’t repay me he’ll just keep pulling this shit...this stealing from folks...not thinking of anybody but himself. It could lead to worse things.” Leon repositioned himself on the hospital bed. “That’s the truth, Stacy, and you know it.”

All Leon could hear on the other end of the line was more sobbing. Maybe the kid should be incarcerated, thought Leon, made to feel the taste of the whip to straighten him out. But he didn’t dare say that to Stacy. God no! That would have pushed her over the edge. Trying to control his own anger and frustration, Leon choose his words carefully.

“You know I love Sherman...shucks...loved him from the day he was born. Played with the little fellow as he grew up, gave him presents when I could afford ’em...all through the years. Cute kid too. Knew he was spoiled, but hell, I thought it good you could give him some things. But now he’s gone too far.” Stacy’s sobbing had turned into a kind of weird gasping.

“Hell, I can’t move worth a damn... stuck here in this bed,” Leon complained, more to himself than to his sister. He shifted his weight to get more support under his phone arm, then turned his mind back to solvable problems.

“He’s not a bad boy, just needs some help becoming a responsible adult. What I suggest is that he be encouraged to work off the damage, put in a certain amount of time at the garage each month until the repairs are paid off. Say 60 hours at five bucks an hour. That will just about cover the parts. Hell, he might even learn something about auto mechanics.”

“Thanks Leon...” came out in a quiet voice. “Take care now. ” As soon as the word “Bye” squeaked out through her lips, a click ended the call.

Just like clockwork, the 3 PM nurse entered Leon’s room, a tiny, quarter-sized Dixie cup of pills offered from her right hand.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

May 11, 1961

While she continued to carry out the mundane activities of a White House maid and cook, Birdie’s mind was noticeably distracted. She had heard from her brother, David, that he planned to join the Freedom Riders, traveling by bus from Washington through the South, Alabama to Georgia, finally arriving in New Orleans to force the issue of integration. He told her there would be a lot of interracial cooperation among the Riders. The whites with him would sit in the back of the bus, while he and other rode in front. Whenever they stopped, the whites would use Black facilities at rest stops and vice versa.

“We’ll lure those racist bastards out of the woods,” said David proudly, when he explained the plan to Birdie. “Farmer says that the Supreme Court has to back us up. So they’ll get thrown in jail, sho’ nuff.”

It had to be done, Birdie agreed, but she was frightened about possible bloodshed. Like waving a red flag at a bull. David continued on before she could comment.

“Oh, we expect to get us pushed some, but we won’t be stopped. No way. Cause we’re prepared to die....that’s right...die for this! Them crackers won’t go easy.”

Birdie had numerous cousins living in those Southern states, so she knew firsthand the measure of hatred. So she wasn’t in her usual good humor when it came to catering to the Kennedy children’s dietary foibles. When she first planted the slice of fried bread in front of Caroline, with a yoke cooked in the center of the slice, “egg in the basket" style, the little girl was suspicious. Caroline poked the egg tentatively with a fork. Finally, she popped the yellow center, dug some of the egg out, smeared the yoke around a little bit and then ate every last bit.

After lunch, Birdie delivered the children back to their mother for their naps, watching as Mrs. Kennedy surrounded their cute faces with the smoothly ironed sheets. She fought back the memory of the narrow bed she had shared with her brother right up to puberty, always fighting, always hungry, and wondered if the privileged white people would ever understand or care what was on the minds of Blacks in America.

That evening, when Mrs. Kennedy again gave the children over to Birdie’s care after dinner, the First Lady noticed her nanny’s bleak mood and asked if something was wrong.

“Those Freedom Riders, Ma’am,” Birdie blurted out. “Ma people going to ride the Greyhounds...brother too. Got some relatives down there in Birmingham, Al’bama, who’s likely to get hurt. Maybe real bad.”

That was all Jackie had to hear.

“I’ll talk to the President. Don’t you worry now. We won’t let anything happen to your relatives.”

***

“Wha...?” answered Jack Kennedy, his wife’s question snapping him out of the light slumber he had already drifted into. “What’s that, dear?”

Jackie could see that her husband was only half awake, so she went easy, leaned over in his direction and kissed him softly on the ear. “You were good tonight,” she whispered, knowing enough to change the subject temporarily. Jack turned toward her, wondering if he had enough left for one more go. She seemed to want it. President Kennedy smiled and luxuriated in the comfort of the cool, linen-covered pillow beneath his head and the warmth of his wife’s body beside him.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

“Well...” Jackie took a big breath in and expelled it. “Birdie’s worried about her brother...and some of her relatives, in Alabama. She thinks that they could be seriously hurt down there. What do you think?”

Kennedy moved his arm out from under the pillow and rotated just enough to temporarily alleviate his aching back. Then he slid a small pillow down and stuffed it between his knees like he’d been taught by a chiropractor, which relieved some of the pressure on his back. Jackie was encouraged that he was still fidgeting around, instead of going back to sleep.

“The laws are on their side. That’s it, pure and simple,” Jack told her. “Bobby is handling it, and I’ve told him to get as tough as he needs to, to keep things under control. He’s got the marshals, even troops to call in if necessary.”

Jackie wasn’t convinced.

“By then it will be too late. Those Southern bigots have already beat up some people on one bus. I read about it. They hospitalized some people...even a woman. Birmingham’s coming up. That’s where Birdie’s people live. She’s upset...and that makes me nervous, Don’t want her so distracted...being around John and Caroline It doesn’t seem safe.”

Jesus, thought Kennedy, do I have to get it from all angles?

“Listen, honey. It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. What person in his right mind would leave his own mother at the dinner table to go off to beat up somebody else’s mother at a bus station? I really think we can let this sit for one little day, don’t you?”

“NO!” answered Jackie, emphatically.

“The only Mother’s Day gift I want from you is to save Birdie’s relatives down there!”

Jackie, swung her legs off the edge of the bed and got up. She slid into her robe and closed the silk around her, locking the tassels with a quick knot. Jack watched as his wife strode defiantly across the room and flicked on the bathroom light. For a moment, her sleek form was revealed in the doorway. He had married well, he thought, as he admired her long legs, pert breasts, tight little ass pressing against the thin fabric.

By the time Jackie returned to bed, Jack had his comeback prepared. As she slid back under the covers he said, “OK, dear. Tomorrow I’ll check in with Bobby and see what he knows, hear what options are available. We have FBI people down there. And since we’ll see Bobby tomorrow afternoon at Mom’s, you can ask him about it yourself.”

————

(Chapter Twelve next)