Part 48 (1/2)
”Yeah, thanks. Catch you later,” Joshua muttered, continuing on his way, still trying to read and walk.
”I told you, you would like it,” the man repeated again, this time louder.
Joshua stopped, turned around, and looked at the man, who held his hands up, as if saying, Hey, what can I tell you? Then, the man said, ”I think its gonna get bad.”
”It already is,” Joshua said to himself.
By the time he arrived at the office, Joshua had read most of the article. Apparently, the white teenagers had been looking for trouble, hiding and waiting for a black youth they believed had been dating a neighborhood girl. The victim, Yusuf Hawkins, had been in the neighborhood with three friends, reportedly to look at a used car. He was shot twice in the chest, and died shortly thereafter in the hospital. The police had already rounded up four suspects and were actively searching for others.
The article was provocative, comparing this incident to another racial fracas back in 1986, in Howard Beach, Queens, in which a black youth had been killed in oncoming traffic, while being chased by a gang of Italian teens. Already, politicians were out in full force, criticizing the Koch administration for not having been able to gain a handle on racially motivated crime. It was, after all, an election year.
Joshua knew this was going to be a field day for Thompson and Williams, who had been in the forefront of the string of protests that had followed the Howard Beach slaying. He had gotten used to seeing their faces on TV, and would, once again, in just a matter of hours. He dropped the paper on his desk, opened his briefcase, and began organizing himself for the morning. Mrs. Sawyer came into his office with a thick handful of phone messages.
”These are all from today?” he asked. ”We're open barely an hour.”
”The phone hasn't stopped. It's that Bensonhurst thing.”
”What does Bensonhurst have to do with us? We have enough of our own problems.”
”Mr. Eubanks,” she said with her usual austerity, ”you are a member of the community board, a leader in the community...” She stopped herself, seeing that he wasn't listening, and in a most uncharacteristic manner, said, ”Look, Joshua, you're a player.” She placed the stack of messages on his desk, and added, ”So play!”
She marched out of his office, leaving him flabbergasted. He looked at the stack of messages. The top one was from Marcus Sterling, and was marked, ”URGENT!” He wasn't in the mood to talk to Marcus just yet, so he looked at some of the others. There were a few from members of the community board and the commerce a.s.sociation, some from local newspapers, radio stations, and even one from a CBS-TV reporter.
He got about halfway through, when he landed on one from none other than Alvin Thompson, and another from Reverend Jerome Williams. He would never have expected a call from either of them again, not for any reason. The waters were indeed stirring.
Then, at the bottom of the pile, no doubt strategically placed by his dutiful secretary, was the one he was looking for, his daily message from Rachel, stating the usual ”when you get a chance.” He picked up the phone, and dialed her number.
She came on the line sounding strong and upbeat.
”How are you?” he asked.
”Today's a good day, so far,” she answered.
She had concluded her chemotherapy treatments six months earlier, and was still regaining her strength. The lung operation had been successful, and so far the cancer hadn't reappeared. No one knew anything about the future.
”That's great,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
”What's wrong?”
”Wrong? What makes you think something's wrong?”
”I can always tell from your voice.”
He knew she was certain to learn about it eventually. ”Have you seen the paper this morning?”
”Not yet. Why?”
He proceeded to fill her in.
”Joshua, it's a terrible thing, but Bensonhurst is on the other side of Brooklyn. I really don't think anything's going to happen here.”
”Rachel, this place is a seething cauldron, just waiting for a chance to explode. It has been for years. Things on the community board have been bad, tensions are higher than ever.”
She was silent for a moment. ”You're really worried.”
”More than you can imagine.”
”What are you going to do?”
”I don't know. I have about a million phone messages from the press, other board members, you name it. Seems a lot of folks share my concerns. And get this, both Thompson and Williams called.”
”Oh boy.”
”Oh boy's right. Look, glad you're feeling good, sorry to spoil your day. I'll try and stop by later tonight. Right now, I'm going to see what I can do to avert another world war.”
The meeting had been called for seven-thirty, and went till past two in the morning. It was held in Jerome Williams' storefront church which, due to the pastor's fire, brimstone, and all-around dynamism, had become one of the most well-attended in the area. In fact, the congregation had recently started looking for a bigger building.
And they needed one. The place held, at maximum, slightly under a hundred people, though the usual crowds were almost twice that. The fire marshal had apparently been turning a blind eye.
It was Joshua's first time inside, and he immediately noticed the peeling wallpaper, worn linoleum floors, and rickety pews. Yet, there was a distinct aura of sanct.i.ty. It reminded him, ironically, of the synagogue in which he used to work.
All eight black members of the community board were present, several members of the clergy, as well as a few key members of the various block and commerce a.s.sociations in the neighborhood. In total, about thirty who could potentially sway the sentiments of thousands. Marcus Sterling, the senior official, chaired; Jerome, the host, sat by his side, and Thompson was right up there with them.
For the most part, there was a lot of bantering about perceived injustices in their neighborhood. As Joshua had feared, the Bensonhurst incident was being used as an excuse to rile up the locals. He sat, watched, and listened to calls for protests in the streets, boycotts of Italian owned businesses, and lots of yelling. One board member, the one who had called Joshua a ”Jew lover,” even suggested boycotting Jewish and Korean owned businesses, while others applauded.
Joshua finally raised his hand, and was recognized by Marcus Sterling. ”Yes, Joshua Eubanks, we are anxious to have your input.” The room quieted. Just as Joshua was about to begin, he saw Thompson lean over and whisper something in Jerome's ear.
”Mr. Chairman, I've been sitting here for over four hours, listening to my colleagues voice concerns that are both legitimate and troubling. There is, no doubt, tremendous need for change and development in our community, and there are many here this evening who labor tirelessly toward that end. But tonight, tonight we have gathered for a different purpose. We haven't gathered for our own needs, but rather for the needs of the family of Yusuf Hawkins and the other young men who were with him. We must support those families, and yes, we must protest the injustice, but we shouldn't do anything that would detract from that cause.
”Mr. Chairman, we here in this room are the leaders of a large community. The decisions we make, and the tenor of those decisions, can have a profound influence. We must forever be diligent and mindful of that fact.
”I fear, Mr. Chairman, that protesting on our streets, addressing our issues, will only serve to detract from this great tragedy; namely, the racial attack that occurred in Bensonhurst, not in Crown Heights. And I also fear that such protests would lead to needless, useless violence. We owe it to Yusuf Hawkins to not allow his memory or his cause to become confused. For too long, we have attacked our own neighborhoods in battles that should have been waged on other fronts. We have protested in, burnt, and looted our own streets, and where has it ever gotten us? Where?
”I agree we must respond, but we must respond with clarity of purpose and objective. We must respond in a way that sets an example, not in a way that further fuels the flames of hatred...”
He was about finished when Thompson jumped out of his seat, and yelled, ”Tell me, Mr. Eubanks, will you go to Bensonhurst to protest?”
Joshua had antic.i.p.ated this. ”Yes,” he yelled back. ”I will go to Bensonhurst, and I will protest against violence and hatred! But I will not partic.i.p.ate in violence or hatred, neither in Bensonhurst, and certainly not here!”
The room was quiet for a few seconds. Then came the responses to Joshua. The discussion went back and forth for a long while, until a somewhat less than unanimous decision was reached. Joshua won; there would be no official protests in Crown Heights. Everyone would encourage friends and neighbors to join the already scheduled protests in Bensonhurst. The problems in Crown Heights would be tabled ”for now.”
At the conclusion of the meeting, Thompson approached Joshua. ”So, Mr. Eubanks, you shall be joining us on the streets after all,” he said gleefully, as if victory was actually his.
”Yes I will,” Joshua answered firmly, cloaking any hint of ambivalence. ”By the way,” he added, ”it won't be the first time. I was at the march to city hall the day after Arthur Miller died.”
”Were you now?” he asked, his grin sobered.