Abe And Marilyn and Blackula

Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclaimation in 1863. Slaves were freed throughout the South. Their liberation awaited the arrival on the Union Army.

"Free at last, hallelujah."

The unchained darkies' paradise last a few years, as after Appomatox the South instituted Jim Crow laws aimed at their subjugation to sharecropper lands. The police and mobs below the Mason-Dixon Line punished any loose-tongued niggers with the noose. Lynchings occurred with frightening regularity and Africans fled the South throughout the 20th Century in hopes of better days, only to have Northern factory owners conspire to break the spirit of blacks by underpaying their worth. The 1919 Tulsa Massacre taught spades that no place safe existed for a black man, woman, or child in White America.

I taught high school in South Boston during the Bussing battles of the 1970s.

A Massachusetts state judge had ordered the Boston School Committee to rectify the racial imbalances within the city without including the lily-white suburbs. Poor Irish teenagers had been transported to the poorer neighborhoods of Roxbury.

Divide and conquer amongst the old slaves, for the Irish had also been transported to the Americas as slave as well as the Africans of the West Coast.

And nowadays the battle lines are drawn by color.

Black and their supporters versus an aging White America threatened by the rising number of Latinos and Chinese flocking to the fifty states. Riches and safety await them, because White America is only interested in keeping down the blacks.

A black man has to know his place and that is why Michael Brown was killed in Ferguson.

He mouthed off to a white cop.

Treyvon was murdered, because he was a black boy in a hoodie.

Akai Gurley had it coming, because he was black.

Tamir Rice was shot dead by cops.

At least one a day in these United States.

And white people say these killings are not racist. Cops kill blacks to insure Nat Turner and his slave rebellion was a one-off.

No, they are almost right. Cops kill people, because they are poor and dead men can't tell their side of the story.

Whites prefer the nice lies by the people they have entrusted to protect them from the blacks.

Murder is just another price to pay for sleeping safe and sound at night.

ZZZZZZZZZ.

In your sleep.

Blackula will come to get you, whitey.

Me too, but I'm eating tons of garlic just in case. he's after all whites.

He looks more like Abe Lincoln than Marilyn Monroe and there is nothing I want more than Marilynula sucking my blood in bed.

I'm a sucked for a stone-cold dead blonde.

Play Ball 2010

The 2010 Baseball Season was opened by President Obama in Washington. He walked onto the field with a red Senators jacket symbolizing his honorary support of the home team. Half way to the mound the President pulled out a black Sox cap which he proudly wore through the ceremony. The crowd booed the show of his real loyalty to the Chicago White Sox. The right-wing press reported the AP release as if his entrance was greeted by politically-motivated bias against the black-skinned Commander-in-Chief. Maybe a few and their mouthiness was stilled by the fact that most of the players on the field were black and a good number had bats. Obama's pitch was wide, high and left. He descended from the mound with hat in hand and I understood his temerity.

On Sunday my young nephew Fast Eddie and I strolled down to Fulton Mall to search out black-exploitation films. His choice. Not mine. All I know is Melvin Van Pebbles, SHAFT, and BLACKULA. Eddie was much better versed in the 1970s genre.

"Gordon Parks directed SUPERFLY too." Eddie was English/French and 18. His face was younger than his age. He hated the Taliban edicts against young drinkers. "I work as a barman in London."

"Here was you're an illegal." I gave him beer at home. His mother approved of this liberty, although the New York police would have considered my largess a crime. Misdemeanor not a felony. My first bar was Kelly's on Mass Ave. in Boston. It was a black bar. I was 14. The barman only cared if I had the money for a bottle of beer.
Eddie had been refused service and entrance at my local, Franks. He couldn't even drink water in the bar, but Homer from Mississippi gave directions to a Muslim street vendor who sold blaxploitation films.

"I don't see the hot dog stand." Eddie had listened to the directions, while I watched the end of the NCAA semi-finals.

"I don't see." I had bet $20 on Butler with the guard at the diamond exchange. It was a sweet win. Eddie's mother wasn't too happy about our wandering the streets and I went over to a Black Liberation book dealer. He had thousands of CDs at home. Eddie and I planned on meeting him tomorrow. Behind us was a sports store.

"I want to get a Red Sox cap." I was wearing a Red Sox Nation tee-shirt. The cap at home was a cheap purchase from Boston's Chinatown. My cousin Dwight had promised to deliver a better one. That was over a month ago.

"Are you sure?" Eddie was a Londoner, but was well aware of the enmity between the two baseball clubs.

"I've been a Red Sox fan all my life. I've lived in New York most of it. My son's name is Fenway." At one year old Fenway doesn't understand the significance of his name and seeing that his mom and he live in Thailand, he might never learn, but he's a smart boy.

"Up to you." Eddie had learned that expression from a two-week holiday in Thailand as a 13 year-old. He could even say 'Lawh ke kunh'. Probably better than me.

"Red Sox forever." I entered Modell's and immediately saw that the store offered a hundred versions of the famed Yankee cap but only one Red Sox cap.

"Can I help you?" The two sales clerks were young.

"You have any other Red Sox caps?" My eyes scanned the racks without success.

"Only that ugly one there." The young man laughed as if the manager of the store had personally ordered the worst Red Sox cap possible.

"It is ugly." And I was buying it either. I wanted something classic. A simple red B on a midnight blue cap.

"Just like the Red Sox."

"We'll see, sport." Opening Day was also a night game in Fenway. Yankees versus the Bosox. "It's the start of a new season and we got better pitching."

"And we have Derek Jeter." Last year's MVP.

"But not Johnny Damon." The Yanks had traded away the World Series MVP to Detroit. Their management kept no players too long.

"And you still have Big Pappie."

"Yeah, thanks." David Ortiz had a terrible year at the plate as DH. Stopping steroids hadn't helped his swing. I exited from the store without a cap. Eddie said, "They really didn't like you."

"Not me. Red Sox fans." It was war every year. "And I hate the Yankees."

Hopefully one day Fenway would know that. Until then I was glad that the Bosox came back from behind that evening to win 9-7 in the season opener. It was a good sign.