It's Good to Be Black

4. The Black Man's Strength

4. the black man's strength The clanging of the fire bell jarred the stillness that lay over our town just before daybreak. Whether I was awakened by this or Dad's exclamation of "Great Goda' mighty!," I do not know. Dad was looking out of the north window, his flannelette nightshirt striking the calves of his legs. Mother called from her bedroom, "What's on fire, Braxton ?" "Can't say. A fire's deceiving. May be the old Schleper place-then again, "there was a slight pause, "may be farther north!' Mother seemed reluctant to suggest, "The church?" Dad was back in the bedroom trying to assure Mother that it couldn't possibly be the church. His voice was muffled as though he were pulling something over his head. Now the assurance had changed to inquiry and anxiety and I could catch such words as "but the baby is still too young -this cold night air" caught and held between Mother's insistence that she "felt fine" and "Frieda Molsen," a Polish woman in the next block, "met Dr. Gillis at the front door the very next day after her baby was born!' From the sounds I knew they were dressing hurriedly. Soon they were passing through the living room where Helen and I slept on a folding bed. Dad was turning up the collar of his overcoat. Mother was throwing the ends of her fascinator around her neck 43 it's good to be black Just as they reached the door I started to question them. Then I quickly reasoned if I said nothing there would be no stay~at~home orders; so I lay quiet until they passed out of the door. They had not reached the sidewalk before I was out of bed and at the window. The whole north end of town was a huge bonfire. Spiraling fingers of red and orange lost themselves in the billowing smoke clouds that hung sus~ pended above the glow. I ran into the room where the boys were sleeping and shook Spud vigorously. I did not wish to disturb the others; so I whispered, "Wake up, Spud. Wake up." I had no fear of waking Helen. She was a sound sleeper, and I only hoped that Gabriel's lung power would be sufficient to blast her awake on Judgment Day. The shaking brought nothing from Spud but a few grunts. He turned to his side and mumbled, "Knuckle down." I pounded his shoulder and was finally rewarded by the opening of one eye, glazed with sleep. "There's a big fire, Spud. Wake up," I pleaded, "Wake up." The first eye was closed again, but the other was slowly opening. "You fudged," Spud pouted. Finally he sat up in bed, still groggy but slowly beginning to comprehend . His first intelligent comment was, "Let's go." We were now at the north window, eyes wide, mouths open. Soon we were fully dressed and were half running, half sliding up the icy streets. The south end of town lay in the soft shadows of a premature sunrise. Hatted and hooded figures called muffled greetings to one another as they came out of their yards. The whole town was awake and on its way to the fire. When we reached the red brick Catholic church we could see the Schleper house standing intact, its two stories 44 the black man's strength outlined by the fire that burned fiercely farther north. Mother had been right. It was the church. It was Grandpa Holmes' church. No, it was not Grandpa Holmes' church. Sure he had given up his salary while they were building to make it easier on his congregation. Sure he had climbed about, lifting his heavy body by his strong arms and shoulders , for Grandpa Holmes had only one leg. Sure he had carried the dream of that church in his heart for many years. The Lord had sent the vision to him one night and he saw the finished edifice, complete to bell tower and baptismal pool. The great bell had come all the way from Akron, Ohio, and even L. K. Williams, the biggest Baptist preacher in the state, had left his church in Chicago to come and preach the dedication services. Black and white ministers had sat side by side on the rostrum and talked warmly of the faith and patience of Elijah Holmes who...