It's Good to Be Black

10. And May the Best Man Win

10. and muy the best mun win Our family couldn't be a house divided against itself-that is, outwardly. At home there might be heated arguments as to the relative merits of this or that candidate, but everybody knew that all the Berkleys would march to the polls in one body and vote the straight Republican ticket. "You vote the way you want and I'll do the same. Geeminy! I'm grown, Braxton," Uncle Bob would yell in his high-pitched voice. Uncle Bob was Dad's younger brother but they were as alike as twins. "I know you're grown but you're acting like a child. Letting Homer McGee and Bert Wilson lead you around like they got a ring in your nose." Dad's voice had an edge on it, too. "I ain't been listening to Homer McGee or Bert Wilson. I can think for myself. That's something you don't want me to do." "Now Robert, you listen to Buddy," Aunt Ida essayed the role of arbitrator. "He's been in the game a long time. He never steered you wrong." "Not much!" Uncle Bob's huff was a cross between a grunt and a short bitter laugh. "Didn't he tell us to put Rowan Tinsley in the state House? You remember, Braxton, you remember!" His right forefinger wriggled accusingly two inches from Dad's nose. "He was running against Albert Grainger, and what did Tinsley do?" 96 utul utfl!l tlte best :tnfln win "Well," Dad conceded weakly, "he wasn't the man I thought he was." "Wasn't the man you thought he was? He wasn't no man at all. The operators bought him off. Every time one of our bills come up, Tinsley was off fishing." Dad had always smarted under that double cross, but he couldn't back down now. A man was entitled to one mistake . Everybody made mistakes. That's why they put erasers on lead pencils. And Dad would certainly redeem himself by blotting out little Rowan Tinsley's political star. When election for state assemblyman rolled around again, Rowan was sure of the miners. He dropped by the house rather casually to assure himself of Dad's support. "\Veil, Mr. Berkley, it should be a landslide this time," he smiled broadly. "It will be," Dad paused, then added significantly, "for Albert Grainger." Dad seldom joked when talking business and Rowan Tinsley knew this. The ingratiating smile left his face but his voice held the same high hopefulness. "He won't be any trouble. I'll admit it was a pretty close race last time, but with my " "That's just what's going to kill you, Tinsley," Dad interrupted , "your record." "Why, Mr. Berkley, I don't understand. What was wrong with my record?'~ "It ain't no need to beat the devil around the stump, Tinsley. Look! We elected you to work for the miners. You didn't have no money to run your campaign. All right. We won't work for money. You had been a good district attorney . You'd been fair. We liked you. We believed in you. The other side waved a thousand dollar bill under my nose. 97 it's good to be black I spit on it. A thousand dollars is a whole lot of money, Tinsley. 'Specially for the little work I'd a had to do to elect Grainger. I know politics, Tinsley. I was in this game when you was still wearing didies. I ain't no mealy-mouthed hatin -my-band politician. I ain't like one of these bread-andbutter preachers who'll promise to vote their congregation to a man if you'll come over to their church dinners and buy up all the grub. I'm president of the Stand Patters' Club. We run the Second Ward. I ain't bragging. I'm stating a cold fact. I run the Second Ward-and the Second Ward runs this town." "I know that, Mr. Berkley. I know that. But I'm telling you the God's truth. I thought I voted the way you boys wanted me to vote." "When you was there," Dad agreed. "But the times you wasn't there was the most important. And another thing, don't talk about-us boys. I'm old enough for your daddy, though if I thought any...