Old Jack

My collection of short stories, Bloodline, published in 1968, received good reviews from many of the national magazines and newspapers. I was invited by colleges and universities all over the country to give readings and interviews. I received letters from teachers, former teachers and students. One letter came from an old Southerner who had taught for decades in a university, and whose essays on literature I had once read in textbooks. He praised the stories, and said if I was ever in his part of the country, do drop in. Well, a few weeks later a letter came from a young professor at that same university inviting me to come down and read and talk about the book. He said I had many fans there. I accepted his invitation and came down South. After reading to his class and answering questions for an hour or so, he asked me if I would like to meet Old Jack whom he heard had communicated with me.

We drove to Old Jack's place. It was very cold that day. It must have been late 1979 or early 1980. Hal and I talked about the weather instead of literature, because I was tired-out talking about writing. We drove into Old Jack's yard and stopped about fifty feet away from the house. Hal told me he would go in to make sure that Old Jack was at home. I could see smoke coming out of the chimney, and I pointed that out to Hal. But Hal told me that sometimes Old Jack left fire burning, so that the place would be warm when he came back home. Hal told me he would be right back. I watched him walk, hunched shoulders against the cold. He knocked on the door, then he went to another side of the house. About five minutes later I saw him coming back. He could have beckoned for me, and I could have joined him on the porch, but Hal was a gentleman and thought he should come all the way back to the car to tell me Old Jack was there.

We walked against the cold up to the house, and Old Jack opened the door himself and said, "Welcome, welcome, come on in." It felt good to be inside, and we went over to the fireplace where a young man stood with his back to the fire. Old Jack introduced him to me, and told me to have a seat. There were four rockingchairs facing the fireplace, and Old Jack told me to take the biggest one because I was the biggest man there. He asked me if I drank. I told him yes. He told the young man, who was called Jimmy Lee, to fix some drinks.

Old Jack told me how much he liked my stories, and he thought I was the best Black writer out there today. He said he couldn't see how I couldn't be one of the top writers this half of the 20th century. I raised my glass to him. He said he thought I was just that good.

We talked about an hour and a half, and I glanced at Hal, and Hal said he thought it was time to go, because I had a lecture that night. Driving away from Old Jack's house, I heard Hal laughing to himself. "Ernie, I got a confession to make," he said. "I knew Old Jack was in there all the time. But he has this big confederate flag hanging over the mantle right where you were going to sit, and I asked him would he mind taking it down. That's why it took me so long to come back out there. He had to think about it. I mean he had to think hard. Then he nodded to himself and he said, "Go bring him in." I don't know if you noticed how clean the wall was above the mantle. I'm sure that flag hadn't been moved since...