LGBT WATERSHED MOMENTS

LGBT WATERSHED MOMENTS

(written by Ed Oakley)

In horror, I watched the reality unfolding in Orlando just as the news carried this event to all points around the world.  Tears came to my eyes as I realized this was not just another news cycle; the event had become personal.  I saw Anderson Cooper lose his composure and cry as he read the 49 victims’ names and what little was known about each of them.   The event became even more personal to me when I heard Patty Sheehan speak about the LGBT community in Orlando. Patty and I served as elected officials on committees at National League of Cities some 10 years ago.

In an attempt to fill airtime, reporters hurried to line up interviews with people having knowledge of the event, and they found ways to connect bits and pieces of information I thought unusual.  One reporter referred to the vigil held at Stonewall Inn in New York City in 1969 and reminded the viewer that LGBT historians refer to the riots that followed the vigil as “Stonewall,” the beginning of the gay movement.  The news anchor made a very poignant comparison: “At the Stonewall riot, law enforcement officers were dragging people out of the club to beat and arrest them for simply being present and being gay.  In Orlando 47 years later, other law enforcement officers were dragging people out of the club to save their lives.” The comparison was how far the gay movement had come in less than half a century.

Prior to this event in Orlando, I had taped the HBO series “The 1980s” and watched the segment on HIV and AIDS.  That caused me to think back to Stonewall—I was a junior in high school in 1969 and certainly not concerned with what was unfolding in New York. My only thought was to graduate and go to college.  I came out at the age of 22 as a college senior in 1974.  Five years had passed since Stonewall, and I had no understanding of the magnitude of that event.  Caught up in the Disco era, I made friends easily, went to gay bars no longer hidden on back streets, and thought I was in the mainstream.  In 1980 a fear took hold of the LGBT community—an unknown disease unlike any other in history was devastating the community’s men and women.  In addition to having seen the HBO segment, I read a book and play titled “And the Band Played On.” It hit me in the gut to realize that I’d lost ALL of my friends to this disease.  

In 1984 I moved to Dallas from Oklahoma City. The purpose: to escape the pain of having seen my friends become sick and die. In the new city, I worked and moved on with my life. One day in 1990 a politician—friend of the LGBT community—was pushing a change in the Dallas Zoning Code that was presented as a benign change.  I begin to study this change.  I came to realize that this was going to require dance clubs to obtain special zoning to exist.  I perceived this to be an attack on the gay clubs that others were not aware of.  I took up the fight for the LGBT community against this ordinance.  I met a man—Alan Ross—for whom the Texas Freedom Parade is now named. He lived through the 1960 gay movement, the 1980s AIDS crisis, and the LGBT movement in Dallas.  With his encouragement and help, I ran for Dallas City Council in 1993.  Though unsuccessful in that attempt, I ran again in 2001, was elected, and served until 2007, at which time I ran for Mayor of Dallas, placing second in a field of 11.  This made news around the world, the possibility of an openly gay man becoming mayor of a large city in America.  I drew support from Republicans, Democrats, LGBT, conservative businesspersons, ministers, the Black community, the Latino community—a very diverse group in Dallas.  We passed, for that time, the most sweeping nondiscrimination ordinance of any city, and it still stands today.

I give all this history because I think it lends credibility to my prediction.  Just like milestones in our LGBT history—The Stonewall Riots, AIDS, nondiscrimination ordinances, LGBT in the military, gay marriage, executive orders, human rights campaigns, to name a few—Orlando will become the turning point in politics in this country.  This is a WATERSHED EVENT that will change the course of history for what has become the hate mongering by politicians.  I believe this will begin the movement to purge all elected offices across the country of antigay, hate mongering bigots.  When polls show that 70% of the general public is okay with gay marriage and the elected officials continue to use this as a rally point, the politicians don’t realize the horse has already left the gate and it’s not going back. 

As I watched the news concerning Orlando pouring in from around the world, I witnessed grieving, compassion, help, concern, and condolences from very unlikely places.  I heard hate speech from some of the likely places—ministers and politicians. I watched interviews of people trying to backpedal on their past records of antigay stance. The one interview that stands out most clearly in my mind is that of the Attorney General of Florida. She previously had fought all the way to the Supreme Court to uphold antigay laws in her state; now, in front of the news cameras, she portrayed herself as a champion of the LGBT community. As people sat in their living rooms, surely they looked at each other and said:

“Enough is enough. You know our grandson is gay, our granddaughter is lesbian.  Yes, I know my boss is gay. My secretary married her partner. Well, I’ve always known my hairdresser is gay. The organist is a lesbian living with her partner, the church secretary. My plumber married his business partner, the city manager is gay . . . so is the police chief.”

In homes all over America people are realizing that what happened in Orlando could have happened to someone they know and care about.  This could have happened to their own families. The antigay rhetoric needs to stop. 

What our misguided political leaders are missing is this—Take a look at the 103 people we know died or suffered injury at the Pulse Night Club in Orlando.  They represent a microcosm of this generation—the future voters in this country. For them, sexuality was, or is, not an issue.  They accepted, still accept, people for who they are, not members of groups defined by archaic stereotypes. Just as what rose from Stonewall and from the AIDS crisis, this horrific catastrophe will give rise to a movement.  It will begin with this presidential election and all upcoming elections. With the help of technology and electronic data, any politician’s derogatory, disparaging, and/or homophobic remarks leave an electronic footprint, and that information will be used against them.  At some point in the future, I believe people will no longer tolerate homophobic words and deeds.

Just as Stonewall began the movement, and AIDS devastation forced politics on the LGBT community, and the 1990s refined the political movement, and the 2000s energized the political movement, I believe we’ll come to see the 2010s as a time during which our country witnesses a movement of understanding and acceptance of the LGBT community.

THE ORLANDO MASSACRE

THE ORLANDO MASSACRE

 GAY AMERICA’S WATERSHED 

   A public or private statement involving the intent to inflict harm to another person is a threat. When the threat includes the word KILL it becomes a death threat. Death threats are against the law, and when a death threat is made, the FBI is required to take immediate action. The individual is placed under surveillance, questioned, and possibly jailed. 

   In recent days, many statements have been made by preachers, television evangelists, and elected officials including the words “ALL GAYS SHOULD BE KILLED.” These statements meet all the requirements of a death threat. If a person of Middle Eastern descent were to make these statements, that person would be in jail. But because these people are from a so-called Christian background, absolutely nothing has been done.  The FBI should treat these threats the same way as if they were made by a person outside the Christian coalition.   

   If Americans truly believe the constitution of the United States—as in the Fourteenth Amendment when it directly states, “All citizens must be given equal treatment under the law”—then several preachers, evangelists, and elected officials would be in jail.  No one should be allowed to use the Bible as a reason for violence.

   It is common knowledge that the hate radiating from the pulpit is partly to blame for the acts of violence against gays. For over two hundred years gay Americans have been verbally and physically abused. There are laws in place, and, if enforced, they would stop this kind of the abuse. There should be a nationwide ban on death threats.   

    A tribute should be made to the 49 innocent Americans who lost their lives in Orlando and the 53 other individuals who have suffered terrific pain. The Orlando Massacre should be recognized, not only as a Watershed Moment, but also as a Pulse Point in the entire LGBT Movement.

                              (comments welcome --------- dervistippen@gmail.com)   

THE TIME IS NOW

THE TIME IS NOW 

   When a mass shooting of straight people occurs a gay person would never say, “they deserved to be killed.” If there was ever a time in American history when it’s appropriate to use the words “enough is enough” it is now.  We must not allow the lives of forty-nine innocent young Americans to be lost in vain.  We must make sure something good comes from this horrific act of violence.

   Now is the time that Americans must shun the voices of those who have tried to make a mockery from the deaths of those who are gay. We must turn our tears into actions. It is time for churchgoers to walk out of churches when preachers make such statements as “death to all gays.” We must make sure our broken hearts maintain the strength to continue the fight against bigotry. We must exercise our right to vote against political candidates who expound hate against LGBT communities.

   There is a unique characteristic in the power of love—the more it is challenged, the stronger it becomes. Therefore, love will never be defeated by bullets or by hateful words from pulpit orators. 

    I am proud to be part of a group of people who experience sorrow when any mass shootings occur.  Gay individuals have long accepted the fact that violence is not the answer.  For over two hundred years we have been subjected to violence that has come in many forms of hatred.  As a member of the gay community, I want to make this perfectly clear, we will not participate in hate, but we will stand and fight for our rights. And our stance is much stronger than any spineless preacher or applause-seeking politician has ever expected. One thing you can count on—we are the generation of gays who will never retreat to the closet.  The time is now that the world will not allow death threats to gay individuals go unchallenged. 

     

NEVER ON WEDNESDAYS

NEVER ON WEDNESDAYS

   “Good morning class, my name is Mr. Wilson, and I’ll be your teacher for today.”

   “Where’s Miss Lawson?”

   “Miss Lawson is not feeling well, so I have been asked to teach the class. Make sure you sign the roll sheet that’s going around. You will notice I have written today’s objective on the board: THERE IS VALUE IN LEARNING HOW TO GET ALONG WITH OTHERS.”

   “Hey, but wait a minute, when we have a substitute it’s supposed to be a free day. Subs just give us busy work, and we get to talk with our friends.” 

   “Yeah, you’re just a sub, you can’t teach us nothing.”

  “I don’t know so much about that. What’s your name?”

   “Zack.”

 

   “One thing I do know Zack, it’s impossible to teach anyone who is not willing to learn.”

   “Okay, Teach, here I am. Teach me something.”

 

   “What would you like to learn today?”

  

  “I would like to know more about how to pick up chicks, but an old man like you can’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”

   “Young man, I could probably tell you many things you don’t know, but they would not be appropriate here in the classroom.”

   “O-o-h, so you’re saying, you’ve been around the block a few times, huh?”

   “More than just a few,”

   “Anyway, this is Wednesday, we can’t learn nuthin’ on Wednesdays, our brains need a rest.”

 

    “Sorry to disappoint you, but today is going to be different. I want to ask all of you a question. What was the worst thing that has happened in American history?”

   “Making us come to this old school.”

   “Puttin’ kids in jail for smoking pot,”

   “White policemen shooting black men,”

  “I hear all of you, but now I’m asking this young man, what’s your name?”

   “Jamal.”

   “Jamal, what was the biggest mistake in American history?”

   “Slavery.”

   
  “I was thinking you might say that.”

   “Well, it’s the truth.”

  “I agree. But what was the worst thing about slavery?”

   “Mistreating humans; treatin’ them like animals.”

   “Yes, and . . . ?”

   “White men could rape black women and get away with it.”

   “Terrible!”

 

  “White men could hang a black man and the law wouldn’t do nuthin’.”

   “Okay, but how have those things affected you?”

   “It’s made me hate white people.”

   “Hey, Mister Wilson, I don’t like talking about all this stuff.  It makes me nervous. Why can’t we talk about something else?”

   “Yes, young lady, I understand how you feel, but part of the educational process is learning how to accept facts, and slavery was a fact in American history.”

   “Hold on just a minute here, I don’t think you know just how much I hate white people.”

   “Maybe I don’t, but maybe I could help.  What’s your name?”

   “Reggie, and I know some white folks that still try to treat us like animals, and I ain’t puttin’ up with it.”

   “Okay, but what if I told you I understand.”

   “I’d tell you it’s impossible, ‘cause you’re a white man, and you ain’t never been in my shoes.”

    “Okay, Jamal, I see your hand. You want to say something else?”

   “Do you think it was okay for a white man to rape a black woman?”

   “Of course not!”

   “Well, what do you have to say about slavery?” 

   “There is no doubt all of the things you have said were bad.  But what if I told you there are ways you can benefit from slavery?”

   “I’d tell you, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

   “In a couple of years you’ll go to college, and you’ll probably take a course in Economics 101.  In that course you will learn about the HAVES and the HAVE NOTS.”

   “We’re just in the 11^th grade. Don’t you think it’s too early to be teaching us this college stuff?”

   “A little bit of pre-college economics won’t hurt you.”    

   “Okay, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying the black people are the HAVE NOTS, and the white people are the HAVES?”

   “Not necessarily, because there are more people than just African Americans who make up the group of HAVE NOTS.”

   “Okay, so maybe it’s just all the po’ folks.”

   “Yes, it’s something similar to that. In general, it’s the working   group people who are referred to as the lower class or the HAVE NOTS. In Economics 101 you will also learn, it is predicted the HAVE NOTS will, at some point, rise up and overthrow the HAVES.”

   “I hope I live long enough to see it.”

   “There is a pattern in being a member of the elite group called the HAVES. Individuals become selfish. The more they HAVE, the more they want.  They become power driven and will do just about anything to stay in power. And most of all, they loose respect for others.”

   “The black people sure have experienced it.”

   “This group called the HAVES create terrible working conditions for the HAVE NOTS, such as, long working hours, low wages, no health benefits, and little or no paid vacations. But remember, at some point the HAVE NOTS will get tired of all that and rise up and overthrow the HAVES.”

   “I hope you’re saying that one day African Americans could become the HAVES.”

  

  “Yes, I’m saying it’s possible. African Americans could become the ruling class, if they are joined by other minorities such as Latinos and the white working class, they could control the voting process. And in a democracy, those who control the voting, control the government.  And thus, African Americans could become the ruling class.”

  “Now that’s just what I’ve been waitin’ to hear.”

   “Look man, I don’t believe all this crap. You’re saying the white man is just gonna sit around and do nothing while the black man takes over.”

   “You’re making a good point, young man. What’s you’re name?”

   “Ken.”

   “It can happen Ken, only if the ruling class becomes so comfortable in their positions they get lazy and do not realize what’s going on. It has happened in Central and South America, and it can happen anywhere.  If the proper steps are taken, and the HAVES become unconcerned, the HAVE NOTS can overthrow the ruling class.”

   “Wow, this is beginning to make sense to me.”

    “But the next step is the important one. When the HAVE NOTS become the ruling class, it is of utmost importance how they deal with their new status. If they begin mistreating others, as they have been mistreated, their reign will be short lived.”

   “Now I’m beginning to see what you’re talking about.”

   “Mr. Wilson, I have something I want to say about slavery.”

   “Good, I’m happy you’ve decided to join in the discussion. What’s your name?”

   “Bennie.”

  

   “What’s your opinion of slavery?”

   “I think it was wrong.”

  

   “Why?”

   “Because it was mistreating humans, but there are other ways humans have been mistreated besides slavery.”

   “Of course, but give an example.”

   “I was beat up by a gang of black boys in the restroom right here at this school. Now, I’d say that’s a pretty good example of mistreatment.”

   “How true that is, but did you learn anything from getting beat up?”

    “Oh yeah, I learned that getting punched out hurts, and I learned that I don’t like black boys because most of them are mean.”

   “Oh, here we go again.”

   “Yeah, I knew if we kept talking like this, it would end up with a   fight in the classroom!”

   “Hey, hey, hold on just a minute here. All races of people participate in mean behavior, but not all people are mean. Have you ever been mean?”

  “Yes.”

  

  “How?”

   “I’ve beat up my little brother when he gets on my nerves.”

   “Shame on you.”

   “But I did learn one lesson in getting beat up.”

   “What was it?”

   “I learned what’s it like to be the underdog, and I learned I don’t like it.”

   “Okay, that’s my point. When something bad happens to you, and you learn from it, you have learned an important lesson. That’s the same point I’m trying to make to Jamal about slavery.”

   “I’m not getting your point.”

   “It’s like this, most of the time the group called the HAVES mistreat the HAVE NOTS, until the HAVE NOTS rise up and overthrow them. Now listen carefully, I’ve said it before, but make sure you understand, the important lesson is how the HAVE NOTS conduct themselves when they become the ruling class.”

   “Mr. Wilson, I think I understand what you’re saying. If the HAVE NOTS mistreat the HAVES, when they get in charge, then those who were the HAVES will rise up and over throw them. And history will repeat itself.”  

    “Jamal, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

   “Man, oh, man, I’m beginning to understand all this, and I’m just one of a few white boys in this class.”

   “Okay, Bennie, I’m glad you caught on.  Jamal, you want to say something else?”

  “Yeah, but I still don’t understand what all this has to do with me and slavery.”

   “Jamal, look man, wake up and smell the coffee. The man is saying   that you, a black boy, by knowing what has happened in the past can prevent your race from making the same mistakes.”

   “Bennie, don’t be calling me no black boy, ‘cause you know what you can do with your black boy. I’ve got him right here between my legs.”

   “Man, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

   “Okay fellows, let’s calm down and not be too aggressive. Remember the best classroom learning is in an organized environment. When anger dominates, it destroys the learning process.”

   “Jamal, I apologize for using that word.” 

   “Apology accepted.”

   “Now, you see how easy that was. These are the moments that make me proud to be a human.”

   “Mr. Teacher Man, I have something I want to say.”

   “Yes.”

   “Since you didn’t ask, my name is Julian, but if I had it my way, I would be called Julie.”

   “Are you a transgender student?”

  “I haven’t had the operation, if that’s what you mean. But I am an out-of-the-closet, gay black student.”

  

   “Okay, so what’s your point?”

 

  “We are talking about being mistreated, aren’t we?”

   “Yes.”

   “Well, I’m here to tell ya’, I get beat up every day in the boys’ toilet. You see, most of these macho, big boys call me a sissy.”

  “You get beat up every day?”

  “Oh, yeah, and sometimes twice a day depending on how many times I have to pee. I try to hold it as long as I can, but if I have to go before noon, it means I’ll not eat lunch that day.”

   “What?”

  “Because, not only will they beat me up, but they’ll take my lunch money.”

   “I thought this school had a security man and woman on duty.”

   “That’s a joke.”

   “Yeah, it happened to me.”

    “And me.”

   “Me too, I got beat up in that blasted toilet.”

   “This school must have some real problems in the boys’ restroom.”

   “And there are some of the bullies right here in this room.”

   “Why don’t you just shut up, you little faggot? If you were a man, you wouldn’t get beat up in the first place.”

   “That’s not true, because I’m not gay, and I got beat up.”

   “I’ve been beat up many times in the boys’ toilet. What you gonna do when you’re outnumbered by about nine to one?”

  “Okay, now y’all listen to me. My real question is, why can’t boys like me use the girls’ restroom?”

   “I thought the President had already made a ruling about transgender restrooms for students.”

   “Now that’s a real joke. You don’t expect this school to go along with the President’s ruling, now do you? But it don’t apply to me. You see, I don’t come to school dressed like a girl. If I did my parents would have a cat.”

  
   “So your parents don’t know you’re gay?”

   “Yes, they know alright, but they still make me go church to learn how to be a real man, so they say.”

   “Is it working?”

   “No, it ain’t working, but I do have to sit up there and listen to old Reverend Claw Hammer, that’s what I call him. Just last Sunday, he stood up there and said it would be better for a person to have a rock tied around his neck and drown in the ocean than to be gay.”

   “Are you sure your preacher said that?”

  “Yea, and I’ll tell ya’ what should happen. That bastard should have a rock tied around his neck and drown in the ocean. Then the whole world would be better off.”

   “Hey, hey, hey, let’s not use inappropriate language in the classroom.”

   “Sorry about that, but I don’t understand preachers who can stand up in the pulpit and say bad things about people they don’t even know.”

   “You won’t get an argument with me about that.”

   “And there’s something else I don’t understand. What difference does it make which toilet you use, particularly the girls’ toilet?  Everybody in there uses the stalls, so nobody can see the other person’s business, no way.”

   “How do you know what’s in the girls’ toilet? Have you been peeking through the keyhole?”

   “No, Andy, I haven’t. But common sense says there’s not much use for urinals in a girls’ bathroom, unless just maybe, it was a transgender bathroom.  And this school will never have such a thing like that. Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

   “I don’t think there are any transgender kids at this school, so why go to the expense to build one?”

   “That was my next question. Are there other LGBT students in this school?”

   “I don’t know, but if there are, they are afraid to come out of the closet.  Any gay or transgender student in this school will have to live in hell.” 

   “We sure have ventured a long way from the subject of slavery.”

   “Sorry to disagree with you, sir, but the days of slavery that you’re talking about are long gone in America. But there is a modern form of slavery.  Any gay, lesbian, or transgender student living in the Bible Belt is living in a form of slavery.”

   “Maybe so, but that wasn’t the subject of today’s lesson.”

  

   “But sir, may I say something else?”

   “I suppose so.  You have this classroom under control so continue.”

   “He don’t have me under control.”

   “Right now, I am the teacher here, so I say we continue listening to this young man.”

   “If Donald Trump can brag, so can I. I make some of the best grades of any student in this school, but every day I face discrimination because I’m gay.  Not only have I been beaten up, but I’ve been called every name in the book. I’ve been called a faggot, a dog, the N word, that I won’t even mention, and a low down dirty queer.”

   “Now wait just a minute, Julian.  You are describing very bad social conditions for any gay or lesbian student at this school. In the hallways of this school, you are telling me, students are calling other students the names you have mentioned.”

   “Yes, I am, and sometimes even worse. But I’m gonna keep my head up high, and I’m gonna keep on trucking. I’m gonna graduate from this school, and I’m going to college. I don’t know exactly how, right now, but I’m going. I was praying that maybe by some miracle Bernie would  be elected president, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Nevertheless, I’m going to college.”

   “Have you thought about a scholarship?”

   “Sure I have, that’s why I study hard and make good grades.”

   “Since you have turned this into such an interesting discussion, have you thought about the subjects you will take in college, and what profession you plan to pursue?”

   “Yes, I want to take all the courses I can in public communications. When I get out of college I plan to be a politician. I’m gonna put some of these scumbags out of office.”

   “All I can say is good luck, and I hope I’m around to see it.”

   “Thank you, sir.”    

   “Wow, I guess we opened up a can of worms in this discussion.”

   “I don’t know, but I’d call it a discussion where we were allowed to speak the truth. Mr. Wilson, I thank you for that. No other teacher would let us talk about these things.  I may get in trouble for saying this, but the principal, the assistant principals, and the teachers all know what goes on in the boys’ bathroom, and they don’t care.”

   “Okay, but I think it’s time to move on.  Where were we in today’s lesson?”

   “Hey, Mr. Wilson, I know where we where.”

   “Okay, tell us.”

   “We were talking about that group of rich folks who call themselves the HAVES.  Now, the rich folks start being real mean to the poor folks, who are called the HAVE NOTS. The HAVE NOTS get tired of all this, so they get together and start a big fight and overthrow the HAVES.”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “But that’s not all. Then the HAVE NOTS become the HAVES and the HAVES become the HAVE NOTS. Those who were the HAVE NOTS start being real mean to those who were the HAVES.   But those who are now the HAVE NOTS get together and start another big fight.  They overthrow the HAVES who were the HAVE NOTS. And that’s an example of history repeating itself.”

   “Believe it or not, I understand what you’re saying.”

   “I don’t!”

  

   “Oh, and by the way my name is Alan, just in case you want to know.”

   “Alan, I must say, you’ve got the bull by the horns on this one.”

   “Thank you, sir.”       

   “Okay, now I remember. Let’s back up. I was telling you how important it is for the HAVE NOTS not to mistreat the HAVES when they get in control, just like Alan was saying. Understand?”

   “No.”

   “So, Jamal, if the tables are turned and your people become the HAVES, you could be instrumental in preventing your race from making the same mistakes.”

   “I understand, but maybe I wouldn’t want to, maybe all I would want to do is just get even.”

   “That’s the point, getting even doesn’t prevent history from repeating itself, and when history is repeated, the picture is not pretty.”

   “So you’re saying if African Americans controlled this country, and if we make the white people our slaves, that in time, the white people will raise up and overthrow us.”

   “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. There will always be strife within the human race until someone like you is smart enough to break the cycle.”

   “And you’re saying if I have the knowledge about these things, and if I know what could happen, I could prevent my race from making the same mistakes.”

   “Yes, that’s right. That’s why it’s so important for you to be a student of history. Remember, no group of thinking creatures will remain slaves forever.  Even if there had not been an Abraham Lincoln or a Civil War, sooner or later there would have been a major slave uprising. The slaves would have never allowed the plantation owners to live in peace.”

       

   “Man, oh, man!  I see what you’re talking about, and it makes sense.”

   “It’s interesting for you to say that, Ken, because it’s important for the white race to admit major mistakes were made. And it appears we will suffer the consequences. There is the old saying, ‘sooner or later the chickens will come home to roost.’ ”

   “And I believe it.”

   “Many years ago, before there was integration of public schools, I was placed in the position of a white teacher in an all black high school. It was a time when black students needed to express years of built up frustrations about the white race, and it was definitely a learning experience for me. One day a young lady stood up in class and quoted something that ran deep in the hearts of most African Americans. She said, ‘Before the end of time, those who have been last will be first, and those who have been first will be last.’ Even though, that has a scriptural background those were her exact words. Sometimes when a race has been mistreated and has endured years of suffering and pain, something unusual will happen. They will develop superior talents that will help them to rise above.”

   “And I definitely believe it.”  

   “And you, Jamal, I am speaking directly to you.  If you become the leader of your race, and it is possible, you could be a glowing example for the world.  No matter how high you climb up the social ladder, if you will remember the knowledge learned—never mistreat anyone and never cause suffering and pain to the lower class—you could be the instrument in preventing history from repeating itself.”

   “Maybe I understand, and maybe I don’t. What do you really mean?”

   “It’s simple, if the upper class does not mistreat the lower class, there will be no need for an uprising. There is nothing more important than a nation of people living in peace.”

   “You know, I hope I understand.”

   “Knowledge is a valuable tool, but knowledge without implementation is a foolish act, and fools will destroy themselves and their surroundings.”

   “I understand it, and I understand I don’t want to be a fool.” 

  

   “Right now in America there are political leaders who are struggling with the issues of increasing the minimum wage and providing improved benefits for the working class. They know there are all kinds of statistics that prove this is good for an economy, but they foolishly make excuses to the contrary.”  

    (Ring—ring—ring)

   “That bells always rings too soon.”

  

   “Yeah, and for once, I agree!”

    “Mr. Wilson, I want to give you a hug. You brought light to some things today that will make me a better person. And sir, you don’t have to worry about Bennie and me, because we are good friends.”

   “I’m glad to hear it, and Jamal, I needed a hug today.”

   Jamal high stepped out of the classroom and into the noisy hall. Mr. Wilson turned and erased the board. He shuffled some papers on the desk, and quickly prepared for the next class.

   “Good morning, class, my name is Mr. Wilson, and I will be your teacher for today.”

            

AND WE CALLED HIM BROTHER MEYERS

           AND WE CALLED HIM BROTHER MEYERS

     There was no better person than the preacher to be the most admired adult in the community. It was the morning of the third Sunday, and a barefoot, nine-year-old Cajun boy sat at the end of the third row by his mother at the Pleasant Hill Baptist Church. The congregation had finished singing LEANING ON THE EVERLASTING ARMS, and Mama Miller had moved from the piano stool to her reserved seat on the front row.

   The hymnals were carefully placed back in the racks, because next to the Bible, they were the most sacred books in the church.  Although the congregation knew the words, it was a tradition to open the hymnals, and hold the books firmly with both hands while singing.

   The windows of the Pleasant Hill Baptist Church were opened because the conditions inside the church were hot and humid. Beautifully shaped, hand-held fans were placed in the racks next to the hymnals.  On the front was a bright colored picture of the little Jesus in the nativity scene, and on the back was the advertisement for the local funeral home. It was a sophisticated art for Southern ladies to use short wrist motions making fanning an acceptable procedure for feminine church-goers.

   Many things made Brother Meyers a special country preacher. His bright red suspenders and his fluffy-sleeved white shirts were unique fashions for a preacher whose chief mode of transportation was riding on the back of a mule. The fluffy sleeves would often get caught in the wind and become inflated during his emotional sermons. Therefore, he wore elastic garters above the elbows to keep the sleeves in place.

   It was not only the strong gospel words which flowed from his lips that made him so effective, but also his ability to continue preaching through extraordinary occurrences. Often Sister Simmons and others would become overpowered by the Holy Spirit and shout.  Sister Simmons was famous for what the church members called the head jerk.  Possessed by the Holy Spirit, she could pop her braided pigtails like whips and send hairpins flying through the church.  Brother Meyers, from years of experience, had learned to dodge the hairpins and never skip a word in his spirit-driven sermons. 

   Even though it was difficult, he could hold the congregation’s attention while Mama Miller did the Holy Roller shakes. When Mama Miller shook, the whole church shook, and trinkets of jewels would drop from the rich lady’s body and dance on the hardwood floor.

    Then there would be the time when Brother Meyers would move from behind the pulpit and do a two-step rhythm in accordance with the words of his sermon. Forceful preaching would continue, and near the end of the sermon he would offer an Altar Call.

    For the nine-year-old, the sermon had been too long. He had become restless. He had seen the shouting, the shaking, even the rolling in the church aisle, and he needed something different. He wanted entertainment, the kind of entertainment he had seen the second night of the week-long revival.  A big bug, an unusual bug, a buzzing bug, got caught up in Miss Ethel’s bird’s nest hairdo.  To the nine-year-old it was entertainment, but to the congregation, Miss Ethel had been zapped by the Holy Ghost causing human actions never before seen in the church. Finally, the bug was freed, but the entertainment continued. The big bug dipped into several fancy hairdos before finding an open window. The nine-year-old had watched it all.

    There was another night when something unusual occurred in the Amen Corner. The Holy Spirit worked in mysterious ways when a church mouse ran up Mr. Dennis’ pants leg. The church nearly experienced a Holy Ghost striptease, but lucky for the congregation, the mouse became frightened, ran down the other pants leg, and out the front door.  

    It was during a Sunday morning service when yellow jackets escaped through a mysterious knot hole in the hardwood floor. One yellow jacket, of the stinging kind, got caught up under Miss Nellie’s dress. The congregation witnessed hand gestures and body movements never experienced by human eyes. Plus, there were audible words spoken in the unknown tongue, never before heard in any church.           

    But on this Sunday, the young boy’s wait was over.  Miss Loretta ran down the aisle and fell on her knees at the Altar. She had been referred to by some as a lady of loose morals, and on this day she was seeking forgiveness.

    The experience of an aged preacher went into affect. He placed one hand on top of Miss Loretta’s head and continued the two-step spiritual dance around her body. Her trembling turned into a full, out-of-control, body shake, and soon she lay stretched out on the Altar. 

   Trained church ladies were on track, and a spiritual séance progressed with the laying on of hands, and the repeating of a Holy Ghost chant.  When the chant had taken affect, Miss Loretta jumped to her feet and began a series of divine utterances referred to in the Bible as the unknown tongue.  Brother Meyers stepped aside, only for a moment, to allow the congregation to experience an actual example of the Holy Spirit descending from heaven and occupying a physical body. The speaking in the unknown tongue was nonstop, and the ladies escorted Miss Loretta to a room behind the pulpit, and Brother Meyers gained control.

    With the sounds of an unidentified spiritual tongue in the background, Brother Meyers moved to the center aisle. He dropped to his knees and resumed powerful preaching.

      With Brother Meyers on his knees pounding the floor with his fists, the nine-year-old had to stand to see over the head of Mr. Crain, the tallest man in the church.

    “Don’t do it, Lord! Don’t do it!”

   The begging’s continued, and the name ‘Noah’ became the   recognizable subject of the sermon.

    Brother Meyers stood up and moved farther down the center aisle. He stopped unexpectedly and began pushing and shoving with an invisible being.

   “Let me go! Let me go!”

   With his entire body shaking, he turned and ran back to the Altar.

   “The Holy Spirit won’t let me go. I can hear the voice, and he’s saying there is somebody here who needs to be saved.” 

   He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a neatly folded white handkerchief.  He removed his glasses, and instantly wiped the sweat from his face, but he never stopped preaching.

   “I know! I know! Yes, I KNOW, the Holy Spirit is here today. Just like in the days of Pentecost, the Lord is speaking to us.”

   His neat, ironed shirt was wet, wrinkled, and sticking to his arms. His bright red suspenders were drenched with sweat, but he never stopped. His throat was sore, and his voice was cracking. He took deep gulps of air with each breath, but Brother Meyers preached on. The congregation sat in fear thinking any minute the man would pass out from exhaustion or would suffer a heart attack. But like a marathon runner, Brother Meyers got a second wind, and he continued. 

   “I know, there is somebody here on the verge of a decision.”

   Once again he moved to the center aisle, fell on his knees and repeatedly beat the floor with his fists.

   “I beg of you, Lord! Don’t it!  Don’t do what you did in the days of Noah. Give us just a little more time.”  

   He stood up and began jumping up and down in rhythmic motions and speaking in an unknown tongue. The church members sat spellbound, and Mama Miller moved to the piano but did not touch the keys.

    Brother Meyers remained the center of attention, and he crawled to the front door. Someone opened the door and he stood up. He continued preaching while he walked down the steps.

    Inside the church, the congregation could hear the words, “Now old Noah, he was a good man. So the Lord spoke to Noah, and he told him, he said Noah, I’m gonna send the waters. Noah believed the Lord, and he tried to tell the people, but the people wouldn’t listen.”

   Outside the church, it was a never–ending sermon. The mule was waiting. The preacher hopped on the back of the mule with the agility of a twenty-one-year-old. Old Bessie knew what to do. With the preacher’s voice echoing through the woods, she trotted off down the dusty road.

    When the voice of the preacher could no longer be heard, Mama Miller hit a strong chord to the gospel spiritual OH, HAPPY DAY. She lifted her voice, and with the words she sang, “OH, HAPPY DAY, WHEN JESUS WASHED MY SINS AWAY.”

   The deacons were the first to leave. They, in single file, marched from the Amen Corner down the center aisle and to the front door. Only then was the congregation allowed to exit.

   The nine-year-old nudged his mother and whispered, “Come on, Mama, let’s go.”  His mind had wondered from the antics of the Primitive Baptist Church to the platter of fried chicken his mother had prepared for the after-church Sunday dinner.         

THE CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY

THE STORY OF

THE CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY

    Once upon a time, many, many, years ago in a land surrounded by wild animals and big oak trees, there lived a cute little country boy. He chopped wood for his mother, picked cotton for his papa, and remembered the stories his grandpa told him. He spent hours looking at himself in the mirror. He had sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks, a handsome face, and a sharp smile.  Even his brothers and sisters said he was a “special child.” This brilliant kid walked through the community spreading joy by helping the elderly, caring for the sick, and being a friend to the friendless. The meanest dogs in the community greeted him with wagging tails and uplifted paws.  He had a perfect attendance record at school. He was on the scholastic honor roll, and he was liked by all of his classmates. He was given the title of the ‘perfect student’ by his teachers. 

   Everything went well for the CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY until one day an elder of the church was giving a speech before a group of community leaders.

   “We have this kid in our community, who looks like a boy, and sometimes he acts like a boy, but I believe he’s a sissy boy. Yes, that’s what I believe, alright. This kid has developed the ‘wrong love’ disease.”

   In this small community, gossip traveled fast. Students whispered, neighbors talked, and soon the words reached the ears of the CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY.  He wasted no time. He rushed to face his accuser.

   “Wow! Wrong love disease, you say, what is the wrong love disease?”

   “Listen up there, young ’un. In this community we all live by the Bible. Around here we call it the Good Book and the Good Book condemns the wrong love disease. Those who have it will burn forever in a lake of fire and brimstone.”

  “Oh my, oh my, how terrible, I don’t want to burn forever. Is this true what you say?”

   “Yes, it’s true, and young man, you have it.”

   “I never realized there was anything wrong with me. I have always tried to be a good boy. I want my parents and the church members to be proud of me. I have never taken a knife and stabbed anyone. I have never taken a gun and shot anyone. I’ve not even taken my fist to hit anyone.”

   “But young man, let me tell you, none of those things matter, for you see, the wrong love disease is much worse than any of those.”

   “Mr. Elder, I don’t understand because all of those things are pretty bad.”

  “Yeah, but you must listen to me. This thing you have is a terrible disease.”   

   The troubled CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY hurried home and looked at himself again in the mirror. His sparkling eyes were now dull. His once rosy cheeks were pale, and his sharp smile was upside down.

   “What must I do? What MUST I do? Just yesterday, I was a happy, young boy on my way to a successful life, but now I am doomed.  They say I have a horrible disease. My life has been turned upside down. I am ruined. Maybe I should, but no, maybe I shouldn’t. I know what I’ll do.  I’ll talk with the PREACHER MAN. He can tell me what to do.”  

  “MISTER PREACHER MAN, an elder of the church told me I have the wrong love disease. What must I do?”

   “Oh, young man, this disease is awful. For you see, there is a wrong love and a right love, but you have chosen the wrong love.”

   “Oh how terrible, you’re saying this is my fault?”

   “Yes, I am, and if you continue to travel down this road, you will suffer severe consequences here on earth and in the life hereafter.  But there is a cure.”

   “A cure, oh, tell me, what is the cure?”

   “Young man, only God can cure you, but you must first be willing.”

    “Of course, I’m willing, so please mister, tell me what I must do.”

    “You must confess your sins and ask God to forgive you, and then you must commit before God never to participate in wrong love again.”

   “MISTER PREACHER MAN, I have always wanted to do what is right, so I’ll do what you have said.  You see, I want so much to be cured of this dreadful disease.”

   “Remember young man, when you are cured it will make you happy and the Good Lord will bless you.”

   The CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY immediately went home, got down on his knees, and asked for forgiveness. The next day he went to school and started looking for a pretty little high school girl.

   “PRETTY LITTLE HIGH SCHOOL GIRL, would you like to go on a date with me this weekend? I can get my Papa’s car, and we can go to a movie, and we’ll have lots of fun.”

   “Of course, HANDSOME HIGH SCHOOL BOY, I’d be delighted to go on a date with you.”

   The weekend came and the couple went on a date. After the movie, they participated in a passionate love affair in the back seat of the car.  But suddenly the PRETTY LITTLE HIGH SCHOOL GIRL jumped up with anger.

   “What’s wrong with you? You don’t even know how to make love to a girl. You are a terrible kisser. You should be making love to me, not me making love to you. You must have that terrible disease.”

   “No, no, no, PRETTY LITTLE HIGH SCHOOL GIRL, nothing is wrong with me. I like making love to you, but tonight I’ve got a lot of worries. You see, just before I left the house, I had a big argument with my father. He was mad at me because I did not do some of the chores around the house. And that’s what’s wrong with me. No, no, no, I do not have that terrible disease.”

   “I’ve never been on a date with a boy who had it, but you sure are acting funny.”

   “Please, PRETTY LITTLE HIGH SCHOOL GIRL, give me another chance. Just go with me next weekend and I promise things will be better.  Please, please, give me just one more chance.”

   “Well, after all, you are the HANDSOME HIGH SCHOOL BOY, so I’ll give you another chance, but things better be different next weekend.”

   “Thank you so much. I give you my word, things will be different. You are a pretty little high school girl and I really love you. Just wait, next weekend, I’ll show you.”

   The weekend came much too soon and things were not different. The CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY had trouble making love to the PRETTY LITTLE HIGH SCHOOL GIRL, and the date ended in confusion.

   “I must leave this town and move to the big city because things are not right for me here. I’ll get a job, work hard, and I’ll go to college. I’ll study hard, graduate with honors, and make the folks back home proud of me.”

   The CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY who had become a handsome high school boy became the IDEAL COLLEGE STUDENT. He graduated with honors but did not return to his home town. Instead, he started looking for an ideal wife. He found the young lady and soon they were married.

   The CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY then became a loving husband. He had a good job. They lived in a big, nice house and had an outstanding daughter. However, the LOVING HUSBAND became a troubled man when he realized the perfect world he had created was not so perfect after all.  Night after night he tossed and turned and was unable to sleep. He spent hours struggling with desires that were unexplainable. He became confused concerning his role as a husband and a father, because happiness had become void in his life. He concluded that he had not been cured of the wrong love disease, and, if he was to find happiness, it would have to be found in the arms of another.

   One night he slipped quietly out of bed, tiptoed across the floor, and threw a few things in a suitcase. He drove all night and, late the next afternoon, arrived in the big city on the coast.

   The CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY then became a foot-loose and fancy-free party animal. He visited all the popular night spots where the partying people hung out. He rubbed elbows and shoulders with hundreds of people who had the wrong love disease. His new found joy of freedom rushed through his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and partying dominated his life. He smoked cigarettes, tried marijuana, drank alcohol, and even took the drug that gave him the power to make love all night.  

   But then one morning the CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY woke up in a lonely hotel room with a terrible headache and a party hangover.  Once again he had dreamed the same dream he had dreamed a hundred times before.  It was the dream of the time when the CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY had double dated with a high school buddy. They dropped the girls off early that night and the two of them drove around for a while.  Soon the HIGH SCHOOL BUDDY parked the car.  He reached across the seat and with one arm pulled the CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY close to his side.

   The CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY willingly slid across the seat, and with a tight squeeze, he surrendered. On a dark road to nowhere, wrong love became right.  Barriers of guilt were removed, and a series of forbidden desires were released.  Emotions became the guide, and hands were allowed in restricted areas that created unspeakable joys never before experienced. For several hours, locked in each other’s arms, two hearts beat as one.

   Finally, the HIGH SCHOOL BUDDY looked up and saw the rays of the sun appearing through the trees.

   “We must go now.”

   “But I don’t want to go.”

  “We must, because our parents will be worried.”

  “Yeah, I know but I don’t care.”

  “We must go and never speak a word about this to anyone.  What we have done is wrong, and we must never let it happen again.”

   “I don’t know why you say that, because, for me, this was a wonderful night.”

  “Yeah, but for me, I cannot live with the guilt, because this will never be accepted in our world.”

    As the 57 Chevy rolled slowly down the road, the hallowed spot where two lovers met and fell in love became just another spot on the side of the road.  In time, hundreds drove past that spot never realizing what happened that night. No matter how it was defined—wrong love, strange love, or the right love—falling in love is a miracle, and miracles only come from above.  

   Nevertheless, the two soon parted. All they had left was a memory, the memory of what should have been, but never was—the memory of what a warped society can do to prevent the happiness of a lifetime. There is what some call a wrong love that may not be meant for many, but it is reserved for a special few. And, for that special few, it is a love that is as pure as the fresh fallen snow.

   Realizing it was just a dream, the CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY opened his eyes, lay very still, and for a few moments stared at the ceiling.

     “How can something that seemed so right be so wrong?”

     He jumped out of bed and paced around the room with his head down and both hands pressing firmly against his forehead.

    “Everyone said it was wrong. All my life, that’s all I’ve ever heard—it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong. But I know it was right, because it happened to me.”

    He jumped back in bed and pulled a pillow tight over his head.

  “It’s the memories of what happened that night. I can’t get them out of my head.”

   He jumped out of bed again and ran across the room. He pushed back the curtains and opened the window. He looked straight down. It was a long way down.

   “I wonder how bad it hurts when you hit the ground.”

   He was lonely, he was scared, but he was tired of hurting. He ran back across the room and jumped in the middle of the bed. He started jumping up and down and twisting his head from side to side. 

   “It’s these memories, these memories, they won’t leave me alone. I can’t get rid of them. For years, I keep remembering. The memories, the dream, the memories, the dream, they are driving me crazy. I’ve tried to love someone else, but I can’t. I’m stuck in a time capsule of a one-love affair, and I can’t take it any more.”

   He ran back to the window. He looked down again. It was really a long way down. The people looked tiny and the cars looked small. He got up on his tiptoes and put one knee on the window seal.  He placed both hands on the window frame above and stopped for just a moment.  His hands were trembling and he could feel the blood rushing through his head from the strong beating of his heart. He took a deep breath and leaned forward. He raised his head and looked at the tops of the buildings then suddenly a gulp of cold wind struck his face and blurred his vision. 

   “General George W. said it right, ‘dying is easy, but living is harder,’ but today, okay, okay, but today, I choose living.”

   He moved back and placed both feet on the floor.

   He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME I’M NOT A REAL MAN.  HOW DARE YOU SAY MY LOVE IS NOT REAL.  AS A CHILD, YOU TIED A CHAIN OF GUILT AROUND MY NECK, AND AS OF TODAY, THAT CHAIN IS FOREVER BROKEN.”

   His loud voice echoed off the tall buildings and he could hear the sound waves traveling from building to building as they bounced across the city.  His knees stopped trembling, and he stumbled backwards but sat upright on the floor. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and breathed deeply. He felt a joy of peace invade his body.

    “I will leave this place. I will seek my profession, and I will become the best teacher that ever set foot in a classroom.”

   He stood up and walked over to the table and unfolded a US map. He blindly put his finger on a city. It could have been any city, but he drove to that city. He located the school’s administration building. He walked into the office of the superintendent and slammed his credentials on his desk.

   “I want to become a school teacher.”

   The superintendent carefully examined the paperwork and slowly raised his eyes and looked at the stranger who stood before him.

   “So you want to become a teacher, huh?  Is that right?”

   “Yes, sir, and I’ll be a damn good one.”

   “Well, Mister Stranger in the blue suit, today is your lucky day. It just so happens that I have a vacancy.  When can you start?”

   The CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY taught school for several years. Although he gained the title as the Ideal Teacher, he never found real happiness. He kept looking and hoping for the day that the HIGH SCHOOL BUDDY would come looking for the CUTE LITTLE COUNTRY BOY, and the OLD COUNTRY MAN could die in the arms of the only person he ever really loved.