Faith To Finish

By Roosevelt Douglas

The story of the ups and downs of a person's life over 10 to 15 years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098372194

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Faith to Finish © 2021 Roosevelt Douglas

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN (Print): 978-1-09837-218-7

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-09837-219-4

Contents

Bixby, Tennessee, 1943

A small island somewhere in Europe, September 1943

Fort Sheridan, Illinois

Six Months Later

Judge Daniel E. Douglas’ courtroom, August 26

Monday morning

This book is written for entertainment purposes only. The criminal codes and statutes are all fiction. Any resemblance to people, locations, and names is entirely coincidental, and the story is no reflection on law enforcement, the criminal court system, or the good people who work for the courts on both sides of the law.

I would like to thank and say how much I appreciate the time my granddaughter put into helping me. With all my love, thank you to my granddaughter Leslie Paige Hawkins.

I’m telling this story. I tried to make it short and entertaining. Just a man’s life…a short, important part of it. Enjoy.

Bixby, Tennessee, 1943

This is a small southern mixed town that is about 70% white. Lee Williams, a young black man, twenty-five years old, is at the Greyhound bus station waiting to board the bus to go to Ft. Campbell, Kentucky for basic training; he had been drafted into the Army. With him are his mother, father, two sisters—Louise and Maggie—and niece and nephew.

Here I am getting ready to go and train to fight a war for a country that doesn’t give a damn about me or any other colored person.

Louise, you and Maggie, you two sisters take care of mom and dad. Maggie, I’m sure your husband Charlie will give you all the help he can. Sammy, our younger brother, can’t be much help since his arthritis is so bad he can’t hardly move from day to day. I guess that’s what kept him from being drafted.

Dang, glancing at the picture of the Greyhound dog on the side of the bus and looking at the white gentleman in front of me getting on the bus, I can see a resemblance. I guess this will be the last I see of this town for a while, which might be a good thing. I can see the old familiar sign in bold print: COLORED FOLKS TO THE BACK OF THE BUS.

A small island somewhere in Europe, September 1943

How in the hell did I end up here? Here I am in a foxhole with two rednecks. Even with the night being as cold as it is, the wind is whispering among the trees, and the mixture of sound is like death. Takes me back to the night, the night the Klan came by my daddy’s farm, that night I never want to relive again.

"Boy, don’t worry, everything will be alright.’’

The voice was coming from one of the soldiers in the foxhole. That’s the same thing my daddy said to me the night the Klan came by the farm. Even coming from this white man, though, it made me feel a little better. There was a time I would have thought the two in the foxhole were as much an enemy as the Germans. The silence is broken: In its place, there is a long, whispering sound.

I had heard that as long as that sound was passing over your head, you were okay. Up farther, the sky lit up, and the sound of the large shells could be heard as they landed. The sky lit up like the town square back home on the Fourth of July.

I can recall the good times I used to have back home, lying around on the farm in the shade having a good drink of moonshine.

"Boy, how did you end up here? We don’t have any coloreds in this outfit.’’

The same voice I recognized, coming from the same person in the foxhole. Although it’s dark, the voice is recognizable.

Well I was a cook for General Swartz. After he got killed in that big bombing a couple of nights ago doing an inspection farther up the line, I was told to wait here until the body squad came.

This was the squad that took the bodies of the dead soldiers, if they were able to gather any, back to an area where they could bury them. Sometimes they would have to bury them in a mass grave.

The shells continued to fall; they lit up the sky like daylight. This could be one of two things: The Germans are getting ready to mount an attack or just giving us something to think about. I hope it’s the latter. The night drifts away and soon the sounds of the big guns are no more.

Chow, Chow, Chow, come and get it, can be heard. One man at a time, don’t everybody leave those holes at once.

The sound of the tin cups and plates being banged together would wake up the dead, and I’m not dead, but it got my attention.

Hey Joe, hey Joe wake up, chow time. That familiar voice again. One of us has to stay in the hole, you two go. I’ll go when you get back.

Those blue eyes staring at me again, but they are much more friendly. Leroy is my name, he said.

Lee is mine, I said.

Pleased to meet you, Lee. And this is Fred, my foxhole buddy.

The mess hall is set up in the middle of a small clearance among the trees. I can see the long line forming for Chow. Also I can see that I will be the only colored.

Might as well break the ice. Good morning, everyone, I said.

Now I am getting a bunch of staring eyes. Might as well fill my mess kit with some of this shit on the shingle—that’s the name given to this creamed potatoes and chopped beef.

Getting back to the foxhole, I can now see Leroy complete. He’s tall, about six-foot-three, broad shouldered and not really bad looking for a peckerwood. You know, I never really had a white friend. When I was a kid, I used to play with a few of the little white boys across the creek, but that only lasted until their dads came home—they hated colored folks.

Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home. I looked over Jordan and what did I see, a band of angels coming after me. This is a verse from a song I used to sing in church a lot. As the sun broke through the gray mist the air warmed up a bit.

The ground is rumbling. This must be the sound of the trucks coming to pick up the bodies.

Looking puzzled, Leroy said quietly, the body squad, that’s one job I wouldn’t want.

Don’t worry, they save it for special soldiers, and they are all colored.

I guess you colored soldiers do catch all the worst of things, he said, reaching his hand out to me. Lee, let’s you and I be friends, and if I meet you again anywhere it would be my pleasure to shake your hand.

Same here, I said as I extended my hand to Leroy.

Two trucks backed up to where they