The Kaleidoscope of a Black Youth

By John H. Jackson

Things and acts seem to come and go in color in Henrys life, as though he were looking through a tube-like kaleidoscope. If we turned the dial of the scope we will perhaps see The Tin Roof. It resembles a Japanese-styled roof, with its crimps and its rich red color, it was quaint but not universally accepted. Property owners viewed it with contempt and didnt care for the occupants who lived under this oriental design, the Beasleys. There were some individuals in this quiet neighborhood who actually loved it, without this red tin roof their lives would have no meaning. The lovers were Henry Jackson and his cousin, Tommy Lee. Their house towered above several houses as it was on a mound and surrounded by a rich hedge of shrubbery, a citadel for the rock throwers who looked forward to the Beasleys cry, You better stop throwing on this tin roof! The reply was robust: Hee, Hee!
Fortunately, the enemy were not the military type, they didnt resort to b-b guns, or even slingshots, either weapon would have ignored a mere 45 degree angle that the Beasleys faced. The Jacksons held the high ground as the marines would say. How many enemies dwelled in the tin-roofed home was hard to calculate, but they all hated the citadel dwellers. The Beasleys came out in shifts... and would one day surprise the Jacksons by developing a throwing arm among them...
Theres another image in the scope, along with singing The Amazing Grace. All the families on Elm Street were awakened one night at a rather late hour by an intruder. In the Walker house where the Jackson family dwelled with Mrs. Jacksons aunt, everybody was up and peering out the side windows toward the home of the strong man, Isaac, the ebony Charles Atlas. Dozens of kids always surrounded him and pleaded, Do me, Isaac! They wanted to be muscled up in the air by this weightlifting young man. All eyes strained to get a glimpse of the troubadour who was, some said, a cross between Leadbelly and Fats Wailer, but it was a rich and compelling voice. It gave the youngsters in the Walker house a reason for staying up so late. Some lights were turned on in several houses and shone through the rain which by now had become somewhat like a mist. The singer was momentarily silent, but after a brief pause he would beat on the door between shouts, Damn it woman! Open this door! The Jacksons and the Walkers talked quietly among themselves. It was obvious to them the man the man had turned down the wrong street and had found an unsuspecting house that looked like his.
The Jackson boy would remember this big house surrounded by hedges and a gazebo on the front lawn; the red headed boy with many freckles. Red, they called him, this ball of energy that matched Tommy Lees, Henrys live-in cousin. His wrestling skills were far above Henrys who until now reigned as king. Tommy respected such power. This country boy from the eastern region of Georgia did not take the precaution the cousins did when they went snake hunting, as he bare-handed snakes as he quickly plucked up rocks while the cousins used forked sticks. Dont you ever use a stick? inquired the cousins. Jackson would remember the back stabbing by his mothers aunt who benefited from her nieces husband, Henry senior, and his paychecks that saved her from financiaL doom. She showed her gratitude by inviting the Jacksons to move in, after all, we are family. We will pull together in these tough days, God help us! One day she called the police to evict them they didnt pay the rent, she charged! Who else paid it? The Walkers didnt have ajob between them. Mr. Henry senior, as usual, didnt say a word, but wore a look of disgust as he looked for a place to move to. Aunt Walker eyed the recently bought bedroom suite of her niece, and being a reasonable Christian woman she offered a compromise, the bedroom suite for the unpaid rent.
Years later the Jackson boy would ask his mother if she had forgiven her aunt when the two wo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 2, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462811526

John H. Jackson

This collection of short stories has an underpinning labeled ‘real life’, and that is because some of the segments are based on actual events that I shall always remember It is a universal cold fact that we all experience.

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Copyright © 2008 by John H. Jackson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Preface

The Tin Roof

The Amazing Grace

And It Was Good

The Renovation

Clark Field

Guam

Saipan

Biggs Field

Okinawa

A Shop In Queens

Preface

You are not being invited to take a leisurely walk through Moussorgsky’s

pictures that he so much desired us to see, no, but to walk and see a dash of color here and there in the life of an American youth in his own country and abroad. Each color, nine in all, represents scenes and places in that brief period called youth. It seems universally, that this is the time for the near misses, high speed, and fearlessness. Don’t you agree? And yet, I shall not venture to estimate how youths, male or female, have teetered on the edge of danger as often as did Henry. Some seem to actually seek danger—or accept it—and see life through a kaleidoscope, Henry did.

The Tin Roof

The Jacksons house, surrounded by a hedge, stood high above the

house with the tin roof, the red tin roof, that interested Henry and his cousin, Tommy, and Henry’s little sister, Annie, it stood above even the landlord’s, Mr. Rogers. The Jackson’s house was in a diagonal line from that house of interest, so the Jackson kids could not see the front door or the windows of that house. But they could easily see windows and door of the barber shop which was joined to the house and shared a common roof, a red, tin, roof. A Mr. Beasley was the husband and father of the family that dwelled there, and he was the resident barber of the shop next door. The Jackson kids found their delight in that roof. Their house being elevated above several of the houses on Newport Street did not mean that they were socially or financially above other families on that street. They did not rank near the landlord, neither did anybody else in the neighborhood, or, many neighborhoods, come close. Mr. Rogers and his assistants, built concrete burial vaults for wealthy people. The Rogers were quiet and charitable, and widely known.

The man of the elevated house, Mister Jackson, was a hardworking man. He worked at the Simmons Bedspring factory on Marietta Street. One could say that his modest pay was augmented by Mrs. Jackson’s gift for handling merchants and their complaints with sheer diplomacy. It probably could be said that she had something else that sustained her, a vivid memory of by-gone days of her mother’s seeming prosperity. Whatever rendered her so adroit at juggling, she kept a good house, well furnished, and neat and clean. It had a large pantry that was adequately filled, in spite of the Depression and a newly installed nursery for the new baby, Joseph. Even from the nursery, the red tin roof could be seen. It had crimps and looked very much like a classical Japanese-styled roof. It was not universally viewed as something quaint. Property owners viewed it as an eyesore. Some were heard to verbalize their contempt for it—and the Beasleys.

It seems that no one ever really knew how many Beasleys there were in the quaint house, and it seems they were never all outside at any given time, but came out and re-entered in shifts. But one thing was, positively, known: the kids from the quaint house, regardless of the shift, did not like the Jackson kids, and never hesitated to express that fact—sometimes forcefully! Of course, Henry, Tommy, and Annie had their obligation to defend their citadel. Their best strategy was to take to the hedge and release their missiles that landed upon that seductive roof. Oh what a joyful noise! What would the enemy do? They responded, rather weakly, having to throw upward at a target, or targets, situated at a 45 degree angle. Fortunately, for the hedge-loving Jacksons the enemy was not of the military type, for they did not resort to b-b guns, or even slingshots, which would have ignored a mere 45 degree angle. And again, fortunately the Jacksons held the high ground—as the marines would say.

Some would be curious about the why of the barber’s children’s strong distaste of the factory worker’s children. Well, probably there were many why’s, but the foremost was due to show. Show? Well, every Friday was payday, and Henry’s father, Henry senior, after dropping the wealth of the family on the kitchen table would bathe and shave and dress like the sheik of Araby—as some called him—and be off to adventures in sections of Atlanta called Lightning and Death Valley, full of barbecue joints and other entertainment spots for hardworking people seeking relaxation. Each Friday a transformation took place on Newport Street, a factory worker transcended the mundane world and became an inexplicable person of elegance and fashion. Mr. Jackson would wave his cigar-clutching hand to hail a taxi, and quietly fade from sight. Paydays were marvelous in those days, and perhaps they annoyed the Beasleys. Because the rest of the Jacksons did not seek card or dice games or home brew or white lightning, they generally had sandwiches and soda drinks. Immediately after this festive ritual they were off to the Ashby Street movie house to see a western, or a love story, and, perhaps John Nesbitt’s Passing Parade. These were delightful times for Henry, Tommy and Annie. Often Mrs. Jackson and her children walked to the movie house, sometimes they took the bus, but once in a while they hailed a taxi, but not with the style of Henry senior. Now here is where the problem lay—for the children—if they walked, they had to walk past the house with the delightful roof as it stood like a fortress at the corner where the only two streets available to passersby met, which meant face-to-face confrontation with the Beasleys. When this walk occurred, the Jackson kids were met with jeers and threats from crowds of Beasleys milling along the sidewalks, Sissies!, Old show boys and gal! Look at em! Strangely, Mrs. Jackson never heard or acknowledged that she heard the noise. Amazingly, Henry nor his tough cousin, Tommy, would never consider annoying the barber’s children while on their grounds, in fact, they and little Annie, a perfect little lady, ‘double timed’ passed the army of jealous boys and girls. Their mother, strangely, never heard these war cries, so she never had to say, hurry up, we don’t want to be late!. Of course, Mrs. Jackson would never accept—nor imagine—a situation where ragged kids would utter threats at her family—unthinkable! Occasionally, cousin Tommy would make a face or do that strange ritual: patting his backside, on the sly, of course. Mrs. Jackson’s presence allowed him diplomatic immunity. Tommy and Henry never desired to ‘mix it up’ with the Beasleys on their own ground because they wouldn’t have known what to do with them, they were tough. Even tough Tommy knew. A fight with them was not movie stuff. Fighting was a daily routine with them, so the Jacksons were content to keep their military advantage—stay on the high ground.

"That the race is not to the swift,

nor the battle to the strong . . ."

How true that Biblical wisdom! How could Henry, Tommy, or Annie ever guess that one day the battle would change, that the high ground would not be high any more, and this occurred when one Beasley developed a throwing arm? A mighty arm! It happened in the middle of a battle as the Jacksons stooped behind the hedge after having released a volley at the red roof. There was a clear sound of breaking glass! The Jacksons froze. They stared at each other, for about five seconds, and then dashed up the front steps. Their minds were in harmony, and their fears were the same! That window was in the nursery room! Their fears were gradually erased as they carefully searched the crib that stood near the broken window that was decorated with organdy curtains, that moved with an occasional breath of wind, but not one piece of glass fell into the crib where baby Joseph slept. A miracle! They were so happy, but Mrs. Jackson was not! An investigation was called. The Beasleys and Jacksons got together—a rare occasion—and walked through the elevated house, inspecting the crib, the glass particles on the floor, the flat stone, called a zooming rock, that took out the windowpane lay on the floor. A zooming rock is flat, and travels as if on wings. One thing was certain, the window was broken and the two armies had some explaining to do. A fat Beasley boy named Nathan came forward and spoke for justice, saying that they, the Beasleys, had broken the Jackson window after the Jacksons had broken the Beasleys’ window. The Jackson kids’ shouts of Stinking liars! didn’t help their case. Mrs. Jackson would periodically moan, My baby, my poor baby could have been hurt!, and shake her head from side to side. Things looked bleak for Henry, Tommy and little Annie.

Salvation came from an unsuspected source; a ‘killing’ in the elevated house was avoided. An eyewitness came forward and announced that he had seen the battle! He was a dignified gentleman, a well spoken, a well-dressed member of the Rogers family, the Jackson’s landlord. The Rogers’ house faced the Beasley’s house, so the gentleman had an excellent view of all activities there, and the Jacksons’ house was parallel to the Rogers’ house, and all activities there were in excellent view. The gentleman, Mrs. Rogers’ brother, was seated in the front porch swing that was mostly concealed behind vines that blocked the view of the Beasleys on one side and the view of the Jacksons on the other side. The vines blocked the sun, primarily. The man could observe both armies, while they could not observe him. He saw the fat boy in the Beasley fort use a hammer on the window, he noted that the glass fell outward on to the front porch, thus indicating that the force came from within the house. This was done, he explained, after the Beasleys broke the Jackson’s window. The tall man was fair, with straight light brown hair, and could have passed for an actor in the role of a detective. His presence seemed to fill the room, as he, with great composure, laid out the whole scenario. The rocks thrown by the Jacksons could have struck the windows of the barber shop that stood between them and the house of their enemies, but not the windows