The Thusulian Theory

By Richard Sharfner

This novel is an exhilarating story of a group of Black Americans led by one man who travels the nation to establish a National Afro-American Society. The oppositions they encounters from government and racists both in and outside the government provide many obstacles to overcome. Intrigues and murder within the Society add to the groups troubles. Dresden Macomb, the leader, is a determined man and he fights on, building a cadre of associates who help him structure the Society for the betterment of blacks everywhere. The Regional Centers of the Afro-American Society houses Community Centers for unrestricted assistance to blacks and the needy. The Societys aim was to clear the welfare rolls of America and provide meaningful jobs, education and health benefits for the nations forgotten.

Dresden wanted to build the Afro-American Society to give blacks pride and self-respect. He had known the depravity of living poor and in the South. He had seen the mistreatment and discrimination of people in the South. His mothers family was victims of this mistreatment and he sought to rectify all the ills of a society that could denigrate its citizens. He wanted desperately to find some means whereby the black citizens of the United States could be respected and appreciated by the entire country. The search for this unifying commodity was fraught with suspense and foreboding.

Dresden was introduced to a leader and emissary of the Church world, David Kristaff, who wanted to join forces with the Society and present a united front: the Christian world, with their Community Centers and the Afro-American Society combining all their resources to lift all blacks out of poverty. This International Christian Church worked in African on scientific experiments in the field of medicine and gene alterations. David Kristaff was a fountain of inspiration and a buttress for Dresden Macomb as he battled the forces around him that sought to destroy the Society.

Mounting intrigue within the Society and governmental harassment from Washington D.C. kept the Society reeling from suspicions, attacks and assassinations. The CIA was secretly active in trying to get the medical and scientific information that the Society had developed by any means possible. Those in government who oppose the Society demand Congressional hearings about the supposed plots and espionage of the Society.

Congressional hearings were filled with caustic acrimony, drama and explosive revelations.

During the Congressional hearings Senators who were friendly to the Society uncovered a plot in the higher echelons of the Armed Forces to overthrow the government of the United States of America. The Society was enlisted to be the eyes and ears of the United States Government. Since blacks were virtually in all levels of the Armed Forces and throughout government they provided a ready network of secret agents for those who supported the Constitution of the United States.

The Societys work in the African Scientific Academy, stationed in Zaire, hit pay dirt when an incredible discovery was made. In a little village far up in the hills of Zaire, isolated unto themselves, an astonishing tribe of people with an amazing gene property was uncovered. The scientist of the African Scientific Academy developed this remarkable gene discovery into The Thusulian Theory. This scientific theory brought benefit to all mankind.

The plot to overthrow the government was aborted. The military plotters with their Congressional backers were exposed and arrested. Finally the worth of the Afro-American Society was firmly established.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 8, 2008
• ISBN: 9781469117577

Richard Sharfner

Richard L. Sharfner is an ordained minister. He has a B.B.A in Business Administration – Accounting. He has served as a Pastor and Teacher in his local church. After retirement in 1999 Mr. Sharfner devoted himself to Christian writing and working in his local Church. The Novel, The Thusulian Theory, was first conceived around 1977. Working with Community Centers caused him to think of the possibilities of a National Afro-American Society where all members would donate just $1.00 per week. This would give the Society a budget of at least $30 Million weekly to eradicate the ills of black society and uplift the poverty stricken throughout America.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Have you every looked into the mirror and wondered why the image you saw did not convey who you are? I have. I have often wondered why that handsome face, my coarse, straight black hair, infectious smile, did not capture, me. Some would say I had it made; fair complexion, tall, well built, an Adonis. I want people to see more than a pretty face. I want them to feel what I feel, know the hurt and turmoil I’ve known. Sometimes, a pretty face hides a lot of grief, bitterness, and struggle.

I remember the day my father left. I was about fifteen. I had come into the house from school one day. My mother called, Dresden, come here.

She was in her room crying from one of the beatings my father frequently gave her, while I was at school. I remember the last time he beat her. I’d told him that he was going to have to kill me if he did it again, because I would kill him. Dresden, she said, We are going to move back with my father. Your Dad is gone, this time for good."

I was shocked and hurt. I loved that blue-eyed bastard. Literally, he was a bastard. His mother, a mulatto, preferred white men. She had plenty, eventually married one, though not the father of Gregory, my Dad. So, I could understand Dad’s frustration with life, I just didn’t like the way he vented it, on my mother’s head.

Then we went to live with my maternal grandparents. They were Black, in every sense of the word. They lived in rural Maryland, outside of Baltimore. I grew into manhood there. I learned the disparity between the races there. Life with Gregory, in New Hampshire, was white middle-class abundance; in rural Baltimore, with Grandpa Nate, it was racist oppression.

I remember one incident in particular. Grandpa Nate, and two of his boys, my uncles, were on their way into Baltimore. On one of those lonely country roads they came upon a white farm couple. The farmer had stopped on the side of the road, and was beating the hell out of his wife. First, they were inside the car, fighting like two wild tigers. Then he pulled her out of the car, dragged her across the road and really began to beat the daylights out of her. It was only because they darted out in front of Grandpa that he stopped. He and my uncles tried to separate the two, telling the farmer that was no way to treat a lady. No way, indeed, to settle their differences. She was bloody from head to toe, the farmer had his cuts and bruises too. She had taken a windshield wiper from under the seat of the car and had delivered some telling blows about his head and face. Grandpa and his boys had separated them and went on to town, thinking they had done their good deed for the day.

That evening the Sheriff, his detachment of deputies, and about half the little rural community showed up at our little farmhouse. The farm couple had accused Grandpa and the boys of forcing them off the road, beating and robbing them. The Sheriff and his men dragged Grandpa and my uncles out of the house, beat them like horses, and would have turned them over to the mob, but for the Sheriff.

We don’t want any lynching in this county now. We haven’t had a lynching here in ten years. Lets do this right and take these niggers to trial.

So they packed all three of them off to Baltimore for trial. They were charged with robbery, assault and battery. There was no evidence against them, but that didn’t matter. Two white people had accused them. They had to be guilty. Paying a lawyer was out of the question, poor as they were. The public defender was little more than a cringing yes-man to the prosecution. It turns out that Grandpa had to sell off over half his land to pay the fines and court cost. He said, I’d rather give them this land than to have my boys saddled with a criminal record.

The whole community of black folks knew what it was all about. The whites in that area had been gunning for Grandpa’s land for years. They finally found a way to get it. That same farm couple who fought on the road got most of it.

What bothered me most about the whole rotten affair was how the niggers acted. Most would just mumble, Nate must have needed money real bad, with those two extra mouths he had to feed.

They should have known better than rob white folks.

A few did come to our house and tell Grandpa privately, Nate, we know you didn’t do nothing. But what can we do? We can’t fight these rednecks. They’d just as soon burn us all out. You understand, don’t you?

Grandpa was a crushed man after that. He had been one of the better-off farmers in the area. He had plenty of land, nearly eight hundred acres; no cash to speak of, but able to look forward to prosperity. After that incident, he slowly begin to encourage my Uncles to get off the land, move away. He’d take a little each year from his crop proceeds and send a boy away to school up north. One went to Michigan, another to Wisconsin, and the last one, Charles, who had stayed home that day, went out west to Seattle. The only thing that kept Grandpa going was the desire to see his kids get out of Maryland. He died a year after Uncle Charles left.

I decided to stay and fight! Every time I thought of those cowering black niggers I was enraged! I vowed I would fight the enemy. I wouldn’t beat up on my wife. I wouldn’t take out my frustrations at home or among those that loved and supported me. I wouldn’t even get married until I’d done something about this shame, we deserved better than this. I had such ambivalent feelings towards blacks. I hated them on one hand, for not sticking up for our family; for not fighting or banning together against the injustices. Then, on the other hand, I pitied them. I knew their plight. I felt for their predicament.

My mother, Gloria, stayed with her father and took the place of her long dead mother. She saw after the house, kept Grandpa and her brothers fed, did their washing, cleaning and errands. We never saw Dad again. I often wonder what happened to him. He wanted to lead a white life; he loved us, but not enough to give up his dream of being accepted as totally white, somewhere.

As each of her brothers left, Mother became more and more attached to me.

I’m going to see to it that you won’t have to live like this. Remember the good times, in New Hampshire. You don’t have to settle for this, she’d repeat time and time again, with tears running down her cheeks. She always pushed me to do my best in school. With Grandpa’s blessings, she said I was going to have the best education they could buy. She worked hard on that farm, an all around administrator. I worked hard too. I learned about manual labor! I developed a body that was the envy of Baltimore. When Uncle Charles left for Seattle, I had been accepted into the University of Maryland. Mother stayed on with Grandpa, nursing him until he died. She would not hear of me quitting school to help on the farm. She said she could take care of Grandpa by herself. Only about a hundred and twenty acres remained of the farm. She raised enough to support herself and Grandpa. Some of the local black kids helped her when she could pay; most times she sent me every nickel she had for my tuition. Mother died suddenly, just before I received my undergraduate degree. She had developed an aneurysm on her brain. We never suspected anything. One day it burst while she sat watching me prepare for a final exam. I looked up after studying for several hours, mother, not uttering a sound, had simply closed her eyes and slipped away.

My first few years at the University were spent trying to find an avenue of study. Of course, I spent a lot of time with the girls. They seemed to cling to me like lint to blue wool. I was too preoccupied planning revenge to take them seriously. I wanted to pay back my father for leaving. I wanted to pay back that lying farmer, Jake, and his wife, Adelaide, for taking my Grandpa’s land. I wanted to make white folks respect me. I wanted them to acknowledge what they had done to us; acknowledge what they had done to Grandpa, my mother, my uncles and our lives. I really think that my uncles went separate ways because they were too ashamed to look each other in the face. We didn’t deserve racial hatred, and spite. Each time I looked in the mirror, I felt rage; I could be one of them, white; live a lie, dishonor the sacrifice of my Grandpa, my Uncles and turn my back on my mother. That wasn’t me. I didn’t feel inferior. There was no reason why my family should feel inferior. I determined, in my soul, to find a way to make them acknowledge blacks everywhere.

I finally decided to become a doctor of Sociology. Since I loved my Dad, in spite of all, I could not hate white people. Hate had ruined our lives. I did not want to hate anyone. If anything, I wanted to destroy this emotion. Hate would have no place in my life. Understanding people, no matter how twisted their mind. That must become my purpose. I felt that Sociology would give me the tools to communicate that to the world. We all have the same hurts, fears, desires, triumphs, and defeats. If the world could realize the basic oneness of the human soul racial and ethnic turmoil would cease.

Just as I completed my Doctorate studies in Sociology I met Emanuel Battle. We attended a Sociology lecture one evening. After the lecture he came over to me.

Say, aren’t you Dresden Macomb? I’ve heard a lot about you around campus.

I hope it’s good, but you can tell me the bad too.

Well, there has been some bad, you’ve broken several of the ladies hearts, he laughed.

"Not intentionally, I assure you. What brings you to this dry lecture tonight?

Oh, I’m trying to tone down my image. By the way, my name’s Emanuel… Emanuel Battle. My mother thought, with our last name, she’d better add some Bible to it.

Dresden laughed, Emanuel, that’s cool. Are you a Soc major too?

I have a law degree from D.C. I’m here trying to learn how every segment of the population thinks. The law firm I’ve joined says I’m a little too brash."

I guess that could be said of me too.

"Really! I’ve heard about some of your lectures and meetings. You don’t hold any punches, said Emanuel.

Sometimes the shock of bluntness wakes people up. You know, I simply want us blacks to get our act together.

Sure, that’s why I went to law school. I want to see us get our due. Too many of us get had because we don’t understand the law, or what motivates people today.

You should come to one of my meetings. Next month I’m speaking in Norfolk. I’m hoping to start an organization to do some of the things you’ve mentioned, I said.

Man, there’s too much hatred against blacks, I’m all for doing whatever possible to bring peace, Emanuel said with emphasis on the last word.

He was such a big man, about the size of a football lineman. I think he looked up to me because of my popularity on campus. After we became close friends I felt he appreciated my dedication. I liked his drive and competence as an attorney. He moved fast up the ladder in his DC law firm. Between the two of us, I guess we became acquainted with over half the U.S. Congress.

Emanuel didn’t make the Norfolk meeting. I didn’t see him again for a year or so. He called me again when I had established the Center in Washington D.C. By that time my name was known in D.C. I had used every ounce of my charm and all I’d learned about the human social creature, to make myself known and liked in Washington D.C. Emanuel was eager to be my friend and he introduced me to many VIP’s in the city. He volunteered to be my legal counsel. As Professor Macomb and a speaker throughout the black community I needed someone to keep me out of legal tangles and help organize our Centers.

The Centers were Regional Headquarters for the Afro-American Society. Each Center was also Home to a Community Center where Afro-Americans could come and receive counseling in money management, marriage, legal counseling, and other areas of social interaction. The Community Centers were to be a gathering place for all Blacks to come and meet others, exchange ideas and receive help from the Afro-American Society when needed.

Each Community Center was staffed with professional people who wanted to give back to the Black Community. We had obtained Doctors of Medicine, Psychologist, Psychiatrists and other Professionals to be on call when the Centers had a need. There were also recreational activities for all ages and a completely stocked library for reading and relaxation.

The Community Centers were to promote education and upward mobility in the community. Every activity was designed to give the Black community a sense of involvement and participation in society as a whole. Emphasis was placed on being an American rather than being a Black-American. My aim for the Afro-American Society was to integrate Blacks into the mainstream of America.

By the time I reached San Francisco, Emanuel and I had put together an entourage of Professionals; people who felt as we did about erasing the stigma of being black.

CHAPTER I

I arrived in San Francisco in the fall of the year. I went straight to the University. Everything was ready and waiting for me. As I took the podium a serene solemnity settled on me. I was just about to complete my trek across America. This was the last of my speaking appointments for the year, 1970. The auditorium at the University was quite large. I’d say the seating capacity was nearly five thousand. The seats rose in a steep incline. The podium was at the lowest point with the audience looking down at the lecturer. The room was circular, and since the chairs rose steadily upward, not very deep. The acoustics were fantastic. This was the sort of room I used often at Maryland, only larger. A wall-like sea of faces, looking down at me, was familiar territory. I felt calm and peaceful, at ease at last, facing this final crowd. These popular lecture halls were excellent for large classes and lab lectures when it was nevertheless necessary to be close to the audience. The hall was packed with students, and many adults from the community. My host, Dr. Breck, had enlisted the student body to advertise this event and the turnout was gratifying. I was suddenly overwhelmed with satisfaction. The sabbatical I’d taken, the expenses I’d borne, all appeared to be worthwhile. It appeared I would finally get our black folks together.

"Honorable Chairman, Faculty, and Students of this magnificent University. I’m here in this beautiful city of San Francisco to deliver a message to all my brothers and sisters. We are at war. In the midst of seemingly good times, prosperity and equal justice under the law, we are at war! It’s a life and death struggle that has destroyed thousands of our forefathers and will ultimately destroy many of us. Our lives are affected daily by this struggle. Some of us realize the gravity of our situation and devise means to circumvent the dangers. Others realize they are besieged but can organize no effective defense. But tragically, the great majority fail to grasp, cannot even fathom, that we are being systematically destroyed.

We are today, vulnerable; as surely as the slaves were set free and given nothing to sustain themselves. As surely as they were systematically denied every amenity of life, we today remain targets of fanatics. We are vulnerable as individuals because we have no voice, no one to speak for us as a group. No unity, no organization or entity to give us cohesion. We today are held in disdain by unchecked bigotry. The majority of us do not yet fully perceive the scope of our fight. Why? Why is it that few of us realize that we are powerless pawns?" I paused to give the audience a chance to ponder the question, and then went on to supply the answers,

Because of our foe’s skillful subterfuge. He’s cunning in dealing deathblows, proficient, through much practice in duplicity. Maneuvering, machinations, and duplicity have become a way of life, not solely because of evil or hatred, but simply because aggressive competition is ingrained culturally to the extent that many are unaware of its racist effect. While the unsophisticated labor under the premise that honesty is universally appreciated, some are playing by different rules: Might make right; dog eat dog; do them before they can do you. These are the rules of business today! There are those who are determined that you will never have economic security. Middle America is assured the amenities of comfort, while the great majority of you toil on with exiguous income. Even the term middle America, I suspect, is a euphemism for white America."

He stopped momentarily to sip water from a cup at the podium, then resumed speaking in a much softer tone, Money is power, folks. Money is the principle thing. Therefore, get money. Proud America has been reduced to this adage. The economic system is virtually worshiped. When men can sit still and watch the destitute roam the streets, denied heating, food and comfort only for the want of money, that is worship. We live in a supposedly Christian society, but I say to you that our society is in grave danger when we can ignore the impoverished. Slavery to a system that excludes so many requires reverence. Dresden sighed, This society worships money. Anything for a buck, baby! Dresden could tell from the complete hush of the crowd that they were with him.

Unfortunately, he continues, in an emphatic tone, We who lack the requisite reverence must find a way to play the game. We must find a way to win. It is evident who is winning now. For over three hundred years we have struggled merely to survive. What’s wrong with our game plan? Obviously something needs to be fixed. Sometimes, we reason, surely right must triumph. Surely integrity and diligence will not be violated. Too many of us accept this fallacy because it works in heaven. But we are not in heaven, he shouted at the top of his lungs. We walk the streets of the core cities. We dwell in rural shantytowns. We exist in filthy urban housing. We are not in heaven; we are not dealing with heavenly beings. We must wake up! We must learn the system! Let’s learn without becoming callous or indifferent. Dresden used his intonations, pitch, and emotion, to evoke pathos in his audience. He had learned control, if nothing else, from his sociology training.

It is my intention today to point out to you an avenue of escape. I want to show you a method, a plan, by which we can triumph. We don’t have to succumb to stygian instincts of revenge. Listen carefully please, for I will lead us to a solution to this problem and in so-doing preserve the American dream.

The cause of the aged, the widows and the disabled has been virtually abandoned by politicians. The poor and disadvantaged are the last to receive consideration. And we, the 30 million blacks whose forefathers helped build this nation, are at the tail end. Why? Because we have nothing. We are perceived as part of the problem. We are constantly at the government’s door with our hands out. We are not united in one strong economically powerful voice.

We are not dissimilar to our Haitian neighbors. They work their voodoo magic against each other and we engage our selfish agenda oblivious to any cohesive unity. The result, in both cases, is to wallow in poverty.

To capture the American dream we must move as one body. We must be as single-minded as the founding fathers of this land. They forged one political force, one economic force, one united nation! We must do the same to advance ourselves. When one is hurt, all cry out. When one is wronged, all seek redress. When one is attacked, all retaliate! The United States has remained united because of this principle.

Dresden took another drink from his glass while the audience applauded loudly. He paused in complete stillness until the auditorium had quieted.

I have traveled the United States from East to West. With the backing of my associates, we have been able to establish twenty regional centers for the Afro-American Society. We have established instant communications between these centers. With the financial support of each center, we have begun to assist the aged, the disadvantaged, and the poor. Our first center, in Washington D.C., is in its third year of operation. In that time we have been able to reduce the welfare rolls in that city by eighty per cent. Today, in the city of Washington D.C., there is not one black family receiving public assistance. We are advancing to that goal in each regional center. But we must have money. Our programs include the establishment of schools, hospitals, rest homes and affordable housing; facilities all owned and operated by the Afro-American Society. Our goal is to build a powerful black society; not with riots, guns and rallies, but with economic wealth! We can create wealth as readily as we can destroy property. We need your money, your financial support. Should you fail to support us, you might as well hide that dashiki you so proudly wear. You might as well forget that ubiquitous black handshake. Symbols and slogans don’t pay the bills, people. We must have among us ineradicable fealty! We have purchased the loyalty of millions of blacks with your money. We have bought self-respect for those who had none. Consequently, we have their allegiance. Loyalty and allegiance are the corner stones of an impregnable nation. Join the Afro-American Society now for we must unite or perish!

I hate to consume more of your time, but you have undoubtedly heard from friends and relatives about the accomplishments of the Society. We have brochures here for additional information. In the conference rooms just outside this auditorium are officers who will answer your specific questions. Let’s not take another hundred years to be totally free. It took one hundred years for us to integrate the toilets in America. That is not progress! To those who say we’re moving to fast, I say, relinquish your luxurious lifestyles, then judge. When Dresden finished his speech he was wet with perspiration. The audience rose to their feet in applause.

Dr. Harold Breck, the President of the University, quietly led him aside from the platform guests who flooded him with praise and congratulation. Come with me, Dr. Macomb, I have someone I want you to meet.

Dr. Breck, you have an inspiring student body. I wish all my audiences had been so responsive.

Yes, they are enthusiastic. You struck a nerve. The majority of our students are from the Deep South. Subtle prejudices, in the guise of aggressive competition, are new to them. At home they knew how to deal with vocal and overt discrimination. They respond emphatically because you’ve articulated their daily experience.

As they moved off the main corridor and took a glass enclosed tramway to the President’s suite Dresden turned to Dr. Breck. I have great hope for this final University lecture. If we can get the minimum ten thousand dollars from that enthusiastic crowd, we’ll open our twentieth regional office here. The year has rocketed by, but its been successful, more successful than I had dared hoped.

With your speaking talent, I’m not surprised, said Breck, nodding. The young man I want you to meet is enthralled by your program and the Society. I suspect the two of you will find much in common. Here we are, he’s waiting for us in my suite.

They entered an exquisitely furnished office that had an air of serenity and strength. The windows at the right end of the room extended from ceiling to floor, then continued along the back wall to half the length of the room, providing an excellent view of the campus below. The remaining walls were paneled in warm cherry wood, and cherry wood bookcases matched the paneling. At the left end of the room was a fireplace, and in front of it sat matching sofas covered in powder blue silk damask. Between the sofas was a massive coffee table in antique white, edged in powder blue. All the furnishings were of the classic Italian style.

Dr. Breck’s desk sat by the windows at the end of the room. In the corner opposite the desk stood a young man with a book in his hands. As we entered he returned the book to the shelf and walked over to meet us.

I was just admiring your collection of Euripides, Harold. It’s regrettable that his works are not more widely known and read.

You’re right, when knowledge is hidden men continue to fight. I’d like you to meet Dr. Dresden Macomb, David. He turned to Dresden, this is David Kristaff.

I shook his hand saying, I’m pleased to meet you David. David and I moved toward the sofas and sat opposite each other, Dr. Breck took a seat beside me.

"I’ve wanted to meet you since I heard you in Detroit a few years ago, informed David.

David is a minister, Dresden, Dr. Breck interjected somewhat apprehensively.

Oh, I’m sorry, I should have said Reverend Kristaff, Dresden apologized with a