The Eye in Us

By Charles Curtis Blackwell

The Eye in US harkens back to the days before gentrification where the characteristics of the predominately Black population in Washington, DC, seasoned the flavor of the city. The Eye in US provides multifarious perspectives on life through the lives of the Blind family who are entangled by the culture, humanity, and misadventures of the nation's capital.

Like in the tale of Buffus of the Blind family, a Washington, DC resident who back in 1952 took a notion to shine coins for the United States Treasury Department.

There is the tale of Sendus, an ex-baseball player turned bus driver in our nation's capital. Now he's using his strength of will to be on the job every day, making a living despite his crushed dreams.

Markus and Candus are working the streets of DC, keeping themselves fierce as they face the hustle and the story of Minus, a postal carrier walking the streets trying to stave off the hassles.

The tales are tongue-in-cheek, irreverent, raw reality, which gives a glimpse of US. Cirrius, Primus, Uwinnus, and those others who take on their own lot in life and make due. The Eye in US will compel you to consider a reality where it is US against and in spite of them.

Arlene Turner Crawford

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662477560

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The Eye in Us

Charles Curtis Blackwell

Copyright © 2023 Charles Curtis Blackwell

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

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 978-1-6624-7713-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7756-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

I

II

III

Eye Confronted by Us

The Message Before Was Forgotten in the Wind and in the Shuffle of the DC Shuffle

Clarity

Cleaning Bossman's Washington

When Capitalism Makes Decision Passed on Eyesight

Charity

Nobody Wanna Give

A Sermon in Action

Stickin' It to Your Own Kind

You Say Metro Is the Name of the Bus System?

On Dee Corner in DC

The Keepers of the Johannesburg Connection

No Twelve Bar Blues Can Be Sat Upon

Us Sought to Love and Was Moved

At Penn Station in New York, the Announcer Yells out the Southbound Train

Cold Weather and Mental Hygiene

Emperor's Self-Taught Description

Poor, Homeless People Burned to Death One Winter

One Ton of Pressure from Miss Black

Being Received on the Right Hand of Fellowship

A Price for May 8 around Thomas Circle

Faces That Are Beaten by the Nation's Capitol

Poverty and Luv

Epilogue

The Good Grief, Great Capitol

Banneker City

Candy-Chicken-Pop-Pimp-Blues

As the Wind Comes Nigh, the Storm Grows Closer Against Our Eye

The Eye of the Storm

The Center of the Hurricane Bellowing Outward

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Eugene B. Redmond, Bill Carroll, Allen Gordon, Ron Peat, Sonia Sanchez, Eddie Harris, Roy Decarava, Amiri Baraka, Debra Kepra Austin, Marichal J. Brown, and Jannet Williams

Editors

Joy E. Jones, Arnette Otis, Nefertiti Littlejohn, Arlene Turner Crawford, Sabora Hill, and Warren Goodson

Front cover design

Warren Goodson

I

He Is the Eye in All of US

Poet, Writer, Journalist Stephen A. Monroe

Charles Curtis Blackwell Is the Eye in US

He is at the center of a city, all cities, a country, all countries, riven with strife and discord battling, always battling with love and compassion to come out on top, alive, battling to survive, despite obstacles of all kinds.

Blackwell as the essential Eye in US …It is that time of year round about the night creeping when I or eye could see absent from blindness… comes from knowing him over the last thirty years plus from when meeting him at an impromptu poetry gathering in Washington, DC, and coming to know his personal battles with seeing and seeing as the Eye in US, overcoming lack of seeing to see more to see more deeply, his poems ringing bells, meshing with the saxophone wails behind him, the congas echoing his cries and dreams, his own wails of hope against despair.

Blackwell is the Eye in US from me coming to know him in those days as a marvel of overcoming, traveling trains, buses, busy sidewalks, looking askance, hat tilted sideways on his head, maneuvering streets of crowds of cities coming to be gentrified but no matter, heeding him not, colorless in their heedlessness of him if they had not had the opportunity to hear and see him gesticulating as the Eye in US in the midst of a Coltrane poem, train running, running, train running can't see the tracks, train running offtrack, back on track into life trane trane locomotive push shove…drive, drive, drive, drive…trane going, trane going…pushing, pulling, pulling…with wisdom, with wisdom…and understanding…trane locomotive push shove…

Came to know Blackwell as the Eye in US as in the eye of the storm of our family dysfunction as a city, a country riven by family squabbles, his own seeming to crush his will, after years of fighting, legally, for legal rights for human rights, Blackwell battling his own family, as we struggle with battling our own family of city, country, disparate parts, colors, religions, faiths, genders, cross genders, non-genders. Came to know Blackwell as though seeming crushed and in despair, coming out whole, unbroken, spouting Miles of smiles against the saxophone blare, the trumpet's scream, spouting hope, transmitting prayers for downtrodden as myself once when I had all my sight, all spoke and unspoken advantages, but needing Blackwell's prayer as we all need one at that right time.

II

Came to know Charles Curtis Blackwell as the Eye in US lo these many years ago now in DC. Sing for me, baby And check out these beats Oh-wee, baby, it's Latin Rhythm in DC. Willie Colon, beer on top of popcorn Dance to the splash of a neighbor's cup… when after we became traveling poet partners in The Bulu Project for a few coins, a few dollars, for laughs, for entertainment, to brighten lives, brighten our own lives and loves as he became the center of our Is the Color of Mississippi Mud, his play, his production a production reflective of in many ways of his youth in Mississippi as my program said, resulted from the playwright's travels to Mississippi, the home of his parents, as a youth He was struck by the dusty red dirt, the start white sun, the dry air of a rural life. He was taken with the existence of African-Americans, his people, his blood, living a desperate, though not entirely beaten life among the pitfalls of racial realities.

This, his long-tone poem, turned onstage becoming the center of our lives in producing lives enmeshed in the mud of life, struggling to break free with hope and love, more compassion, Blackwell providing us the eyesight he did not have to see ways to overcome through his long, winding tone poem of hope and strife and strife and more hope amidst the hustling, bustling center of the city on the verge then of gentrification in body but hopefully not spirit, the Chocolate City of the country changing colors, throwing off bodies. But we persevered. Blackwell would not let us be deterred from our production, leaving all that outside the walls of that church that housed his production before appreciative, clapping crowds, we carried on.

Came to know Blackwell as the Eye in US again many years later, last year through his documentary film, The God-Given Talent, and seeing his paintings, a marvel on their own, proving the eye is and was and is in his soul to produce without full sight artistic creations full of color and sound and light and provocation and hope over strife. Came to know Blackwell again ever on his journey as he says in the film.

"I was like a poor student in some classes…and then I always had this thing with art. It's like I kept getting A's in art…and then when I wanted to go into music, they—at a young age, I liked jazz…high school I was in a bussing program…and the end of the year, it turned into a racial riot…this was California in the 1960s…there was this tension…every day… And it didn't make no difference, white guys, white girls, you know, he's a nigger, a black son of a bitch…kicking me, shoving me…punching me…this teacher…she says Charles you have to learn. You have to study…you can't fight racism with violence…you have to fight bigotry… Gordon Parks…he did a book called Choice of Weapons… His was a camera… He used a camera…so mine's was the pen…"

III

Charles Curtis Blackwell is the Eye and soul of US of all of US seeking to overcome to ward off disability, despair, the negatives of gentrification to find positives to spread hope to new audiences in the center of our city of our country, always to be better off, to cut to the chase, to make it straight no chaser for All of US. Thank you, Blackwell, for inspiring All of US, for being our Eye to a better day…better planet…

Past this place that sits dry. In a drive In a hurry home Make shift Trane keep moving' In defiance of all.

(Quotes from poetry by Charles Curtis Blackwell.)

Eye Confronted by Us

Eye looked straight ahead, at

A brother, of my

Ancestry

His eye turned away from

An African past, unspeakable

The sun hitting him in the eye

A do-wop-shew-wop-be-do-hellow

To a resemblance of a sister from the past

She couldn't even give dee time of day, or history

She was standing, holding up the straightness of a street

Sign, pointing, one way

He too held it high

Neither noticed me, or each other

Eye looked

At the future

Bleak, bleaker than bleak

A third time around

In hope to find

African past and present being forgotten

This time by African beans, themselves

Themselves.

The Message Before Was Forgotten in the Wind and in the Shuffle of the DC Shuffle

Tired and run over

A square box glides down 9th Street

and stops

before the stop sign, and no

parking, and no standing sign

With no siren blaring

So she must be dead

The tracks run deep, off the moisture

of fear for tomorrow

Young and pretty, too

The conversation is other than

Football, only for a moment

We change

from empty to a full load

One box moving uptown

No siren blaring

For she is dead

Clarity

High up in the hills of Georgia in an old shack made of tin and wood sitting atop stilts sat the Blind family enjoying the light and warmth of the evening fire. It was the autumn of 1945, and all the crops had been tended to, piled, sold, and canned.

Mama Blind (Shineus) sat sewing on a newly designed quilt. Papa Blind (Cirrus) was reading a Crisis magazine from two years back while Sister and Brother Blind looked over some last-minute details of the next day's school lesson. Baby Buffus, otherwise known throughout the house as Buff, was in the corner far away from the fire and everyone else, rolling something around in his mouth. Cirrus had gone to town that day to purchase some grits, cornmeal, flour, and molasses. He set the ninety-three cents in change, which was left on the nightstand near the bed along with the ninety-one cents, which sat atop the nightstand, gleaming bright and bouncing the light of the evening fire off the edges of the fifty cents piece, a quarter, a dime, one nickel, and one penny.

One of the pennies was in Buffus's hand. The other in his mouth. He rolled it around, curling his tongue around it and tightening the muscles inside his tongue to slide the penny back and forth against the rough plate of his tongue, then against the roof of his mouth to scoot the penny back and forth. Then he'd take out the penny, hold it against the image of Lincoln, then stick it back in his mouth for more cleansing. After a few minutes more of tugging with his tongue and some saliva, he'd pull it out with the picture of Lincoln that shined as bright as the sun and a reflection of his brown face, his large lips, and kinky hair.

It was rather difficult for him to figure out who he really wanted to see, Lincoln or himself. Lincoln was just sort of there. The copper penny gave a glow like a mirror, and the further away Buffus held the penny, the more of him he could see. As a matter of fact, the further away he held the penny, the less Lincoln appeared. Buffus picked up the fifty-cent piece and held it up but couldn't see himself. He held it close and looked. He knew who it was. Some White man, he thought. Then he stuck it in his mouth, rolled it, and sloshed it about. His tongue was getting a bit tired, rubbing against metal objects, for it had been about an hour now. He swallowed the saliva, then took out the coin, holding it between his lips tightly to dry it as he pulled it out with the tips of his fingers. Still, there was no bright shine, not like the penny.

Cumulus was supposed to be a junior of Cirrus as Cirrus wanted him to be his namesake. Mama Blind had wanted one of her children to be named after someone famous. So immediately after giving birth, she decided on the name Columbus. Cirrus became infuriated at seeing that Mama Blind would not name the child after him.

All this commotion seemed to get in the way of Mama Blind enjoying the act of breastfeeding, and suddenly, she pondered for a moment and came up with the name Cumulus, thinking, That should be a pleasant compromise. Cirrus listened to the sound of Mama Blind pronouncing the new name, Cumulus, Cumulus, Cumulus, sort of taking a liking to it as she said it several times while the baby lay on her breast sucking milk. Nonetheless, the newborn was destined to discover and that he did. Cumulus leaned back with a yawn and a stretch, rubbed his eyes, and looked toward Buffus as he held the fifty-cent piece in the air. Cumulus wondered what Buffus was doing with Daddy's money. For a moment, he watched. Buffus put the fifty-cent piece down, then lifted his hand toward his mouth and put the last penny in. Quickly, Cumulus discovered that his brother was putting it in his mouth. He arose and stepped toward Buffus. Evictus also followed.

Mom, look what Buffus done did. Shineus looked around, dropping the sewing from her lap, and Cirrus sat the Crisis magazine down and also looked.

What is it? Cirrus asked.

See! Cumulus said. Holding his hand in front of Buffus, he told him, Spit it up. Buff gazed up with his large, oval eyes filled with innocence and out of his mouth spat the penny.

Oh, Lawd, what am I gonna do? Shineus said as she arose from the chair in front of the fire.

Boy, you done lost yo mind—and at an early age too. You ain't gonna make it much further if ya keep that kinda shit up, said Cirrus.

Shineus had now picked up the belt from the side of the bed and now had Buffus by the arm, holding him and spanking him on his bottom.

Owwee! yelled Buffus. He cried as she gave him a stinging blow after blow after blow with the leather belt.

Don't you ever, he kept hearing her say in poetry form in between his yells and cries. Buff could hear Cirrus telling Cumulus and Evictus that he could wind up with some hot damn disease, typhoid or cholera.

He don't know where that damn money been. Folks been wipin' dey ass and den putting de same damn hand on dat nasty money, and now he stickin' the shit in his mouth.

Cumulus and Evictus listened and looked at Buff getting the whipping. Cirrus told Cumulus to go the barn and bring him that can of turpentine. So Cumulus struck a match and lit a lantern that was near the barn in search of turpentine. Cirrus was in the kitchen getting a spoon full of sugar. Buffus was still yelling, crying, and trying to recite the line, which his mother addressed to him.

You ain't gonna what?

I ain't gonna…gonna…gonna— Smack! She flung the belt.

You ain't gonna what?

Put no money in my mouth.

Now sit down in dat chair and hush up.

Yike, he mumbled.

Did you hear me say hush up?

Yeah, he grunted and choked. Yike, yeah, he said, shaking his head, afraid to sit on his buttocks.

Cumulus had come back in with the turpentine and was not taking his coat off. Cirrus held the spoonful of sugar close and put two drops of turpentine on that sugar.

What's that you got? Shineus asked.

Some turpentine and sugar.

Yeah, that oughta work. If not, we'll get some hoof tea, she said, walking back toward Buffus with Cirrus.

He stood, holding the spoon in front of Buff. Open up, boy, Shineus told him, and Cirrus crammed the mixture into his mouth. Swallow all of it, she yelled at him as he frowned and wiped his eyes.

A few years later, Buffus sat in an old-school house, looking out the window toward some Georgian pines, daydreaming about the change his older sister had left on the kitchen table the night before. He imagined what it would be like to rub it with his finger cloth, but not with the inside of his mouth, while remembering the whipping a few years back. He could see the brightness of the coins just as before but couldn't imagine what would bring forth the gleam. When he came home from school with his sister, she stopped at an old country store and bought herself a pickle and bought Buffus a chocolate soda pop.

Here, Buff, I gotcha just what you like, a chocolate pop.

Thanks, Buffus replied and closely watched as she put the change in the right pocket of her dress.

Buffus finished the soda before they got home, knowing that Mama Blind didn't like them eating and spoiling their appetite before dinner. They also had to change clothes and help with the chores about the house and in the field. So while Evictus was out chasing one of the cows from the pasture, Buff finished shucking the corn for the chickens.

Then he sneaked into the room where Evictus slept and took the change out of her pocket.

The next day, Buffus sat in class looking downward as the teacher spoke of George Washington Carver and all the things he did with a peanut. Buffus was rubbing the coins with the eraser from the pencil. He had thought that since the eraser could remove spots on paper, then it should also remove the dark, dingy surface on the coins. He rubbed each one with a delicate balance of the pencil firmly yet gently in his hand, and as the teacher neared the end of her story, Buffus could see his face coming forth on the surface of the coins as the gleaming light on the coins reflected the autumn sunlight outside the window. He carefully put the coins in his pocket, handling each one gently, not to smear or dirty them. So when he pulled them out to show Evictus, they would still be bright and shiny. After class was dismissed, he went to meet his sister near the dirt road that led to home.

Hi, Buff.

Hey, Buff replied with a smile on his face, waiting to surprise his sister.

Watcha learn in school today? she asked as they headed down the road.

'Bout Carver, George, Carver, Washington and some peanuts.

Don't sound like you learned much.

I gotta surprise for you.

What's that? she asked. They stopped in the middle of the road and he pulled out the bright and shining coins and stood there looking up at his sister with a gleaming smile. Damn it, Buff! she said in a shrewd voice that quickly changed the expression on his face. I was looking for my money at lunchtime, and you had it! Buff stood still as her words came out cutting through him and down to the dust of the earth beneath his feet. Where'd ya get it from?

It was on the dresser last night, he mumbled and rolled his eyes around.

You thief! she said as she took the coins from Buff's hand. You stole 'em. That's what you are, a stealing, roving thief!

Buff was about to plead, except all he got out was But…but Evictus, I… I—

I nothing. I don't wanna hear it, you thief, and get away from me. Don't even walk home with me or near me. Just get away from me. If I had my way, I'd put you out of the house right now where your ass belong. Out of the house is what a thief deserves.

Evictus took off down the country road, her books in her hand. She was shocked by the act of her brother stealing from her. She didn't even notice the shine on the coins. Buffus stood in the middle of the road crying, not knowing whether to go home or run way. He didn't know where to run or if he should just remain standing in the middle of the road.

Finally, Buffus moved his feet with a slow drag because his heart had been made heavy by the words of his sister. It felt like a shovel full of the Georgia mud inside of his heart made of sorrow and rejection. All the way home, he hoped that Evictus did not tell his mother. He expected the worse from his mama and dad when he arrived.

He sat at the kitchen table, stirring his bowl of red beans and rice. Shineus looked and noticed that he was not all there and asked, What's the matter, Buff?

He looked at his sister, but she looked the other way, then he looked at his mom and replied, Nuttin'.

Then Shineus looked at Cirrus, but he really didn't notice Buff's behavior, for the red beans were so delicious.

For years, Buffus carried the hurt in his heart and kept silent about his sister's harsh words that day in the middle of the road. His sister never carried on any conversation with Buff other than Get this or do that, for she never trusted him anymore. One day, Buffus was out, plowing the field with the mule the Blind family had named Assusual, for it seemed that they always had this mule plowing a field as usual. This particular day, neighbors came by. They, too, were in need of their field being plowed but didn't have a mule or a plow. And Cirrus replied, Assusual.

Watcha mean? the neighbor asked. Either folks is got one or ain't got one or ain't got the other but never got's all as usual. Well, how 'bout your boy there? Cud you send him over to plow? I'd be happy pay him. Cirrus agreed and informed Buffus to go over with the neighbor, take Assusual with the plow, and plow the neighbor's field.

Buffus followed alongside the neighbor, occasionally dragging the plow behind the mule. It was a long, hard plow for Buffus. The Georgia sun beat down on him, and Assusual making it seem like the day would never end. Finally, Buffus pushed and dragged the plow into the last pile of dirt, telling Assusual, We dun finished.

He sat in the field for a moment near the tired mule to get his breath, then walked over to the house to let them know he had finished and was ready to be paid.

The neighbor greeted Buffus at the door with a handful of change and a $1 bill, which totaled up to $7 and 37