#61-22: day, under a minute, first-person aggressor
I’m in the car, as ma man goin’ in ta the Chinese joint, when these otha three dudes is comin’ out. I’m five-eleven three-hundred, he five-ten two-fitty. One a them little, two of em big bruthas—six-foot two-fitty. One a them bumps en says, ‘What up niցցer.’ Nasty, like that—E. R.
Ma man say, ‘Who you callin’ niցցer, niցցer!’ while the two otha dudes commin’ up behine. This all happen in the front doorway area of the Chinese joint—the carryout section. They didn’t see me, didn’t know I was there. He turns sideways and gives me the eye-signal, and I know it’s on.
Now, the Mac Daddy normally cool, calm, collective—all ‘bout love. We all bruthas—even you—in the eye of the Lord. But when it come time to throw down—ta back up a brutha—The Mac Daddy become a chump-crushin machine! It the fear. You don’ wan me ta fear ya; that when the anga come—especially when that word [the N-word] is used nastily. When The Mac Daddy become angray he get the urge ta break ribs en jaws, ta hear the crack a the bones!
Now that not the preferred Mac Daddy persona. I don’ wan’ the anga en the violence. That why I practice negotiatin.’ But den you got some unreasonable dudes…
I walk in like I’m a customer. I knew it was ready time as soon as I heard the conversation. As I headed in I punched this one big dude in the back of the head, right in the side of his ear from behind. He go forward, and ma man is on the otha big dude, crackin’ ‘im to the floor.
Now this little one standin’ in front a me. He was lookin’ this way for an escape, look at me, look that way for an escape, look at me—en I punch im in the jaw, twice, jus for bein’ there. He go down. No gettin’ up for him.
Meanwhile ma man is punishin’ this dude for callin’ ‘im a niցցer, stompin’ a mudhole in ‘is ass—wearin’ his ass out. The fist dude comin’ to his feet about now, on hands en knees, crawlin’ toward this giant fish tank these Chinese people have across the front wall, with these big colaful fish. He was gettin’ up, become a threat. So I grabbed im by the back of ‘is shirt and shoved ‘im. He put out his hand to stop ‘iself and it went through the middle of the glass. His head hit the corna of the tank and the whole thing cracked.
The police had been called already—kinda early I thought. You could hear the sirens and all these tiny Chinese people were running around chattering—they couldn’t speak much English. The lady though, she was yellin,’ ‘You get out!’
I said, ‘Come on Yo,’ to ma man. But he was still stompin’ that dude en I had ta pull ‘im off. We hauled ass! You don’ wanna escape in a car cause someone ‘ill get a tag number en the police got ya later on. They hadn’t seen us drive up or get out of the car. So we ran to our buddy’s house around the corna.
He walked up and got the car. He talked to some people while all the cops and the ambulances was there. The two big dudes was on stretchas. The Chinese people couldn’t give a good description, but one customa was tryin’…
You know how some people say some otha people all look the same? So what do the police got? Two big bruthas beatin’ down two big bruthas—happens all the time.
JL:
Thanks for another episode of "Keepin' it real". BET will be knocking at your door, with a contract. Box office dynamite, fo' sure.
Let me know if I can help out on the set, as I don't want to miss a minute, being a culture vulture, and all. I suggest we spin it as Downtown Abbey for the culturally underserved demographic, yearning for self expression. And stuff. Un-huh.
Once I figure out how to say "Pray and drink"in Latin, I'm gonna start a religious order. making Fruitcakes and heavy penance, abstaining from TV and popular culture.
Come visit on visiting day, I'll see you get one of the good fruitcakes.
Brother Bernie
The older black guys were so much fun to interview for this project. This fellow is my age. He used to play minor league football just so he could hit cops, as a few teams consisted of police. He was eventually banned by the officials.