2:15am Saturday night. Diner on Division and 112th
After work, my lady friend and I decided to stop for pancakes. It’s almost last call for the bar that sits in the diner, and I notice that there are around 10 black guys at the bar, being loud and aggressive. They look rough, tattooed, more than likely gang members. Our booth is sitting sideways, 15 feet away from the bar. No sooner do we get our menus, than I look over and see one negro punch another, knocked him down, possibly out. After putting him down, he immediately grabbed a pool ball from the pool table behind him and threw it down as hard as he could. Ouch! It sounded like a gunshot. Everybody is watching, as the place descends into a full on chimp out. Within seconds, fists are flying, salt shakers, coffee cups, plates are being thrown in every direction, one cup narrowly missing my head, one salt shaker nearly hitting my lady friend.
“Duck under the booth. They’ll run out of ammo in a minute and then we’ll leave.”
One fight spills into the kitchen, and the sounds of pots and pans falling and clattering soon follows.
“Come on, let’s walk out of here.”, I tell my companion.
As we head for the door, another fight moves between us and the door. I very calmly say to the 2 combatants, “Excuse us, gentleman.” , and without thinking they both side step us, without losing a beat, still fighting like savages.
I grab the door and look behind me, and there’s a fat buck with cornrows between me and my lady friend. Shit. She looks at me with fear, thinking I would just leave her there.
The cornrow guy is now making a speech about how he’s “from Oakland California, nigga! I don’t play! I’ll shoot everyone of your punk muthafuckas!” Funny how he’s just standing there talking while everyone else is fighting.
I walk around him, grab her hand, and push him out of the way, got to the door.
Right behind us, some redneck is going out to his truck taking about getting HIS gun, which made me laugh.
We make it back to the old green Dodge ok, and I tell her, “Too bad they didn’t start chimpin’ out AFTER I ate my pancakes.”
This isn’t a study in heroism, to be sure. There’s a time and place for that sort of thing.
Post script: Having just read Let the World Fend For Itself, I got to wondering how you or Big Ron deal with chimpouts in public places. I’m sure it’s much more common where you are. Unless there’s lone women, or children that are being threatened, I’m inclined to just remove myself from the situation.
Tony, had Ron or I been there with a lady we would have both done the same thing. You acted according to a man’s natural instincts, in contrast to the fat guy with the corn rows and the rednecks who were adopting ideological, post-tribal pulpits, angry because they were afraid. As men, if we go with our protective instincts we will largely act in the same fashion as you did. I imagine a large number of our readers doing exactly as you did, especially The Checkered Demon, who might have also wished them a good day.
What you did with the use of the word gentlemen was the unique part—and ingenious and I think stems from your keen sense of humor. Understand that a sense of humor represents a high social IQ and that is why chicks dig it.
What sets this scene apart from many is that, in saying gentlemen, you keyed into the African American psyche at a high level. Yes, in modern parlance this was a chimpout. But, this fight, or one of its kind used to be depicted in almost every western comedy in my father’s day. Behaviorally, postmodern black thugs are almost identical to English, Irish, Scottish or Scotch-Irish men of 200 years ago.
By saying excuse me and doubly by holding them in high regard you actually condoned their behavior, which is tactically sound as they were not hitting you or your girl. You let them know that you were a noncombatant who respected their struggle and they left you alone just like a regiment of British Redcoats and Continental soldiers would have ignored a farmer and his wife rattling by in their buggy at the Battle of North Point.
In these men’s’ minds they were engaged in an affair of honor and you affirmed this while escorting a non-combatant from the field which grooved with their instincts and they did not miss a beat.
Now, if Ron and I had been there together, we would have made a scientific study of it, discussed technique, made compliments where warranted—with Ron probably pouring our next round from the tap while the barkeep ducked—and otherwise comported ourselves as respectful spectators. But if you have a noncombatant with you, there is no time for fun, so you do what a man does.
Think now of people you know who are ideological, vociferous, hateful, insecure, having a “church lady” mentality like that bitch-ass nigga with the cornrows and the redneck with the sacred gun of the Whiteman and you have an opportunity for wider mayhem, for real lethal escalation, turning comedy into tragedy. Those two were behaving almost precisely like some pious Methodist woman of 200 years ago scolding men for being men. But when a physical man behaves like that he might get someone to take notice and include him in the festivities.
Tony what you saw, in my view was an iconic western saloon dustup, with fitted hats instead of Stetsons and I envy you.
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This is a great analysis, and I think that all the factors that have been mentioned had SOME impact, maybe small, on the reaction of the fighting Negroes to the man and his woman.
But what has James told us many a time is the thing that the feral Negro fears most, the thing that will make him step back, and the very first thing than every Negro in the bar saw when they looked at the writer?
That's right. It's a white man who is NOT afraid of them, who doesn't buy into their trash talk and their threatening smack. That attitude can't be pulled off unless the white man is really not afraid, one who knows he can handle what might go down, or if he's in a situation where he might get his own ass kicked, has made the decision that he's going to stand his ground anyway on behalf of the rest of us in the old world.
I think that's what they saw. The "Gentlemen" part was icing on top.
I think you're absolutely right, LaMano.
In America, black aggression against whites is largely reactionary [according to their liberally implanted operational delusion that we are all descended from slave masters of blacks] and reactionary behavior is generally inferior to pure actionist behavior on every level from the mechanical to the psychological. Thus, when they act out on this basis, they tend to be emotionally analogous to a fighter who wings really wide hooks from a square posture.
I'm not going to weigh in on the side of prohibition of vices, but alcohol consumption was a huge part of the white violence of yore. 7.3 gallons p.a. per capita in 1830.
bbc.com/news/magazine-31741615
James read so much deeper into that situation than I was able to, I’m really glad I asked.
In my experience, a friendly smile and a “What’s up guys?”, has served me well when it comes to just getting around whatever kind of mischief is in my path. It shows confidence, allows an easy out for them, and lets you know right away where you stand, assuming you pay close attention to the answer. I’m a big scary looking dude (People tell me. I don’t see it.), so this tactic might not work for everyone.
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