“For surely there are more than enough souls to save,” Toliver was saying, a smile on his composed face.
“This is not about us protecting territory, Charles, like in some wild west town,” said Reverend Blake of the Second Ethological African Methodist Church further south on Amsterdam. He was a sturdy-built individual with a mane of black hair turning silver. “It’s about what you espouse.”
“I’m not here to pretend to be something I’m not. I don’t put on artifice as if sent directly from the heavens above.” He gestured over his head. “I will tell you freely I was born of man and woman,” Toliver continued. “And I, like you, will return to the dust when it’s time for me to depart this mortal plane. I do not ask of my flock to ascribe to me anything more than what men can be to other men. An example in some ways and not in others. We must learn from one another. I claim no superhuman nor supernatural affectations, as do some we shall not name today.”
“This is more about not putting the bullseye back on us,” another reverend, T.C. Stafford, said. He was a stout man and had enjoyed more than his share of the sugar cookies. “Matters have quieted down since the Garvey situation, and that’s a good thing for our people moving forward.”
Toliver, who sat on the couch, crossed one leg over the other—the creases in his pant legs impeccable. “You think if your man Hoover wins the election in November, he’s going to deliver the goods? Or maybe you’ll see some sort of post out of your good work. This is a man who has talked openly about making the Grand Ole’ Party lily white for goodness sake.”
“Pshaw,” Stafford said. “He was misquoted. Further, my faith in Mr. Hoover is not about me,” Stafford replied. The preacher, a Republican, was working to shore up votes for Hoover in Harlem and beyond. “It’s about the bigger picture.”
“As is my mission,” Toliver said. “We all want what’s best for negro folk, be they in the city or in the country, in a fine home or humble abode. Indeed, what I’m about is lifting the ones of us, too many by any count, from out of those humble abodes to better living conditions. As it happens, I do believe in working for equality among the races, but not at any expense. Certainly not at the expense of losing our cultural and racial identities.
“Now let’s be clear, our destinies as is our economics are intertwined. I’m not the only one in this room who consorts with supposed unsavory elements to make sure certain needs are met, such as the soup kitchen staying open or steering parishioners toward sources of loans when the white banks won’t lend.”
More than one reverend looked away from Toliver.
“But you would not claim to be a Christian, now do you, Mr. Toliver?” This from a third preacher who was standing in for Reverend Adam Clayton Powell Sr. of the influential Abyssinia Baptist Church. Senior had to be out of town.
“I have been very clear in this regard. In fact, you can find it in many of my printed speeches and in the book I’m looking to publish next year. I call upon the foundations of various Western, Eastern and African spiritual ways in what I teach.”
“Heathen beliefs only put us further back,” Blake opined. Setting near him was an elderly pastor who nodded vigorously.
“And I would counter that we can’t tuck our heads in like turtles and pretend we are safe,” Toliver shot back.
“Stick our necks out to get our heads chopped off?” Stafford said.
“I’m not suggesting we spit in the eye of the tiger, gentlemen. I am saying that we must be wary of that tiger and take steps to fortify ourselves. It is shortsighted to think that just because the tiger is busy elsewhere for the moment, the beast won’t be turning its attention back to us at some point. Or rather simply neglect us as well. It is only united the tiger—whoever sits in Washington—will respect us, will listen to us.”
“Is yours a political movement then, Mr. Toliver?’ asked the third reverend.
“Whenever more than five of us are in a room at any one time, that’s political,” Toliver answered with a gesture. “Let’s not fool ourselves, my friends. I’ve heard or read your sermons. Yes, you quote scripture and call for men to be good shepherds of their families and make sure you do unto others as you would have done unto you. And yes, you know the right words to speak, the emotions to summon at the funeral of yet another colored man who has died by violence from another colored citizen.”
Toliver rose as he paused. “But I know what you said about justice being a bill long overdue at the funeral for the boy who died under mysterious circumstances in police custody. He pointed at one of the reverends. “It was in the negro papers that covered the funeral.”
He continued, pointing at another, “And weren’t you the subtle firebrand at the Urban League conference last year calling for boycotts of stores? That if they don’t hire us, we don’t need to shop there?”
“That’s simply calling for fair play.”
“You think Herbert Hoover or that other Hoover, J. Edgar, sees it like that? You think they don’t hear echoes of Garvey in that?
