the comrades they still were, men with bills to pay, children to feed, men in cheap Robert Hall suits, who smoked five-cent cigars and drank their iced tea out of old jelly jars, men in the midst of engulfing circumstances who suddenly seemed almost as fully helpless as the dead.
EIGHT
Scores of police cars had lined the streets off Fourth Avenue by the time Ben arrived. The black-and-whites of the Birmingham police mingled with the gray-and-blacks from the Highway Patrol and an assortment of vehicles from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department. On the closest side streets, paddy wagons and school buses were parked one after another for almost as far as he could see, all of them manned by troopers with automatic carbines and double-barreled shotguns. They stood tensely along the otherwise deserted sidewalks, smoking cigarettes and staring off toward the avenue as if looking for the first dark whirl of a tornado.
On the avenue itself, police blockades had been set up near the entrance to Sixteenth Street, and uniformed patrolmen stood behind them, their legs spread wide apart, their lead-tipped leather truncheons already in their hands. There was no traffic, not a single civilian car, and the sidewalks on either side of the street were entirely deserted. Only a few yards away, Ben could see the Chief dashing here and there, shouting commands, deploying his troops, and generally overseeing the entire operation. His short, stocky frame darted in and out of the sunlight, and wherever he went, his men stiffened suddenly, as if coming to attention. Luther followed close behind him, along with an assortment of officials from the front office, all of them under the solitary protection, or so it seemed to Ben, of Teddy Langley.
‘So you finally made it down here, Ben,’ Charlie Breedlove said as he stepped up beside him.
‘No need to hurry,’ Ben said casually.
‘None at all,’ Breedlove said. He pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and lit one. ‘You’ve not been on riot detail before, have you?’
Ben shook his head.
‘Why is that, Ben?’
‘I guess they needed somebody to keep watch on other things,’ Ben said.
‘Probably didn’t think they needed you before now,’ Breedlove said. ‘But you know how it is. Things build up. Things get hotter and hotter. It’s been doing that now for a long time.’
Ben nodded.
‘So today they figure to put a stop to it once and for all.’
Ben looked at him. ‘You think they can?’
Breedlove shrugged. ‘Who knows. They got King back with them.’ He shook his head. ‘They should never have let him out of jail.’
Ben glanced back toward the avenue. The dark-gray pavement seemed to bake sullenly under the morning sun. At the far end of the street, up a slight incline, he could see eight or ten motorcycle patrolmen take up their positions several yards beyond the barricades.
Breedlove glanced at his watch. ‘They should be coming over the hill anytime. Harry radioed in that they left the church about fifteen minutes ago.’ He winked gaily. ‘Singing their little song, you know.’ He spat onto the street. ‘But it could be a little different today. Today they just might get themselves “overcome” a little.’
A few yards away, the Chief darted back into the street, his short, fat legs pumping fiercely across the steaming pavement.
‘You know what I think about the Chief?’ Breedlove said as he watched him. ‘I think he’s loving every minute of this.’ He laughed. ‘You know, one of those New York-type reporters came up to him this morning at City Hall, says he wants to ask the Chief a question or two about the situation here.’ He laughed lightly. ‘And you know what the Chief said? He said, “First, I don’t talk to no New York reporters, but I’ll tell you one thing. They’s three things wrong with this country: Communism, Socialism and Journalism.”’ He shook his head happily, relishing the tale. ‘And he was loving it, loving every minute of it.’
Harry Daniels stepped up beside Breedlove, his eyes fixed on the wide gray boulevard.
‘Well, you made it over here pretty fast,’ Breedlove said to him.
Daniels peered down toward the end of the avenue. ‘They’re just over the hill,’ he said. ‘It’s all kids, nothing but kids.’
Breedlove looked at him wonderingly. ‘Nothing but kids?’
‘That’s right,’ Daniels said. He pulled a small pamphlet from his coat pocket. ‘They were handing these things out in all the nigger schools yesterday.’
Breedlove took it from his hands and glared at it. It was a call for the schoolchildren to join the march to City Hall.
‘Don’t that beat all,’ Breedlove said as he handed the pamphlet to Ben.
Ben glanced at it casually, then handed it back.
‘These people,’ Daniels said disgustedly. ‘I tell you, Charlie, they don’t care what they do. They figured we were ready for them this time, and so they decided that they’d just send the kids after us.’ He leaned forward slightly and looked at Ben. ‘I bet you there’s not one of them over eighteen years old, and most of them are a lot younger than that. I’m talking about school kids, fourth- and fifth- and sixth-graders, and such as that.’
Breedlove’s mouth curled downward. ‘Shit.’
Daniels shook his head. ‘King’s one smart nigger. They wouldn’t have a brain without him.’
‘Yeah,’ Breedlove said grimly, ‘they wouldn’t have a thing without him.’ He tossed his cigarette angrily into the street. ‘But I’ll tell you one goddamn thing, Harry. Kid or no kid, I’m going to handle them the same.’ He curled his hand into a fist. ‘I going to give back double whatever I get.’ He glanced at Ben. ‘What about you, Ben?’
‘I’ll do what the Chief said,’ Ben told him. ‘I’ll protect myself.’
Breedlove’s eyes squeezed together slowly. ‘That’s what we all have to do,’ he said, ‘protect ourselves.’ He glanced toward Daniels and smiled. ‘Right, Harry?’
Daniels nodded determinedly. ‘Absolutely.’
For a moment the three of them stood silently together, staring up the avenue and along the small grocery stores, poolhalls and flophouses that lined it on either side. The Chief was now moving toward them with Luther and Teddy Langley racing breathlessly beside him.
He stopped only a few feet away and motioned for a group of troopers to form themselves into a line across the avenue.
‘We’re going to stop them right here,’ he shouted. ‘Now line up! Line up! I want you all to stand shoulder to shoulder!’
The troopers moved out into the street and formed a straight gray line across it. When they had formed their ranks, the Chief paced back and forth in front of them.
‘Now I want you to know that the people of Birmingham are proud to have you here today,’ he said loudly. And ever-body in this city owes a debt to Colonel Lingo for bringing you in to help with this ridiculous situation.’ He smiled gratefully for a moment, then the smile disappeared suddenly, as if a hard wind had blown it from his face. Now I want to make something clear to you gentlemen.’ He pointed to the ground and raked the tip of his shoe across the pavement. ‘This is like the Alamo, gentlemen, and this is the line we are drawing in the dust.’ He paused, and dug his fists into his sides. ‘And don’t you let one Nigra pass it. Not one solitary Nigra.’ He pulled a small green notebook from his jacket pocket. Ben recognized it instantly as the one he’d turned in to Luther. ‘You know what King said to his people at the church?’ he asked. He flipped through the notebook and began to read: ‘“They know how to handle violence, but they don’t know how to handle nonviolence. It confuses them. They don’t know how to deal with it.”’ He closed the notebook and stared angrily at the troopers. ‘Well, bullshit, gentlemen. We know how to handle violence, all right. And by God we know how to handle violence that just
Some of the troopers shifted uneasily on their feet, but no one spoke.
