White, I was deeply influenced for 25 years by a mammy whose father had been an American slave. She lived in our home and loved us like we were her own. It was only at her singing in a packed Baptist Church, where my wife and I were the only two whites present, that I learned from the minister that Sister Charlotte Washington had been a matriarch in the Civil Rights movement in Birmingham and nearby Bessemer (where most of her blood kin lived). Working behind the scenes in area churches, she had urged blacks to have patience and tolerance for their white brothers and sisters. They all seemed to know who I was and why I was there: to say goodbye to my mother.
Although it took a while, her beautiful essence eventually won out in me, and I have no doubt that it was she who, working behind the scenes, introduced me to Rose and Isaiah, black musicians (drummers), a singer (Isaiah), and a poet (Rose), shortly after they arrived in Key West late last year. If you spent much time on Duval Street near La Concha Hotel or St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, you saw and heard Rose and Isaiah. They drummed in the African way, a three-beat rhythm. Isaiah’s songs and Rose’ lyrical poems came from deep in their experience as a black Americans and their African roots. Two beautiful people, alas, they were not able to make enough money to stay in Key West. (Yes, they had a city license to play and perform on the street.)
I realized from conversations with them about two months ago that they might not make it here. Having lived on the street, having lived in tents, having nearly died one summer from a MRSA infection, I was concerned about them getting stranded here during the hot monsoon season. Circumstances not entirely beyond their control had cost them their vehicle and way out of the Keys. A beloved dog was like Rose’ child. They had brought their household belongings with them. Hitchhiking, Greyhound and airplanes thus were not options for their departure. I told them to let me know if they needed help, if it turned out they had to leave. Last week, they called.
As we talked, I realized they were innocents in a world where innocence is not tolerated very well. They had no idea what it would cost to rent a truck and buy gas to carry their belongings and them and their pooch all the way back to New Orleans, from whence they had come; and then from there up to Memphis, where they hoped to start a new life. On top of that, neither of them had a driver’s license. Rose, it seemed, never had one. Isaiah’s had been suspended in Louisiana, but he had a recent paper from that state saying his suspension had been lifted, but he needed to apply to get his driver’s license reissued. They had believed this was the same as having a license.
Alas, I only learned of this in the truck rental office. Then I learned, by talking with a driver’s license official in Louisiana, that Isaiah could only get his license reissued by physically coming into a Louisiana driver’s license office and doing the paperwork and paying the fee. No, it could not be done from out of state, unless he was in the military or in school. He was neither.
We went from the truck rental agency to a nearby motor vehicle/driver’s license office, only to learn that the paper they had from Louisiana did not give Isaiah permission to drive in the state of Florida, either. Yes, he might be able to get a Florida driver’s license, but he’d have to show paper proof of residency in Florida (a lease, utility bills, etc.), intent to stay here, and several forms of I.D. to comply with the Homeland Security Act. And he’d probably have to take a written and manual driver’s test. And he’d probably have to have insurance. And, oops, it might not help that his Louisiana license had been suspended because he was caught driving without insurance.
Alas, that very day they had to give up their apartment in Key West. That very day they had to pack up and leave. So back to the truck rental agency we went, because the proprietor had asked if they didn’t know someone who had a driver’s license, who could rent the truck for them? Someone with a credit card, preferably, which would save having to pay an additional $100 deposit.
I told the proprietor that I would rent the truck. She said okay. I asked Rose and Isaiah if they could see the wings growing out of her back. They said yes. She filled out the forms, I signed them, took out the collision insurance, which was extra. She said for me to drive the truck off the lot, and then turn it over to them. I’m not kidding. This really happened. She knew neither of them had driver’s licenses. I wondered what laws were being broken? And then I wondered what would happen to me, if I let that get in the way? Away from the agency, I gave them what I hoped was enough money for gas and food to get them to New Orleans, where they intended to play on the streets and make enough money to get them to Memphis, where they would turn in the truck. We hugged goodbye.
During a nap dream the next day, something about a pilot needing help came up. On waking, I was moved to check in on Rose and Isaiah. I called their cell phone, for which, I only then learned, they had caught up the payment with some of the money I had given them. They were just below Lake City, nearing I-10. I saw, they didn’t, that their remaining money wasn’t enough to get them to New Orleans. I told them to go into Lake City and find a Western Union and wait there until they heard from me; it would take me about half and hour to send them more money. I went to the bank, got the cash, went to Western Union, and sent it to them. They continued on to New Orleans, arriving there around dawn the next morning, I later learned, when I called and woke Rose up.
I was very concerned about them going to Memphis and trying to start all over there, where they knew almost no one, with basically no money, no vehicle to drive, and no place to live. I knew Memphis. I first got married there. My first in-laws lived there. My son died there. I had mixed feeling about the place. And I knew it was a very long, maybe twenty miles, city, and very hard to get around in without your own vehicle. Yet Rose and Isaiah did not want to stay in New Orleans, where they had friends and relations. And even more friends and relations in a more distant rural parish. They were determined to try Memphis, and turn the truck in there. They dropped off most of what was in the truck in a storage bin they had in New Orleans and struck out for Memphis.
They got there and checked into an economy motel, and then headed down to the west end of the city, next to the river, to try to make some money on the street. It didn’t go so well. They didn’t like Memphis so well. It would be very hard to get around without a vehicle. They knew only one family there, relatives of Rose, I think I recall. So they drove back to New Orleans the next day and turned the truck in there, on time. I would be fibbing if I said I wasn’t concerned about what was going to happen to that truck, and what a predicament I would be in if they didn’t turn it in on time. But my fears were unfounded. They did just what they said they were going to do.
When they called to let me know they had gone back to New Orleans, I said I was glad to hear that, but maybe they had needed to try Memphis to know it wasn’t what they really wanted to do. If they had not tired it, they would always wonder, now they wouldn’t wonder. They agreed. I have made two very dear friends, two innocents. I envy them, and wish them well. They said for me to be on the lookout for them after hurricane season. They really like Key West and will be back when it’s cooler, when they can make more money with their drumming, Isaiah’s singing and Rose’ poetry. I hope they come back a little wiser and better prepared. And with a driver’s license and insurance.
Maybe they will get back in time for the swearing in of the new mayor and city commissioners. Maybe I will get them to be there to provide some soulful entertainment.
Sloan for mayor, political advertisement approved and paid for by Sloan Bashinsky