← Autodidact Archive · Original Dissent · Rudel
Thread ID: 10269 | Posts: 1 | Started: 2003-10-05
2003-10-05 08:43 | User Profile
[I]A Usenet Classic.[/I]
It was on an April evening when Mahtin Lucifer was offed by James Earl Redneck and we worried that we could be in deep shit. "We" refers to those of us who were smart and lucky enough to get into the National Guard, because it was much safer chasing soul bruthas who carried Saturday nite specials and Molotov cocktails than to be drafted into hunting little yellow slants who packed big AK-47s over in the land of rice paddies. Besides, Natl. Guard duty was part-time; we could still pursue our real world civilian careers shuffling papers in our offices while salivating over mini-skirted cooze in those wonderful pre-feminist days. Previous summers featured annual race riots in Cambridge MD including the most recent (1967) which starred famed activist H. Rap Brown whom I personally escorted to jail in the back of an army truck, and who enthralled me with his scintillating two-word vocabulary: "white mufukka." (Yeah, this is the very same Rap Brown, now known as Imam Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin who in early 2002 received a life sentence for gunning down an Atlanta cop.) But the nigrahs in Cambridge were small 'taters, veritable Toms compared to the Baltimore variety we were about to encounter. Those in "The Big B" were the major leaguers, the homies, the soul bruthas, the black powah boys. But as it turned out, it was kinda fun. They gave us these long black po-leece batons which we affectionately dubbed "soul poles." Heh, heh, get it? Anyway, one mammy made an indelible impression with her head out the window, bare tits sagging over the window sill as she screamed, "I gon fck, fck, f*ck all nite long, then I gon' burn down yo' town." What the mammy didn't realize was that smoke was pouring from one of the windows of her own house, as well as several of the other houses on that block. Nearby lived the token white, an old widow woman who was literally thrown out into the street by home-invading rioters. She hobbled over to us, crying and bleeding. When the mammy saw her, she exclaimed, "Arrest dat white bitch; she breakin' da curfew." Other neighbors threw open their windows and shouted similar sentiments. One of my guys threw a tear gas grenade which exploded a few inches from a rioter's face which instantly turned white from the chemical powder. Guffaws and good-natured jests followed: "Hey, what's a nice honky like you doing down here in the ghetto." It must have also struck the rioter as humorous because tears were literally streaming down his face among chokes which must have been laughter. I always liked a good sport. One of them approached our token black soldier and asked, "Is you a soul brutha?" at which time the trooper lifted his rifle and said, "This is my soul .... brutha." The potential rioter said, "I knows what ya mean" and scampered away. A Jewish liquor store owner broke the seals on some of his bottles and replaced part of the contents with a chemical used in rat poison. He knew that his store would be trashed anyway, so what the hell. Now no one in his right mind would drink from a strange bottle with a broken seal. Well, at nearby Johns Hopkins hospital, three rioters were hospitalized with internal bleeding. Whether the connection was ever established, I never learned. The precinct jails were filled so we escorted rioters to the State prison via school buses. My buddy and I sat in the back seat with rifles leveled, musing out loud back and forth to each other, and betting each other as to how many bodies a 7.62 mm. slug could tear through before stopping. The rioters seated in front of us were as quiet and well-behaved as a pack of nuns. Sniff. They just don't make riots like they used to. Bro Jack (wiping away a tear)