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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781468563740 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 06/21/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 140 |
| File size: | 544 KB |
Read an Excerpt
Dilemma: America in Motion
By Franklin McQueen
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Franklin McQueenAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-6376-4
Chapter One
PredictionThe power of the truth is sometimes measured a moment in time until it decides to reveal itself. There are times when one suspects the truth of what is being sought after to substantiate those circumstances, feelings, emotions anxieties and beliefs about a particular event, idea or suspicion concerning proof of what it is that he or she is investing within the scope of their present condition and state of mind or circumstances.
We may ponder day upon day to seek the discovery of fact that will cause one to initiate upon a point of reference; then set in motion a force of action to resolve whatever has been consuming his or her pre-disposition.
Ultimately we want to know for certain that whatever it is or was has finally come to fruition. Now, we can say with resoluteness, yes, that is it! There it is—I can see it. It's before me. All that I thought or believed to be true is true. How am I going to handle it? What am I going to do with the discovery of the knowledge of truth at this certain time?
This brings me to a point of reference in the latter part of September 1997 at Warren House Apartments #25, building number 555 that is located in Huntsville, Alabama off of Sparkman Drive. I was engaged in a conversation with a dear friend of mine, Myra Cunningham and a recent acquaintance, Richard Noble, as we watched a segment of CNN News with Wolf Blitzer. I had met Myra several months past at the Von Braun Center in downtown Huntsville, a couple of weeks to this night. She introduced me to her friend Richard, the topic of conversation related to the up-coming mid-term congressional elections of that year.
Due to us being unfamiliar with each other, Richard cautiously asked me of my opinion of politics and in particular he asked me of African Americans involvement in political processes and if African-Americans should vote at all. I therefore with intentional antagonism, suggested that they shouldn't. That is if they would, they should vote for the Republican Party. At this point, I could see the perplexity in his facial features and the gleam glistening in his brown eyes as he stood stoically before me. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt (with inspirational print on the front and back), black and white sneakers, a waist length leather jacket and a cap to match it. The dark skinned individual of medium size and height suddenly grizzled in a way with a clinched right fist that caused me to take precaution as I laughed out loud. This only intensified his apparent disapproval of my comment and suggestions.
I then thought that it was prudent to inject my explanation at that time, so I began to explain that I had arrived in Huntsville almost a year and a half earlier. I had moved from Bennettsville, South Carolina in June of 1996. Furthermore, I attempted to express to him reasons why I enunciated my positions relating to the issue at hand. Myra stood a distance away with an apparent ear to the ongoing conversations. She stood with her 6 foot frame, her hair rolled and twisted into a ball that was befitting her cocoa skin. She had an obvious smile. She wore a pair of well fitted blue jeans, a blue sweat shirt and a pair of white fluffy house shoes.
Richard says to me disdainfully, "Why you think that?" My response was, "It's what I see, I've been watching for some time now." Then I proceeded to recount a hot day in July of 1993, after I left the field from cleaning the grass away from my okra garden. I had stopped by my good friend, Levernice David's home. I entered the modest home and passed through the living room into the kitchen to find the 6 ft. 2 in., 300 pound individual relaxed in one of his wooden chairs in the kitchen. "Hey Mac, come in here and listen to this idiot." He said with that familiar grin on his rounded brown face. "What's that?" I asked while taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs too. "This fool, I been listening to for several days that I picked up on one of those country stations. I can't listen to this guy, listen to him for a few minutes and then tell me what you think." Mr. David said with a chuckle.
For several minutes, I listened as this individual ranted and raved about the ills he saw that pervaded the Black Community. Some of what he expounded upon was true, related fatherless households, high unemployment and the lack of entrepreneur advancement etc. But the more I listened to him the more incensed I became at the condescending and disingenuous way his portrayals were presented. By this time, Mr. David was boiling with laughter. "What's wrong Mac?" he asked with amusement.
"Who is this guy?" I asked with outrage concerning what I had been listening too. "It's some fool called Rush Limbaugh." "Rush who?" I asked irrelatively. "Rush Limbaugh," Mr. David said as he turned off of the radio. I further relayed to Richard of how Mr. David and I continued to listen daily as Rush relentlessly ranted his diatribes about what he thought was wrong with America. I continued by telling Richard that Lee and I began to witness a trend that would bring about the change of the guard of the political process and the direction it would be leaning in the coming years. I told him that we had noticed a trend occurring across America toward the Republican Party. In particular, the southern states and the states that had sympathetic leanings toward the confederacy during the Civil War. We had observed that there was a steady flow of certain politicians who had won election to office on the Democratic Party ticket, to suddenly switch to the Republican Party, to include my Governor of my state of South Carolina, David Beasley and several others in the House and Senate delegation, and many other disciples within the Black community.
In my way of thinking, at the time too many of the American people had fallen asleep at the switch. In particular, the black community, because by this time, the political pendulum had swung and there was no way of reversing its course. By this time the airways had become filled with a vitriolic rhetoric that permeated the political landscape and cast, by and large the black community as the pariah that would bring about the demise of America. The White Supremacist Mantra in the disguise of the Religious Right Wing-Ultra Conservative and the Neo-Con Zealots had convinced the majority of the American populous that the American political psychic had gone too far left and the crusade to restore true red blooded American (WHITE) values would have to be re-instated at all cost.
It was a time when there came the emergence and establishment of the militias across America. It was the emergence of the Rev. Jerry Farwell and the Moral Majority and the countless other narrow-minded radio personalities, specifically Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity and the like with the 'dead' thoughts emulation of the chosen one, Rush Limbaugh, spouting the virtues of good and grateful Americans (white) who valued the virtues of the Founding Fathers, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. I stipulated to Richard that because of what I was seeing, that it would be prudent at that time if the entire Republican establishment is afforded the opportunity to govern the entire halls of government, the Executive, Legislative and Judicial branches; in order to usher in the hypocritical thoughts that would eventually pervade the political process and bring back the glory days when white domination was the 'good old days' gone by.
In particular, the southern states (Confederacy) would flourish once more. I further stated this course of action would eventually bring about the demise of the Republican Party that I fictitiously described in a conversation on pages 134 and 135 of my book "Once Forbidden" published by Authorhouse in "2005." From that night on, Richard and I would constantly engage in conversations about the importance of participation in the political process.
Chapter Two
A Bitter ExperienceIt was on that infamous and momentous day, November 22, 1963 at 1:00 p.m. that the news of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy spread throughout each classroom at school. There were whispers among teachers outside the classroom doors, where they were gathered in the hallways; and for the next two hours before school was dismissed, there was an eerie quietness that permeated the campus and study was put aside as murmurs penetrated the autumn air.
Upon reaching home that evening, my siblings and I found my grandma Hattie and mother Elizabeth focused on the T.V. set. A beige color RCA with spiral legs, as Walter Cronkite kept repeating over and over again with choked resonance, that the President had been shot dead in Dallas, Texas. Suddenly, my mother and grandmother broke into tears.
For the next several days, the death of the President consumed the topic of conversation, until the day of the funeral, where we watched intently the funeral proceedings in the quietness of Grandma Hattie's bedroom.
For the rest of the year, and the coming years, we as a family, watched in horror on the T.V. screen, the daily coverage of the Civil Rights Movement activity that was occurring across the nation.
We witnessed the announcement of the assassination of Meager Evers, Malcolm X, the countless civil demonstrations that were sometimes marred in blood in many parts of the nation; and the brutal tactics that were used for control.
In the mist of the chaos, there was the emergence of a figure that brought hope to millions of African-Americans, though everyone did not approve of his non-violent approach, that was perceived to be opposite of the Black Panther Party, that many had also adopted too.
But then on April 4, 1968, during the broadcast of the CBS nightly news, anchored by the late and legendary Walter Cronkite, there was continuous interruption of the regular casting to announcement, that Martin Luther King Jr., had just been shot dead! Again, my mother and grandmother broke down with fevering tears, and removed themselves from the larger room with high ceilings, that occupied, the two large iron beds, two rocking chairs, and a 'pot belly' heater.
While, we the children, tried desperately to ascertain the real significance of what was occurring at the time.
Days afterwards, there were the nightly news reports of portions of cities in flames, deaths occurring in the streets, looting, voices speaking out with outrage, and voices calling for calm.
A day after the assassination, a group of youth, including myself, had gathered and had also decided to venture to the small town of Blenheim, South Carolina, which was about a quarter of a mile away from Wright School, in an attempt to burn it to the ground.
At that time, I was only thirteen years old, and had not taken into consideration, the consequences of what could have become of our intended actions. But, by the time we had gotten several yards off the campus, a blue Pontiac suddenly appeared in front of us, and blocked the narrow road. Surprised, Mr. Wade "Hamp" Prince, our principal, leaped from the driver's seat, and pleaded with us for several minutes to discontinue the effort. Finally, by the grace of God, he was able to dissuade us, we returned to the school, and abandoned our fatalistic plan.
Chapter Three
IntegrationOn May 17, 1954, Thurgood Marshall, along with attorneys, E. C. Hayes and James Nabrit Jr., successfully argued the infamous Brown vs. Board of Education Case, Chief Justice Earl Warren delivered the unanimous ruling: "We conclude that in the Field of Public Education, the doctrine of separate but equal has no place. Separate educational facilities are inherently unequal."
As a youth of fifteen years of age, I had no idea that something of that nature had occurred, or its unforeseen consequence. In the small rural town of Blenheim, South Carolina, and the surrounding areas, the motif of "integration" became the talk of the town, especially in the black community. Its relevance was resonating in discussions within our homes, schools, churches, on the streets, and in the fields.
As we, the youth began to hear of the term repeatedly uttered, and the more our parents, teachers, politicians, church, and community leaders, attempted to explain integration's complexity and implications, the more confused we became about attending school with white people. Assertions were made that white kids were smarter than we were, and on an academic level, we would not be able to compete with them. I would venture to say that out of the discussions, that probably seventy percent, if not more of the black communities were apprehensive about the thought or idea of integrating, and they voiced their opinions openly. But when the dust had settled on a warm, sunny morning in mid-August 1969, Freddie David, a student bus driver, pulled the big, yellow and black vehicle up to our doorsteps in Gun Island, while he waited for me my siblings and I to board it. As a matter of fact, we took extra precaution not to sit on a seat that was occupied with one of our white colleagues, to include members of the McDowell Family, of whom we had worked, played, and talked with while working the fields of the farm during the hot summer months, and who were also our closest neighbors.
The atmosphere was timid and extremely quiet. There was a death-like silence. The mere idea of white and black students co-existing in an educational environment had been tested two years earlier, when a delegation of black youth were selected to participate in a historical experiment, among them were Doretha, Henry and Arnette Williams. The following year of 1969, several other students followed suit to include Tommy L. Fennell, Jeffrey Fennell, Debra and Michael Pringle, Alexander Alford. Also, there were siblings Freddie, Sarah, Herod, and Julia David and their cousins Frank "Billy," Marian and Robin David, as well as Wilma and Ella Sue Ward.
But on this morning, there was a strangeness and an eerie feeling of ambivalence as the bus continued up and down the dirt road and narrow highways, until we reached Highway 38, as we made the right turn in front of Lee Carabo's Store, to travel the next several miles to Blenheim, where we stopped at Blenheim Primary School to unload that age group. Next, we made the circle around a deep curve that led to the sprawling brick building that was once Wright Elementary and High School but now was Blenheim Primary School, to unload the attendees.
Finally, the bus accelerated forward until we were back at Highway 38 and made a right turn toward our destination of Blenheim High School, that was formerly Lower Marlboro High School.
Then as we exited the school bus, we were informed to go directly to our homeroom classrooms. Across the campus, staff members were stationed at various intervals directing and ushering us into the building; and with a sense of urgency, our eyes met to conveyed an aura of oblivion that were on our faces. The look of reservation and apprehension was notable as we scrambled up and down the hallways en route to the classes that we had been assigned. Our assigned teachers stood guard at the classroom doors as other staff members monitored the hallways.
It was the beginning of a change, an odyssey that many, after years of the status quo, could have phantom. A couple of hours later that momentous morning, we were led to and were assembled into the gymnasium to be given a pep talk, by Dr. J.S. Hearne, Principal and Assistant Principle Wade H. Prince. The rules and regulations of school decorum were espoused and our obligation to obey them.
After the formalities had been rendered, with a sense of graciousness, each former school members were afforded the opportunity to render in song, their former Alma Maters. Unfortunately, the Black students made rude outbursts after our White colleagues had sang theirs.
But rules or not, one thing had been etched in stone in the minds and souls of the majority of the black students that I had conversations with, was the proclamation that "No white man or woman is going to beat on me (them)."
During that first year, there were disagreements, arguments, a few fights, on occasion across the campus. But ultimately, the year was considered successful, and integration has become an acceptable norm among many citizens of this great Nation. With pockets of descendants who will never accept the notion of race co-existence.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Dilemma: America in Motion by Franklin McQueen Copyright © 2012 by Franklin McQueen. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Introduction....................1Chapter 1: Prediction....................13
Chapter 2: A Bitter Experience....................19
Chapter 3: Integration....................22
Chapter 4: War On Poverty....................27
Chapter 5: The Importance of Education....................31
Chapter 6: Manifest Destiny....................36
Chapter 7: Immigration....................40
Chapter 8: Epiphenomenon....................43
Chapter 9: Lie Number One "The 2000 Elections"....................50
Chapter 10: Lie Number Two Iraq War....................56
Chapter 11: Religion and the Falsification of Christianity....................61
Chapter 12: Taxes, Socialism Dollars, and Common Cents....................68
Chapter 13: The Peeling of the Phainian of Sarah Palin....................75
Chapter 14: The Militia, Tea Party, and Guns....................79
Chapter 15: Today's Black Republicans....................82
Chapter 16: How Mediocrity, Money and Stupidity Will Fail Our Republic....................84
Chapter 17: The Loss of Liberty In A Declining Empire....................88
Chapter 18: Exodus....................93
Conclusion....................103
Appendage....................117
Bibliography....................121