Rearing Young Langston In Lawrence

CHAPTER 1

April 13, 1909

Harrison School

First Grade Classroom

Topeka, Kansas

Young Langston’s heart sank as he watched his mother Carolina walk into the classroom behind his teacher Mrs. Koontz. He had seen that determined look in his mother’s eyes many times before, but he could not imagine what it meant this day. A queasiness billowed from the pit of his stomach, and he fought the urge to vomit.

Your mother is here, Langston, Mrs. Koontz said.

His teacher masked her usually stern expression behind a fake smile that barely raised the corners of her lips. When parents lurked her classroom, especially Langston’s mother Carolina, Mrs. Koontz transformed into someone almost human.

Langston was the only Negro attending the all-white Harrison School, and Carolina had fought the principal, the school board, and white parents to get him enrolled there.

Carolina walked over and put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed back and forth.

Gather your things, Langston, Carolina said. Your grandmother is waiting in the cab.

Where are we moving to this time? Langston asked, reaching under the desk and jerking his book bag up from the floor.

We’ll talk about it outside. Carolina gently lifted him by the arm. We must hurry or the cabdriver will charge us extra.

Carolina ushered Langston across the room, but he pulled back at the door and glanced around at Mrs. Koontz and his classmates. He wondered if they were happy to see him go. All of Carolina’s struggles to get him admitted into Harrison and the resulting hatred that he had endured from his classmates, seemed like such a wasted effort now.

They hurried out of the school building and down the walk toward the cab waiting on the road in front of the school. The sun glinted off of his Grandmother Mary’s copper-Colored skin as she gazed at him from the front passenger window of the cab.

Mary was a proud woman of French and Indian decent, who spoke excellent English. The Indian in her blood dominated her appearance. She was seventy-three-years old.

Carolina opened the back door of the cab and motioned him to get in.

Hello, Langston, Grandmother Mary said.

Hi, Grandmother, Langston replied.

Langston slid across the back seat toward the brown duffle bag that he knew held all of his meager possessions. His mother Carolina scooted in beside him. The cabdriver’s narrowed blue eyes watched him through the rearview mirror. Langston met the man’s gaze momentarily, and then he looked out of the window for one last view of Harrison School.

The cab smelled strongly of stale cigarettes, leather polish, and gasoline. He had ridden in cabs just a few times before and loved them. However, Carolina usually preferred that they walk because the cab fare was too expensive for their limited budget. For that reason, he knew this cab ride would be different than the others.

Where to now? The cab driver’s eyes, still peering through the rearview mirror, shifted to his mother Carolina.

The Union Pacific Railroad Station, Carolina said.

The cab lurched and then sped off. The wind blew through the open window and cooled Langston’s hot cheeks. The houses and trees flew past as the cab picked up speed. He could feel Carolina’s eyes on him but he refused to look at her. His grandmother, a woman of few words, sat with her ear cocked toward the back seat.

I’m sending you to Lawrence to live with Grandmother Langston for a while, Carolina finally said.

Aren’t you coming with me? Langston asked.

Not this time, Carolina said. I’ve got a new job in Kansas City. I’ll come get you once I’m settled.

Langston quickly looked away so that his mother couldn’t see the tears gathering in his eyes. This last year of living with her had been one the happiest times of his life. The two had attended plays together and made many visits to the library at the state capital. He would miss the librarians and the wonderful world they had opened up through the books they had regularly put aside for him to read. Carolina was always changing jobs, looking for the one position that would pay her more money than the last. He hated the constant changing because it always meant he had to move.

Let me go to Kansas City, Langston pleaded. Who’s going to gather firewood and go to plays with you?

Carolina smiled and stroked his hair. She was pretty; light skinned like all of the Langstons and fearless against white folks.

Spring’s here, Carolina said. I won’t need to burn wood for a while. Besides, Kansas City isn’t too far away. We’ll still get to go to plays together.

The cabdriver’s eyes had rounded out and he winked at Langston through the rearview mirror.

Lawrence is a right nice place, the cabdriver said. My brother lives there and I visit him all the time.

Langston glared at the cabdriver. He wanted to tell him that what was a right nice place for a white man wasn’t necessarily the same for a Negro.

Do you still live in that house, Grandmother? Langston asked.

Grandmother Mary turned in the front seat and gazed at him, frowning.

I’ve lived in the same old house since your Grandfather Charles and I first moved to Lawrence from the farm in Lakeview, his grandmother said. What’s wrong with my house?

I thought the mortgage man might have took it already, Langston said.

Might have taken, Carolina corrected.

What on earth would make you think that? Grandmother Mary asked.

That’s all you talk about, Langston said. You’re always scared the mortgage man’s coming to get your house.

Grandmother Mary glanced at his mother, and the cab driver’s eyebrows rose in the mirror.

Don’t you worry about the mortgage man, Grandmother Mary said. He’s not getting that house as long as I’m alive.

The cab jerked to a stop in front of the Union Pacific Railroad Station. The driver turned in the seat and Carolina handed him some money. The man stepped out of the cab and opened the door for Grandmother Mary. Langston lifted the old, brown duffle bag from the seat beside him, opened the door, and slid to the ground. The duffle bag was light, as his possessions were few; two extra shirts, a spare pair of pants, some underclothing, an old coat, and a small bundle of books.

Carolina was out of the cab and talking with Grandmother Mary, to whom she handed an envelope. His grandmother opened her coat and pinned the envelope to the lining, so Langston knew that it contained money.

The cabdriver turned to Carolina. Can I drive you somewhere else?

No thank you, Carolina said. I’ll walk from here.

The cab roared away in a cloud of dust. As the air cleared, Langston, Carolina, and Grandmother Mary gazed at one another. He bit his lip to keep from crying.

All aboard! the conductor said.

I put sandwiches in the duffle bag in case you get hungry, Carolina said.

Langston swiped at his eyes, but it was too late to stop the tears that ran down his cheeks. Carolina got down on one knee and pulled him close.

Dry up those eyes, Langston, Carolina said. I promise we’ll be together again real soon.

Why do you have to keep changing jobs and moving away from me? Langston asked. I want us to be a real family?

His mother’s eyes closed momentarily, and then she opened them and looked up at Grandmother Mary.

We Langstons are plagued with the need to constantly seek more out of life for ourselves, his mother said. This curse is in your blood too, Langston. You just don’t know it yet.

CHAPTER 2

Sorry, ma’am, but you and the boy goin’ have to sit back to the Colored Section.

Langston’s head jerked around from looking out of the passenger car window. His Grandmother Mary stared straight ahead. The Colored porter standing over them was a dark man with deep wrinkles in his face, and he swayed with the motion of the train.

The porter pointed to the sign that was nailed up above their heads and grinned.

Guess you didn’t see the sign, the porter said.

Langston looked up and the sign read White Section Only.

No harm done, the porter said. Long as you get the boy moved before the conductor comes ‘round.

Grandmother Mary didn’t budge an inch nor did she look up at the sign.

The porter fidgeted, and then looked from Grandmother Mary to Langston.

I know a high-toned nigger child when I see one, ma’am, the porter said. The conductor will spot him right off ‘cause he got an eye for Coloreds. I’m just tryin’ to save y’all trouble.

We paid the same money as the white folks, Grandmother Mary said. My grandson and I aren’t moving.

The porter removed his cap and wiped at the sweat beading on his forehead.

Least make the boy go back where he belongs until the conductor collects the tickets, the porter said. He can come back when the conductor is gone.

Langston watched every twitch of his grandmother’s eye and every rise and fall of her chest. A hundred agitated butterflies seemed to tickle his innards with flapping wings. He felt responsible for whatever happened to his grandmother, but in spite of his concern, he dismissed all thoughts of moving back to the Colored Section. His grandmother would stop the train and get them off before she would allow him to move there.

A door opened at the front of the car and in walked a white man wearing a black conductor suit. The porter’s eyes widened and he pulled a red hanky out of his pocket and dabbed at the sweat running down his neck into the collar of his shirt.

Langston shot his grandmother another look.

She sat sphinxlike.

The porter slunk up the aisle toward the front of the White Section, passing the conductor on the way and casting fearful glances back at Langston and Grandmother Mary.

Finally, the conductor reached their seats.

Tickets please, the conductor said.