Freedom Train Page 4

  WHOO! WHOO!

  Itried to remember what Ma said about staying away from Phillip Granger. So when I got to school, I just went straight into the classroom.

  Ronnie said, “Man, what happened to your head?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said.

  Phillip Granger strolled into the room, all tough and smirking. He looked straight at me and acted like he was swinging a bat.

  I acted like I didn’t even see him. ’Course I did.

  Miss Fowler looked up from grading papers. She saw my bandaged head. “Clyde, what on earth happened to you?” she said, sounding real concerned. She wasn’t good at holding a grudge, even if she was mean as a snake sometimes.

  “I fell,” I said.

  “Into a plank,” Phillip said under his breath.

  I didn’t even turn around. I didn’t want him to see my face turning red.

  “Well, you let me know if you need to go see the school nurse,” Miss Fowler said. “Class, this is our last day before the Christmas break. The next time I’ll see you is on January first when the Freedom Train arrives in Atlanta. So let’s practice and make sure we get this right. We want to make our school and town and parents proud, don’t we? Margo, you start.”

  Margo stood up. She had long blond hair and eyes as blue as the sky. Every boy in the room sat up and stared at her, including me. I don’t fancy girls much, but for some reason I liked looking at her.

  Margo cleared her throat. “We are here today in Atlanta, Georgia, to celebrate the Freedom Train on this day, January first and tomorrow, on January second, 1948. The Freedom Train was organized by the attorney general of the United States and endorsed by President Harry Truman. All good citizens want to see the Freedom Train.”

  Miss Fowler nodded. “Now, Phillip, tell us what the Freedom Train stands for.”

  Phillip stood up. He marched close to my chair and bumped me with his knee. He leaned over and said, “I’m gonna get you and whoever rocked me. Just you wait.”

  I looked at Miss Fowler to see if she’d seen him bump me or at least stop to talk to me. But she was talking to Margo.

  Phillip stood up front now, holding his paper. “The Freedom Train is a chance for all Americans to reflect on why they sacrificed during the Depression and World War Two. President Truman believes it is time for a rededication to the principles that founded our country.”

  I could feel anger boiling in me like a kettle on the stove. Why did Miss Fowler give him all the good parts? It wasn’t fair. Joyce Brookshire had said she wanted to have something important to say, but instead Miss Fowler assigned her to be one of the documents. But Joyce refused, and now she ain’t even in it at all.

  Margo continued, “No other nation has ever sent its most precious treasures and documents of freedom out for the people to view.”

  Phillip spoke again: “The Freedom Train has seven cars. A baggage car, three Pullmans, where the staff sleep, and three exhibit cars.”

  It weren’t right that Phillip got to tell ’bout the train. I should’ve been the one telling it. It was my brother that was guarding it. ’Course, it was my own stupid fault that now my only job was to help keep the documents straight when they got in line.

  “Very good! Very good,” Miss Fowler said. “You can go back to your seat, Phillip. Now, where are the documents?”

  This was the goofy part. Kids were dressed to look like the documents on the train. It looked pretty stupid to wear two pieces of cardboard tied over your shoulders on strings. I was glad I didn’t have to be a document. That was just plain embarrassing.

  But Miss Fowler loved them documents. She just smiled and smiled at ’em all.

  “I am the Declaration of Independence,” Sally Wentworth began.

  Phillip snickered in the back row. I turned around to give him the evil eye.

  At first I thought he was laughing at Sally. But then I saw his bony hand go up.

  Phillip always had some nasty suggestion to add to the documents’ performance so’s to make ’em feel bad. Like maybe they should wear something on their heads. Or maybe the documents should stand up straighter, more proud. He picked on the kids playing the documents near ’bout every day.

  Miss Fowler held her palm up for the next document to wait a minute. “Yes, Phillip?”

  Phillip put a serious look on his face, like whatever he was about to say was as important as any document on the train. “I was just thinking the documents could add a little ‘Whoo! Whoo!’ at the end, like the train’s whistle.”

  Two documents’ jaws dropped open. The Bill of Rights whispered, “Oh, no.”

  “Why, Phillip, that is a brilliant idea,” Miss Fowler said. “Thank you. Now, documents, please . . .”

  I wanted to shout out, “That’s just plain stupid, and Phillip Granger knows it. He just wants to see the kids act dumb.” But I didn’t say a word. I just stared into space, wishing that Phillip Granger didn’t exist. There weren’t no doubt in my mind that Phillip would pick on the documents and “Whoo! Whoo!” them to death for the rest of the year.

  Miss Fowler said, “Let’s continue, and this time, documents, add a little ‘Whoo! Whoo!’ at the end. Yes, I like that. It makes it more exciting.”

  No one said a thing.

  “Billy White,” Miss Fowler said, “go on. I believe it’s your turn next.”

  Billy was the tallest boy, and he always wore overalls that were so short they looked like he was expecting a flood. He walked up front, his cardboard flapping against his knees. He looked about as happy as a bear with his foot in a trap.

  “I am the Magna Carta,” Billy White muttered, pulling on his overalls. He gulped twice, his giant Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Whoo! Whoo!” he said, and quickly moved over for the next document.

  Miss Fowler said, “One more time, Billy. This time louder, and speak more clearly. And for heaven’s sake, put some excitement into your ‘Whoo! Whoo!’”

  Billy repeated, “I am the Magna Carta. Whoo! Whoo!” with about as much excitement as a snail on a log.

  Miss Fowler said, “Keep practicing when you get home.”

  The next document marched up front. “I am the Bill of Rights. Whoo! Whoo!”

  I could hear Phillip snickering. He was having a grand old time.

  “I am the Gettysburg Address. Whoo! Whoo!”

  “I am the U.S. Constitution. Whoo! Whoo!”

  “I am . . .”

  I stopped listening to the documents. There were 127 documents aboard the Freedom Train. But sure as shooting, fifteen people pretending to be them was too many. And now with them adding the “Whoo! Whoo!” it was even dumber and more annoying.

  Our school had been handpicked by the mayor of Atlanta to be a part of the celebration. We would be up there on the train platform with Mayor William B. Hartsfield himself.

  Miss Fowler reminded us every day that we all should be honored to meet Mayor Hartsfield in person. That’s the good part.

  Phillip looked over at me and smiled one of his fakey smiles. He began:

  “The Freedom Pledge

  I am an American. A free American. . . .”

  Phillip was talking like he meant what he was saying about being an American. But I knew better. At the end he gave a little bow. Miss Fowler clapped loudly. Some of the other kids, like BB, clapped too.

  I just sat there fuming. Why couldn’t I just recite the stupid pledge? Why was I so scared of speaking in front of people? Most of the kids in here I’d known my whole life. ’Course, there’d be a heap more people in Atlanta than there was here in class when it came time to really recite the pledge. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t do it.

  Now Margo, Phillip, and two other kids led the class in singing the Freedom Train song. They didn’t sound nothing like Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters. Miss Fowler should’ve let Joyce Brookshire sing it. Everybody knows she’s the best singer in our class.

  It didn’t matter none, though, ’cause once you heard that song, no matter who was singing it, the chorus stayed stuck in your head all day long.

  “Here comes the Freedom Train.

  You better hurry down,

  Just like a Paul Revere

  It’s comin’ into your hometown.”

  I bet the man who wrote that song, Irving Berlin, didn’t have no stage fright.

  THE THIRD WILLIAM

  When school let out that day for Christmas, we run outta there like a stampede in a cowboy movie. Boy, was we glad Jesus was born.

  Outside on the front steps Ronnie said, “I got something for you.”

  “What?” I said.

  “An early Christmas present.”

  “You gonna give it to me now?” I asked.

  “You need it now. Here,” he said, putting something hard and furry in my hand.

  I looked at it. It was a rabbit’s foot, a gray rabbit’s foot.

  “My pa got it for me to give to you, straight from the left-eyed man. It’ll bring you some luck. Lord knows you gonna need it.”

  “Will it keep Phillip Granger from jumping on me again?” I asked.

  “I heard he hit you with a plank. He been bragging about it.”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “You okay?”

  “I suppose. What’d he say ’bout it?”

  “Just that he knocked you out cold and got BB to throw Chester away.”

  My head shot up. “What?”

  “You didn’t know. Sorry. That’s why I decided not to wait till Christmas to give you your foot. Seems like you need it now.”

  “He—he—he h-h-hurt Chester?” I could feel tears coming up. I couldn’t cry. I just couldn’t. People was still walking past us on the steps.

  “I don’t think they hurt him. BB just said that Phillip made him throw your frog away. Truth was BB said Phillip’s scared of frogs. Wouldn’t even touch it.”

  I was so mad I thought the bandage might pop off my head. He had no call to bother Chester. I balled up my fists.

  “Here he comes. Let’s get out of here,” Ronnie said.

  “No, I ain’t gonna let him get away with hurting Chester.”

  “Come on. Don’t be stupid. You know you could probably beat Phillip, he’s nothing but a tall string-bean bully, but he ain’t gonna fight fair, man. Besides, you know BB, he ain’t no meany like Phillip. Jimmy Ray told me BB probably just sneaked and let Chester go. So come on.”

  I shook my head. Phillip Granger had gone too far. He done crossed the line this time.

  “Remember what Joseph told you ’bout fighting right. You said you wasn’t gonna fight no more.”

  “Well, Joseph ain’t here. Maybe he’s wrong about fighting.”

  “Hey, you,” Phillip Granger said. “Ready for your next whupping? Come on. I been looking for you.”

  A horn blew several times in a row. “Get out here, boy. I’m in a hurry,” Mr. Granger shouted. “Hurry up. You wasting my time.”

  “I’ll get you later,” Phillip said, hopping down the stairs, three steps at a time. Then he stopped and looked back at me. “Where’s your little froggy, Cl-yyy-yde?”

  “Boy, bring yourself on,” Mr. Granger yelled.

  “Show-off,” Ronnie said under his breath. “I told you it would work.”

  “What?”

  “Your lucky rabbit’s foot. Come on, let’s go home.”

  Me and Ronnie kicked a can back and forth as we walked. I told him about what had happened to me the day before . . . but I didn’t tell him about the colored man and his son, neither. “Can you help me look for Chester? BB could’ve left him at the roundhouse.”

  “Can’t. Wish I could, but can’t. Gotta be straight home from school to help my ma in the store. Pa’s out of town. You want to read the new Archie Comics? Pa just got it in. You can sneak and read it and bring it to me tomorrow before he gets back.”

  “Okay,” I said, knowing that was Ronnie’s way of trying to make me feel better. If his pa found out he’d let me read the comic without paying for it, he’d skin him alive. “I’ll walk you home to get it. I’ll look for Chester on my way back.”

  At Ronnie’s I stuffed the comic in my pants underneath my shirt so his ma wouldn’t see it. The comics cost ten cents and my ma would get me if she knew I spent money for ’em. She thought comics was bad for kids, just like the Salvation Army said.

  On the walk back home I slowed down when I got near the roundhouse. I could hear the colored men talking and working. I stopped to search for Chester under some bushes. Maybe BB didn’t hurt him. Maybe I’d find him lying underneath some leaves, resting like he likes to do in the daytime.

  “Pst. Pst.”

  When I heard it, my heart froze. I was too scared to even turn around. All my madness was gone from earlier, and I really didn’t know if I could win a fight with Phillip now.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I heard the voice say.

  I looked around. I didn’t see nobody. But some of the fear left me.

  “Over here. Walk ten steps right, six steps left, and duck down.”

  I did what the voice said.

  “Hey, I thought it was you.”

  The Third William stuck out his hand to shake. He had on some fancy black leather-looking gloves. I wondered if they were real leather. I noticed his clothes and shoes were fancy too. They looked a lot better than my Sunday clothes. He was squatting down. “I’m looking for your frog, what’s his name, Chester? What kind of frog is he?”

  I squatted down with him. I shook his hand. Whatever the gloves were made of, they were soft and smooth. It felt the same as shaking anybody’s hand other than that. I thought, What made me think it might feel different to shake his hand? “Thanks. I’m looking for him myself. He’s a barking tree frog.” Then I told the Third William what BB was supposed to have done, and then what he might’ve done, knowing BB.

  The Third William said, “Yes, when the tall boy started running away, the other boy dropped whatever he had in his hand over here, just before he ran off. Actually, I guessed it might have been your frog. That’s why I was looking for him under this clump of bushes. Frogs love damp places.”

  “I sure hope he is here,” I said, trying to sound out my words better. “How you know that? You like ’em too?”

  “I’m an amateur herpetologist.”

  He said it like everybody already knew what “herp-whatever” meant. If it hadn’t been for Principal Little, I wouldn’t know he was even talking about frogs.

  The Third William said, “If we don’t find him, I wouldn’t worry about him. Tree frogs are resilient.”

  I just shook my head. Again I didn’t know what he was talking about, “resil-” something or another. I couldn’t even figure I’d remember the word to look it up or ask anybody about it, since I ain’t never heard it before. I busied myself looking for Chester.

  There was a long silent time while we searched.

  Finally the Third William said, “You excited about getting your American Flyer?”

  I wanted to ask him why he talked so proper. But instead I just said, “Yep, been wanting it for a long time. It’s the best Christmas present in the world. You?”

  “Not really. I’m more excited about going to New York after Christmas. I love New York. My favorite spot is the Empire State Building.”

  I stopped moving around and stared at him. “You making that up?”

  “No. Why would I make that up?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose the only person I ever knew from around here went somewhere like that is my brother, Joseph.”

  “Well, I go to New York at least twice a year. This is the first time we’re going in the winter, though. My father has business there. What does your brother do?”

  “He’s one of the special chosen guards on the Freedom Train.”

  “You mean the train carrying the documents?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. I bet he’s seen a lot of people. I heard the lines have been as many as twenty blocks long. People have been standing in rain, snow, and ice to see the documents. My father told me that they aren’t allowing the train’s lines to be segregated. If that’s true, I’m going when it comes here. I heard that Mayor Hartsfield is not allowing segregated lines here in Atlanta, either.”

  I didn’t want to say I didn’t have a clue what he was going on ’bout, so I shook my head and shrugged. I went back to searching for Chester.

  “It’s getting dark. I’d better make my way home. Would you like to come to my house and play for a while?”

  I didn’t look up. I wanted to say yeah. Instead I didn’t say nothing. Just stared down at the ground. I didn’t know why, but it didn’t feel like I should go to his house.

  “Never mind,” he said, hopping up. He started walking away. “I’ll see you around.”

  I said, “Wait.”

  He turned around.

  “I—I’m sorry,” I said. “I just can’t go. I gotta go home.”

  He smiled. “It’s okay. Really. I understand.”

  “You understand what?” I asked him, ’cause for the life of me, I couldn’t understand. What was so wrong with me playing with him?

  He shrugged and kept walking.

  I said, “Hey.”

  He turned back again. I said, “Be careful. That boy Phillip Granger is mean as a snake.”

  He nodded and waved bye.

  I wanted to run after him and go home and play with his train. Honest, I did, but it was something holding my feet to the spot and shutting off the wind in my throat.

  I watched him until he was out of sight. Then I ran all the way home.

  I ate supper hardly saying a word. Then I went to bed. When Ma came in, I wanted to ask her why we never even talked to colored people. But I didn’t say nothin’ about it.

  After I’d said all the places Joseph had been and she left the room, I pulled out his letters. Two of ’em was about some colored men. I’d read about ’em, but I didn’t understand what Joseph was on about. These colored men were the porters that waited on them on the train. One was named E. B. Long, and even though he was only thirty years old, he was a veteran of the Eighth Air Force. Then there was P. J. Jackson, who was thirty too, and he was a veteran of the French and Belgian fronts, whatever that meant. Ernest Jackson was the oldest at thirty-two, he was a veteran of the India-Burma theater of war. I’d have to ask Joseph did he mean this guy was in the picture show?