WE ALL HAVE OUR WEAKNESSES AND WE ALL BEND A LITTLE WHEN A GREAT WIND BLOWS. MANY OF HAVE THE COMPLEX OR A LITTLE BIT OF THE COMPLEX, THAT AS NEGROES, WE MUST PUT OUR BEST FOOT FORWARD, IN FRONT OF THE WHITE MAN. ESPECIALLY IS THIS TRUE OF THESE FORTUNATE WHO HAVE BEEN SOMEWHAT CULTIVATED; THERE IS A TENDENCY TO WORRY ABOUT WHAT THE WHITE MAN WILL THINK OF US. WE HAVE TO FIGHT THIS TENDENCY IN ALL OF US. BECAUSE WE REALLY HAVE TO WORRY, AS WRITERS, PREACHERS, LAWYERS OR WHATEVER WE ARE, WE REALLY HAVE TO WORRY ONLY ABOUT WHAT THE BLACK MAN THINKS OF US. 

 

I LEARNED THIS, IN A VERY DRAMATIC WAY, BACK IN NINETEEN FORTY-EIGHT, FROM A CUTE LITTLE LOUISIANA WOMAN NAMED WILLOUGHBY. AND SHE HAD ALMOST NEVER BEEN TO SCHOOL. SHE WAS A FAST WOMAN WITH A PISTOL, BUT SHE CERTAINLY WAS NOT ONE OF OUR CULTURED COLORED LADIES…AND SHE LIVED ON THE EAST SIDE. 

 

WE WERE AT THE MOVIES, AT THE MILLION DOLLAR THEATER. SITTING UP IN THE BALCONY, TIGHTLY PACKED IN, SURROUNDED BY WHITE PEOPLE. WE WERE IN A SEA OF BUTTERMILK. WE COULD SMOKE UP THERE. SUDDENLY, IN THE FILM, I FORGET THE NAME, THE WHITE MAN HIT THE NEGRO WOMAN, AND WILLOUGHBY SCREAMED IN A LOUD ENOUGH VOICE, “M.F.” AND SHE DIDN’T USE THE INITIALS. 

 

I FELT THAT LITTLE CHILL COME OVER ME, WHEN SUDDENLY, SWEET WILLOUGHBY NOTICED A SETTLED AGED COLORED WOMAN, ALMOST HIDDEN, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF A WHITE MAN, AND WILLOUGHBY WITH CONSUMMATE COURTESY LEANED OVER TO HER AND SAID, “SCUSE ME M’AM.”