Excerpt from THE TALK
By Janice L. Liddell
Summary: The Talk is framed by the political issues that have faced African Americans over generations, from the Black Lives Matter Movement and its incessant protest against police violence against Black men and women to the rampant lynchings of Black men and women from generations ago. The focus is the upper middle class Black family, the Fuquas, who are caught in an historical prism of four generations and their respective attitudes, experiences, memories and re-memories. How do they come to terms with a traumatic past and appreciate the responsibility they have, both individually and collectively, to make a difference for the future.
MIRANDA
Granny was singing that song all the while I was combing her hair. I looked it up. It was sung by some man named Lead Belly in the 1940s. That’s a looong time ago. And then by a white man named Johnny Cash in 2002.The article said it was a judgment day song. Why is Granny singing something about judgment day? Isn’t that the day Jesus is suppose to come back and take us all to heaven.
MOM
So the Bible teaches.
GRANNY
“I tell you, on the day of judgment, people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be acquitted and by your words you will be condemned…” Matthew 12 verses 36 and 37.
QUINCY JR.
Don’t sound like a thing wrong with Granny’s memory.
BIG DADDY
She knows the bible backward and forward, son.
MIRANDA
But what does she mean by that verse, Big Daddy?
GRANNY
She speaks the words.
There’s a man going around, taking names, taking names
BIG DADDY
Mama. Miranda is asking what that song means? Can you tell her.
GRANNY
She looks at Miranda and speaks the words again with emphasis.
There’s a man going around taking names, taking names.
BIG DADDY
She was ok back in Dayton. She came to Dayton back in ‘48 when I was just a boy, so that was home and now she doesn’t seem to know where she is. I think she believes she’s back in Mississippi.
MIRANDA
Why does she keep singing that song? Who’s the man taking names?
BIG DADDY
They sang it at my Daddy’s funeral. I can remember that ol preacher singing that song with no music. Folks joined in and kept beat on the wooden floors. I remember it like it was yesterday.
He starts to sing it and keeps beat on the table.
There’s a man going around taking names, taking names
Granny looks at him joins in and they sing together
There’s a man going around taking names, taking names.
Well he took my daddy’s name
And he left my heart in pain
There’s a man going around taking names.
Granny hums the song. Big Daddy stops and touches her hand
Some say the man is Death just going around taking folks when it’s their time. And some say it’s white folks in the south going around taking the lives of Black folks much too soon.
MIRANDA
Is she singing about your Daddy then, Big Daddy?
BIG MAMA
Malcolm, you need to tell them what she singing about. It’s not quiet anymore. Everything has changed since we got here. Your Mama knows it. You don’t know, maybe Miranda is right. Maybe she’s seeing your Daddy. Maybe she’s planning her own journey. We don’t know.
Turns to Dad
But I can tell you, Quincy, she been singing that song morning and night for a week.
Turns back to Big Daddy
Malcolm, you need to tell this boy, tell this family what she singing about.
BIG DADDY
No! Mama didn’t talk about it and she don’t want me to. I can’t tell what she didn’t tell.
BIG MAMA
She wants you to tell the story. She’s doing it in the only way she can. Can’t you see that? After all, she’s 98, Malcolm.
DAD
What story, Mama? Daddy, what’s Mama talking about?
GRANNY
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names
There’s a man going around taking names
Everybody stops eating and just listens to the words.
Well, he took my Walter’s name
And he left my heart in pain
There’s a man going around taking names.
DAD
Tell us, Daddy!
He’s almost shouting
BIG DADDY
Pass some more of those pancakes. Those are some mighty good pancakes, Lil. Mighty good.
DAD
Voice still raised
Daddy, stop trying to deflect. I know you don’t like those pancakes. Stop trying to change the subject.
BIG MAMA
If you don’t tell it, Malcolm, I’m going to tell it.
BIG DADDY
Ain’t your place, woman. You don’t have a right to do that. If I don’t tell it, it don’t get told. (shouts) Can somebody just get me some doggone pancakes?
Quincy Jr. hurriedly goes to the kitchen and brings the platter of pancakes to Big daddy who takes two, puts them on his plate, cuts them up, puts syrup on them and begins to eat. Everybody is quiet while he completes his.
I tell you these are some of the best pancakes I ever tasted. You sure put your fingers in these pancakes, Lil.
GRANNY
Picks up a piece of bacon and bites it
This is some pitiful bacon. This cain’t be Walter’s bacon.
Looks slowly around at all the family.
Is this Thanksgiving day? Buck, Walter be ‘round here soon so y’all can slaughter that hog.
She points her fork at Quincy
He picked it out yes’tiddy. Oooh I just hate hog slaughtering time. All that blood, all that squealing. Enough to make you wanna puke. But it’s worth it I guess, huh Buck?
Looks at Quincy Jr
Walter gon’ slaughter that hog (points her fork at him) then you gon help him clean it up, salt it real good and start it in the smoke house. Walter, don’t like no turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. So he gon’ bring one of them hogs already smoked and that’s gon’ be Thanksgiving dinner. My Walter makes the best smoked ham, hocks and bacon in all ‘a Mississippi, don’t he, Buck.
Laughs and throws the bacon on the plate.
Naw, this ain’t none’a Walter’s bacon.
Speaks the words
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names
BIG MAMA
Sighs and glares at Big Daddy
Well, if you not going to tell it, then I’m going back to the apartment.
Shakes her head in exasperation
BIG DADDY
You think she gon stop singing even if I tell them. It’s not going to happen that way, Bess. Mama is someplace else now. And I don’t think she’s coming back to us. You might be right, Sugar Cube. She’s probably already with Daddy and Buck.
Puts some food on her fork and tries to help her eat.
Mama, eat the rest of your breakfast. You don’t want to waste food.—(To everybody) That always quiets her down. She has never liked wasting food. So she’ll stop now so she can eat. That should give us a break for a while. (he chuckles)
DAD
Angry
Ok, if no one is going to tell us what you all are talking about, I’d just as soon we finish eating and go back to whatever we were going to do today. No sense prolonging this.
QUINCY JR.
That means me getting ready for the March. I have an idea. Dad, you can drop me off and I can stay in Midtown with Winston. Mama I know he’ll be cool with me staying there.
MAMA
You must have really lost your mind. I will not be watching that mayhem on TV and you in Midtown. No sir. This settles it. You will not go to the march.
BIG DADDY
What March is this?
DAD
Some anger still in his voice
One of those Black Lives Matter marches.
BIG DADDY
And why y’all saying he can’t go?
DAD
Sighs heavily; has calmed down.
Mostly I guess it’s about transportation, but he doesn’t need to be out there getting all riled up over nothing.
BIG DADDY
Why you callin’ it nothing? Black Lives do Matter and I guess it’s up to this generation to make that clear to the world and especially clear to these crackers here.
DAD
Daddy, please don’t get him started.
Big Daddy waves him off.
What? I’m here trying to teach him how responsibility for one’s future is the key to success. The only way I could have four generations here on this plot of land is to take responsibility for what happens in my future and what happens to all of us. That’s important, you know.
BIG DADDY
Nobody said it wasn’t. Of course, it’s important but it sure don’t take the place of somebodyness. It’s important that we realize how much our Black Lives Matter. If we really understood that, nobody could hurt us and we wouldn’t hurt ourselves. If we only understood our somebodyness.
QUINCY JR.
That’s exactly what I told Dad just today.(looks at Dad) Isn’t that what I said? Remember, I said people in Black Lives Matter understand we are somebody. We’re on the same page with that, Big Daddy.
BIG DADDY
Quincy, you don’t remember when I took you to see Jesse Jackson when you were just a boy? Must’a been around 10 or so. I remember you goin around saying that speech over and over. Bad as Granny with her song. (chuckles) I don’t guess you remember. Dramatically says the words
I am Somebody
I may be be poor, but I am somebody
I may be on welfare, but I am somebody
I may be unskilled, but I am somebody
I am Black;
I am beautiful;
I am proud.
I must be respected
I must be protected
But he’d say each line and the crowd would repeat it. You know, like call and response, like in church. When I say a line, ya’ll repeat it like they did then.
DAD
Sighs heavily
Do we have to do this? Isn’t there enough going on around here already?
BIG DADDY
Yes, we need to say it. If you don’t want to Quincy, that’s fine. You said it enough when you were a kid. (laughs loudly)
Everyone repeats each line after him except Quincy Sr. He is conspicuous in his non-participaton—arms crossed. After the second or so line Miranda encourages Granny to join in and she does. Around the middle, Miranda shifts to her tablet.
I am Somebody
(response)
I may be poor, but I am somebody
(response)
I may be on welfare, but I am somebody
(response)
I may be unskilled, but I am somebody
(response)
I am Black;
(response)
I am beautiful;
(response)
I am proud.
(response)
I must be respected
(response)
I must be protected
(response)
Then he’d ask “What time is it?”
And the crowd would go wild. “Nation-time” (He shouts as though he is at a rally) and they’d repeat that about four or five times. Oowee. Those were some times!
MIRANDA
Looking at her tablet
Says here Jesse Jackson didn’t make up that poem. Says it was written in the 1950s by somebody right here in Atlanta.
She reads
“’I Am Somebody.’ is a poem written in the 1950s by Reverend William Holmes Borders, Sr. (1905-1993), Senior Pastor at Wheat Street Baptist Church and civil rights activist in Atlanta where he campaigned for civil rights and distinguished himself as a charismatic spokesperson for the city's poor and dispossessed. In 1971, a bold and unapologetically Pro-Life Jesse Jackson recited his version of the poem on Sesame Street to emphasize the individuality and significance of all people, regardless of size, appearance, race, or economic status.”
BIG DADDY
Well, I don’t know a thing about Rev. Borders and I didn’t see Jesse on no Sesame Street. Saw him in real life with my own eyes. (Beat) Me and Quincy both. It was wild. And everybody just ate it up; ate-it-up, I tell you. We were somebody then and we are somebody, now. Jesse Jackson knew it and obviously that Rev. Borders did, too. I’m just thinking this Black Lives Matter group is coming to do a job we didn’t finish.
GRANNY
Sings
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names…
BIG DADDY
Holds granny’s arm Mama, finish eating your breakfast. Lil is going to have to throw those good pancakes away if you don’t eat them. Beat Yeah, I’m telling you. We did some important work back then.
DAD
I don’t remember that. I don’t remember you doing much with me. Seems you were always working. That’s the only thing I remember--you going off to work for days, even gone on weekends. When did you do all this Black stuff, Dad?
BIG DADDY
You must be picking and choosing your memories, Boy. I did work a lot being a porter. I was away from home what must’a seemed like all the time. But I didn’t know any Black men that didn’t work a lot. Still, we did our share of movement work. I felt obliged to do it, given what happened….(beat) Mama, eat now.
DAD
Given what happened…? What happened? There you go, Dad. What is it?
BIG MAMA
I’m telling it, Malcolm. I swear I am. This is your last chance. I don’t care what you say about my right to tell it. They have a right to know and they need to know while Granny is still alive.
Silence for about five beats
BIG DADDY
(to Quincy) Never could shut your mama up, could I? (Laughs dryly) I can tell you I wish Mama could tell the story. I was little. I remember most of it but I don’t remember it like she does—or did. Mostly what I remember is what she told me.
Several beats as he plays with his food.
It was June, 1948 in Yallabusha County Mississippi. Times were so hard for Colored people. That’s what we were called back then. Life wasn’t much fit for living according to what Mama said. They had restrictions everywhere--signs on everything that told us who or what we were. Colored restrooms, colored water, back doors of restaurants, balconies of movie houses, you name it and they had someway to put us down—like we didn’t matter. Everywhere we went, we were reminded that we were nobody.
QUINCY JR.
Black Lives Matter, Big Daddy. Black Lives Matter!
BIG DADDY
Yes, boy. My Daddy told us everyday the sun rose that we might be Colored, but we were Somebody. Same thing Jesse said all them years later. Yep, Daddy was one Colored man who believed it. He didn’t take much off them white folks. Daddy was a farmer, a tenant farmer that smoked the best hams in all of Mississippi. You know what a tenant farmer is Jr.?
QUINCY JR.
Yes, sir. Same as a sharecropper.
BIG DADDY
Almost. Tenant farmer owned his own tools and his work animals, sometimes even owned his own house but could never own the land. So, ‘cause everything sat on Mr. Charlie’s land, Mr. Charlie tried to act like he owned everything, including the people. Almost like slavery.
DAD
I didn’t know your daddy was a tenant farmer. I thought he owned his own farm.
BIG DADDY
Guess that’s my fault. I just never could talk about those days. It’s still hard. But if I don’t tell it, Bessie already said she will and she don’t know it all. Only what I told her.
BIG MAMA
Well, I’ll tell what I know.
BIG DADDY
You don’t even know half the story. Big sigh Anyway, like I said, Daddy was a farmer on this white man’s land. I think his name was Granderson. Yeah, it was. Ol man Brady Granderson didn’t like my Daddy. You can guess why. Called him an uppity nigger more than once and I mean to his face. The last time he called him that, I was with him and my brother Buck—me, him and Buck. Buck was seven years older than me so he was pretty grown; I was only 12 years old and small for my age. I was a little younger than you, Miranda. Buck was just so much like my Daddy, you’d a thought they was brothers rather than father and son. Well, one morning we went over to Granderson’s farm to take him his rent and share of Daddy’s cotton. Mr. Granderson was fussing about something. I didn’t hear what they were fussin about cause I was playing with Mr. Granderson’s collie. The dog’s name was Bull and he was licking my hand. All of a sudden, I saw Mr. Granderson punch my Daddy in the face. My heart fell to my stomach cause I knew right off that Daddy couldn’t hit him back, but he did. Daddy punched him in the face just like Mr. Granderson had punched him.
BIG MAMA
You didn’t never tell me your Daddy hit Mr. Granderson. Oh, Lord. Now I know the meaning of that song.
BIG DADDY
Yep, I saw him hit him with my own eyes. And that scared me to death. But Daddy and Buck just turned around and walked off like nothing had happened. Both of them.My hand was in Bull’s mouth. He could’a bit it off and I barely would have noticed. When they walked past me, Daddy just reached out his hand and grabbed mine, the same hand that was just in Bull’s mouth. It was still wet, but Daddy didn’t act like he noticed.We rode back to our house in Daddy’s old truck and nobody said a word.
GRANNY
Sings
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names, taking names.
BIG DADDY
Yes, Mama. We know. And you know the story. I sure wish you could tell it.(laughs dryly)
MIRANDA
What happened, Big Daddy? Did your Daddy get in trouble?
BIG DADDY
When a colored man hit a white man in those days, only trouble could follow. Big trouble. Sighs heavily Ol Man Granderson and some of his folks came to our house that very night. They came that night just to scare us to death; making a whole lot of noise out in the yard. Shooting guns, screaming and hollering. Some were on horseback and some in trucks. I was so scared, I peed the bed and remember, I was 12. Buck slept on a pallet by my bed. It was only one bedroom in the house. Was really nothing more than a shack. Mama and Daddy slept on a bed in the front room. I heard Daddy when he got up and got his shot-gun. I was sure somebody was gon’ die that night. But nobody did. They burned a cross in our yard, but they left without hurting anybody.
I wish I could say the same for the next night. (2 beats)
DAD
Somebody died the next night. Who was it?
BIG DADDY
I can’t do it. I can’t tell nothing more. I just can’t.
BIG MAMA
Jr or Miranda, get your Big Daddy some ice water.
Quincy gets up, hurriedly goes to the kitchen and gets some cold water from the refrigerator and brings it to his grandfather. The room is quiet until he returns.
You want me to tell it, Honey.
BIG DADDY
Sips the water
Naw, Babe. I got it. It’s my duty. (Beat)
The next night they came back. They came raising all that hell again. But this time they came inside the house and got my daddy. We all pulled on him and begged them not to take him, but they just cussed and dragged him right on out. (he begins to cry) That was the last time we saw my Daddy alive.
Granny starts to cry loudly. Big Mama gets up to comfort her.
GRANNY
No longer singing the words; speaking them loudly, shaking her head.
They took my Walter’s name; took my Walter’s name.
Granny cries softly all the while Big Daddy tells the story.
BIG DADDY
(Sobbing gently) Yes, they did. They took my Daddy’s name. Mama said me and Buck needed to hide. She thought they’d come back and get us. We left and went to Mama’s sister over in Greenwood. Mama wouldn’t come. She wanted to be there when Daddy came home. She was sure he was coming back. Course, we didn’t know what happened to him--for three whole days, we didn’t know a thing. I think Mama lost about 10 pounds worrying about what they’d done to him. None of us could eat a thing or sleep. Then on the third day one of the neighbors cut him down and brought his body to us—at least took him home to Mama. Said they found him hanging in the woods between our farm and Ol Man Grandersons. (Sobs) They had lynched my Daddy. He was a nobody to them and they just got rid of him like he was a nothin’ and a nobody—like his life didn’t matter one bit. (Cries softly)
Angrily
Yeah, there was a man going around taking names, Mama.
Everyone is silent for two beats
DAD
Stunned My God. My Granddaddy was lynched. Oh. My. God. That’s something you read about in history books. It’s not something I have even thought about happening in my own family. I don’t even know what to say.
QUINCY JR.
My great granddaddy’s life didn’t matter. Not one little bit. Dad, that’s why I gotta march.
MAMA
Naw Baby. They lynching Black men in different ways now. You don’t need to be out there. You need to stay right on here with your family. I don’t know what to say, Malcolm.
MIRANDA
So what happened to you and your brother? How come we don’t know about him? You said he’s dead, too, Big Daddy. Did they kill him?
BIG DADDY
Yep, he’s dead too, sugar-cube. 2 beats But they didn’t get him. Buck lived and made it up north to Ohio before Mama and me got there. Buck died in the war fighting for the freedoms of other folks. Ain’t that a joke.
They would’a killed him right there in Yallabusha if they’d a got him. But we had a network that was about as much like the Underground Railroad as it could get.
On the day Daddy was buried, Granderson and his goons came looking for Buck, but they didn’t find him. They didn’t want me since I was a kid. But Mama kept me close to her anyway. Those kluxers went to the house and they went to the church, they even went to the cemetery but they didn’t find Buck. He was with us though. He was with us all the way.
Laughs almost sinisterly
The undertaker was a good friend of Daddy’s and he was glad to help us out. He picked up Buck from my Aintee’s house and then hid him. He had a big pretty horse drawn hearse that carried Daddy’s casket and right under the section where the casket went was a space that was big enough for a man. We guessed he used this space a lot to help folks out, but we didn’t ask. It was best not to know too much about the workings of the Underground Railroad. Anyway, that’s how they got Buck to the funeral then outta Yallobusha. We never did find out exactly how it was done. We never asked nobody. The next thing we knew, Mama was getting a telegram from Uncle Brad in Dayton saying he was sorry he didn’t make the funeral. Except we didn’t have no Uncle Brad in Dayton, so Mama knew it was Buck letting us know he was safe.
The room exhales—a collective emission of emotion
QUINCY JR.
Wow, Big Daddy. That sounds just like the Underground Railroad, like Harriet Tubman helping the slaves get free. Soon as they crossed the Ohio River and made it to Cincinnati they were free. I didn’t know we had all this in our own family. Did you, Dad?
DAD
I am sitting here stunned. No, I never heard any of this, none of it. Why? Why didn’t you ever tell me about this? Why didn’t Granny tell me?
BIG DADDY
I know Son. I never thought it was fair for you not to know, but your grandmother made me promise that it would stop the moment we stepped foot in Dayton. She said we were not to mention anything about this history, not to ourselves or to anybody else. Mama said she didn’t want that history to hang around our neck like an ugly horrible weight. She didn’t want us bound to it. We never said another word about it.
Turns to Granny
You wanted us to start off free, didn’t you Mama.
GRANNY
Reaches toward him.
I know what happened to Walter. You remember what happened to my Walter?
She starts to cry louder
BIG DADDY
I know, Mama.
He scoots his chair closer to her and holds her.
DAD
But Mama knew the story, Daddy. You told, Mama. Why did you tell her?
BIG MAMA
You think he could carry all that into a marriage without sharing it. Naw, he couldn’t have done that. Whatever weight he was carrying, I was gon carry it with him and vice versa. I never thought he should’a kept that from you—or any of his kin for that matter. I ALWAYS thought it was a story that needed to be told.
Glares at Big Daddy
This is the first I’m hearing ALL of it. Still it wasn’t up to me to tell it. It was up to your Daddy and your grandmother. If it had been my family story, it would’a been one everybody knew.
BIG DADDY
Blows his nose on his napkin. That’s how I thought about it, but Mama was the one to decide. I just did what she wanted. I think she wants something different now. I think you’re right, Bess, she wants us to know the story.
GRANNY
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names
There’s a man going around taking names
Well he took my Walter’s name
And he left my heart in pain
There’s a man going around taking names.
By Janice L. Liddell
Summary: The Talk is framed by the political issues that have faced African Americans over generations, from the Black Lives Matter Movement and its incessant protest against police violence against Black men and women to the rampant lynchings of Black men and women from generations ago. The focus is the upper middle class Black family, the Fuquas, who are caught in an historical prism of four generations and their respective attitudes, experiences, memories and re-memories. How do they come to terms with a traumatic past and appreciate the responsibility they have, both individually and collectively, to make a difference for the future.
MIRANDA
Granny was singing that song all the while I was combing her hair. I looked it up. It was sung by some man named Lead Belly in the 1940s. That’s a looong time ago. And then by a white man named Johnny Cash in 2002.The article said it was a judgment day song. Why is Granny singing something about judgment day? Isn’t that the day Jesus is suppose to come back and take us all to heaven.
MOM
So the Bible teaches.
GRANNY
“I tell you, on the day of judgment, people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be acquitted and by your words you will be condemned…” Matthew 12 verses 36 and 37.
QUINCY JR.
Don’t sound like a thing wrong with Granny’s memory.
BIG DADDY
She knows the bible backward and forward, son.
MIRANDA
But what does she mean by that verse, Big Daddy?
GRANNY
She speaks the words.
There’s a man going around, taking names, taking names
BIG DADDY
Mama. Miranda is asking what that song means? Can you tell her.
GRANNY
She looks at Miranda and speaks the words again with emphasis.
There’s a man going around taking names, taking names.
BIG DADDY
She was ok back in Dayton. She came to Dayton back in ‘48 when I was just a boy, so that was home and now she doesn’t seem to know where she is. I think she believes she’s back in Mississippi.
MIRANDA
Why does she keep singing that song? Who’s the man taking names?
BIG DADDY
They sang it at my Daddy’s funeral. I can remember that ol preacher singing that song with no music. Folks joined in and kept beat on the wooden floors. I remember it like it was yesterday.
He starts to sing it and keeps beat on the table.
There’s a man going around taking names, taking names
Granny looks at him joins in and they sing together
There’s a man going around taking names, taking names.
Well he took my daddy’s name
And he left my heart in pain
There’s a man going around taking names.
Granny hums the song. Big Daddy stops and touches her hand
Some say the man is Death just going around taking folks when it’s their time. And some say it’s white folks in the south going around taking the lives of Black folks much too soon.
MIRANDA
Is she singing about your Daddy then, Big Daddy?
BIG MAMA
Malcolm, you need to tell them what she singing about. It’s not quiet anymore. Everything has changed since we got here. Your Mama knows it. You don’t know, maybe Miranda is right. Maybe she’s seeing your Daddy. Maybe she’s planning her own journey. We don’t know.
Turns to Dad
But I can tell you, Quincy, she been singing that song morning and night for a week.
Turns back to Big Daddy
Malcolm, you need to tell this boy, tell this family what she singing about.
BIG DADDY
No! Mama didn’t talk about it and she don’t want me to. I can’t tell what she didn’t tell.
BIG MAMA
She wants you to tell the story. She’s doing it in the only way she can. Can’t you see that? After all, she’s 98, Malcolm.
DAD
What story, Mama? Daddy, what’s Mama talking about?
GRANNY
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names
There’s a man going around taking names
Everybody stops eating and just listens to the words.
Well, he took my Walter’s name
And he left my heart in pain
There’s a man going around taking names.
DAD
Tell us, Daddy!
He’s almost shouting
BIG DADDY
Pass some more of those pancakes. Those are some mighty good pancakes, Lil. Mighty good.
DAD
Voice still raised
Daddy, stop trying to deflect. I know you don’t like those pancakes. Stop trying to change the subject.
BIG MAMA
If you don’t tell it, Malcolm, I’m going to tell it.
BIG DADDY
Ain’t your place, woman. You don’t have a right to do that. If I don’t tell it, it don’t get told. (shouts) Can somebody just get me some doggone pancakes?
Quincy Jr. hurriedly goes to the kitchen and brings the platter of pancakes to Big daddy who takes two, puts them on his plate, cuts them up, puts syrup on them and begins to eat. Everybody is quiet while he completes his.
I tell you these are some of the best pancakes I ever tasted. You sure put your fingers in these pancakes, Lil.
GRANNY
Picks up a piece of bacon and bites it
This is some pitiful bacon. This cain’t be Walter’s bacon.
Looks slowly around at all the family.
Is this Thanksgiving day? Buck, Walter be ‘round here soon so y’all can slaughter that hog.
She points her fork at Quincy
He picked it out yes’tiddy. Oooh I just hate hog slaughtering time. All that blood, all that squealing. Enough to make you wanna puke. But it’s worth it I guess, huh Buck?
Looks at Quincy Jr
Walter gon’ slaughter that hog (points her fork at him) then you gon help him clean it up, salt it real good and start it in the smoke house. Walter, don’t like no turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. So he gon’ bring one of them hogs already smoked and that’s gon’ be Thanksgiving dinner. My Walter makes the best smoked ham, hocks and bacon in all ‘a Mississippi, don’t he, Buck.
Laughs and throws the bacon on the plate.
Naw, this ain’t none’a Walter’s bacon.
Speaks the words
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names
BIG MAMA
Sighs and glares at Big Daddy
Well, if you not going to tell it, then I’m going back to the apartment.
Shakes her head in exasperation
BIG DADDY
You think she gon stop singing even if I tell them. It’s not going to happen that way, Bess. Mama is someplace else now. And I don’t think she’s coming back to us. You might be right, Sugar Cube. She’s probably already with Daddy and Buck.
Puts some food on her fork and tries to help her eat.
Mama, eat the rest of your breakfast. You don’t want to waste food.—(To everybody) That always quiets her down. She has never liked wasting food. So she’ll stop now so she can eat. That should give us a break for a while. (he chuckles)
DAD
Angry
Ok, if no one is going to tell us what you all are talking about, I’d just as soon we finish eating and go back to whatever we were going to do today. No sense prolonging this.
QUINCY JR.
That means me getting ready for the March. I have an idea. Dad, you can drop me off and I can stay in Midtown with Winston. Mama I know he’ll be cool with me staying there.
MAMA
You must have really lost your mind. I will not be watching that mayhem on TV and you in Midtown. No sir. This settles it. You will not go to the march.
BIG DADDY
What March is this?
DAD
Some anger still in his voice
One of those Black Lives Matter marches.
BIG DADDY
And why y’all saying he can’t go?
DAD
Sighs heavily; has calmed down.
Mostly I guess it’s about transportation, but he doesn’t need to be out there getting all riled up over nothing.
BIG DADDY
Why you callin’ it nothing? Black Lives do Matter and I guess it’s up to this generation to make that clear to the world and especially clear to these crackers here.
DAD
Daddy, please don’t get him started.
Big Daddy waves him off.
What? I’m here trying to teach him how responsibility for one’s future is the key to success. The only way I could have four generations here on this plot of land is to take responsibility for what happens in my future and what happens to all of us. That’s important, you know.
BIG DADDY
Nobody said it wasn’t. Of course, it’s important but it sure don’t take the place of somebodyness. It’s important that we realize how much our Black Lives Matter. If we really understood that, nobody could hurt us and we wouldn’t hurt ourselves. If we only understood our somebodyness.
QUINCY JR.
That’s exactly what I told Dad just today.(looks at Dad) Isn’t that what I said? Remember, I said people in Black Lives Matter understand we are somebody. We’re on the same page with that, Big Daddy.
BIG DADDY
Quincy, you don’t remember when I took you to see Jesse Jackson when you were just a boy? Must’a been around 10 or so. I remember you goin around saying that speech over and over. Bad as Granny with her song. (chuckles) I don’t guess you remember. Dramatically says the words
I am Somebody
I may be be poor, but I am somebody
I may be on welfare, but I am somebody
I may be unskilled, but I am somebody
I am Black;
I am beautiful;
I am proud.
I must be respected
I must be protected
But he’d say each line and the crowd would repeat it. You know, like call and response, like in church. When I say a line, ya’ll repeat it like they did then.
DAD
Sighs heavily
Do we have to do this? Isn’t there enough going on around here already?
BIG DADDY
Yes, we need to say it. If you don’t want to Quincy, that’s fine. You said it enough when you were a kid. (laughs loudly)
Everyone repeats each line after him except Quincy Sr. He is conspicuous in his non-participaton—arms crossed. After the second or so line Miranda encourages Granny to join in and she does. Around the middle, Miranda shifts to her tablet.
I am Somebody
(response)
I may be poor, but I am somebody
(response)
I may be on welfare, but I am somebody
(response)
I may be unskilled, but I am somebody
(response)
I am Black;
(response)
I am beautiful;
(response)
I am proud.
(response)
I must be respected
(response)
I must be protected
(response)
Then he’d ask “What time is it?”
And the crowd would go wild. “Nation-time” (He shouts as though he is at a rally) and they’d repeat that about four or five times. Oowee. Those were some times!
MIRANDA
Looking at her tablet
Says here Jesse Jackson didn’t make up that poem. Says it was written in the 1950s by somebody right here in Atlanta.
She reads
“’I Am Somebody.’ is a poem written in the 1950s by Reverend William Holmes Borders, Sr. (1905-1993), Senior Pastor at Wheat Street Baptist Church and civil rights activist in Atlanta where he campaigned for civil rights and distinguished himself as a charismatic spokesperson for the city's poor and dispossessed. In 1971, a bold and unapologetically Pro-Life Jesse Jackson recited his version of the poem on Sesame Street to emphasize the individuality and significance of all people, regardless of size, appearance, race, or economic status.”
BIG DADDY
Well, I don’t know a thing about Rev. Borders and I didn’t see Jesse on no Sesame Street. Saw him in real life with my own eyes. (Beat) Me and Quincy both. It was wild. And everybody just ate it up; ate-it-up, I tell you. We were somebody then and we are somebody, now. Jesse Jackson knew it and obviously that Rev. Borders did, too. I’m just thinking this Black Lives Matter group is coming to do a job we didn’t finish.
GRANNY
Sings
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names…
BIG DADDY
Holds granny’s arm Mama, finish eating your breakfast. Lil is going to have to throw those good pancakes away if you don’t eat them. Beat Yeah, I’m telling you. We did some important work back then.
DAD
I don’t remember that. I don’t remember you doing much with me. Seems you were always working. That’s the only thing I remember--you going off to work for days, even gone on weekends. When did you do all this Black stuff, Dad?
BIG DADDY
You must be picking and choosing your memories, Boy. I did work a lot being a porter. I was away from home what must’a seemed like all the time. But I didn’t know any Black men that didn’t work a lot. Still, we did our share of movement work. I felt obliged to do it, given what happened….(beat) Mama, eat now.
DAD
Given what happened…? What happened? There you go, Dad. What is it?
BIG MAMA
I’m telling it, Malcolm. I swear I am. This is your last chance. I don’t care what you say about my right to tell it. They have a right to know and they need to know while Granny is still alive.
Silence for about five beats
BIG DADDY
(to Quincy) Never could shut your mama up, could I? (Laughs dryly) I can tell you I wish Mama could tell the story. I was little. I remember most of it but I don’t remember it like she does—or did. Mostly what I remember is what she told me.
Several beats as he plays with his food.
It was June, 1948 in Yallabusha County Mississippi. Times were so hard for Colored people. That’s what we were called back then. Life wasn’t much fit for living according to what Mama said. They had restrictions everywhere--signs on everything that told us who or what we were. Colored restrooms, colored water, back doors of restaurants, balconies of movie houses, you name it and they had someway to put us down—like we didn’t matter. Everywhere we went, we were reminded that we were nobody.
QUINCY JR.
Black Lives Matter, Big Daddy. Black Lives Matter!
BIG DADDY
Yes, boy. My Daddy told us everyday the sun rose that we might be Colored, but we were Somebody. Same thing Jesse said all them years later. Yep, Daddy was one Colored man who believed it. He didn’t take much off them white folks. Daddy was a farmer, a tenant farmer that smoked the best hams in all of Mississippi. You know what a tenant farmer is Jr.?
QUINCY JR.
Yes, sir. Same as a sharecropper.
BIG DADDY
Almost. Tenant farmer owned his own tools and his work animals, sometimes even owned his own house but could never own the land. So, ‘cause everything sat on Mr. Charlie’s land, Mr. Charlie tried to act like he owned everything, including the people. Almost like slavery.
DAD
I didn’t know your daddy was a tenant farmer. I thought he owned his own farm.
BIG DADDY
Guess that’s my fault. I just never could talk about those days. It’s still hard. But if I don’t tell it, Bessie already said she will and she don’t know it all. Only what I told her.
BIG MAMA
Well, I’ll tell what I know.
BIG DADDY
You don’t even know half the story. Big sigh Anyway, like I said, Daddy was a farmer on this white man’s land. I think his name was Granderson. Yeah, it was. Ol man Brady Granderson didn’t like my Daddy. You can guess why. Called him an uppity nigger more than once and I mean to his face. The last time he called him that, I was with him and my brother Buck—me, him and Buck. Buck was seven years older than me so he was pretty grown; I was only 12 years old and small for my age. I was a little younger than you, Miranda. Buck was just so much like my Daddy, you’d a thought they was brothers rather than father and son. Well, one morning we went over to Granderson’s farm to take him his rent and share of Daddy’s cotton. Mr. Granderson was fussing about something. I didn’t hear what they were fussin about cause I was playing with Mr. Granderson’s collie. The dog’s name was Bull and he was licking my hand. All of a sudden, I saw Mr. Granderson punch my Daddy in the face. My heart fell to my stomach cause I knew right off that Daddy couldn’t hit him back, but he did. Daddy punched him in the face just like Mr. Granderson had punched him.
BIG MAMA
You didn’t never tell me your Daddy hit Mr. Granderson. Oh, Lord. Now I know the meaning of that song.
BIG DADDY
Yep, I saw him hit him with my own eyes. And that scared me to death. But Daddy and Buck just turned around and walked off like nothing had happened. Both of them.My hand was in Bull’s mouth. He could’a bit it off and I barely would have noticed. When they walked past me, Daddy just reached out his hand and grabbed mine, the same hand that was just in Bull’s mouth. It was still wet, but Daddy didn’t act like he noticed.We rode back to our house in Daddy’s old truck and nobody said a word.
GRANNY
Sings
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names, taking names.
BIG DADDY
Yes, Mama. We know. And you know the story. I sure wish you could tell it.(laughs dryly)
MIRANDA
What happened, Big Daddy? Did your Daddy get in trouble?
BIG DADDY
When a colored man hit a white man in those days, only trouble could follow. Big trouble. Sighs heavily Ol Man Granderson and some of his folks came to our house that very night. They came that night just to scare us to death; making a whole lot of noise out in the yard. Shooting guns, screaming and hollering. Some were on horseback and some in trucks. I was so scared, I peed the bed and remember, I was 12. Buck slept on a pallet by my bed. It was only one bedroom in the house. Was really nothing more than a shack. Mama and Daddy slept on a bed in the front room. I heard Daddy when he got up and got his shot-gun. I was sure somebody was gon’ die that night. But nobody did. They burned a cross in our yard, but they left without hurting anybody.
I wish I could say the same for the next night. (2 beats)
DAD
Somebody died the next night. Who was it?
BIG DADDY
I can’t do it. I can’t tell nothing more. I just can’t.
BIG MAMA
Jr or Miranda, get your Big Daddy some ice water.
Quincy gets up, hurriedly goes to the kitchen and gets some cold water from the refrigerator and brings it to his grandfather. The room is quiet until he returns.
You want me to tell it, Honey.
BIG DADDY
Sips the water
Naw, Babe. I got it. It’s my duty. (Beat)
The next night they came back. They came raising all that hell again. But this time they came inside the house and got my daddy. We all pulled on him and begged them not to take him, but they just cussed and dragged him right on out. (he begins to cry) That was the last time we saw my Daddy alive.
Granny starts to cry loudly. Big Mama gets up to comfort her.
GRANNY
No longer singing the words; speaking them loudly, shaking her head.
They took my Walter’s name; took my Walter’s name.
Granny cries softly all the while Big Daddy tells the story.
BIG DADDY
(Sobbing gently) Yes, they did. They took my Daddy’s name. Mama said me and Buck needed to hide. She thought they’d come back and get us. We left and went to Mama’s sister over in Greenwood. Mama wouldn’t come. She wanted to be there when Daddy came home. She was sure he was coming back. Course, we didn’t know what happened to him--for three whole days, we didn’t know a thing. I think Mama lost about 10 pounds worrying about what they’d done to him. None of us could eat a thing or sleep. Then on the third day one of the neighbors cut him down and brought his body to us—at least took him home to Mama. Said they found him hanging in the woods between our farm and Ol Man Grandersons. (Sobs) They had lynched my Daddy. He was a nobody to them and they just got rid of him like he was a nothin’ and a nobody—like his life didn’t matter one bit. (Cries softly)
Angrily
Yeah, there was a man going around taking names, Mama.
Everyone is silent for two beats
DAD
Stunned My God. My Granddaddy was lynched. Oh. My. God. That’s something you read about in history books. It’s not something I have even thought about happening in my own family. I don’t even know what to say.
QUINCY JR.
My great granddaddy’s life didn’t matter. Not one little bit. Dad, that’s why I gotta march.
MAMA
Naw Baby. They lynching Black men in different ways now. You don’t need to be out there. You need to stay right on here with your family. I don’t know what to say, Malcolm.
MIRANDA
So what happened to you and your brother? How come we don’t know about him? You said he’s dead, too, Big Daddy. Did they kill him?
BIG DADDY
Yep, he’s dead too, sugar-cube. 2 beats But they didn’t get him. Buck lived and made it up north to Ohio before Mama and me got there. Buck died in the war fighting for the freedoms of other folks. Ain’t that a joke.
They would’a killed him right there in Yallabusha if they’d a got him. But we had a network that was about as much like the Underground Railroad as it could get.
On the day Daddy was buried, Granderson and his goons came looking for Buck, but they didn’t find him. They didn’t want me since I was a kid. But Mama kept me close to her anyway. Those kluxers went to the house and they went to the church, they even went to the cemetery but they didn’t find Buck. He was with us though. He was with us all the way.
Laughs almost sinisterly
The undertaker was a good friend of Daddy’s and he was glad to help us out. He picked up Buck from my Aintee’s house and then hid him. He had a big pretty horse drawn hearse that carried Daddy’s casket and right under the section where the casket went was a space that was big enough for a man. We guessed he used this space a lot to help folks out, but we didn’t ask. It was best not to know too much about the workings of the Underground Railroad. Anyway, that’s how they got Buck to the funeral then outta Yallobusha. We never did find out exactly how it was done. We never asked nobody. The next thing we knew, Mama was getting a telegram from Uncle Brad in Dayton saying he was sorry he didn’t make the funeral. Except we didn’t have no Uncle Brad in Dayton, so Mama knew it was Buck letting us know he was safe.
The room exhales—a collective emission of emotion
QUINCY JR.
Wow, Big Daddy. That sounds just like the Underground Railroad, like Harriet Tubman helping the slaves get free. Soon as they crossed the Ohio River and made it to Cincinnati they were free. I didn’t know we had all this in our own family. Did you, Dad?
DAD
I am sitting here stunned. No, I never heard any of this, none of it. Why? Why didn’t you ever tell me about this? Why didn’t Granny tell me?
BIG DADDY
I know Son. I never thought it was fair for you not to know, but your grandmother made me promise that it would stop the moment we stepped foot in Dayton. She said we were not to mention anything about this history, not to ourselves or to anybody else. Mama said she didn’t want that history to hang around our neck like an ugly horrible weight. She didn’t want us bound to it. We never said another word about it.
Turns to Granny
You wanted us to start off free, didn’t you Mama.
GRANNY
Reaches toward him.
I know what happened to Walter. You remember what happened to my Walter?
She starts to cry louder
BIG DADDY
I know, Mama.
He scoots his chair closer to her and holds her.
DAD
But Mama knew the story, Daddy. You told, Mama. Why did you tell her?
BIG MAMA
You think he could carry all that into a marriage without sharing it. Naw, he couldn’t have done that. Whatever weight he was carrying, I was gon carry it with him and vice versa. I never thought he should’a kept that from you—or any of his kin for that matter. I ALWAYS thought it was a story that needed to be told.
Glares at Big Daddy
This is the first I’m hearing ALL of it. Still it wasn’t up to me to tell it. It was up to your Daddy and your grandmother. If it had been my family story, it would’a been one everybody knew.
BIG DADDY
Blows his nose on his napkin. That’s how I thought about it, but Mama was the one to decide. I just did what she wanted. I think she wants something different now. I think you’re right, Bess, she wants us to know the story.
GRANNY
There’s a man going around, Lord, taking names
There’s a man going around taking names
Well he took my Walter’s name
And he left my heart in pain
There’s a man going around taking names.
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