The Poisoned Crop

The Poisoned Crop

by

Ike Daamri

Copyright © by Ike Daamri

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

July 22, 1956

Goddamn Jew nigger lover! Those were the last words I heard before everything went black. It is only within the last two weeks that I have achieved some kind of coherent consciousness. Between the darkness and two weeks ago, everything was jumbled. I can speak, but only slowly. I am lucky I can walk and use my arms, but I will never play baseball again. The bullet entered the left side of my brain from the back and exited from the front. It did not hit the brain stem or the thalamus. Had it, I would have died – instantly.

I do not know where Sarah is. I have tried calling her. The operator says the number is disconnected. None of my friends or hers have any idea where she, her mother and sister went, but surely it was out of town. I do know that she was not shot, at least not at the same time I was.

Sarah and I broke the rules. What made us think that a white Jewish boy and Negro girl could go to the prom together and get away with it? Sure – this was the north, but we lived in the southern part of the state and once you cross the border and go over the river – well, you are in Dixie – northern Dixie to be sure – but still – it was The South – and we lived around a bunch of white trash hillbillies. How could we have expected to get away with it?

I think we just thought that in 1956, six years since the midpoint of the 20th century, it would not be such a big deal. It was a big deal.

I can remember certain things, but I have forgotten others. Actually, I remember that Sarah and I were together a lot at our usual spot in the park, but I remember very little about it.

I remember that Sarah and I were refused entry to the prom and were escorted out very forcefully. The next thing I can remember is being in R T. Thompson’s car with J.D. who was driving Sarah and her sister, Rosie. Then, the lights went out. That’s all I can remember.

I was told that the shooting took place right outside my home as I was trying to enter. Apparently, it was my parents who found me after they heard the shot. The police do not know who the perpetrator is. They have their suspicions, but the weapon was never found. We know there is a Ku Klux Klan in town and it is probably led by a man by the name of Austin Dudley. He is one of the persons that the police suspect had at least something to do with the shooting. They have searched his home and the home of his brother, Ernest, but they have found nothing conclusive – or so they say.

My parents worry about me. They do not chastise me for being involved with a gentile girl. They are simply thrilled that I have survived the shooting and with many of my faculties still intact. My speech is improving daily and I have begun to slowly walk the floor in this section of the hospital.

But Sarah – where is Sarah?

CHAPTER 1

Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit! You really do love that girl! When did you first meet her? Luke Nichols asked me some time just before the lights went out on me.

It was in the beginning of the summer of 1956 and I found it incredible to be having a serious conversation with this moronic hillbilly kid telling him how I first laid eyes upon what he frequently called that nigger girl.

Well, you know, Luke, I’m not exactly sure when I first saw her. It could have been in our sophomore year in some study hall class or then again, it could have been a year later in Junior English.

Did you notice how tall she was then man?

Oh yeah, I did.

Shit man, she’s so tall she could fall down and be halfway way home.

I don’t think so, Luke.

Oh, Joe, I don’t mean nothin' by it.

You better not.

Did you like her the first time you saw her?

In truth, while I did notice how stunning she was, I paid no particular attention to her because she was off limits to me. She was Negro and I was White and interracial dating was something unheard of in Tallop River Falls. It might as well have been considered a felony. Add to this the fact that I was Jewish and she gentile. This kind of interfaith dating was strictly frowned upon then and even more so in my family. My parents had this notion that as a Rabbi’s family, we had to set an example and as part of that example, I could not date gentiles. Go explain that to Luke and his other hillbilly buddies.

You know, Joe, I have a feeling I noticed her before you did. You know what I noticed about her?

What was that Luke?

I noticed this about her – the way she hung out mainly with the white kids.

Well, Luke that’s because she is one of the few Negro kids in the ‘College Bound’ track.

Yeah, they put the niggers and the hillbillies in that ‘Vocational Track.’ Nobody wants their kids with the niggers and the hillbillies. You know, that’s why there are two high schools in town. Did you know that, Joe?

I heard something to that effect.

Here’s what I heard. Sometime after World War II, a bunch of rich people living on the east side of town got together and had a meeting with the Board of Education. They said, ‘Let our kids not be held back anymore by the niggers and the hicks. Hell, we just fought a war and our kids deserve something better.’ That was the talk on the east side of Tallop River Falls. Then I heard that somebody or other said it would be a good idea to name a school after Mayor Sidrow’s son who was killed in Iwo Jima and that’s how you got Sidrow High School for those rich fuckers on the east side and Tallop River Falls High for the niggers and hillbillies on the west side of town. Of course, we got those rich kids from Sandusky Hills who also go to Tallop Rivers Falls High, but they are all in the ‘College Bound Track’.

I was actually surprised that Luke knew this much about the history of Tallop River Falls. All I knew was that some fellow by the name of Andrew Tallop was the first person to set foot in the area around the falls about 1787 and so he got the whole damn town named after him.

But then there’s you, Joe. ‘Joe the Jew.’ How come you don’t live on the east side with all those rich Jews?

I felt like taking the Coke bottle that I had in my hand and pouring it over Luke’s head.

In the first place, I don’t like being called ‘Joe the Jew’.

The only reason they call you that is because you are the only Jew in the school. But seriously, Joe, how come you live over here with us hillbillies?

I searched my brain. How was I ever going to explain the laws of Shabbat to Luke Nichols and the fact that some Jews drove on it but others didn’t?

Well, Luke, it’s like this. My father is a Rabbi.

Rabbi? Is that like a preacher?

Yeah, sort of. Because of that we don’t drive on the Jewish Sabbath which begins on Friday night and ends on Saturday night. Now, the Temple is here on the west side of town so we have to be able to walk to it and that’s why we live on this side of town.

Temple? Is that that big Jew church on the corner of River and Hamilton?

Well, it’s not called a church.

Well, what do you guys do there?

We pray.

Well then, it’s a church.

I sighed. Alright, Luke, have it your way.

I couldn’t get too angry at Luke. He came from a culture that encouraged ignorance and prejudice. The hillbillies, or the Appalachians as they should have been called, had come to Tallop River Falls because of an automobile plant which was a converted munitions plant established during the war and a television factory that was launched immediately after the war.

The Blacks, or as they were called then, the Negroes, had a much longer history in town. Tallop River Falls used to be one of the last stops of the Underground Railroad and many of the Negroes in town were descendants of those runaway slaves.

So, when did I meet Sarah? I can’t seem to remember the exact date, but I know it was early October of my senior year of high school. I was applying to NYU because they had a great creative writing program. I wanted to have some extracurricular activities to my name besides journalism and baseball so I decided to join the debate club.

On one very grey October afternoon, I walked in on the debate club and found myself sitting next to a very tall Negro girl by the name of Sarah Olsen. Before I knew it, Sarah and I were told that within two weeks we would be debating each other on the topic: Should More Highways Similar To The New State Turnpike Be Built Across The Country. I was to argue for the positive side of the project, while Sarah was to take the other side. One week later, the battle royal took place.

I argued that since the end of the war, business had been booming and there was a need for products and goods to be shipped faster and a longer distance than ever before. The railroads can’t handle it all and besides they have been running later and later these days. It’s time they got some competition.

My next argument was that it would eliminate so much traffic in the downtowns of every city in the state. Aren’t you tired of seeing all that traffic we’ve been having lately?

I had other arguments as well, but I wanted to save them for the rebuttal.

Now, it was Sarah’s turn. Without looking at me at all, she smiled at the audience and began. Good morning everyone. Instantly, the smile disappeared replaced by an almost petulant look.

My worthy opponent, Joseph – (she still hadn’t so much as glanced my way) – "rightly pointed out that with the increase in the need for shipping, the railroads have not been sufficient to handle the increase in transport. Well, does he not understand that what that means is that we need more money for the railroads so they can improve? That means they need to get more train cars out at more times. This will cost taxpayers a lot less than building massive new highways.

Traffic? Oh now, just think of the traffic that will pile up building new highways. First, in every city where these new highways will be crossing, just imagine all the detours that will occur. And once all these new highways are built, cities will be jammed with traffic because so many people will want to get on the highway wherever there is an entrance.

Now the petulance was gone and her countenance became a kind of wide eyed combination of kindness and almost amazement.

But here’s the most important reason that such super highways should not be built. Just take a look at what this turnpike is doing to our own city. It’s dividing it in half, the poor on one side and the rich on the other. It divides east and west as well as north and south. It will be almost like having four cities. Let’s not have the American people more divided than we are now. Let the American people be a united people! With that, the smile returned and Miss Sarah Olsen took her seat.

Damn, she was good. She could debate alright. I felt that I was up against a stronger foe than I had initially thought. She had her own unique presence which I found quite foreboding.

But I was sure she had fallen into a trap.

I began a bit sarcastically – another trick I employed to hide my bashfulness. I am so glad that Sarah Olsen is concerned about unity. What could bring greater unity to the American people than a highway system connecting North and South and East and West? Instead of it taking two weeks to drive from here to California, why it would only take a few days. Both were exaggerations, but I was making my point. I saw it in the nods of my fellow students and even Mrs. Kentwell’s. I felt much more confident now and the lump from the back of my throat melted.

Then I came in with the zinger. You all know that ten years ago, our fathers came back from a war. Now just a few years ago, we finished fighting the Communists in Korea. But we have been very lucky; both wars were fought on foreign soil. Suppose the Communists in Russia and Red China would invade us here on our own soil. We would need troops and supplies to get to the front quickly. A national highway system would be a necessity to get soldiers and war supplies quickly. Isn’t my opponent aware of that? I paused and then sternly looked at the audience and exclaimed loudly, "Good Americans would support a national highway system." I thought I had totally scored. I sat down with confidence and assurance.

My opponent arose and walked very slowly to the podium. There was no smile, there was no irritability. There was just a cold stare at me punctuated by a squint in her left eye. Then, looking away and now looking at the class, she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Can you believe this? My worthy opponent wants to fight another war and he thinks it’s going to happen right here on American soil. Did he ever hear of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans? Our navy could easily defend us and prevent any Communists from ever invading our shores and even if somehow they did, we could just as easily transport troops and supplies by train. And finally with an angry look at me she said, One can be a good American and support America’s railroads.

Sarah sat down. Mrs. Kentwell was now at the rostrum.

Alright class, we are not going decide who won the debate. I thought both sides did fairly well. Does anyone have any criticism of either debater? No one’s hands went up. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when Perry something or other blurted out, It seemed as if the two of them hated each other. They didn’t just argue their points. They seemed to be making fun of each other."

Well, Perry, I would have preferred had you raised your hand, but you do bring up an interesting point. I sensed some hostility as well. Did the two of you have some argument before you came in here today?

Mrs. Kentwell, Sarah responded very quietly, "I don’t even know this fella. But he was the one who started being sarcastic. "

Well, it doesn’t really matter who started it. Just keep in mind that it’s inappropriate. Think of it this way: We debate facts, not people. You know, as Joe Friday says, ‘Just the facts, Ma’am, just the facts.’ It is not a personal matter. It’s objective. I think after this is over today you two should talk and get to know each other a little bit.

Sarah and I walked out of the class together. OK, smart boy, you know you were the one that started being sarcastic. Now standing closer to her and looking up at her, I realized that she was even taller than I thought.

Hey, smart girl, I don’t even know what you are talking about!

Don’t you call me no girl! she snapped.

Don’t you call me no boy! Let me just ask you one question.

Alright, what is that?

When is the last time you saw a fighter plane land or a jet take off from railroad tracks?

And now, with a look of total insolence, she lashed out with, Oh brother! and began to walk away.

I’m not your brother.

Well, thank the good Lord for that! she shouted over her shoulder now walking away even more furiously.

And that was just the beginning.

CHAPTER 2

Jung called it synchronicity. It’s when different things occur at almost the same time and strangely because they are juxtaposed to take on greater meaning than they would have had if they had occurred separately.

On a Sunday morning some time after that awful debate, I came down for breakfast earlier than usual to find my father sitting at the table engrossed in the morning edition of the newspaper. When I sat down, he looked up at me and said, Joseph, I have something to ask you. I got a bit nervous because that statement could easily lead into a reprimand.

Joseph, do you know a young woman about your age by the name of Sarah Olsen?

Yes, I said cautiously. She is in two of my classes and she’s in the debate club. Why?

My father handed me the paper with a grave look on his face. On the first page of the Tallop River Falls Chronicle, the headline read: Negro Family Blames Police Department in Death of Husband, Father. The article below went on to say, The family of Bruce Olsen, arrested Tuesday morning on charges of theft from Steinman’s Jewelry Store, blamed the Tallop River Falls Police Department for denying Olsen, a diabetic, insulin. As a result of that lack of insulin, Olsen fell into a diabetic coma and died shortly thereafter. The article went on to say the family claimed that Olsen should never have been arrested in the first place for there was no evidence linking him to the theft at Steinman’s. It also named Henrietta Olsen, as the surviving wife, and Rose and Sarah Olsen, students at Tallop River Falls High School, as the surviving daughters. I handed the paper back to my father.

Some story, isn't it? my mother called from across the room at the stove.

Man, is it ever. I called back.

No white person would ever have been denied insulin, my father said.

Joseph, my father continued, "this morning I will be writing a letter to the newspaper protesting the police department's negligence - criminal negligence. I have already notified the Chronicle and they told me if I get the letter in today, it will appear in tomorrow's morning paper. I