At 4:15 p.m., February 27, 2017, the day after President Donald Trump initiated the ban on Muslims traveling from seven primarily Muslim nations. Timothy “Tank” Henson stomps into the Millwood Tavern, the sixty-year-old watering hole favored by mill workers, loggers, and railroad workers. He ignores the greetings of the eight customers and Herman McCoy, the bartender and Tavern owner.
He fails to make his usual tired jokes about the “M” being burned out in the neon “Millwood Tavern” sign. Tank marches to his ‘reserve’ table in the corner against the back wall. “Get the fuck up from my motherfuckin table.”
Rudy Sapkowski looks up from his newspaper startled and stunned by the tone and temper of the words from his best friend for over thirty years. “Tank, what happened? You OK? Somebody hurt?”
“Get your ass up, you dumb ass Pollack. Up motherfucker! You banned from my table. That table is for freedom fighters, not alt-right racists. No fuckin fascist Trump voters allowed at my table.”
Rudy, all six-foot-two two-hundred-ten pounds of him surges up from his seat red in the face, eyes squinted, fist balled.
Tank, seven-years-older, two inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter steps back and motions for Rudy to come at him. “Bring it! You and your Klu Klux Clown Republican Party. Come on motherfucker.”
Herman’s out from behind the bar and rushing to the conflict with his “peace keeper” Louisville Slugger as Rudy flips the table over and out of his way as he advances on Tank.
“I vote who I please. You need to leave me to my business old man.”
Herman steps between them. “Hold on now. Just a goddam minute. Kill each other if you want, but not in my place. Take that shit outside.”
Tank grins at Rudy. “I got your ‘old man’ swinging between my legs.” Tank grabs his crotch. “I should have vetted your lily-white ass better. Get your racist, Pollack behind away from my table.”
“Racist? Who you callin a fuckin racist? You and Harriet Godparents to my girls. Bella and I Godparents to your boys. Your son married my daughter. For fuck sake! How am I a racist?”
Herman turns to Tank. “You two are like brothers. Better than brothers – friends, the best of friends. You should— “
“Don’t tell me what I should do Herm. Don’t do that. Eighty percent of the county voted for that racist, molesting, lying motherfucker. Shit! You probably voted for him too.” Tank turns to the other customers. “All you racist motherfuckers can kiss my black ass.”
“Tank, I voted for Trump to make a change, to upset the apple cart. To get the mill open. To get the rail yard back here. I ain’t no fuckin racist. My granddaughter’s part black. How the fuck am I a racist?”
Herman shakes his head in disgust. “Come on, Tank. You and Harriet, God rest her soul, helped build this town. You with the union and the mill. Her on the school board and a town Commissioner. You two were, like, the heart and soul of this place. Voting for Trump’s not a vote against you and yours. It’s not.”
It’s Tank’s turn to shake his head in disbelief. “You ain’t that goddamn dumb. None of you motherfuckers that stupid. Trump played the race card from day one with that birther shit. Did you forget that? Or maybe you missed his take me back to the good old days when a nigger was a nigger and a faggot a faggot and women were property. That’s Trump’s new politically correct shit. Did you miss that? Did it skip over your head? You ain’t that fuckin dumb.”
Rudy raises his hand in protest. “I don’t agree with all of what Trump stands for— “
Tank cuts him off. “He’s a racist and molester of women. A fuckin pathological liar. A dangerous, self-centered, ignorant asshole. A business cheat and antiunion to boot. You, you racist motherfuckers’ balance all that against an empty, pathetic promise to bring back the good old days? A promise to put the white man back on his pedestal. That’s racism pure and simple.”
Rudy responds in a serious more moderate tone. “I don’t see that. I honestly believe Trump’s what this country needs right now.”
Tank looks around the Tavern and back at Rudy. “Fuck it! If you can’t see that fuck you. Fuck you all.” Tank gives the customers the finger as he strides to the door. Tank stops, turns, and addressed the men in the bar. “Which one of you simple-minded fucks would trust Trump alone with your daughters? Which one of you would want him around your wife? Yeah, I see the answer on your faces. Fuck you all to hell and back!”
* * *
At 8:30 p.m., Douglass Henson graces the Millwood Tavern, an increasingly rare appearance since the birth of his twin daughters six weeks ago.
“Yo, bro, where’s your ball and chain?”
“Shit, look at the rash around his neck from his collar, I bet.”
“No, he has one of them ankle monitors.”
“Leona got your ass on a short leash.”
“You poor pussy whipped fool.”
“Herm, pour Doug one, on me – in a paper cup – I doubt if he have enough time to finish a whole drink.”
Douglass holds up his hands to acknowledge the comments. “Hey, knock it off. You all know who calls the shots in my house. I come and go as I damn well, please. Hey, but please don’t tell Leona I said that.”
Herman laughs and pours Douglass a whiskey. “Your old man was in here earlier raising a ruckus about the election. He needs to get over it and— “
They’re interrupted by shouted greetings to Jenna Sapkowski as she and two companions enter the Tavern.
“There’s a doctor in the house!”
“Doctor Jenna, could you get me a prescription for some of those little blue pills.”
“Doc, I got unemployment, arthritis, diabetes, and I’m way behind on my mortgage payments. You got a prescription for that?”
“I need some pot. Jenna, write me a prescription, OK?”
Douglass opens his arms wide to embrace Jenna as she rushes to greet him. He picks her up and swings her around. They stand with their arms around each other as Jenna responds to the customers’ comments.
“Roy, I make house calls not bar calls. George, you don’t need those pills as long as you have a good strong right hand. Mildred, I can only treat the symptoms. Your next drink is on me. Shit, Billy Bob, I was just about to ask you to get me some pot – like you used to. Listen up. I would like to introduce my friends Dr. Kelly Hargrave, MD and Richard Swanson, my special friend.” The crowd gives the two visitors a hearty hello.
The quartet moves to Tank Henson’s table.
Jenna squeezes Douglass’s hand as she does the introductions. “OK, Rich, Kelly this is my big brother, my god brother. He has been my friend, confidant, advocate, and inspiration for as long as I can remember.”
Douglass smiles at Richard and Dr. Hargrave. “Jenna’s special to us all, our bright and shining star that will be opening her first practice here. We have not had a doctor in Millwood in what? Ten Years?”
Dr. Hargrave, a thin woman with sharp features, glasses, and reddish-hair, gives Douglass a bright as sunshine smile as she shakes his hand. “We just met Leona and your kids. You have a wonderful family. I was thrilled to meet them.”
Richard, dark-haired, ruggedly handsome with a stubble beard and keen eyes gives Douglass a sturdy handshake. “I finally get to meet you. I hope I pass your inspection. Jenna’s special to me too.”
Dr. Hargrave is a neurologist that’s in Millwood not just to meet her friend’s family, but to do an informal evaluation of Leona Henson for Jenna. Dr. Hargrave’s diagnosis is consistent with the family doctor’s diagnosis of moderate to severe postpartum depression. Her prescription’s dramatically different from Leona’s treating physician’s reliance on pharmaceutical based treatments. “Leona needs a break and a change of perspective somewhere warm with blue skies for at least three days, alone if Leona wants to go alone or with you if she so desires. However, I believe at least a few days she should be alone.”
Douglass looks at Dr. Hargrave with admiration, “Doc, I like your style. I have been thinking about a change in perspective. ”
Jenna adds, “Douglass, I have some money saved. The tickets will be on me and— “
“Thanks, but I think we’ll find a way, but I know you got our back.”
Richard takes Jenna’s hand in his. “Douglass, you don’t know me, but believe me, I’ve got your back too.”
Douglass grins as he turns to Richard. “Oh, if you with Jenna I count you as one of us.”
Jenna laughs, “Oh, he’s almost a member of the family.” Jenna turns to Dr. Hargrave. “Kelly, tell Douglass what you observed when we visited Pa Pa.”
Dr. Hargrave pauses, puts on a serious face. “Your father’s having some serious neurological/psychological difficulties. I recommend he undergo a through physical and mental evaluation. I strongly urge you to pursue this as soon as possible.”
Jenna releases Richard’s hand to take Douglass’s, “We were talking to him, and he just froze with his beer bottle halfway to his mouth. He was just staring off into space, like, for a minute. And he didn’t remember the break, but it took about a minute for him to remember who we were and why we were there. He didn’t recognize me for about fifteen seconds. Douglass, that was so frightening.”
Douglass suddenly looks exhausted, overwhelmed, and sad. “He takes a moment to collect himself. The other three exchanged concerned looks. “Dad, Dad’s suffering from self-delusion, and heartache, he got the ‘Disappointment Blues.’ He, I don’t know if you doctors got a cure or even a treatment for that.”
Jenna cradles Douglass’s hands in hers. “Disappointment Blues?”
“God sister, you got to understand Mom and Dad made their lives here in this town. They were the only blacks here when they arrived here in the mid-fifties. Their car broke down here. They found work here. They were accepted here, for the most part. They made a life here.”
Jenna smiles as she remembers. “Pa Pa says they were teenagers in lust and love and full of themselves and ready to take on the world. I wish I could have met them then.”
Dr. Hargrave adds, “I saw the pictures of them at your father’s. They were indeed full of life, energy, and promise. A lovely, dynamic couple.”
Douglass smiles at Dr. Hargrave. “Thanks, Doc. This was a white town that needed their skills and energy. Dad was a blacksmith by trade, but he was an engineer at heart. He loved to see how things worked, what forces were at work from levers to motors.”
Richard leans toward Douglass, “He said he was a millwright, carpenter, and ‘devisor of devices and processes.’”
Douglass laughs. “Yeah, he was all of that. Yes, he was.” Douglass pauses for a moment. “They took a risk staying here. They took a bigger risk raising black kids in an all-white town.”
“What was that risk, Douglass? You seem so much a part of Millwood.” Dr. Hargrave steeples her long fingers as she pauses. “You seem fully integrated here.”
Douglass’s voice becomes deeper and somber. “Black people have survived white American by being a community, by having common understandings of race and the nature of whiteness. When we lose that sense of community, we are vulnerable. We get lost. We get lynched. We self-destruct like my brother, Satchel.”
Jenna blinks and looks shocked as she responds to Douglass. “But you’re family. My family. We’re your community.”
Douglass smiles at Jenna. “Yes, you are, but you are my white family. And the essence of whiteness is that you’re not black. That puts us, black people, in our place. We’re something less than you. And whenever push comes to shove most of you are going want to keep being white at any cost to us.”
The table’s silent for a moment. Richard finally speaks. “Is that what’s making your father ill?”
“No. What’s making my father ill is the fact that he forgot that basic truth about whites in this country. He fooled himself into believing that whites had accepted him and his family as fellow human beings of equal standing. The election corrected his delusional thinking.”
Dr. Hargrave dons her serious face and voice. “You sound angry, sad and a little cynical.”
“You have a good ear Doc. Trump’s banned Muslim’s from entering the country even when they have legal rights to do so. He’ll impose his own form of martial law on black people, and his supporters, ninety-nine percent white will happily support him.”
“Douglass, millions of white people have opposed Trump and his immigration bans. Many, many whites voted against him. Brother, I think you’re being unfair.”
“Jenna, when you and your husband or Richard and Dr. Hargrave live in an all-black community and raise your families there I will believe that white racism is on the wane. Until then, my family needs to be part of a black community if I want to improve our chance of survival in the USA no matter whose president.”
Douglass stands and gives Jenna a kiss on the cheek and nods at Richard and Dr. Hargrave before he turns and leaves the Tavern without a backward glance.
* * *
At 10:01 p.m. Douglass is at home with his wife, Leona.
“Vallejo? Where the hell’s that? Is that even in California?” Leona sighs as Douglass massages her feet. “Doug, this is our home. I don’t want to leave my family.”
“I know, but— “
“Is this about Pa Pa and Dad? You know those two will be back drinking, talking trash, and betting on the ball games in a few days. You— “
“I want our kids to grow up in a community with other colored people and whites. They need to have that kind of socialization and survival skills.”
“I’m not willing to do that, honey. We have history, family, and opportunity, well, maybe not a lot of opportunities, but things are going to change and— “
“Why do you think’s things are going to change?”
“I know Trump’s a despicable, racist, sexist, idiot, but if he can bring back jobs— “
“When he brings back jobs I’ll raise the dead and walk on water. Leona, if he brings back jobs, he’ll bring them back to California too, OK?”
“Don’t take that tone of voice with me. Oh, shit! The twins. My nipples are so sore. I can’t— “
“I got them. Sit there. I’ll fix— “
“No formula. I’m not that kind of mother. Bring them to me. Shit!”
“Leona, I’ll take care of them. Relax, please.”
“How can I relax with that racket?”
As Douglass starts to leave the room, Leona adds, “If we had family in California, you know… it might be different, you know?”
“You’ll have family in California. My Dad will be leaving in the morning for Vallejo. He’s going to meet Satchel out there.”
“What? Why? When did all this happen? Satchel’s an addict, a user and… Douglass, what’s going on? Has everyone gone crazy? Douglass! Please. Answer me. Help me understand? This is all, all too weird.”
Douglass, sighs, shrugs, speaks harshly. “My father, my brother, our kids, me and you need to be in a safer place when the shit hits the fan, when the rednecks go on the warpath. Rockcastle, County’s not that place. It never was.”
“Doug, this is our home. This is a good place. A good place to raise a family. There are good people here.”
“Yeah, but it’s not a good place for us. I all ways knew it. Trump just reaffirmed it.”
“I think you’re overreacting. We don’t have to move now. Give it a chance. Doug, will you give it a chance? Will you give it a year?”
Her questions echo in the room as Douglass leaves the room to pick up the twins.
* * *
Three months later Douglass and his family join Tank and Satchel in Vallejo, California.
About the same time as Jenna opens her practice in Millwood and Richard graduated from law school and accepts a Special Agent position with the FBI.
Dr. Hargrave joined a clinic in predominantly black and perpetually poverty-stricken, Issaquena County, Mississippi. She lives in a rented house in the white section of Mayersville, the County seat.
During the month of their arrival in Vallejo “Impeachment” is the most popular word searched on the internet in the USA.
Three months after the arrival of the Hensons in Vallejo “Impeachment” is the most popular word searched on the internet worldwide.
# # #
Frederick K. Foote, Jr. was born in Sacramento, California and educated in Vienna, Virginia and northern California. He started writing short stories and poetry in 2013. He has published over one-hundred-fifty stories, and poems including literary, science fiction, fables and horror genres and a collection of his short stories, For the Sake of Soul was published in October 2015 by Blue Nile Press. Another collection of short stories, Crossroads Encounter, was published on May 5, 2016, by Choose the Sword Press. To see a list of Frederick’s publications go to: https://fkfoote.wordpress.com/
Photo credit: Dirk Dreyer www.dreyerpictures.com
Beautifully written, I felt echoes of part of my past. As a western woman, educated and outspoken, I found myself in North Central Arkansas in 1997, (moved there, was a mistake), and encountered bias like I’d never felt in my entire life. I was not “safe”. While I am white, I might have been from another planet. If I smacked up against that, I can only try to imagine what it must be like for people of other races, ethnicity or color. Thank you for your writing.