The streets were wet with rainwater—slick and dangerous to walk on—but we walked on them anyway. As we moved through Harlem, heading south, business owners held out whatever they could offer from their eateries.
Meat cooked on grills, sending smoky aromas into the sky. There were open-air cookouts, a family passing out pieces of catfish on plates, hush puppies in tiny cups.
Mr. Kirby had his door propped open, and he was dancing likea youth behind his grill, which he rarely took control of. Today was free sandwich day! The afternoon workers ran out trays of his world-famous fried chicken, along with sandwiches, and they offered cola bottles for a single penny. Even if every business in Harlem shut down, we’d fill ourselves up!
Vinny came ready to march, in a three-piece suit and a clean hat, like a musician at a swank Black-and-tan! He brought a new tuba with him, and as we took off, he played “The Memphis Blues.” The park drummers banged along to his tune. I’d never seen him as happy as he was with backup supporting his music and a crowd to jive along to it.
The tune formed an upbeat backing track to our advancement out of our neighborhood. Imagine my surprise when we found non-Colored immigrants coming out on their apartment balconies, screaming along with us, and clapping to the music!
One woman waved a flag with bold red, white, and blue stripes, marked with a single red star in a triangle. Another flag caught my attention—red, green, and white—and yet another, green with a gold harp symbol. These non-American flags fluttered above us like kites, dancing between our heads and the open sky, reminding me that this march was bigger than the Blue House, bigger than West Egg. What we were really fighting for was the idea that everyone—not just Negroes—deserved a fair chance.
We entered the business district, and all through the big city, cars honked, some with approval and some with frustration that we were blocking the roads.
The rowdier Blue boys veered into the sidewalks to do theirown thing, to make more noise, to be louder than the machines.
“Make way!” they screamed, and one boy started to bat down aWhites Onlysign. Some shop owners stopped what they were doing to come out and see what was happening to their neighbors’ business. If they had intolerant signs up, they went to take them down.
We’d only just gotten started when cops approached on horses in the distance. Two police cars blinked their lights, and together with the horses, they blocked the street up ahead, forming a menacing shadow against the skyline.
They began to advance. We pressed forward anyway as uncertain conversations broke out among us, everybody growing nervous of what could come next. The sound of hooves hitting the pavement grew louder, a thundering beat of impending doom that echoed the panic in my chest.
Then, a chant sprung out from the crowd, louder than anything. A one-man song.
“Stop the hate!” the man screamed, making everyone turn to look. “End the fear! Everyone is welcome here!”
I’d seen that man before—Megaphone Melvin! That’s what Uncle called him! His only job seemed to be standing by the corner of our house in his striped shirt and beret, performing poetry. But Megaphone Melvin, even without his megaphone, had the strongest voice among our troop. Today, he was a force to be reckoned with.
The crowd repeated his song, all together.“Stop the hate! End the fear! Everyone is welcome here!”
The police grew more urgent at the sounds. They parked their horses and dismounted, hands going to their waists, where they removed their sticks. As they walked toward us, I shrank back, wanting to retreat. But no one else was doing that, so I couldn’t either.
“Equal rights, every race!”Melvin screamed.“Abolish hate, put love in place!”
And I screamed it out in unison with everyone else, my voice adding a low register to a cry that swept the city like an ocean breeze.
As everyone continued forward, I shuffled through the crowd to find Daisy and Auntie Lorraine. So many people had joined us by then that I’d been separated from who I started with, and pretty soon, things could get bad.
Jay was still nearby. He called my name—“Nick!”—as I drifted away because I’d spotted Auntie Lorraine through the moving drapes of people passing by.
The cops ran into our crowd before I could reach her. The violence started instantly when one man snatched the sign out of my auntie’s hand and grabbed her with force by the wrist.
“No!” The sight shocked my system, paralyzing me right in the middle of foot traffic. Someone bumped into me, throwing my body into the chest of a cop.
This cop was so offended by our collision he grabbed me by the arms and threw me to the cobble. My chin smashed the curb.
“Don’t move!” he commanded.
The mist of the street’s fire hydrants seemed to rush throughmy eyes, causing tears to burst through my vision. The man put his knee in my back. My back arched up, forming cushion around the man’s knee, but my bones against the ground still felt like they’d snap at any minute.
“Get off him!” Jay screamed, and the pressure released.
The world was blurry as I gained my bearings. I turned over to find Jay pulling the policeman backward until the cop gained the advantage and threw Jay into the side of a car.
I used the curb to find my way up, not believing my eyes. Another cop swung his baton into the back of Jay’s head. The hit made his eyes rotate in their sockets.
“No!” I clambered for Jay as he fell sideways and hit the pavement.
The first cop intercepted me before I could reach him. He spun me around and pushed me to the side of the road. There, he slammed me on my stomach, harder this time.
