“We’ve come a long way. But there is still much work to be done. A celebratory dinner will be provided at five p.m. Enjoy this moment in history.”
Once the lieutenant and Sergeant Marshall left the library, the men roared. A few beat the table with their fists.
“We need to go out tonight and celebrate,” said Thornton. “Shiiit. This is the real deal.”
“My grandfather told me stories about his time in the army in World War One. Segregation was so bad that he wasn’t even given a pistol to fight with. All he could do was clean up, cook, and be caddy to the white man. Now we get to be equals. I need to have a drink for him.” Morgan scratched his chin and headed toward the crowd of men talking loudly and making plans. When he returned, he said, “Sounds like there’s a club that will welcome us. Down next to the footbridge.”
“I’m in like Flynn,” Thornton said. “Philips, you down to roll?”
Ozzie reveled. He was serving his country at an age that would go down in history. This was what he had volunteered for, to make a difference. To show people what the Negro man could do once given the chance. With the military now desegregated, the dream of securing that position in Intelligence seemed a little more within reach.
“Yeah, count me in.”
“Man, I’m about to boogie with like three, four gals all at the same time,” Thornton bragged.
“Ain’t no woman going to be studying you. They’ll be too busy checking me out.” Morgan popped his collar.
“Watch me work.”
“Fool, you can’t even dance!”
“What you talking about? I move these feet like I’ma Nicholas brother.”
Ozzie and Morgan laughed, which only egged Thornton on. “They performed at my local juke in Mississippi once, and I memorized all their flash dances. I came to show you.” He hiked his pants and tapped his toes.
The men taunted and teased each other until they reached the club with the blinking neon sign. When they walked into the bar area, there were already a handful of Negro soldiers Ozzie didn’t know, sitting at the counter, chatting with ivory-skinned women. Even though he had heard that German women would be at the bar, Ozzie was caught off guard by the way the ladies smiled in the soldiers’ faces. There were other women sitting in pairs at tables, and their gaze roamed over Ozzie and his friends, pleading for an invitation to dance. Ozzie scanned the L-shaped room but didn’t see any white men anywhere. He scratched his head at this new world that he had entered.
“A far cry from America,” Thornton said, putting Ozzie’s thoughts into words. “But I heard the local clubs do all they can to keep us separated from the white soldiers.”
“How?”
“By the music they play. Tonight, it’s blues.”
“Well, first round’s on me,” Thornton said. “What will it be?”
Morgan ordered a whiskey, Ozzie a club soda.
“Don’t you want something in it?” Thornton looked at him, perplexed.
Ozzie felt a little itch in the back of his throat, but he ignored it. “Naw, just the soda.” He intended to keep good on his promise to his mother. The bar smelled of beer and roasted nuts. The swing jazz playing sounded familiar, and it furthered Ozzie’s good mood.
“I’m going to ask one of those wallflowers over there to dance,” said Morgan, pushing out his chest.
“I’m coming too.” Thornton stood.
Morgan turned. “Philips, you getting in the game?”
“You go ahead. I’ll watch the table.”
The club had swelled, and as the music snapped up-tempo, the Negro men stepped to the German women like ducks on June bugs. Laughter and movement suggested that everyone was having a good time. Ozzie drank his club soda and sucked on ice cubes ashe observed his new friends leading the ladies onto the dance floor. Watching Thornton gyrate and Morgan sway made Ozzie wonder what Rita was doing up at Lincoln. Had she replaced him with a college boy in a Greek sweatshirt? What he wouldn’t give to kiss her on the lips at that moment. Share the news of the military desegregating and his renewed sense that his future was bright. He craved the sound of her voice in his ear and replayed their time in the basement again. He had expected to receive a letter from her by now, but he had not.
Suddenly, Ozzie felt a burst of cool air and caught the sounds of rumbling voices. They got louder and louder, and he stood to see what was causing the commotion. He spotted six sour-faced white men with buzz cuts who looked annoyed to have wandered in on the wrong night.
“What the hell?” The hot-faced, burly leader’s words slurred in a way that suggested he was drunk and not opposed to starting a ruckus. He pounded his fist on the bar. “Shut this party down now,” he said to the bartender. “These niggers are in violation. I don’t care what you think Truman signed. Ain’t nothing change around here.”
“Please. No trouble,” pleaded the mustached man, wide-eyed behind the bar.
Ozzie looked to Morgan and then Thornton, who both stood in front of their partners with their feet spread apart and hands wide at their waist. The three exchanged a knowing look that said,If these guys make a move, we are on them like stink on shit.Ozzie inched closer to the burly man disrupting the scene. Ozzie couldn’t stand racist bullies, but what he despised even more was being disrespected in front of women. It was why he had sucker-punched Harold, and why he hadn’t taken his eye off the troublemaker from the moment he had stepped foot inside the bar.
