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| ISBN-13: | 9781491855010 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 03/03/2014 |
| Pages: | 182 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.42(d) |
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How Strong IS YOUR Love
By HORACE ARMOUR SR.
AuthorHouse LLC
Copyright © 2014 Horace Armour, Sr.All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4918-5501-0
CHAPTER 1
GROWING UP
Hi there.
I bet you are wondering who I am. Sometimes I wonder about that myself. Who am I? Just another human being who found himself entering into the web of life. I know where the exit to this web can be found. Am I ready for it? And what lies on the other side of the door? The answer to that question is, Hell yes, I'm ready. Before we dismember this web and walk through the door together, I must explain some things, such as the names of the people that I will be dealing with. They are not the real names, but the times and places are true.
I will not be using a lot of ten-thousand-dollar words to express myself. It will be the everyday English as it was spoken back in the day.
Somewhere down the line, I might be able to muster up some five-dollar or twenty-five-dollar words. I like to keep this as real as possible. Before we start down this road together, why don't you get yourself a cup of coffee, tea, or something that you enjoy? Hell, take off your shoes and stay awhile.
My name is Horace Armour. I was born in Detroit, Michigan, in the 1930s. We were a large family of ten in all, but there were only seven of us alive. I never knew who my two sisters and one brother were. In those days, things were hell. I got things from the Good Fellows. For those of you who were around about that time, you know just where I'm coming from. Gas was twenty-five cents a gallon. The movies were just ten cents. We would stoke the stove at night to keep the house warm.
Let's move on. I do not wish to think or talk about this. To a lot of folks, those were the dark days, and it just might bring back some pain about soup and bread lines, times of severe economic depression. If those of you who were born at a later time would like to understand what it was like back in the day, just ask your grandfather who worked for the WPA or received training from the CCC camps. I can kind of see things now, like when the First Lady looked at Franklin D. and asked him, "Honey, what's wrong with this picture?"
I was brought up on the northern side of Detroit, but mostly on the Russell side. This was the cut-off line. In 1941, my mother moved us to the east side of town. I attended Moore School. I was a good student, not getting into any trouble, because in those days, fighting in school was like stealing a chicken in Georgia—if you were black, that is. You understood that you were going to "get it." The teachers would jack you up in school for acting out in class. Today, the teachers can't jack you up. In some schools, if the teacher looks cross-eyed at the students, they catch hell from Mom, Pops, and the principal. Yes! The po-po (police) would be kicking the teacher's door down, asking that person, "What kind of fool are you for looking at your students that way?"
For you folks who lived back then, you knew what was waiting for you when you got home from school. You received an ass-beat-down from your mother, not from your dad, because Mom was the sheriff in town (in my family, that's how it went). My mom used to make me go out in the backyard and cut my own switch for the beat-down. "Please don't come back with one of those switches that the rats would laugh at and say, 'Fool, are you crazy? Hell, I can do better than that.'"
When I tell my sons, grandsons, and even my great-grandkids about this, they say, "Could your teachers really jack you up in school, and when you got home, you got a beat-down by your mom because you showed your ass in school?" Now please don't get in a fight with another boy, and he beats your ass. Well, you just got some more ass-whipping. Four in all. One from that boy, one from the teacher, one from Mom when you get home, and your big brother beats you because you lost the fight.
I'm sure that as you read this, someone might be saying, "Wow, this guy must have had a hard childhood." Even if I had to take a bath in one of those big tubs that folks in Chicago barbeque in, let me clear up something. My childhood was good. Even if my growing up as in the dark days of America, it was good. We might not have had the world by the tail, but back then we had one thing that I feel is missing in a lot of American families today. We had love. We had a bond. And most of all, thank God, we had togetherness. To all of those fathers, mothers, and grandmothers who were born back in the day, you know just what love, bonding, and togetherness meant to a family. (Thank you for being there for us.)
I could fill many pages up with two things. First, I could give you baby boomers some history lessons that you won't find in the books, so please, please don't run down to the library trying to check out the missing pages of history on Detroit. It's not there. You can only find this info from those who lived it. The early race riot? Where it took place? What the old folks used to call Snake Isle because there were so many snakes there? Later they called this place Hog Isle. They would bring the hogs there and let them run wild to kill off the snakes. Today it's called Belle Isle. The race riot took place there. I was only a kid at that time. And the hell that it played on the city. The purple game. Who ran the east side of town?
There were some good places there, like down on Hasting, Woodward Avenue, the Fox Theater, but that one good hot spot just down the street from the Fox? The place of bliss. The paradise, where you could find people like Illinois Jacquet, Terry Gibbs the Duke, Lionel Hampton, Count, Ella, George Sharing, and Mr. Earl Garner. These were some of the greatest names in jazz, along with those great rhythm and blues players. B.B. King, Peg Leg Bates, Ruth Brown herself, the one and only. I'm talking about Ms. Dianna Washington. The queen of the Blues.
Then on the other side of town, Westminster, where you could find corned beef that would melt in your mouth and make you think you were eating the last supper. Then there was Oakland with the Boot Black Parlor. It was a place where you went to get a shoe shine, and those guys would be talking a mess of trash. The down-home blues would be kicking in the background. The rib shack was across the street. The old men at the smoke shop playing checkers. I could tell you more stories about the city of Detroit that no history book has in it.
On Friday night, I would get my head fried. I would sit in the kitchen. My sister would run the hot comb through my hair, or I would go down to Riddell (my other sister's place) on Dexter, and she would hook me up. I would put on a stocking cap at night when I went to bed because I didn't want to mess up my do.
Now, down on East Euclid, my neighborhood, the weekend was out of sight. Starting on Friday nights, let me run this down to you. The good sisters from church, along with Mom, would have a house party and sell dinners. Not just any old kind of dinners. There would be fish dinners. I'm talking about cat, cod, buffalo, and with coleslaw or potato salad, hush-puppies, pork-n-beans Oh ya!
Now on Saturday? That was something else. They would cook up that Southern fried chicken, greens that would melt in your mouth, yams, corn bread. Oh hell yes! That drop-dead peach cobbler. The lip-smacking, mouth watering ribs, potato salad, pork-n-beans, and a slice of that three-layer pineapple cake. If I didn't know better, I would say that some of them folks even came out of the woodwork just to get some of that drop-dead cobbler and heavenly pineapple cake.
Second: I could fill many pages up with bullshit. I could go out into the backyard and open that can with the blue top (the garbage can) and fill up other pages of this book, and then I would not be true to myself and to all of the other folks just like me. Those folks who want to climb up to the mountain top and say to the world, "Yes, I love this woman," or say, "Hell yes, I love her."
But we won't do it because of society. Now ain't that a bitch. Maybe we will go along with wild Bill? You all remember the policy that he came up with in Washington, DC? "Don't ask, and don't tell," and if you don't ask me, then I won't tell you. How strong my love is. There are a hundred years in a century. I lived for over three-quarters of those years and have been deeply in love with this other woman for over fifty-five of those years.
There is just one thing that I must let you in on. I'm what one might call "the seventh son." Some of you may have read the overview of the legend and mythology of the seventh son by Global Psychics. The seventh son's importance stems from the scarcity of the number 7. One ultimately roots in the seven islands of Atlantis and the seven seas of humanity. The legend, although mentioned in special detail through many books of the Old and New Testaments of the King James version of the Bible, predates to the dawn of time in all philosophies and cultures of the world.
That's a part of who I am.
CHAPTER 2RUNNING AWAY
I should have been finished with this story long before now, but you see, I was lazy, young, wild, married with a family, and still in love with that other woman. I didn't have the time to do this. I'm sure that by this time you are ready for that second cup of coffee, tea, or whatever you are drinking.
There she was, warm and with fire in her touch. Red hair: it was like looking into fire. Eyes the color of jade that pulled you into her soul. Shit, I was in love. If she would have said, "Kiss my feet," damn, I would have dropped down and said, "Tell me when I must stop." She was sixteen years old at that time—like B.B. King said, "sweet sixteen." The sweetest thing that I had ever seen. She is now like a fine bottle of wine, aged with grace. I love her even more today.
I left Detroit on April 25, 1955, to go into the US Air Force. I didn't tell her that I had joined the military until the last minute. It was like I was stabbing her, but what I didn't understand at that time was that I was stabbing myself, because her pain became my pain. It's been inside me for over fifty years. I lost the will to feel anything. Even today, it's hard for me too feel something for someone who is close to me. My shield will not allow anyone to get close to me. It's like this shield is keeping me from loving anyone but her.
Even today, I have not told her the real reason I left home. I have said that when I felt right with myself, I would go to her and drop my shield and kneel down in front of her and explain my actions. Why I did what I did. Yet even today, I can't explain or understand what I was looking for. I was like a sheep lost in an uninhabited region. What you, my readers and society, fail to understand, is that this kind of love is stronger than an earthquake and more powerful than a tidal wave.
Oh! I wish you could meet Red. She is a strong black woman, beautiful, down to earth and warm. If the good Lord made anyone better than her, then he kept her for himself. Wow, she is more than one in a million. I bet you are asking yourselves, What makes this woman stand out? She allows your mind to move, roam freely. It's richly moving, offering a fresh perspective on love and a ray of hope. She is like a fire that you can't extinguish inside your soul.
You see, when I was young, wild, and acting crazy, I had a habit of doing things, and I didn't care who I hurt. That day, she met me at the train station to see me off, along with my mother and stepfather. I was going to boot camp at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. I saw the hurt and tears in her eyes.
When I came home on leave, I asked her mother if I could marry her daughter. Shit, what did I do that for? She didn't say yes or no. All her mother said was, "That girl can't cook." You see, back in the day, a young lady had to complete the five blocks of life before she moved out and married.
Lord, if she could not complete the five blocks, that was shame on the mother's part, sending her out into society (the world) not ready to deal with it. People would look down on the mother because her child did not know the responsibilities of a wife and mother-to-be. Those of you that have gone on and gotten married and have not gained any knowledge of the five blocks, maybe your marriage has failed.
Who knows? Someone might be asking the question right now. Why did my marriage fail? Maybe you lack those five blocks and the knowledge that I'm speaking of. Let me lay them out for you, and just maybe this information might save someone's marriage. Here they are:
1. Cooking
2. Sewing
3. Ironing
4. Washing
5. Housecleaning
I left home after twenty days and reported to my next duty station. Somehow, I didn't fit in. Lots of my friends were in jail, or they were off to an out-of-state school or just dead. Even my family was not the same; it was like I came from space and had entered a new planet. While moving from one duty station to another duty station, I was stationed overseas. That's when I met Lucia and married her. There was something about her; words just can't explain what I felt. After a number of years overseas, I returned to the States, going to another duty station.
I left my family (wife and two sons) with her family, because at that time the military was kind of funny; you had to get permission from the service when you married a person from another country. There was that race thing going on at that time.
Society was not ready for a mixed marriage, and even in the military, there were those who held those very same views. We sat down and went over things, and the first thing that I explained to her was that I was going to remain in the service for twenty years. That way, she knew what I planned to do.
Let me give you a little insight on what it's like to marry someone from another race. Back in 1955, there were some people who didn't like it. "Don't come over here and marry our women. Marry your own women and your own color."
My wife was born in the Philippines, and there were things that I didn't quite understand about her culture. Oh yes, there was that language thing. For now, I'd like to fast forward a little bit, but I shall return to this part of the story.
Now I would like to fill you in about that part of being married to a person from another country, culture, and race. Her family and friends were in the Philippines. For those of you who have never been caught up in this web, when a person in the military married a woman/man from overseas, society looked at that person as a gold digger or just wanting to get that green card and get that free pass and come to the United States of America, here to the promised land. Society thought that they would drop his/her ass like a hot potato one they got to the States. This bullshit way of thinking is still going on today.
You know, the most pain and deep-down words of hate came from the black women. "N—, you ain't shit. What's wrong with us? Why didn't you marry your own people and mother f— why did you marry one of them?" Maybe it was that love is not colorblind.
Anyway, let's get back to other things. When my time was up in the air force, I was discharged and returned to Detroit. I was home for eighty-six days this time.
There was restlessness inside of me. I had to get away. I felt like I was there for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER 3MOVING ON
Soon or later, I know that I must face the jury, because so far I have only told you what I think you need to know. Have I really opened the door on my life in order for you (the jury) to really understand me and where I'm coming from? Maybe someone else out there is wondering just how strong their love is.
Now as I sit here in this chair, ready to face you for the very first time, I can feel the heat starting to get hotter under my butt. I watch you, the jury, come in, wondering if—like some of the ones we see on TV—you don't want to be here. Yet, with or without your shortcomings, you have been picked to judge me:
• Mary-Mac from the old school
• Sister King from the Church of Good News
• Joyee from the back woods, where some man left her for another woman
• John, who is only in love with himself
• Paul, who is mad at the world because his lover left him for another man
• Flo, whose husband left her for the baby sister
• The DA, who's been married five times and still can't get it right
• Judge Roy Boom—you knew him from the get-go; your ass was up the creek without a paddle
By this time, I feel my Fruit of the Looms hit the floor. All I can do is bury my head in the sand and point my butt up to the sky, all along praying that the DA has the petroleum jelly with her, because I understand that my ass is in for the ride of its life.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from How Strong IS YOUR Love by HORACE ARMOUR SR.. Copyright © 2014 Horace Armour, Sr.. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Preface, vii,Acknowledgments, ix,
Cast, xi,
1. Growing Up, 1,
2. Running Away, 7,
3. Moving On, 11,
4. United States Navy Bound, 15,
5. 1963—Coming to the States, 21,
6. The Move to California, 25,
7. The Uncontrolled Fire (Racism in the Navy), 31,
8. From US Navy to US Postal Service, 37,
9. 1980s—The Dark Years, 43,
10. EEO Complaint vs. US Postal Service, 47,
11. Free at Last, 51,
12. My Well Ran Dry, 57,
13. What's Next, 65,
14. Where Am I Today?, 69,
15. Being for Real, 71,
16. Notes, 75,
17. To A New Day, 83,
18. Stop the Rain of Pain, 97,
19. The End, 155,
20. Who Will Be with You?, 159,
About the Author, 161,
Letters to My Daughters, 163,