Living in the Middle

Chapter 6: Like a Chameleon

Like a ChameleonMilton and Jimmy made their way down the avenue and hurried past several people who also attended the service. They turned onto a side street and found a small, unoccupied park bench. Milton motioned for Jimmy to sit. “So tell me about yourself, Jimmy. Where are you from? Where are your parents? What about any brothers or sisters? How are you and Benjamin connected? Oh, and one last thing . . . why are you so damn White?”

“What is this? An interrogation? I’m going to head back to the apartment. You’re too much.”

Milton started to laugh. “Don’t hurt me, big fella! One punch from you and I’ll spend my senior year at Howard in the hospital. I asked those questions for a reason.”

“Yeah, because you’re nosy as hell.”

“No, that’s not it at all. Both this chat and dinner later tonight were orchestrated by Benjamin, who told me all about your situation. You’re going to be asked each of the questions I posed . . . perhaps not all at once.” He laughed.

“This is the thing—all of this happened a few weeks ago. I don’t know what to say.”

“Fair enough, but you need basic facts and rules to live by, even if they’re somewhat temporary. Later, when you decide what you want to do permanently, the story can evolve.”

“I don’t understand why you’re involved in my problem. What is your connection to Benjamin?”

Milton paused and looked across the street as two female parishioners from St. Phillips waved and stopped. Milton leaned into Jimmy as if he were whispering something of significance and the two women continued on their way.

“If you’re going to fight me, I’m not going to be able to help you. Benjamin and I are close and he asked me to talk to you. How many other people are lining up to help, Jimmy?”

“It is a short list.”

“I thought so. Back to your question about Benjamin. I met him through the church growing up. He spent time with me after services on Sunday and started teaching me about Booker T. Washington. I taught him about W. E. B. Dubois. Do you know who he is?”

“The name sounds familiar.”

“I hoped for more than that—you’ll be studying at Columbia, so this won’t be part of your required reading. I’m going to help you broaden your curriculum. Here is your first extra assignment.” Milton reached into his pocket and pulled out a copy of an essay, The Talented Tenth. “It isn’t so long, so try to read it tonight. This piece is the reason I’m so close with Benjamin.”

“An essay?”

“Yes, the document speaks about the ten percent of the Black population that must rise to become leaders. The path to leadership is through education and when Benjamin found out that I might not be able to go to college despite my straight A’s, he said he’d give me the extra funds from his son’s college fund as long as I agreed to pay it forward in the future, either financially or in some other way. You’re my first project.”

“Oh, so now I’m a project.”

“Loosen up. I’m going to try and help you sort through all of this. First, we need to go to the spot where I do all of my deep thinking. This way . . . in here.”

Jimmy looked up and read the sign out loud. “Mount Morris Park.” He admired the expansive entrance and took a deep breath of the air, which somehow seemed more countrylike on the other side of the gate.

Milton motioned forward. “Yup, right this way. The hill over there is so high the city thought better of trying to demolish it when constructing the roads around here, so Fifth Avenue takes a break for a few blocks. This is where the Hessians positioned themselves during the Revolutionary War. All of Manhattan is visible from up top. Let’s go.”

The two men made their way up the incline and sat down on some oversized boulders. Jimmy stated the obvious. “The view is amazing.”

“Yes, this is one of my favorite places in New York. Now, tell me how you’ve been dealing with everything.”

No response.

“If you won’t talk to me. I can’t help.”

Jimmy stood up, picked up a few rocks, and started firing them toward a nearby tree. Milton followed suit and demonstrated a greater level of accuracy. He joked, “Unless you’re a real big home-run hitter, I don’t think you have much of a future in baseball.” Milton smiled and there was something about the combination of the grin and the moment that made Jimmy finally relax. He sat back down on the boulder and told his story.

“I miss my father so much, but part of me is upset with him for not telling me sooner. He gave me material things, but he also gave me his time, which is irreplaceable. I always felt like I was the most important thing in the world to him. Whereas with my mom, she had limited interest in me and I figured she probably just wanted a girl—I only found out she hated me the day my father died.”

“Losing one parent who loved you more than anything and finding out on the same day the other parent hates you has got to be tough to handle. I hear you sit around the apartment most of the time. Is this what’s running through your mind all day?”

“Yeah, still can’t quite understand all of this.”

“The thing is, no one can tell you how long to focus on the trauma of the last month, but there are other things to think about in order to move forward—like responses to the questions I asked. You’ll need them before you start moving about on the outside.”

“What do you suggest?”

“The first thing I recommend is to try and tell your story in a way that gives you the greatest chance of being accepted in Harlem. This whole ‘I was brought up White and I’m living with my servant because my mother hates me thing’ won’t engender a lot of acceptance or trust. Let’s work on your story for the summer first and then we’ll need to deal with what you say when you start college in a few weeks. Sound okay?”

“Yes, I think I’ll claim to be the child of one of Benjamin’s longtime friends. I enrolled at a school in New York, I have a job helping out with the books downtown, and I plan to stay with him.”

“Is the job part true?”

“Yeah, my father’s friend told me I could work around my class schedule while I’m in school. I work in the bookkeeping department over there.”

“Okay, that works, but before we talk about school, let’s decide if you’re Black or White. Which is it going to be for the rest of the summer?”

Jimmy began his rock throwing once more and targeted the same unfortunate tree. Five inaccurate throws later, he was ready to continue. “I’m not sure what I am.”

“I’ll give you some things to consider. There aren’t too many Black students at Columbia. They admitted their first one about ten years ago. You look White, you talk White. Hell, you grew up White, but to be accepted in Harlem at least temporarily, let’s go with you being Black. Be a little mysterious about what you’re planning to do. Let it be a combination of looking for work and trying to get into school. If and when people find out you’re attending Columbia, they’ll understand you’re passing, and while many Blacks will resent this for different reasons, we’re really good at keeping this type of secret—kind of an unwritten code.”

“I’m starting to understand, but let’s see what Benjamin thinks. We need to head back.”

The first rock struck Milton in the back and he fell to the ground The second grazed Jimmy’s leg. Three White teenagers screamed from the distance, and one of them shouted, “We thought you two Darkeys wanted to play catch!” They ran away, laughing. Jimmy jumped up and screamed a combination of, “How dare you?” and “Who do you think you’re dealing with,” and gave chase. The boys easily escaped.

Milton caught up to Jimmy by the main exit and gave him the briefest of moments to catch his breath before beginning his lecture. “You listen to me carefully—this is important. You are no longer James Montgomery III, rich White boy and King of New York. If this is where ‘I’m going to chase these kids and beat the hell out of them’ is coming from, let it go. It might also come from you being a f*****g giant, but you still got to let it go. A Black man takes s**t in this world on a regular basis and we pick our fights. Some asshole kids throwing rocks is not a fight we need or want.”

Jimmy realized his mistake and looked down as he grabbed hold of the gate. “Sorry, I got mad when I saw the rock hit you and I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you were thinking, but not like a Black man who needs to be careful. What you need to understand is that you’re like a chameleon.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“You take on the appearance of the people around you and the thing is, you’re used to being around White people. You blend in real well, Jimmy, and you’ve been passing your whole life. This is the first time someone looked at you and thought you were Black, and that’s because you’re with me. That’s what I mean by chameleon. Being Black is the only reason they bothered with us, but bad feelings aren’t enough of a reason for a fight. If that were the case, we’d be fighting all day. You need to be careful.”

“Okay, I get it. Won’t happen again.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see about that. I’m hungry, let’s go to Benjamin’s for supper.” The walk to the apartment started quietly as both men reflected on either their actions or their words, but the banter returned as they neared their destination. Jimmy knew he’d found a true friend.

Chapter 7