Diabeeya

I must learn to love the fool in me the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.

—Theodore Isaac Rubin

kemetically-ankhtified:

consistencywins:

I will never forget one day in St. Louis in 1992 when I was walking from my hotel to the health food store to purchase some vitamins. I heard a voice say: “Hey boy! Come here.” It was a White police officer. I thought he had to be putting me on as he placed his hand on his gun and said it again. “Boy I said come here.” I thought I was going to die, because I knew I wasn’t going to walk to him. Which meant he was going to come and get me. I threw my hands in the air and said, “First, I’m not your ‘boy,’ and if you want me, come and get me.” My mind was racing and I just kept thinking back to the movement. Death is better than being reduced to a boy by this racist White cop, I told myself. He came over and handcuffed me. Then he shoved me in the back of the police car and drove me to the health food store across the street. A crowd gathered, and another cop came along and recognized me. They walked away and talked briefly, and then the cop who recognized me walked back to the patrol car. What he said made me madder than the actions of the first cop who arrested me. ”Mr. Gregory, I’m sorry about this. It was a mistake and you can go now.” “Go?” I responded. “he has arrested me and I am not going anywhere.” By now more cops are on the scene and two of them went inside the store, where they got a White stock boy to say that I was the shoplifter they were looking for. The stock boy came out to the car and identified me. “Boy,” I said, looking him dead in the face. “You know damn well I’m not who they are looking for. I’m Dick Gregory, and I have products in your store. If you want your job, you’d better tell them the truth.” To my surprise, he was not afraid of the cops. “Mr. Gregory,” he said, “I’m sorry they did tell me to lie.” He walked away.After I refused to get out of the car, they had no choice but to take me to jail. When I got to the jailhouse, a Black female clerk at the desk said to her redneck colleague who had arrested me: “Oh, you have fucked up now!: They all had a good laugh, but it wasn’t funny to me. When they were through laughing, they put out a story that I was arrested for shoplifting and the story went all over the world. When I got out of jail, boy, did we go to war! With the support of the Black churches, Black radio and civil rights leaders in St. louis, we came up with two plans of action. First, Jet magazine and the St. Louis Dispatch printed the trite story about what had happened. Second, because of the police’s vigorous actions towards me, Black people in St. Louis started protesting, something that mostly White men in St. Louis had enjoyed for the last fifty years, the Stroll, a fifty-two-block area in our Black neighborhood where prostitutes sold their bodies daily…
Snippet Chapter 27 Nothing from History: Callus On My Soul

consistencywins:

I will never forget one day in St. Louis in 1992 when I was walking from my hotel to the health food store to purchase some vitamins. I heard a voice say: “Hey boy! Come here.” It was a White police officer. I thought he had to be putting me on as he placed his hand on his gun and said it again. “Boy I said come here.” I thought I was going to die, because I knew I wasn’t going to walk to him. Which meant he was going to come and get me. I threw my hands in the air and said, “First, I’m not your ‘boy,’ and if you want me, come and get me.” My mind was racing and I just kept thinking back to the movement. Death is better than being reduced to a boy by this racist White cop, I told myself.
He came over and handcuffed me. Then he shoved me in the back of the police car and drove me to the health food store across the street. A crowd gathered, and another cop came along and recognized me. They walked away and talked briefly, and then the cop who recognized me walked back to the patrol car. What he said made me madder than the actions of the first cop who arrested me.
”Mr. Gregory, I’m sorry about this. It was a mistake and you can go now.” “Go?” I responded. “he has arrested me and I am not going anywhere.”
By now more cops are on the scene and two of them went inside the store, where they got a White stock boy to say that I was the shoplifter they were looking for. The stock boy came out to the car and identified me. “Boy,” I said, looking him dead in the face. “You know damn well I’m not who they are looking for. I’m Dick Gregory, and I have products in your store. If you want your job, you’d better tell them the truth.”
To my surprise, he was not afraid of the cops. “Mr. Gregory,” he said, “I’m sorry they did tell me to lie.” He walked away.
After I refused to get out of the car, they had no choice but to take me to jail.
When I got to the jailhouse, a Black female clerk at the desk said to her redneck colleague who had arrested me: “Oh, you have fucked up now!: They all had a good laugh, but it wasn’t funny to me. When they were through laughing, they put out a story that I was arrested for shoplifting and the story went all over the world. When I got out of jail, boy, did we go to war! With the support of the Black churches, Black radio and civil rights leaders in St. louis, we came up with two plans of action. First, Jet magazine and the St. Louis Dispatch printed the trite story about what had happened. Second, because of the police’s vigorous actions towards me, Black people in St. Louis started protesting, something that mostly White men in St. Louis had enjoyed for the last fifty years, the Stroll, a fifty-two-block area in our Black neighborhood where prostitutes sold their bodies daily…

Snippet
Chapter 27 Nothing from History: Callus On My Soul