Life is Short But Wide Read online

  • • • • •

  Wild Stars Seeking Midnight Suns

  Some People, Some Other Place

  The Future Has a Past

  The Wake of the Wind

  Homemade Love

  Some Soul to Keep

  Some Love, Some Pain, Sometime

  In Search of Satisfaction

  Family

  The Matter Is Life

  A Piece of Mine

  Joseph G. and Maxine R. Cooper, my parents

  Paris W. Williams, my chile

  PEOPLE IMPORTANT TO ME

  Mrs. Velda Berkly of Berkeley, a kind friend, Dr. Vincent Harding, Alycia Pitts, niece, Dr. Martin L. King, Jr., Shooty & Becki Fermon, Bette Midler, Yvonne Westmorland of Oakland, Dr. Richardson of Marcus Books, Oakland, Danny Glover, Thespian, Senator Paul, and Sheila, Wellstone, Eartha Kitt, Dentrus Clay of Southern Café (Mmmmm), Oakland, Ga., Kim J. Johnson, of Oklahoma Library.

  BookClub members of Seattle, Wa.: Jackie Roberts, Harriet Slye, Sylvia Bushnell, Edna C. Nunn, Vanetta Arnold, Liz Causby-Miles, Pat Coleman, Doris Hill, Nancy Palmer and Trish Tanner, to name a few.

  I cannot tell you how much I love, admire & applaud Barack Obama and his fantastic, wonderful wife, Michelle Obama.

  OTHER VERY IMPORTANT PEOPLE

  The people of Iraq, and all other Peoples on this earth that are suffering from the manipulations of great iniquities of inhuman Mankind. May God have mercy on all of us.

  • • • • •

  I wish to express my gratitude for the opportunity to have worked with Janet Hill on my last several books. I trusted her. She was indispensable. Always generous with her skillful knowledge, she was of great importance to this book. Her caring, no less than her patience, was of great importance to me. I have been very fortunate to have her working with me. I will sorely miss her, from the heart.

  I welcome my new editor, Christian Nwachukwu, Jr. I have already benefited from his sharp, but cool, efficiency. I thank him for his extreme kindness'es in the past. Always.

  I must thank Russell Perreault for all his kindness'es. He is always a wonderful, agile thinker, and a pleasure to work with.

  I do thank Ray & Susan Glend of Chicago for keeping me well with their very effective products.

  Curtis Bunn of the National Rook Club Conferences of Atlanta, Ga.

  Doris Rush for welcoming me to Portland, Oregon.

  I thank all my readers for reading. I really love all of you. I thank everyone at Doubleday for everything they do. I really appreciate everything anyone may do for me.

  My name is Mrs. Hattie B. Brown, and I am ninety-one years old. My mother, Mrs. Mary Lee Brown, is 105 years old and she has almost all her own teeth. She eats very well, and is still living-, so I'm probably going to have a long life.

  Now, me and my mother talk bout life all the time, that's ninety-one years' worth, and I have found out that life is sure full of lessons. I have seen most people just skip through their life and don't pay no attention to what they are missing in life: the lessons!

  The lessons that tell you it's better to be right, and do right instead of wrong. That will save you from a whole lot of troubles as you go along your way. God runs my life so I don't have to worry bout it.

  I'm old, but I'm not too old for everything, and I've made some mistakes, but they were my mistakes and my business.

  I have seen so much, right alongside of my mother, with her teaching me about life and pointing things out to me.

  Where we live, Wideland, was once a rural village, and still is a small town. When I was born there were mostly Whites, a few Blacks and Native Americans, even a few Chinese. People was too poor to own anybody, so it was mostly a free, live-where-you-want-to state, but it was still Oklahoma.

  Same things happen in Wideland just like everywhere else-, they just not as slick and smart about it here. But everybody has their way, and that's why I want to tell you about it. I have to tell this story in the shape of a “Y.” Two lives move down into one life. I will tell you one side (hers) first, then the other side (his) next, then these lives will meet and move on through life together. I will tell you when they meet, or you'll just know.

  There was a family here who lived such things, it could have taught me, or anybody who needed to know, how to live. What got me, as my mother told me this story, was how some people depend on “good luck” to get them through life. For me, I believe good luck is opportunity met with action.

  But, again, as the story grew on my watch, I saw that these lives, all in one family, had many, many different turns. Ain't that interesting though?

  One person I thought would never have a life because her body was broken, in a way-, she couldn't move much through her life, but I think, in the end, she might have had the most successful life. So you can't tell about life just from looking.

  The one I thought was the prettiest and the smartest has the least successful living, and the emptiest life, far as I could see.

  Now, let me tell you about my mother and me-, neither is too good at counting these many people's ages. So they will not be perfect in order. There are some people in my own family and I don't know their ages, so don't expect me to remember everybody else.

  I want to be clear about this, though. When I was watching their lives being lived, I was most drawn to Herman and Myine. I do know their ages. When Rose married that man, Leroy, I saw Herman hanging on the gate, wanting to come to the little wedding. He was bout nine or ten years old. Myine was born the next year, I think, so Herman and Myine are bout ten years apart in age.

  The rest of all these different people in the story, I'm gonna tell you, I'm not sure bout so many of them, so don't hold me accountable, cause I'm not. They are just there, part of this interesting life.

  My mother is better at counting than I am, but she don't always remember my age now. She sure does remember her own though. But if you are counting ages, you ain't paying enough attention to the story no way.

  The day comes when you look out over this world, and see things you want to do, but now … you can only wish you had done them. You get too old to do the things you once dreamed of doing, or just things you want to do even now.

  Now … it's another thing I really want you to know, it's this. We were created by Jehovah God, and He is a God of Love, and no matter how long we live, we never lose the need to love, and for love. Love runs, and ruins, many lives.

  My mama has told me many things about when there were slaves in our family. I didn't know them, but I love them. I ain't shamed of them. Cause they was down, and they got up cause they believed in God. Because of them, I feel God in my blood.

  Now, my mama is saying, go ahead and tell you this story, and stop wasting time. So … I will begin.

  Occasionally, actually quite often, someone will refer to a family or person as dysfunctional. Which, I believe, is a sign of ignorance, for the obvious reason that 70 or 80 percent of all the people who have ever lived were dysfunctional. The other 20 or 3o percent tried to be, or had sense enough to be, a little wiser. Among them, the greatest were disliked, hated, killed, or crucified. And they weren't even perfect, except one.

  For instance they crucified Jesus of Nazareth, and all his disciples, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, and others. People who thought as much or more of others than they did of themselves. People killed the people who seemed to wish good things for mankind.

  Throughout the history of mankind the struggle for survival on this earth has been extremely, horribly intense and never ending. Wars have been fought, almost continually, when there were enough people to pick sides and fight; and enough dispensable men to be called onto die for their leader, country, or the current god. Then the
re was slavery; every country or body wanted a slave. Someone to do their work or make money for them. Sometimes slaves were all a war was about. And, if not a whole war, then groups, communities, families, and friends would fight and kill each other. Ain't that interesting?

  Not just African slaves; every nationality alive has been a slave, at some time, for some other nation. Believe me. It would seem most of mankind likes killing. For Greed of something, for Gold or financial reward. They doing it now!

  You probably know all about history so let us skip, for my purpose, to the twentieth century. People are still fighting slavery in one form or another. In many parts of the world women are fighting for food or medicine, a roof for their children, or some way to keep from being raped, while some other females fight to be able to show their naked behinds, breasts, and everything else they can get out in front of somebody.

  In several other parts of the world people are being denied their life, or stolen from their life to be sold. Children are being stolen, every day, killed or given away. Everything I can think of, you already know.

  I believe all anyone wants is to be “happy.” Everyone just wants to be happy. Why are they not happy? Other people.

  Black people, Brown people, Native Americans are treated abominably. White races are not excluded. Poor white people have a struggle to survive also, no matter what they may think. Poor is the operative word. And yet … No one wants to leave this earth. Hate to die or scared to die.

  I am trying to say too much, and don't know how to say it. But I have often wondered at the Gain and Abel murder. I have wondered who Gain's progeny are. He and the wife he took to the land of Nod had children; and so on and so on, until today. There must be millions of them now. Sometime I think I recognize one on television; they would be the ones trying to run the world.

  When you look at history and life, you know the rich, and most anyone in high places, did not get there by being honest or good … a few, maybe. If not they, then an ancestor lied and deceived, even murdered.

  You may believe me or not. I don't mind. The truth is not popular.

  I truly marvel at the struggle for Love.

  Parents, children, relatives, all people are part of it. I'm leaving out the insane or mindless; but they, too, usually respond to love and kindness.

  Some people think this struggle for love makes the doing of all mean, petty, even evil things necessary. Why? Stupid and mindless is my guess. Because it ain't going to turn out right for them.

  Sometimes it's a struggle to get over self-love first. Sometimes in this struggle for love, we give up, or lose, everything, and we still don't achieve love. Some people don't even recognize real love when it comes without being called or sought.

  Well, I want to tell you this story: this strange, sad, kind'a beautiful, life story. I want to speak about Love, chile.

  In the early twentieth century Wideland was an ordinary, small town in Oklahoma where the ordinary people were beginning to prosper a bit, and the town was expanding. The railroad came in 1907, and by 1910, the steady building-up, all the activity and prosperity, had drawn people of many backgrounds to Wideland. Local calamities, diseases, floods, hurricanes, famine, also sent many people out of their lands, or homes, to seek something better.

  In a restless, young country there are many poor people seeking a place where they might find riches, if possible, labor, surely, and pursue some happiness. As usual, there were small investors seeking a better start where everything was needed; items and services were bought and traded briskly. The mentally crooked always follow, bringing hurt and pain for someone.

  Wideland was a nice little town grown up from a village with a good reputation. People came seeking to make a home for their family and future. Large enough to have several churches, two pharmacies, and two doctors, one good one; they both served the small hospital that was for emergencies. A variety of small clothing stores for men and women; working clothes, nothing too grand. Small secondhand shops for everyone.

  Wideland even had two small banks, whose owners created the Society, those that considered themselves the elite. There were lumberyards, a hardware store, and a few good-sized stores for buying food and necessities. Farmers and others provided a place for people to bring things to sell or barter; things someone else invariably needed, for most all the people were the striving poor.

  A small police station, a small shack for the post office, and a new courthouse to be proud of were built near a large creek diverted off the Long River that ran alongside Wideland. There were many whites, some Blacks and Native Americans, a few Asians. For a long time there was one lawyer, now there were two. More people meant more problems, so the attorneys made a living.

  Wideland had good weather and bad weather, none was extreme except occasionally. It was an easy town to live in.

  An African American cowboy, Val Strong, and his Native American Cherokee brother-friend, Wings, came to town to find, or build, a house for the pretty young woman Val had recently married, Irene Lowell. They rode in on horses they had caught, broken, and trained themselves. That was their way of life.

  Val's mother was a strong, lovely Native American. His father, an African, Black and roundly muscled, strong. He had escaped from his slave-master and lived with the Indians for years. He had been killed in one of the wars or skirmishes the U.S. fought against the Indians. For the land the Indian was born in, and the land the white man had sailed into.

  Val had been raised with the Native Americans and in his heart he was a young, strong Brave. Wings had been his friend of his youth, and indeed, he was a young strong Brave.

  They wore cowboy hats, and leather pants and boots, even with spurs on their boots. They were handsome, indeed! They worked together running cattle for anyone who had cattle to run from one destination to another. Sometimes they crossed several states: New Mexico, Texas, Kansas, Arizona, even New Jersey, and farther. They had driven cattle as far east as they cared to go. They were leery about people who were too strange. They were quiet and kept themselves apart, except from the men they worked with whom they liked.

  Herding cattle paid good money. Val had saved all his working life, about fifteen years. Now he had a sizable sum to purchase a house for his new wife; she did not want to live on a reservation. He was eager to start his new life. He was in love.

  As he had passed through Wideland many times, he observed the town and the people. The sky was deep blue and stretched to far, far yonder, and was full of enchanting voluptuous clouds. Plenty of pretty birds, fish, and animals lived there. He loved all the natural beauty of God's creations. He also wanted to stay near the reservation.

  He didn't know how deep the little town was, but he knew it was long; it stretched a long, long way to the north and south, following the river. He decided his wife, and later, children, would be safe when he was away on a cattle drive. It seemed a town where a family could live in contentment.

  The handsome dark-brown sunburnt man, Val, was around thirty years old when he married Irene. Irene was from a little town near Wideland. She had learned to read, write, and cipher, and shared her knowledge in a little shack with a sign nailed over the door saying “School.” She had no teaching certificate, but taught all ages and colors. She dearly needed the money for she meant to be independent, and had no help.

  There weren't many students in her classes at a time; who had the money? Older people knew the advantages of being able to read and count; they came, and brought their children and grandchildren. She charged a pittance, and that was all her living.

  She helped serve two meals a day at Mz. Shaw's rooming house, where she lived. Irene also helped clean the other guest rooms in exchange for her own tiny room, and the small shack she used for a teaching classroom.

  Mz. Shaw owned the room and boardinghouse. There weren't many boarders at Mz. Shaw's, and they were most all men. Irene kept her eyes down in the dining room as she did her duties. But when Val came through the town on a cattle drive and
stayed overnight at Mz. Shaw's, she had noticed him.

  She saw that whenever she raised her eyes, he was always looking at her. After the first time he saw her, he returned about every two weeks. He changed; he did not sleep out in the fields under the stars with his herding partner, Wings (sometime called just “Wing”), as had been his habit. He slept at Mz. Shaw's when in Wideland.

  Mz. Shaw's was not the best place to stay in Wideland, but colored people were not allowed to stay everywhere, and Val would not spend his hard-earned money just for a place to sleep. He was used to sleeping outdoors under the stars until winter moved over the land. Mz. Shaw's was honest, clean, and cheap, and the food, cooked by Mz. Shaw, was good, better than that at the “best” houses.

  Irene had tried to pay as little attention to Val as necessary, except a few quick glances across the table. She thought he was handsome, but she was looking for a better job or way to make a living. She would rather have a good job than a poor husband. “He probably already married anyway,” she thought, and put him out of her mind. “No time for that foolishness!”

  She thought a lot about a husband; someone to help her, protect her. She prayed a lot at night, asking, “Lord, please direct my feet cause how can I know what to do?” But Irene had good sense, and the Lord probably let her lead her own self; because how else is a person going to learn?

  Val had asked Mz. Shaw if Miss Lowell was married, and when he found out she was not, he thought of her even more often. After he had that information, on his next trip he brought her an ocean-colored turquoise flower. He gave it to her, saying, “That's what color the ocean look like.” She could only sigh, “Ohhhhhhhhh,” with a smile.

  Irene loved the lovely little jewel. It was her first real gift from a man she did not think could be expecting anything from her. She looked into his face, still smiling as she thanked him, and walked away. She had not had so many experiences that she knew exactly what a person did in “courting,” she had learned mostly what not to do. But she remembered to smile at him again as she placed his gift gently and firmly in her apron pocket.