A Brownstone in BrooklynA Chapter by Julius J.E. ThompsonA Brownstone In Brooklyn chronicles the life-altering events that shape the future of Andy Michael Pilgrim, a young man growing up in the turbulent sixties.Chapter Six Sister Love From New Orleans she brought her distinctive personality to Brooklyn. Her friends called her Sister Love because she loved everything with passion. Her flavor spiced everything and everybody. She could also hate with passion. Her name was spontaneous, nobody put any thought in the name, and it just evolved. She was a passionate woman. Passion for her was love and love was her passion. She knew every juicy incident that happened in the lives of everyone living in the four-hundred block of Gates Avenue. Some people said that as something unfolded, Sister Love was there recording every detail. From her apartment window, which people called the “Eye That Knows All”, Sister Love observed her neighbors’ lives. She kept the big picture window clean so nothing cold diminish her view of the lives on Gates Avenue. Gates Avenue meandered through the middle of Bedford-Stuyvesant like a long strip of concrete ribbon that twisted and turned creating an avenue of change. Brownstones, separated by multiple story-reddish"toned apartment buildings, bordered both sides of the street. There were old-generation Blacks left on the Four-Hundred block, who migrated in the forties and early fifties from the deep south, but now the northern-bred sixties generation was transforming the residents’ static ideas in this Brooklyn neighborhood. The four-story Brownstone at 423 Gates Avenue was located in the block where the Civil Rights movement, gangs and drugs were seeping into everyday existence. All these changes Sister Love noticed with a weary eye. Sister Love reached for the window cleaning fluid. She sprayed the mist on the dirty window pane until the milky fluid formed droplets that rolled down the glass. She glanced back to see if Jon was awake. “Get your lazy butt up and get ready to get outta here,” She continued wiping the window pane. All morning she cleaned the apartment, the windows being last. Her eyes squinted in the sun as she watched Jesse Towns walk out the door and down Gates Avenue, “Keep walking you son-of-a…” She caught herself. “Don’t look back or I’ll shoot you! You ain’t selling this building.” She hurried to get ready to catch the bus for her job at the A&S department store in downtown Brooklyn. Sister Love walked to the kitchen and got a glass of water. She walked into the bedroom, threw the blanket off Jon and tossed the cold water in his face. “What the…” Jon leaned his body up, half asleep and put his bare feet on the cold wood floor. “I
said get up and outta here! If I have to work, then you’d better find
some of your old cronies to be with because you ain’t staying in this
apartment while I have to work that A&S lunch counter.” She walked
back to the window and saw Towns enter the barbershop. As
a nine-year old kid Towns was called a fidget, which was considered a
half a midget. At 5-2, you don’t get much respect. When you look at
Towns you see two ears sticking out from a head positioned a miniature
frame. Now, he owned 423 and wanted to clean out the residents to make
room for efficiency apartments. Towns was in deep thought. Towns
rubbed his chin and pondered if I can’t make efficiency apartments,
then I’ll sell to urban renewal and get rid of the problem and ease his
money strapped condition. If only those urban renewal people hadn’t
alerted the residents. Damn, I would’ve been free to do what I wanted
with the building. Now, those families are getting so they hate me and
sometimes I don’t want to go back to my basement office. That
Pilgrim boy, Andy, knows too much. He’s s smart one. I could’ve sworn I
heard him listening in on my conversation. Well, guess what, I’m going
to make sure he doesn’t do that again. I’ve got a few surprises for him. The
Yellow Cab’s brakes squeaked, making a loud racket that brought him
back to reality and caused Towns to search for the noise. He glanced
over his shoulder and saw a pair of eyes staring from the second floor
window. He thought I’d better get outta that crazy woman’s sight. Towns
turned, walked toward the Hair is Art Barbershop. At
the center of the block, next to Mr. Possum’s Candy Store and Yang’s
Chinese Laundry, stood the barber shop where people talked politics and
who was sleeping with whom, the latest gambling daily number and the
current news from the civil rights front. Steward’s
Music Exchange stood at the corner of the block where you could buy the
latest hit song on a 45 record and play your illegal daily number. The
four-hundred block of Gates Avenue had everything from fast-food
places, to places to find the body of a person before they went to their
final resting place. People lived next to the two funeral homes, across
the street from each other.without feeling squeamish. It was as natural
as living next to the fish market, Chinese laundry or the candy store. Towns
walked into the barbershop, just as James Randall turned the corner
from Nostrand Avenue. Randall’s light-brown eyes were in stark
contrast to his dark skin that seemed to come from all the time spent
working under the hot sun in the tobacco fields of southern Virginia.
His skin was in contrast to the light tint of his eyes. His eyes scanned
the block to see if there was anybody watching as he walked toward the
apartment. A scowl was a permanent fixture on his face. He grunted to
Sister Love as she came out of the building. “Stop
looking ugly,” Sister Love smiled at Randall, who unlocked the door to
his apartment, almost slamming the door in her face. “And a good morning
to you...” She greeted him as she was walking out the door. Sister Love
learned from her common-law husband Jon, who is from Richmond,
Virginia, that he suspected Randall of being the prime suspect in a
murder case. Two men fought in a bar and Randall was the one still
living. Sister
Love made the walk to the bus stop, for the fifteen-minute wait for the
B-52 bus. She passed the barber shop and gave Towns a dirty look. He
pulled the newspaper in front of his face. She knew Towns had broken
some laws involving taxes. He was in trouble and trying to get money to
keep the government from taking the brownstone. If pushed, Towns knew
she could call and get in put in jail. Sister
Love’s light-brown skin and gray eyes gave her a look you found in the
Creole’s of New Orleans. She still had a slight Louisiana accent.
Today, she sported a brown wig, one of the many from her varied
collection, which included a blonde, brunette and multi-colored. She
never had much natural hair, so Sister Love always wore wigs. From her
teenage years she developed her wig collection. Jon teased her about her
wig collection and how she had enough of other people’s hair. She
always yelled back, “I bought it, so it’s my hair.” Sister
Love leaned against the bus pole. Al Green’s latest hit “How Can You
Mend A Broken Heart” could be heard from the loud speakers outside
Steward’s Music Exchange. She
leaned forward to see if the bus was coming and there was a glimpse of
it about three blocks down Gates toward Broadway. Then her gaze moved to
the apartment building and thought that James is really worried about
something and anything could set him off. Randall
slid the backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor. He walked to the
refrigerator, grabbed a beer, then back went back to the living room
and found a chair. He opened the beer and took a big gulp. The cool beer
washed the grit down his throat. Cleaning the classrooms at Brooklyn
Boys High all night and into the morning made him thirsty, but he knew
better than to drink on the job, that was one of the reasons he left
Virginia. At least the Richmond authorities didn’t know where he was
hiding. This block, in the heart of Brooklyn, was a nice resting spot.
He may have to move soon, but for now this was home. Randall slid into
deep thought, I hope this deal with Peter Paterson works out, and if it
does, I’ll have some big bucks and get out of Brooklyn. Randall
stopped smiling when he lost one tooth on the left side of his mouth,
from a fight, and one on the right side from an encounter with his girl
friend’s fist. He wouldn’t be a smiley face model. He felt people were
always looking at him to be critical. He
felt if people couldn’t get close to him, then he didn’t have to reveal
a lot about himself. Randall leaned further back in the chair, closed
his eyes, but not his mind to his thoughts. Fear of discovery can make
you do strange things. Sister
Love found a comfortable seat in the middle of the bus, across from the
exit door. As the B-52 bus headed downtown, she leaned back and watched
the various city blocks pass. Towns waited his turn. He pulled his New York Daily News
down from in front his face and watched as Sister Love3 got on the bus.
He figured Randall was in his apartment and after getting his haircut;
he’d get in his car and drive to Jamaica, Queens. He didn’t want to
stay in this area, because he thought living in Queens made him superior
to these folks in Brooklyn. © 2015 Julius J.E. ThompsonAuthor's Note
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Added on March 16, 2015 Last Updated on March 16, 2015 Tags: sixties, turbulent sixties, brownstone, brooklyn, J.E. Thompson Trillogy AuthorJulius J.E. ThompsonAtlanta, GAAboutJulius J. E. Thompson grew up in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, New York and attended Bushwick High School. The sixties in Brooklyn was an era that had a personality, a feel, and a life-f.. more..Writing
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