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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 92: Brown 314
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 113
Derek had noted what others before him had seen: Sunday morning church service was the most segregated time of the week. Even in easy-going New Orleans where being prejudiced or bigoted, except about Yankees, was regarded as too much trouble and effort, this held true. He did realize he needed to find out why the locals sometimes reacted so strongly to ‘Yankee ways’, but for now, he had other plans.
It was Saturday night, and he, Maurice, and Vashti were walking from the trolley after a night with the band at the Tenth Street Music Hall. Mister Beaufoy still had them play Fridays, but their popularity had meant he liked to have them an extra night some weeks.
“Maurice, I was wondering.”
“Yes? How I hit that high note so well? Wills, is pure, nat’ral talent.” Maurice had had several girls hit on him after the music, and he was riding a natural high.
“No, although that was very good. No, what I wanted to know was if Vashti and I could come to your church tomorrow morning.”
“Huh,” Maurice thought for a second, and then spoke. “Sure. Ten o’clock. Reverend Ishmael is great. I’ll come by because it's back down a side road, an’ easy to miss.”
The next morning Maurice did come by, and he led them on a mile walk. They had to slip between two buildings down an alley to get to a smaller dirt road which would have made finding the little white-painted church with the black-roofed tower quite hard to find without their guide. The trio walked down the road, and Derek saw a small sign on a post, “Emmanuel Gospel Baptist Church,” along with times of services. It seemed that Maurice had brought them after Sunday School to the main morning service. Clustered around the front door were some well-dressed Black folk who stared expressionlessly as Maurice with a big smile led them up to the front door. Slowly, one young Black man in a tan suit got out of the way, and the trio went up the concrete steps and into the front door, through the small lobby, and found a seat near the back of the sanctuary in the light pine pews. There were no pads of any kind, and Derek could foresee an aching butt, unlike his comfortable chair at Mister Hunter’s shack.
Maurice leaned forward to the group of middle aged matrons in front of them, and with a bright smile got their attention, and they acknowledged him, and told him they heard he was doing well with the band, and good for him. Maurice used this chance to introduce the Browns. The ladies stared with open eyes, and turned back. Vashti frowned at Derek, and Maurice looked a bit panicked. He tried several others, with the same result. No one said a single word to the Browns. Over the whole church, which was filling up, there were occasional pauses in the soft babble of conversation, looks their way from over a dozen folk, and then conversation would begin behind hands at a rapid rate. It was clear what the topic of the conversation was, and Vashti looked even more uncomfortable. Derek was not sure what to do, so he prayed.
A man came in, and put his hand on his shoulder, and Derek looked up to see a large Black man in a silken robe, black lined with a purple fringe decorated with a line of gold stars. It had to be Reverend Ishmael, and he inquired into their names, and when he heard they were in the Living Colors Dixieland Gospel Band with Maurice, he said with a broad wink that he had always wanted to play, but God had given him ten thumbs.
Too soon, the piano began to play, and it was time for the pastor to go up front, greeting others on the way.
They sang Lord I Want to Be a Christian, and then the music director said, “And now, Reverend Ishmael!” This was followed by hoots and hollers and applause which got Derek’s eyes to widen a bit. Sprite religious teachers had not been introduced that way, but they didn’t really have services like this, only classes for the boys.
“Sit down, sit down. Yes, my brothers and sisters, it’s a good day--a glorious day! God Almighty made this day, and He designed it just for you.” The voice was loud, boisterous, but Derek could hear the breath control. He might have ten thumbs, but he had a well trained instrument in his voice. More but weaker whoops greeted this. “Now, my friends, I see some visitors way out back--” He mimed as if he were trying to but could not quite see to the back row. “I do not know what other churches do, but this is the time where we stand up, and shake everyone’s hands.” Everyone stood, and people began to shake hands, one with another, and talk, and ask questions. Some left their pew and went to another, and the aisles began to overflow in spots. All during this time, not one person turned to Derek, Vashti, or Maurice, despite their shoving their hands out to those who passed by. Derek began to feel sick to his stomach. He was not sure, but he thought racial unity was important to this battle against the Devil for New Orleans. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe it was just the music, and he had invented this part of things for himself.
But then he heard an angry, imperative voice.
“All right! That’s enough of that.” It was Reverend Ishmael, and he was looking mighty unhappy from up at the wooden pulpit stand. Everyone froze and looked guiltily up at him. “Now, Mister and Mrs. Brown, I’m--I’m going to have to ask you to step outside a few minutes. Don’t you worry. You’ll be back inside soon.”
Wondering, and making more noise than he’d like in the still quiet of the unmoving crowd, Derek and Vashti opened the back door, which creaked loudly, and then walked out to the now deserted steps. Vashti looked at Derek with a questioning look. It clearly said ‘is this a regular thing among Baptists?’ He shook his head. He was not a Baptist, but he was pretty sure this was not common.
There was a rumbling noise of a loud voice from inside the sanctuary, and words occasionally penetrated the first doors, and the second front door. Words like ‘unloving’ and ‘ungodly’ and ‘White People’ and ‘So help me God, if you don’t behave better--’ which last was delivered at a shout. The rant-slash-lecture-slash-tongue lashing went on for over ten minutes.
Derek definitely did not remember anything remotely like this from the sprite world--although there had been the story in the Sprite Scriptures of the Prophet of the King who had harangued the crowd of Sprites for over half the day, with the King giving him strength of voice so that all in the city could hear him.
The rant ended, and the front door opened. A shamed-looking man introduced himself, shook their hands, and led them back inside to their seats. After that, about a third of the crowd made their way back, and hugged, and shook hands; some had tears in their eyes. The rest might have come, but the pastor called them back to order, and began his sermon. It was on First John, and soon the hallelujahs and the amens were flowing. More songs came, and afterwards the Browns found out about the fried chicken picnic on the grounds outside the church. Derek felt bad about not bringing anything, but Maurice just shrugged.
“Visitors don’t have to.” Fried chicken, potato salad, collard greens with bacon, and cornbread were the meal. Derek and Vashti made friends with more people than they could recall names. Wiping their fingers on the grass to remove fried chicken grease, they eventually took their leave with Reverend Ishmael coming by to say ‘come back next week’. Derek allowed he might, but did mention he was not a Baptist.
“Keep on coming, and we might convert you,” the Reverend replied with a slap on the back. The two left, and Maurice went with them.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #510: Versers Debate. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
