(Caution, Racist language & violence)
Chapter 1 Meet Charlie & TH’ Boys
Eight miles West over the Neches River bridge, Charlie Gains, an old white man, was lighting a torch he’d made with a green oak stick with an old white sheet soaked with kerosene on the end of it.
Jimi Holmes couldn’t believe what was happening. A torch? He thought, questioning what was happening.
Jimi was living in a small travel trailer which was located in a notorious racist community, too close to Vidor, Texas. He’d heard the stories all of his life. Those things happened fifty years ago. It doesn’t happen anymore, he thought. But it was happening. This is the 1990’s he thought.
He was from Macon, right outside of Atlanta. He thought he knew what racism was. This was ten times worse of any racism he’d had ever heard of or witnessed in Atlanta. Like the old-stories, just worse, ‘cause it was happening right now! It was the first time he’d felt the wrath of a very prejudice person, much less a card-holding-bono-fide-Klansman.
Seventy-five year-old-Gains was brought up in the most world-renowned-home-grown-terrorist organizations that has ever existed. The Ku Klux Klan. This was nothing compared to what he did when he was a younger man. Nothing at all.
Jimi pleaded. “Man, look, we’re leaving. You don’t have to do that. We’re leaving. Why burn it down?”
“No one that I know will rent this trailer from me after that nigger slept in it. That’s why I’m burning it down.” Old Man Gains replied.
“That nigger”, stood there in disbelief too. Richard Benyard, that N, was from Atlanta, Georgia, the black Mecca, home to thousands of descendants of slaves and the Nobel Peace Prize winner of 1964, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Richard didn’t think this kinda’ thing happen anymore too. It was 1994! He thought to himself. He looked over at Jimi. He was panicked too
Dr. King died in 1969 trying to stop violence like this! He thought. So things like this wouldn’t happen anymore to the next generation of black children, namely me! He thought. We’ve come huh long ways, he thought, this is not supposed to happen! He watched walk around the back of the camper. But it was happening. Today. Right now. It was not a nightmare. Richard touched his own arm. Yes, he was wide awake. This wasn’t just discrimination; it is pure hate. This cannot really be happening, Richard thought.
With his torch lit, Gains broke the window out and lit the front curtains. Just as Gains was walking around to the other side of the trailer to light it up, a souped-up green Ford truck pulled up beside Jimi’s car. More card-holding-KKK-members. Great! The two men in the green Ford had to be Gain’s sons, had the same fat beer belly and guns too. Rifles with mounted scopes. Richard noticed they didn’t get them out of the gun rack when they got out. He watched the rifles, ready to run. Thankfully, they were left in the truck. He stood on the passenger side of Jimi’s car.
The driver spit as he got out of his truck and gave Richard a go-to-hell-look as he slammed his truck door. It gave Richard chills down his spine and made him sick at his stomach. The other Bubba didn’t bother to look at them at all, only at Gains. Thomas Gains walked over to his father and said,
“Let me have it for a minute.” And took the torch away from his old man, Charlies Gains, then he turned around and started walking toward Jimi’s car.
Jimi ran past Charlie toward his car and waved at Richard to get in the car. Richard had his hand on the door handle already. No one had to tell him to get in twice.
As Jimi ran past Charlie and his son, he yelled in a high pitch, “Dude, it doesn’t have to be this way.”
Old man Gaines was silent, walking beside his son going toward Jimi’s car at a steady pace. They were not slowing down.
As Jimi past the Gains, he said to Richard in the same high-pitched voice,
“Shit, Richard, get in, let’s go.”
The Duke boys would’ve been jealous of how fast Jimi got in and cranked the car. He peeled out of the dusty red clay driveway, throwing red dust everywhere. They couldn’t see the Gain’s through all the dust, but they could hear cussing at them. Then they heard the thump. It was the torch as it hit the roof of the car.
“Shit!”, Jimi yelled.
“Son of a bitch!”, Richard was said in a higher pitch than normal.
“Fucking red necks.”, Jimi said and with that he made a quick right jerk and twisted and turned the Honda to a sharp left to get the torch off-of-the back of the car. Then a sharp right. Finally, the torch fell into some brush in the ditch. Jimi yelled out of his window at Gaines.
“I hope all of your fucking property burns down.”
“Can you go faster man?” Richard asked, “They might get those guns out and start shooting.”
“I’m trying. Shit! I can’t believe this is happening.”
Richard looked back as he held on to the dash. He started smiling. Jimi stepped on the gas and straightened out his car on the dirt road.
“Man, look at that fire. Can you see it?” Richard asked
“Man, I don’t wanna look back. To hell with them.” But he looked back in his rear-view mirror first, and then switched to his door mirror, “Yeah, barely. All I can really see is dust.” Jimi answered.
Richard didn’t say anything else. He just turned back around and sat silent in his seat. Trying to calm his stomach. Unbelieving what he had just been though. Richard said,
“Man, I think I’m getting sick.”
“Can’t stop now. We’re almost to the bridge. Can you hold it till then?”
“Yeah.”
Their supervisor had an unlisted phone number and didn’t have a pager. To make things worse he didn’t know the last names of any of the local hands he worked with so he couldn’t reach anyone from work. There were no cell phones for the average man yet, only pagers. All of the motels were full of Kamtach hands and he was praying Gus would know someone who’d have a place for rent. He’d run out of options or ideas. Basically, they had nowhere to sleep that night, except the little Honda CRX.
Back at Gus’ house, she’s thinking of so many things. My head hurts. I can’t think. Gumbo! The boys love gumbo, that's what I'll fix. I have some white onions. But green onions makes the gumbo taste better.
I've failed. This will teach me to pay my car note and insurance before I pay what they can cut off first. Girl, where was your head? You can’t worry about credit when you ain’t got any lights! Dam! Pay what they can turn off first and worry about your credit later! Now I'm laid off, about to have to move in with my parents. Don’t want to, but I'm gonna haveta’. And soon. Well Hell, another magnificent decision Gus! You HAD a good job working as a secretary and walked away from that for a "better paying" construction job. Girl, how ssstupid can you be?
My ex is going to love this one. Looks like I can't support our children. If I stay here and let everything get cut off, it looks bad. If I go running home to Mama and Daddy, it looks bad. Either way, it looks bad. Resumes, you sent out several dozen. Something will break. Today's Sunday, no job hunting, just living to do. She decided not to think about anything negative right now and focus on only cooking the gumbo.
Be positive girl. The kids love gumbo and it will feed us for a couple of days.
“Lots of green onions”, she said out loud, trying to get her mind off of the mess she was in. Lots of green onions. She opened up the ice box. Refrigerator, to you city people, bent down and looked up. Ain't got any. Got chives in the garden, they’ll have to do for the green onions. Where's the Rotel Tomatoes. Not a dime to my dam name. Tears were rolling down her face. Got gas in the car. Enough to make it to Hazelines. Man, I hate thinking about that. Going to live with those people. my parents. They're not that bad. I just hate having to hear what I should've done, and what I shouldn't have done. Over and over and over again.
Don’t have any shrimp to make shrimp gumbo with, which is my favorite. Call me spoiled. All we have is a chicken. Dam-it. It’ll have to do.
She put water in her big pot, appreciating every drop that poured into it. Water’s gonna be cut off tomorrow morning.
She turned the front- left gas burner on. Since she’s right handed, the front left is her favorite cause she can move a skillet or pot over to the un-used right one. She seasoned the water to their taste with her Tex-Joy Steak Seasoning. It has salt in it, so you don’t have to add salt. If fact most “all spice” or steak seasonings do.
Gus moved to the sink, unwrapped and washed the chicken carefully, making sure to get into every nook of the chicken with a little bitty drop of Dawn soap and lots of water.
When she was happy with the bath, she put it clean pot with paper towels in the bottom, to drain off the water.
After about ten minutes of drip drying the bird, she looked into the pot and sit the chicken up straight and thought I’ll name you Henrietta. She put Ms. Henrietta on to the cutting board. The cutting board sat on a clean dish towel, which kept the counter from getting wet and greasy. With her favorite boning knife, she started cutting Henrietta up into twelve pieces which included the wishbone.
First Gus reached inside of Henrietta and pulled out all of the hen’s little goodies. The neck, gizzard and livers and tossed them into the trash. As she watch the chicken parts land into the trash Gus thought no one here eats them. Asshole was the only one who ate’em and he doesn’t live here anymore.
Turning Henrietta upside down on her shoulders, Gus cut the big legs first at the knuckle between the leg and the thigh. Then she sat it right side up, to cut off the wings at the shoulders. Then she cut the wing joint to make the baby leg and a little wing. Laid her down on her back on the board and pulled the thighs straight up and out til she could feel it’s joint break at the hip and then cut the thigh away from the body. That left Henrietta with no leg or arms, flat on her back again. Gus trimmed and cut away the skin off of the top of the chicken.
Laughing to herself Gus thought now she’s naked as a Jay Bird. With her bigger and sharpened Chicago knife she cut out the best part. She felt around with her clean fingers at center the breast bone. Found where there was no bone and picked up her Chicago knife and cut straight down gently, about an inch and stopped. Then, never taking the knife out, turns the knife upwards, going up to the shoulders up thorough the meat (center of the breast) and finally hit a little bone at the end, which is around the shoulders of the bird. She removed the knife and Not wanting it to slide off of the counter Gus sat it down on a clean paper towel. Then she pulled away the piece she just cut out of the front of Henrietta and had to cut a little to separate the piece from the main body of the chicken. This is the golden piece, the wish bone. Depending on your family, you might call it the pully bone. That left the ribs and a piece Gus thinks of as a shoe horn. Gus needs her long Chicago again. She sits the bird straight up on it’s rear and looks down inside of it, into the hollowed core of Henrietta. On both sides you can see where the ribs are attached to the body. From the outside Gus inserts the long knife into the empty core of the chicken, going for the ribs (where they are closer to the body) and cuts the ribs straight upwards, twists and lays the chicken down. Then cut the rest of the ribs off of the main part of the body. Two nice ribs. Not a lot of meat but they are nice pieces. The old timers used to say the meat’s sweeter closer to the bone. Meaning they liked skinny women. Dirty old men. Lord!
That leaves the shoe horn on the breast. Gus just cut it away from what was left of the front of the breast of the bird. All five pieces are white meat. Big Hank loves the boney back. It doesn’t hardly have any meat on it and the ass of the chicken, but I ain’t saving’em for him today. Yes, some country folk will eat almost anything. Don’t ask me why anyone would want an asshole of a chicken, but he’ll fight you for it. The back, well, there’s really not enough meat there to waste grease on. Can’t see the point of that. Gus dropped both in the trash.
Then she starting seasoning it with of Tex-Joy Steak Seasoning. Then some black pepper, don’t need any salt, the Tex-Joy has enough in it. Being careful not to splash any boiling water on herself, Gus dropped each piece of Henrietta into her boiling bath, one piece at a time. Plenty of black pepper. Life's short, enjoy. Some people season their food with Tony’s, but Tex-Joy is the seasoning her family have always used. Besides that, it’s Texas-made product.
While the chicken is cooking on a medium flame, Gus started her rue. One pound of bacon, about half cup of plain flour. She put the bacon in the heating black-iron skillet to start the rue. One piece at a time. All going one way. The flame is high but skillet ain’t really hot enough yet.
When it starts cooking “good and hot, you need to turn the fire down, to level the heat out on the skillet bottom. It doesn’t take long for the skillet to heat up, so you need to stay right there with it and give it all of your attention. If they heat up too fast, you will burn your bacon and your rue grease. Then you won’t have any rue for your gumbo! Keep in mind, many-a-house has been burned down frying bacon.
Cooking bacon and making gumbo is something you cannot walk-a-way from. You have to be ready to stay right there in front of that stove for about thirty minutes. Remember, once you get the skillet “the hot” you like to cook your bacon with, then skillet takes a while to cool down. It’s not something to play with. Stay with it. If the grease or the skillet (however you think about it) is too hot, simply move the skillet over to the over to a cold and un-used burner.
Sometimes, it’ll be so hot you can still cook in it for a couple of minutes. Re-adjust the flame down and then if you think the skillet has leveled down in heat return it to the flame/burner you were using. A good skillet is smooth on the inside, like a baby’s butt, a smooth-non-stick feel. In other words, if you have a good used skillet, your bacon will not stick to it as you fry it. Fry the whole pound of bacon.
Right before you take the last few pieces out of the grease, quickly turn the fire down to-little-of-nothing. Just the hot bacon grease is all you will have in the skillet. Turn the fire down or remove the hot skillet from that burner for a couple of minutes to cool down a little. Don’t wanna burn that grease!
Put the cooked bacon on the table. Let the kids eat it or save it for baked potatoes, but you will not need the bacon anymore. All we want is the grease on a low-low-very slightly-medium heat. To make rue is a similar process as making gravy, but you will only need two ingredients Flour and bacon grease.
Everyone round here on this side of Texas, swears by their favorite grease, no two family’s gumbo recipe is the same (like five generations of the Thibodeauxs) will use the same grease. But the Boudreauxs will use a different grease. Maybe some that was used to cook catfish in from the day before. Very common thaing round here. That pretty much goes with the whole recipe. Some like okra in it, some have never used it. Some use green onions, some insist on white onions only. Honey it can go on and on. We (my family) like to use fresh bacon grease. Yellow onions is fine, sweet onion is fine too. But you cannot skip on the green onions for our recipe. Three bunches of green onions, chopped. Back to cooking the rue…
Now take about a half cup of flour and with your hand gently sprinkle a little flour into the grease. About tablespoon of it, not a lot. Measure it if you have to and then pick it up with your fingers and sprinkle it. A little at a time. That’s important. Stir that with a spatlor using the flat end to scrape the bottom of the skillet so the flour does not stick. But anything will stick to it if it’s too hot. But the spalor helps you make sure the flour does not stick. The grease should start turning a light brown. I also use a small whip (or a fork will also do) to smash the little flour balls, whip and blend them into the gravy mix. Using the sptor and the whip…keep adding the flour, a-little-bit-at-a-time. It’s gonna brown, then get browner and start trying to stick together like peanut butter. That’s ok, just don’t worry. It’s not gonna be pretty. It’ gonna look like a sticky pile of dog poop. Sorry but that’s the truth. The darker you like you rue, the longer you have to cook and scrape the rue in the skillet. I like mine almost-burned-black. Ok. You don’t think you want it that dark, get it off the flame, move the skillet. Let it cool for a minute and then slowly add a cup of water and mix together, scaping the bottom. Now it’s gonna look like ruined dark gravy (might use the strain water you boiled shrimp in cause of the seasonings and the scrimp taste. Yeah!)
The whole yellow onion, what few stalks of celery I have and a small bell pepper still needs to be chopped up. Our Cajun in-laws call that trio “the Trinty” of Cajun cooking. But we don’t subscribe the Bell pepper in gumbo. Me, I’d rather use a couple (3) of cloves of garlic & no bell pepper. Have a small bell pepper and chives outside in the garden. Don’t know if I wanna use any bell pepper this time. It really wasn’t a big deal the last time I used it.
Gus washes her hands good to get the chicken grease off, rinses her hands and wipes them good on a fresh paper towel. Then headed outside to the garden in her back yard. My chives are doing soooo good. The peppers can use some love. I need to plant some garlic. Pretty flower tops and I’ll always have them.
Gus picked the nicest pepper from the middle of a plant and then bent down to cut her chives. As she walked back into the house with her chives and bell pepper she could hear the phone ringing. She walked a little faster.
Didn’t have caller ID yet. She answered the phone.
“Hello".
On the other end of the line she heard,
"Hey, it's Jimi, what's goin' on?"
Sounds like he’s a little out of breath. Not his normal cool quick-clipped-Georgia English. It’s a lot speedier than the Georgia drawl I’m used to. Something’s wrong. He’s breathing heavy. Has he been running?
“Not much. What's goin' on with you lately?” Why is he breathing like that?
"Well, we need a little help.” Then she heard him take a deep breath as if he was trying to speak calmer. Sounds out like he had been running.
“The guy that I told you about that was coming down from Atlanta, he’s here.” Everything’s coming out a little faster again.
“Yeah.”
“But there's a big problem.” Slower, good. “We got to find some place to live, today.” Then faster again, “Cause Richard is Creole!”
Holy f*ck#*g Moses! Oh, my Lord, help us.
He has a little black blood in him. Maybe an eighth or even as little as a sixteenth. For lots of folks in the untamed proud South that means just another shade of black. The guys from tamed Atlanta didn’t know, but they were learning fast. The hard way.
“The crazy bastard I was renting from burnt the fucking travel trailer down a few minutes ago.”
Oh my God. Holy-f*ck#ng-Moses!
“What?” She asked out loud. Knowing how bad things could be or could get.
“Yeah man, he set it on fire ‘cause Richard is Creole. Said it was useless to him now. He’s fucking crazy.”
Gus remembered the rally on the highway when she was twelve and she said,
“Oh Lord. I didn’t realize you were staying that close to Vidor.”
“Yeah. Why didn’t you warn me that the KKK is still alive and doing well in Texas.”
“I didn’t think that the subject would ever come up. It’s not something I’d warn a white man about. They didn’t do anything ta ya’ll did they?”
Gus was afraid of what they could do and would do if they had their chance. She could just picture the tar and feathers Jimi was spitting out of his mouth. Funny, but not funny.
“No, but I have a feeling we’re lucky we’re still breathing. Son-of-a-bitch! Gus, he had a rifle on him. A rifle in his right hand and the dam torch in his left hand”
“Yeah, ya’ll are pretty lucky then. A lot of old timers still think like that.”
“No shit.”
“No shit.”
“Gus, we’re scared, real scared. We’re both shaking like wet rats. Man, I still can’t believe that old man did that.”
“Yeah, well there’s still some of’em out there like that. Where are ya’ll right now?”
“At a pay phone at the Stop & Go on 96. Look, I’m going over to the Dairy Queen and get a coke to drink with my Dickel. I really need something to calm me down right now. I’ll give you a call back in a few minutes. I gotta’ settle my nerves first, man. Shit! I checked the motels and they're all full of Geo-tech hands now. Was hopping you'd know someone that might have a place for rent. Even a barn would be fine right now. Anywhere safe is all we need."
"Yeah, I understand, but, I'm not sure what I can find. Let me do some callin' around. I'll call you back. What's the number where you are at?" He gave her the number and he said,
"Hey thanks. And by the way, where you workin' now?"
"Nowhere. Not yet. I’ve sent out dozens of resumes, got a couple of interviews." She was lying through her teeth. There weren’t any interviews. She was looking. But “looking” does not pay the bills. Gus was still trying to be positive for everyone's sake.
Yep, I’m the Queen, the Queen of Denial. She hung the phone up. She had to get busy and finish that Gumbo. While she was cutting up chives and bell pepper for the gumbo, Gus made some calls to several people, but no one had anything vacant.
Girl please. He could be a mass murderer for all you know. He doesn’t look the part. And I've was never introduced to the other guy at all. I really believe most people are good. But I still have enough sense to be scared of the situation and of the unknown that was happening very fast. The need, the fear, the utilities, her sons, her life in general, their safety. That old saying is true, sometimes there’s a muddy line between what you want to do and what you have to do.