Johnson Jack - The big smoke
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- Year:2013
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Selections] The Big Smoke / Adrian Matejka. pages cm Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-101-61308-5 I. Title. PS3613.A825B54 2013 811.6dc23 2012045786
When he heard about that mighty shock, might have seen the man trying to Eagle Rock. Fare thee, Titanic, fare thee well. THE TITANIC, LEADBELLY
So the handlers sometimes put the bears eyes out or took his teeth to make the fight more sporting. I believe you need eyes more than you need teeth in a fight, but losing either makes a bear a little less mean. Once baiting was against the law, some smart somebody figured coloreds fight just as hard if hungry enough. So they rounded up the skinniest of us, had us strip to trousers, then blindfolded us before the fight. They turned us in hard circles a few times on the ring steps like a motorcar engine before pushing us between the ropes. When the bell rang, it seemed like I got hit from eight directions.
I didnt know where those punches came from, but I swung so hard my shoulder hasnt been right since because the man said only the last darky on his feet gets a meal.
After the Great Storm hit, the Times called us black ghouls, cannibals eating coloreds & whites like Sunday chicken. They said we left babies in the street just so we could take a dead mans shoes. They said we sawed off fingers at the fat meat for rings. I was there, so I know whats true: whole families of coloreds shot down by whites. Protecting the dead, the sheriffs said, sending buckshot at any colored in sight. Those dead people didnt need any more protection than the mud & rocks covering them.
After that storm moved through, me & the other Galveston boys slept where we could, spent our days searching for anybody alive. We got paid whiskey & potatoes. We found dead mothers & sons, dead cats & skulls cracked like teacups under the wet wood & rock. Thats all the storm left.
Not long after, fighting became a way to make money: on the Galveston docks, the fresh smell of fish & stevedores sweating out lunchtime booze. Thirteen & I was already strong enough to toss a cotton bale out of the way like it was a bad idea & I could jump five feet backward from flat feet. My fists werent good then & those men gave me the kind of beatings that made me want to go back to the schoolhouse. They laughed while they put it on me & seagulls circled us thinking there must be fish in the middle of such a fracas. Those lunchtime brawls taught me to mix it up outside the gentlemans rulesquick punches to the manhood, stomped toes when cornered, eye gouges to get out of a headlock. Of course, I always abide by the rules inside of the ring.
Those dock fights were more about survival than winning.
Our meeting was the shortest fight of my career. The man pursued me like it was personal & I went down in the third thanks to a hard left to my eye. His fists were so fast Im still looking for them. I was up quick, but the rangers stampeded the ring, six-shooters gleaming in the lights. Joe & I ended the evening in the crossbar hotel. Lucky for us, Sheriff Thomas enjoyed the fistic science & suggested we spar to pass the time.
No ring, no glovesjust an abundance of split lips & name-calling. Joe instructed me during those long, gloveless brawls. Right-hand leads, snake-strike lefts all while working to duck the other mans fists. He told me, A man that canmove like you should never take a punch.
We wantgold where that gap toothshould be. Clarity for Negrocaricature. We want high-styling clothing, gold ringson our fingers like Greekarchitecture, & gold pocketwatches in our vest coats.More women than coats.White women in our architecture.We want peculiar & instinctualsatisfactions. We want to beprize fightings main attraction:the Heavyweight Championof the World. When we rise up,the whole Negro race rises upwith us. When we get to the top,its just us.
No use for Negroesthen, not even ourselves.
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