Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (27 page)

It was generally agreed too that "our colored people are happy the way they are." Years later, Evelyn wondered where her mind had been and why she hadn't realized what had been going on just across town.

After Birmingham suffered so badly in the press and on TV, people were confused and upset. Not one of the thousands of kindnesses that had taken place between the races was ever mentioned.

But twenty-five years later Birmingham had a black mayor, and in i975» Birmingham, once known as the City of Hate and Fear, had been named the All-American City by
Look
magazine. They said that a lot of bridges had been mended, and blacks, who had once gone north, were coming back home. They had all come a long way.

Evelyn knew this, but nevertheless, as she sat in the church parking lot, she was amazed at all the Cadillacs and Mercedeses driving up and parking all around her. She had heard that there were rich blacks in Birmingham, but she had never seen them before.

As she watched the congregation arrive, all of a sudden that old fear of black men came back.

She glanced around the car to make sure that all her doors were locked, and was getting ready to drive away when a father and mother with two children walked by her car, laughing; then she snapped back to reality and calmed down. After a few minutes, she mustered up all her courage and went inside the church.

But even after the usher with the carnation smiled at her and said, "Good morning," and led her down the aisle, she was still shaking. Her heart pounded all the way to her seat, and her knees were weak. She had hoped to sit in the back, but he had escorted her to the middle of the church.

In moments, sweat was pouring off Evelyn and she was short of breath. Few people seemed to look at her. A couple of children turned around in their seats and stared; she smiled, but they did not smile back. She had just decided to leave when a man and a woman came into the pew and sat down beside her. So there she was, stuck in the middle, just like always. This was the first time in her life she had ever been surrounded by only blacks.

All at once, she was the belly of a snake, the Pillsbury Doughboy, a page in a coloring book left uncolored, a pale flower in the garden indeed.

The young wife beside her was stunning, and dressed like someone Evelyn had seen only in magazines. She could have been a high-fashion model from New York, in her pearl-gray silk outfit, with snakeskin shoes and a purse to match. As she looked around the room, Evelyn realized that she had never seen so many beautifully dressed people in one place in her life She was still uneasy about the men—their pants fit too tight to suit her—so she concentrated on the women.

But then, she had always admired them, their strength and compassion. She had always wondered how they could love and care for white children and nurse old white men and women with such gentleness and care. She didn't think she could have.

She watched the way they greeted each other, their wonderful and complete easiness with themselves, the way they moved with that smooth and natural grace, even the heavyset ones. She didn't ever want one of them to get mad at her, but she'd love to see somebody call one of them a fat cow.

She realized that all of her life she had looked at blacks but she had never really seen them. These women were good-looking; thin brown girls with cheekbones like Egyptian queens, and those big, magnificent-looking, balloon-breasted women.

Imagine all those people in the past trying to look white; they must be laughing from their graves at all the middle-class white-boy singers trying so hard to sound black, and the white girls in their corn rows and Afros. The tables have turned . . .

Evelyn began to relax and feel a little more comfortable. Somehow, she had expected the inside of the church to look much different. As she looked around, Evelyn was convinced it could have been any one of the dozens of white churches all over Birmingham; then, all of a sudden, the organ struck a chord and the 250 members of the choir, in bright red and maroon robes, stood up and sang out with a power and a force that almost knocked her off her seat:

After they sat back down, the Reverend Portor, a huge man with a voice that filled the church, rose from his chair and began his sermon, entitled “The Joy of a Loving God." And he meant it. Evelyn felt it all through the church. As he preached he would throw his massive head back and shout and laugh with happiness. And the congregation and the organ that accompanied him would answer back with the same.

She had been wrong; this was not just like the white churches, certainly not the dried-up, bloodless sermons she was used to.

His enthusiasm for the Lord was contagious and spread like wildfire throughout the room. He assured them, with a great and mighty authority, that his God was not a vengeful God, but one of goodness . . . love . . . forgiveness . . . and
joy
. And he began to dance and strut and sing out his sermon to the rafters, sweat sparkling on his shining face, which he would mop off occasionally with the white handkerchief he kept in his right hand.

As he sang out, he was answered from all over the church-

"YOU CANNOT HAVE JOY UNLESS YOU LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR . . .”

"That's right, sir."

"LOVE YOUR ENEMIES . . .”

"Yes sir."

"LET GO OF THOSE OLD GRUDGES . . .”

"Yes sir, let go."

"SHAKE LOOSE OF THAT OLD DEVIL, ENVY. . . "

"Yes sir."

"GOD CAN FORGIVE . . .”

"Yes He can."

"WHY CANT YOU? . . .”

"You're right, sir."

“TO ERR IS HUMAN . . . TO FORGIVE, DIVINE . . .”

"Yes sir."

“THERE IS NO RESURRECTION FOR BODIES GNAWED BY THE MAGGOTS OF SIN . . . “

"No sir."

"BUT GOD CAN LIFT YOU UP . . .”

"Yes He can,”

"OH! GOD IS GOOD . . ."

"Yes sir."

"OH! HOW GOOD IS OUR GOD . . .”

"You’re right, sir."

"WHAT A FRIEND WE HAVE IN JESUS . . .”

"Oh yes sir."

"YOU CAN BE BAPTIZED, CIRCUMCISED, GALVANIZED, AND SIMONIZED, BUT IT DONT MEAN A THING IF YOU AINT A CITIZEN OF GLORY . . .”

"No sir."

“THANK YOU, JESUS! THANK YOU, JESUS! GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY! WE PRAISE YOUR NAME THIS MORNING AND THANK YOU, JESUS! HALLELUIAH! HALLELUIAH JESUS!"

When he had finished, the whole church exploded in "Amens!" and "Halleluiahs!" and the choir started again, until the room began to throb with . . .

"ARE YOU WASHED IN THE BLOOD . . . THE SOUL- CLEANSING BLOOD OF THE LAMB . . . OH TELL ME, SWEET CHILDREN . . . ARE YOU WASHED IN THE BLOOD …”

Evelyn had never been a religious person, but this day she was lifted from her seat and rose high above the fear that had been holding her down.

She felt her heart open and fill with the pure wonder of being alive and making it through.

She floated up to the altar, where a white Jesus, wan and thin, wearing a crown of thorns, looked down from the crucifix at her and said, "Forgive them, my child, they know not what they do . . .”

Mrs. Threadgoode had been right. She had taken her troubles to the Lord, and she had been relieved of them. 

Evelyn took a deep breath and the heavy burden of resentment and hate released itself into thin air, taking Towanda along with them. She was free! And in that moment she forgave the boy at the supermarket, her mother's doctor, and the girls in the parking lot . . . and she forgave herself. She was free. Free; just like these people here today, who had come through all that suffering and had not let hate and fear kill their spirit of love.

At which point Reverend Portor called for the congregation to shake hands with their neighbors. The beautiful young woman sitting next to her shook her hand and said, "God bless you." Evelyn squeezed the woman's hand and said, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

As she left the church, she turned at the door and looked back one last time. Maybe she had come today hoping she could find out what it was like to be black. Now she realized she could never know, any more than her friends here could know what it felt like to be white. She knew she would never come back. This was their place. But for the first time in her life, she had felt joy. Real joy. It had been joy that she had seen in Mrs. Threadgoode's eyes, but she hadn't recognized it at the time. She knew that she might never feel it again. But she had felt it once, and now she would never forget the sensation as long as she lived. It would have been wonderful if she could have told everyone in the church how much that day had meant to her.

It would have been wonderful, too, if Evelyn had known that the young woman who shook her hand had been the eldest daughter of Jasper Peavey, pullman porter, who, like herself, had made it through.

JUNE 1, 1950

Railroad Employee of the Month

“His only aim is to see people happy and to make their trip more pleasant. Please don't overlook this outstanding railroad man when passing out the pats on the back to the Railroad Man of the Month."

That's how
Silver Crescent
passenger Cecil Laney described pullman porter Jasper Q. Peavey.

This genial porter has been receiving commendations since he started working for the railways at age 17, as a red-cap at the Terminal station in Birmingham, Alabama. Since then, he has been cook, freight trucker, station porter, dining car waiter, parlor car porter, and was promoted to pullman porter in 1935. He became president of the Birmingham branch of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters in 1947.

Mr. Laney goes on to say, "Jasper's little courtesies begin the minute a passenger boards the train. He makes a special effort to see that all the passengers have their luggage properly boarded, and through the trip, he looks for those little unexpected things he can do to make the ride more comfortable, with his big, always-present smile and happy laugh.

"A few minutes before arrival at the station, he always announces, 'In about five minutes we will be arriving at . . . If I can help you with your baggage, it will be a pleasure to do so.'

'To us, he is a trusted friend, an attentive host, a watchful guardian, a dispenser of comforts, and a doer of favors. He chaperones the children and helps mothers in distress; he is most courteous, helpful and efficient, for which the passengers are deeply grateful. It is unusual to find such a man in the times through we which we are now passing."

Jasper is a lay pastor at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, and is the father of four daughters: Two of them are teachers, one of them is studying to be a nurse, and the youngest is planning to go to New York and study music.

Congratulations to Jasper Q. Peavey, our Outstanding Railroad Employee of the Month.

AUGUST 27, 1955

Railroad Yard Closing

Of course, we are all so sad to hear that the railroad yard is closing. Now that we have lost most of our trains, we seem to be losing a lot of our old friends, who are moving on to other places. We can only hope that the trains will start running again. It will not seem right with just a few trains passing through.

Grady Kilgore, retired official of L N Railroad, says that the country cannot exist without its trains, and that it is just a matter of time before the government realizes it. I say the L N Co. will come to its senses and put them back on the line soon.

Georgia Pacific Seaboard, and now L N. Only Southern Railroad has held out . . . it seems they just don't want passengers anymore.

Also, we hear that the cafe may be closing. Idgie says that her business is way down.

By the way—

My other half claims he has had the eight-day pneumonia for ten days . . . Men!

. . . Dot Weems . . .

PULLMAN CAR NO.
16

DECEMBER 23, 1958

Jasper Peavey sat up all through the quiet night while the train glided through the snow-laden landscape and the moon sparkled on the passing fields of white.

It was freezing outside the ice-cold window, but warm and cozy inside the car. This was when he felt safest, and at ease. No more smiling for the day . . . just quiet.

The red and green railroad crossing lights slid by at each stop, and early in the dawn, the lights began to come on, one by one, in the small towns.

He was a month away from retiring, with a nice pension, from the Southern Railroad. Jasper had come to Birmingham a year later than his brother Artis, and although they were twins and both classified as Negro under the law, they had lived two entirely different lives. Jasper had loved his brother, but hardly ever saw him. Artis had quickly found a place among the fast, racy set down on 4th Avenue North, where the jazz was hot and dice rolled night and day. Jasper had taken up residence at a Christian boardinghouse four blocks away and had attended church at the 16th Street Baptist Church the first Sunday he was in Birmingham. It was there that Miss Blanch Maybury had caught the eye of and took a shine to this creamy boy with his mother's freckles. Blanch was the only daughter of Mr. Charles Maybury, a respected citizen, well-known educator, and principal of the Negro high school, so it was through her that Jasper was automatically admitted to the exclusive, upper-middle-class black society.

When they married, if Blanch's father had been disappointed in Jasper's lack of formal education and background, Jasper's color and manners more than made up for it.

After he married, Jasper worked hard; and while Artis was spending his money on clothes and women, Jasper was staying in the cold, rat-infested dormitories that the company provided for porters when they were out of town. He saved until he and Blanch could go down to the piano company and buy one for cash. A piano in the home meant something. He gave ten percent to the church and started a savings account for the children's college education at the all-black Penny Saving Bank. He'd never touched a drop of whiskey, never borrowed a dime, and never been in debt. He had been one of the first blacks in Birmingham to move into white Enon Ridge, later known as Dynamite Hill. After the Klan had blown up Jasper's and several of his neighbors' red brick homes, some had left, but he had stayed. He had endured years of "Hey, Sambo," "Hey, boy," "Hey, George," emptied cuspidors, cleaned bathrooms, shined shoes, and lifted so much luggage that be couldn't sleep from the pain in his back and shoulders. He had often cried in humiliation when something was stolen and the railroad officials searched the pullman porters' lockers first.