01/11/2017
28 October 1942 A Date that will Live Forever in Black Military History
CHAPTER 1
CHICAGO IN THE WINTER OF 1942
Scooter had been taking his evening meal down at the diner where Rose worked. He used to call the evening meal supper and called the midday meal dinner. But up here they say lunch at noon and dinner at night. Scooter was working hard to shed the Mississippi slave “n....r” skin he inherited so he could become a respectable Colored man in the Windy City. He had been watching and listening how everybody acted and spoke. Colored folks had respect up here in Chi-Town. None of that “yes Sir Mister John and thanks you Sir for that fried chicken back” jive-ass talk Colored folks had to use to get by in Mississippi.
Scooter suddenly realized,” Hell, I ain't even seen a fried chicken back or a gizzard up here. Down home for breakfast, you would be lucky to have biscuits and red eye gravy with grits. A piece of fried fatback was only for special occasions. Damn them grits. I ain’t never eating no more grits ever again. I am going come back up here after the war and go to work hard so I can serve my family white folk’s food like the boss man, and the house “n....rs” eat down home.”
Scooter was taking a crash course in Colored Yankee city life.
He had worked up the courage to ask Rose out after a couple of weeks. He knew the unit was preparing to move out soon, and he had to court Rose proper like. Scooter had almost waited too long. Rose was being to wonder if he was interested at all. On their first date, Scooter was about as nervous as he could ever recall. He started two or three times to hold Rose’s hand but chickened out at the very last minute. Rose had seen his attempts and was flattered Scooter was such a gentleman. City Colored men would take you out to a juke joint and fill you up with cheap gin. Then they would be all over you touching your private parts through your dress and trying to make out with you on your first date. If you attempted to resist, he would make a big scene talking about you being a tease and all. Yes, Rose Porter had found the man who would be her children’s father. He was a little rough around the edges but inside he was gold plated.
Although he had an unfortunate beginning, his Mamma had raised him with good manners, a good work ethic, and faith in God. Yes, Sir, she was going to hang on to this man.
The draft board had done let this Colored country boy off of the plantation, and he was not going back. He now called himself Aaron after Rose had told him Aaron was a name that commanded more respect than Scooter. He didn’t care how many J**s or N***s he had to kill, war couldn’t be any worse than life for a Colored man in the 1940s Mississippi.
Aaron had been trying to figure out where the hell their unit was going. About every hour somebody had come up with a new location. Would they go the Pacific or go to Europe. There had been fighting in Africa, so maybe that’s where we will go, not that Aaron knew where any of the places was. Being raised in Mississippi, one thing he was damn good at was doing what he was told. In the Army, they call it following orders. I’ll be damn; Aaron thought, I been getting ready for this war all my life.
The unit had been spending a great deal of time down at the railroad yard, loading big equipment like bulldozers and road graders. It was more to this mission than Aaron had ever known. The NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of loading quickly recognized that you only had to show Aaron Park how to do something once. After that, he not only would do his job flawlessly but would jump in without being asked to show the others how to do something. The officers and senior NCOs in Aaron’s unit were all white since Army doctrine at that time reasoned that Southern Negros did not have the mental capacity to supervise anyone or the ability to work in cold climates. But there existed a language and cultural gap that only a trooper like Aaron could span. Without realizing it, Aaron had become his outfit’s official liaison between the white NCOs and officers and the Colored Southern troops. They now only had to deal with Sgt. Park and they were sanguine that the job would get done right. Aaron was already an acting jack (temporary E-5) or Buck Sergeant. He didn’t get any extra money, but he was proud of his new position and responsibilities. All the other men in the unit rallied behind Sgt. Park. He had a natural ability to lead. Some people said it an acquired skill, but some just have “IT.” Sgt. Park had that presence about him which military leaders called “IT.”
Aaron and Rose had been regularly dating and spent a great deal of time talking about family and values. Aaron shared his deepest secrets with Rose. He told Rose that he knew he lacked some of the education and social skills she and her family had. But Aaron promised if she would give him the time he would make her proud. If Rose Porter wasn’t already in love with this country boy then, she was madly in love now. It was no way on earth she was going to let this young man go.
Aaron and Carrie, his baby sister, had been brought up attending the AME (African Methodist Episcopal) Church in Wren. Three times a week, once on Wednesday night for prayer meeting and twice on Sunday for morning and evening sermons, the Park family would settle down in the third pew on the right. This location was the pew where three generations of Park had sat for worship. Now, you had to want some religion to endure the hot steamy midday heat inside the AME Church in Wren, Mississippi. The Colored Funeral Home in Aberdeen (all communities big enough to have a Post Office had a Colored funeral home) always kept them supplied with big cardboard fans stapled on a flat stick. The flat stick made it possible to hold on to it even after your hands were wet with sweat. On the front would be the parlor owner’s picture in color, a must for Colored Funeral Parlor Directors I reckon. On the back would be some words that were there to console you and the remaining family members in your time of grief on the passing of a loved one. Aaron, Carrie, and their Momma would always be in church, but their father had a more spotted attendance record. Even the times he did attend, the deacons would call a meeting, and the men would retire to the big oak tree outside in the gravel parking lot to drink rotgut whiskey.
Money was always tight in the Park household, but Aaron and his sister never went without any of the necessities of life. They always raised a hog or two for the fall killing and a summer vegetable garden that yielded so much produce they couldn’t eat or can it all. Their Momma made a deal with the little store up the road. When the garden started coming in, she would supply the store with tomatoes, butter beans, black-eyed peas, and okra till fall when all the kids would get new shoes and clothes. It was a lot of work for $50.00 worth of shoes and clothes. If that what it took so that her kids could start school in the fall with new shoes and shirts that fit, so be it. Walking around in the summer with the toes and sides cut out of your leather shoes because your foot had outgrown them was fine. But no Park kid was going to go to school without new clothes and new shoes. The annual ritual may have been a small monetary goal, but it meant everything to their Momma. Everybody who lived in the small colored community knew all they had to do was just ask, and the Park would fill up your basket with homemade bread and fresh garden vegetables. They even picked and washed vegetables for the white folks that treated them half way right. You see, no white folks was going to be seen in a Colored folk’s garden picking tomatoes and peas. Hell, that just wasn’t done, don’t you know.
The only exception was one white family that lived in a tenant shack right next to them. They always helped out and shared anything they had with Aaron’s family. Most of the white folk just called them “White Trash” because of their situation. Poor, ill-educated, with few job skills and most important of all, no pedigree, they were just barely above the Colored folk in the Mississippi racial caste system.
Finally, after many cold weeks in Chicago, Aaron’s unit got the orders to move out. The destination and mission were still a secret at least to the troops as he boarded a train for parts unknown.
Aaron broke the news to Rose and her family on last Saturday he was to be in town. The next day Aaron joined Rose and her family as he had done every Sunday for services at the Shiloh Chapel of Jesus Christ our Lord. Rose’s family had regularly attended this church for over 60 years. The preacher dedicated a prayer for Aaron and all the troops headed into battle for a safe and quick return. The Reverend Holloway said when evil in this world was recognized, it was up to the God-fearing citizens of the USA to fight and destroy it.
Aaron felt a little prouder after that sermon realizing God had a larger mission on earth for him than picking cotton and hauling hay in Mississippi. The remainder of the evening was quiet and sober, given the unknown status of their soon to be son-in- law.
