Strange and his fellow officers from the Sixth took their squad car up to the precinct house. Those that did not go to sleep immediately in the car did not speak. At the station, Strange picked up his Impala and drove down to his parents’ row house. As he turned off Georgia onto Princeton, he noticed that the window in the door of Meyer’s market had been broken. Mr. Meyer was there, taping a square of cardboard over the glass.
Derek Strange’s parents were seated at the eating table of the living room as he entered the apartment. He hugged his mother, who stood to greet him, and shook his father’s hand. Derek had a seat at the table and rubbed one hand over his cheeks while his mother went into the kitchen to get him a cup of black coffee.
Darius Strange looked at his son’s dirt-streaked face and the areas of his uniform darkened by ash and perspiration.
“You had quite a day,” said Darius.
Derek nodded. By his tone Derek knew that his father was telling him he had done well.
“I want you to take care of yourself, you hear me, boy?”
“Yes,” said Derek.
“Your mother can’t take another loss.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Look at me, son.” Darius leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m sick, Derek.”
“What you mean, sick?”
“I mean I don’t know how much longer I have on this earth.”
“Pop…”
“Ain’t no need for you to stress on it. I’m tellin’ you now so you think about it the next time you step out that door.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. Now, listen, you’re gonna need to stay healthy for your mother. She’s strong, but there is only so much a person can take.”
“Have you told her?”
Darius shook his head. He kept his gaze on his son, telling him with his eyes not to speak about what had been said, as Alethea returned to the table and placed a cup of coffee before Derek.
“Thank you, Mama,” he said.
“We should say some words,” said Alethea.
Darius led them in a prayer. They prayed for Dr. King and for what he stood for, and for peace to come to the streets. They prayed for justice. They prayed for Dr. King’s soul and for the soul of their son and brother, Dennis Strange.
“Amen,” said Alethea and Derek when Darius was done.
Darius cleared his throat. “This trouble is gonna change the funeral plans.”
“I’ll call the home today,” said Derek. “See what they say.”
“You need to get some rest first,” said Alethea.
“I will.” Derek noticed his mother’s uniform dress and his father’s starched white shirt for the first time. “Y’all are going in today?”
“Everybody is,” said Darius. “Business as usual, that’s what they’re sayin’ on the radio and TV.”
“They need to close everything down,” said Derek. “Show some respect for the reverend. That’s what most folks are lookin’ for.”
“I agree,” said Darius. “But the decision’s been made. Even the government’s open. “
“You don’t work for the government.”
“True. But I’m not gonna leave Mike shorthanded. And your mother’s got her obligations, too.” Darius looked at his wristwatch. “I better get goin’. I need to fire up that grill.”
Darius got up from his seat, went to Alethea, and kissed her on the edge of her mouth. He took his jacket off a limb of the coat tree and put it on. Derek followed him to the door.
“You remember what I told you,” said Darius. “You mind yourself out there.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Darius eyed Derek up and down. “You got tested, didn’t you?”
“You know I did. I got called every name in the book by my own kind. I got looked at with hate by folks who been looked down on their whole lives, just like me. I’m tellin’ you, there were times when I felt like joining those people last night.”
“You want the truth?” said Darius. “I felt like joining them, too.”
“Why didn’t you, then?”
“’Cause that’s not me. Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize that what happened last night was necessary. People gonna listen now. They have to.”
“So what do I do?”
“You made a commitment,” said Darius. “Folks always gonna respect you for that, even if they say different.”
“What are you tellin’ me?”
“Do your job.”
Darius hugged Derek and patted his back. He nodded to Alethea before heading out the door.
Derek took his seat at the table again and sipped his coffee. “Anyone call me?”
“You mean Carmen?”
“Anyone.”
“Carmen didn’t call.” Alethea reached across the table and touched Derek’s hand. “Go get a shower while I make you some breakfast.”
Derek took off his uniform in his brother’s bedroom and folded it neatly, placing it on a chair. He showered and changed into pants and a shirt that were Dennis’s and smelled like Dennis. As he dressed, his mother used some grease from an old Wilkin’s coffee can to fry bacon and eggs in a skillet. She served them along with toast, hot sauce, and another cup of coffee as Derek came back to the table. She sat and watched him eat.
“You need a ride?” said Derek, sopping up the yolk of the eggs with a triangle of toast.
“I’m gonna catch the uptown bus,” she said. “You finish your breakfast and get yourself into bed. I want you to sleep.”
Derek did as he was told. He fell asleep quickly in his brother’s bed and did not hear his mother leave the house.
THIRTY-ONE
ON FRIDAY MORNING, Strange slept soundly. As he slept, commuters from the suburbs drove cars and rode buses to their downtown jobs. One hundred fifty thousand students and teachers reported to D.C. public schools, which had been decreed open by Mayor Washington after he had conferred with school superintendent William R. Manning. It was decided that activities related to the annual Cherry Blossom Festival would also go on as planned. Despite the rioting of the night before, public officials and police administrators expected it to be a quiet day.
From the start, there were indications that this would not be so.
All night and into the morning, tales had spread throughout the city of the exploits of the Shaw rioters and looters. They spread via phone and ghetto telegraph: street talk at bus stops, in living rooms, at corner markets, and at predawn pickup points for day laborers. The stories became romanticized with each telling; they fired up the anger, imagination, spirit of adventure, and ambition of the young.
Many black working-class men and women, along with black government workers, managers, and bureaucrats, stayed home from their jobs. Black teachers, and some white teachers, called in sick in protest or asked outright to be excused from work so they could attend memorial services for Dr. King.
Shortly after the opening bell, school officials began to report massive student absences, as well as a general unruliness and insubordination among the students who had reported to class. An SNCC official tried to persuade Superintendent Manning to close the schools, but he did not. As the morning went on, increasingly frustrated principals, some with panic in their voices, reported that the situation was deteriorating and claimed that the students could no longer be controlled.
Based on history, officials believed that riots occurred, for the most part, at night, after extended lulls in activity during the daylight hours. Accordingly, D.C. National Guardsmen had been ordered to be prepared for possible action on Friday night and were in the early stages of assemblage at the downtown armory. The CDU riot police were not due to report back until five p.m. Also, because of the relative quiet at dawn, many cops working double shifts had been dismissed early. Consequently, on Friday morning, police presence on the street was not noticeably heavier than it was on any other day.
Youths began congregating and drifting in roving bands on 14th and 7th Street, along H Street Northeast, and in east-of-the-river Anacostia. They stood in the doorways of retail establishments and taunted white store owners and clerks who had reported in for work. They shook the cars of white drivers stopped at red lights. A young white man was dragged from his automobile on 14th Street and brutally beaten. His life was saved by a Catholic priest.