Chapter 5 - November 4, 2008

“Who did you vote for?” Aaron asked.

            We all crammed into Allan’s living room and I felt like one of the kids who had come home from a university holiday. Aaron and Prince sat in the reclining chairs. Allan sat next to Mary-ann, who was, like always, wrapped in a quilted blanket. I was on the floor, leaning against the coffee table. Carol, who had arrived only a few days ago from Florida, sat on the other side of the coffee table, her back resting against the arm of the love seat.

            It had been months since I visited. The obvious reason being the presidential race and the potential of our country electing the first African American president. I should have been anywhere but there that night. The office, DC, my condo drinking a beer with my dog anticipating the eruption New York City would make if Obama was elected. But I chose to be in that quaint, loving home with the Cauldwell family.

            “Is there a right answer to that question?” I said, looking back at Aaron. Prince laughed, tossing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth.

            “You better not go making a mess over there,” Mary-ann said.

            “Yes Mama.” Prince looked around his seat to find the one he’d just dropped.

            “What do you mean?” Aaron burst. “Of course, there’s a right answer to that question.”

            “Ha. It’s not that simple. If I say John McCain, what does that make me?” I asked, reaching forward for my beer.

            “A racist,” Carol said with a laugh.

            “Exactly,” I said, thankful I hadn’t taking a drink yet or it would have been sprayed across the floor.

            “No. I wouldn’t call you a racist. I’d just say you were, misunderstood,” Aaron finished.

            My face twisted. “Misunderstood? Come on now, I’ve lived in New York City my entire life. I know black culture.”

            “Leave the man alone,” Allan stuck in, patting me on the head like a defeated child. “Ah, who am kidding. I’d call you a racist myself.”

            The room roared with laughter. Carol fell onto her side and slammed her hand against the ground. Prince began to cough, having swallowed a few peanuts before chewing.

            Carol slid her feet up under her thighs and said, “If you’re so knowledgeable, name five iconic black figures whose names aren’t, Malcom X, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Harriet Tubman, or Muhammed Ali.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

“That’s easy. Nelson Mandela. He spent over twenty years in a South African prison to then be elected as president. And doesn’t it seem odd that a country stricken with apartheid into the 90s elected a black president before the United States of America?” I looked around the room at stunned faces.

Prince spoke to break the silence. “Yeah, but it’s Africa. There’s more black people there to choose from,” he said sarcastically, sending ripples of laughter throughout the room.

“Number two,” I continued, pushing my sleeves up to my elbows. “Frederick Douglas. Former slave turned leader in the anti-slavery movement. Three, and this one you might not even know. Toussaint Louverture. In 1791, he led a successful Haitian slave revolt that eventually led to a plantation system with paid labor. Four. Jesse Owens. Four gold medal wins in the 1936 Olympics. Hitler’s Olympics, to be more specific.” I paused to take a drink and saw smiles on each and every one of their faces.

“Can’t think of a fifth one, can you?” Aaron said.

“Hold on a second. I could do this for hours. Number five. Michael Jackson. Pioneer in the music indust--”

“Wait a minute now,” Mary-ann said suddenly. Her face was pinched in confusion. “I thought they said five black figures.” Mary-ann winked.

If you’ve ever been around a black family, they love to talk, and they love to laugh. Words can’t’ explain the number of tears that fell from each of our faces after that statement, but I imagine we could have filled an ocean. Several long minutes of catching our breath took place before anyone could talk, our sides aching with joy.

“I’ll do you one better Mama,” I said, not realizing what I had called her.

“Took you long enough,” Mary-ann said, stuffing her blanket back under her legs and smiling.

Whatever it was about her, it was starting to take over.

“I realize I didn’t put any women on that list so I’ll give you two. Maya Angelou, inspiring American poet and writer. And, Deratu Tulu. The first Ethiopian female athlete to win Olympic gold.”

“Thank you,” she said, clasping her hands together. “I approve.”

“He’s got my vote,” Allan said swiftly.

“Mine too,” said Prince.

            Carol and Aaron looked at each other, their heads twisting to the side. “Okay, you proved that you know your black history Sal, but just because you know black culture, doesn’t mean you know what it means to be black,” Aaron said.

            “Now that’s an entirely different topic. I’m a middle-aged, bald, Italian white guy with no wife, no kids, and dog. I’ve lived in Brooklyn most of my life and I’ve been writing for a newspaper for almost thirty years. Of course, I don’t know what it means to be black. But I love everything about culture in general and respect the efforts of a lot of black people in history, as well as the present.”

            Aaron scrunched his face.

            “Come on, give me a break,” I said, waving my arms. “I’m sitting in the living room of a black family. Just behind me is someone who could easily be on that list of black figures who helped to change the course of history. And, we’re watching the countdown to a potential first African American president.” I paused to point at him. “Who by the way, I voted for.”

            Aaron laughed, throwing a small handful of peanuts at me. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were black. That’s all you had to say in the first place and this conversation would have been over, but leave it to a black person to come up with a reason to argue.”

            After brushing the peanuts off my arm, I looked back at him and said, “In all my years, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

The room roared with laughter again. A few more handfuls of peanuts were thrown in different directions and I nearly spilled my beer.

As we settled, the house gently fell to a low murmur, only the sound of the television and the occasional slurp of a drink could be heard.

            Allan flipped back and forth between stations several times before leaving it on NBC. I explained that no matter what news station you went to, it would essentially be the same information, you just had to choose which person’s voice you enjoyed listening to more.

            By nine o’clock, Allan and Mary-ann were asleep, their heads leaning in against one another. Carol had dozed several times before heading upstairs for the night. Prince, Aaron and myself, sat focused as Obama’s number’s continued to rise.

            “I think he’s got it,” I whispered, finishing off the last of my third beer.

            “I wouldn’t say that yet,” Aaron said. “There are still a few states that could make the difference for McCain.”

            The next few hours pressed on and Obama’s lead looked to be too much.

            This just in, Tim Russert, NBC Nightly News reporter said. McCain has just given his concession speech at the Baltimore Hotel in Phoenix. Barack Obama has won the presidency.

            Aaron stood and raised his arms high above his head. His mouth fell open in a whispered shout and he and his brother hugged with excitement.

            “This is a special moment,” I whispered, standing to join them.

            We all looked back at Allan and Mary-ann, their breath rising and falling in perfect union. Most people go through life not reaping, or even seeing the benefits of their sacrifice. I was glad to know that they would.

            With the hour that it was, Aaron offered to let me sleep in the guest room. I happily accepted. As I lay on the bed, arms folded over my chest, I thought of my dad. We weren’t close until I reached my mid-thirties and he was diagnosed for the first time. I fell asleep with something he had said replaying in my mind. Be proud of what you can do, not what others can do for you.

 

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            “We’ll be taking my mother to Full Bellies this evening for dinner and to celebrate the election,” Prince said, standing in the kitchen drinking coffee.

            I poured a mug for myself. “I have an early dinner with my brother Mike after I leave the office, but I’ll stop by on my way home for a drink.”

            After saying goodbye, I stop at home to thank my neighbors for looking after Scout. Tossing him a treat, I made sure his water was full, then headed to the office.

            “It’s a mad world out there,” I said as I walked in. Ryan was sitting at his desk scrolling through second drafts. Domonique, our photographer, flipped through her camera, checking over photo’s she had taking the night before. And Robert, our staff intern, was eating a donut, eyes glued to the small television hanging on the wall.

            “It’s as if aliens from another planet just landed. This is insane,” Robert said, turning to face me, a thin smear of powdered sugar on his cheek.

            “I can’t say they would have made this much of a fuss if aliens actually landed,” Domonique said, looking up from her camera. “I’ve seen rioting when things are going badly, but rioting out of joy. That just doesn’t make any sense. I’ve got hundreds of photos. Cars flipped over and set on fire. Store front windows smashed in with people carrying out electronics. All the while, shouting how happy they are that a black man was elected president.” She rolled her chair over to where I was standing to show me.

            “I heard on the bus radio this morning that it’s no different on the other side of the country,” I said, taking the camera from her.

            “Just add that to the list of things to write about,” Ryan said. He stood and walked over to the printer, then placed some papers on Peter, one our writers, desk.

            “Who was in DC covering the story last night?” I asked.

            “Peter was at the White House. He sent me a draft last night,” Ryan said, point at the desk he had just walked from. “Amy took a crew down for live, online coverage.”

            “Of course, she would,” I said with a laugh.

Amy was an incredible journalist. She won the Peabody Award ten years ago for her work on Saving Lives: The real story behind sex slavery in America. But it wasn’t often that the chief of staff did work in the field. That’s why I never wanted the promotion. I needed to be out there gathering information to tell the story, not making sure other people were telling it correctly.

“This is a big event,” Ryan said.

“I would have done the same thing in her position,” Robert said, wiping his face with a napkin. “I was told to stay in the office in case something crazy happens.” He shook his head. “All the crazy stuff is happening out there!”

“Calm down intern. It’s not like something like this will never happen again.” Domonique smirked. “Oh, that’s right, it won’t,” she said sarcastically. Robert’s face reddened and the rest of us turned away and laughed.

“Alright, let’s leave the poor kid alone. Ryan, email me the story on water shortages, I want to look back over that before we go to print. Then I’m going to take the train into Manhattan and take some shots of the aftermath.” I checked my watch. “It’s nine forty-five now. Dom, are you good with taking Robert into the city. I’d like some interviews with people of every race, age, sex, size, sexual orientation. You name it. I want to know how the people feel after the election.”

“Hell yes!” Robert shouted.

“He asked me if I was okay with taking you with me. I haven’t answered yet,” Domonique ran her fingers through her hair. Robert’s mouth hung open slightly and he pleaded with his eyes. “Fine, I’ll take you, but act like a normal person, would you?”

Robert exhaled and walked to his cubicle.

I smirked as I watched him go. “Once I leave the office, I won’t be coming back until Monday. If you need anything, you’ll have to reach me on my cell.”

“Look at you Sal,” Ryan said sarcastically. “We get you a computer and now you’re

saying, ‘reach me on my cell.’ I think we’ve created a monster.”

I walked away shaking my head.

            Several hours later I stood in the middle of Manhattan, camera slung over my right shoulder as thousands of people walked the streets shouting, crying and hugging one another. Chants of U.S.A. went on for minutes at a time. Children sat on top of shoulders, gripping the heads of their fathers. Hundreds of police in riot gear lined the sidewalks in hopes of containing any madness that might have ensued.

I found my way to a staircase to take pictures. A cool fall breeze rushed through the air, carrying the words of the crowd even further into the city.

By ten-thirty, the screens on the sides of the buildings all went to a recording of Obama’s

victory speech in Chicago. He wore a black suit, white shirt and red tie, his hand gripping that of his youngest daughter as they waved to the people. The crowd fell to a gentle hum as he started to speak.

 

If there is anyone out there

who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible,

who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time,

who still questions the power of our democracy,

tonight, is your answer.

 

            The Manhattan crowd exploded, throwing balled up newspaper into the air. Pumping their fists, they chanted as if they were fans watching a USA World Cup game. Several police horses stumbled away, one nearly throwing its rider to the ground.

            There’s something special about seeing a nation come together, or at least a people putting aside their differences to welcome a new way of thinking. Like the freeing of the slaves, the end of World War ll, and a woman’s right to vote; history was being made.

           

<>

            The line to get into Full Bellies extended a block and a half as if hundreds of people were waiting to get into a Beatles concert. I acted as press coverage, walking along the cracked and aging sidewalk to the front door. Slowly pushing my way through with the help of Katrina, she landed a rather aggressive hug around my neck.

            “It’s great to see you Mr. Pitello,” she said, pushing the door open and walking me in.

            “You too,” I said with a smile.

            Decorations hung from the ceiling, dim lights lined the outer edges of the wall and most of the tables and chairs were folded and stacked to make more room. Music thumped in the background, muffled by all the talking.

            I saw Prince by the drink counter talking with a woman as he filled cups. “Prince. This was a great turn out,” I said, resting my arms on the counter.

            “Yeah, and I’m told there are a lot more waiting outside.” He handed me a cup.

            I shook my head in agreement, looking over at the woman.

            “Oh, Sal,” Prince said, grabbing her by the arm. “This is my wife Elizabeth.” She had a part down the middle of her head, thin bangs hanging down to her glasses and a slightly crooked smile.

            “I’ve heard a lot about you Sal,” she said. “I think it’s nice what you’re doing for Mary-ann and the family.”

            I took sip of water and set my cup down. “Well I wouldn’t say I’m doing much. I’ve made a living telling stories and I’m hoping to do this one justice.” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and smiled, turning back to the line waiting for drinks. “Where’s your mother? I’d like to see her.”

            “The last time I saw her she was sitting along the wall with Sharice.” Prince pointed through the crowd.

            I nodded, then worked my way through a mob of people wearing Obama 2008 party hats and snacking on cheese and crackers. Mary-ann sat in a metal folding chair next to Sharice, her wheelchair locked and pressed against the wall. Sharice was telling a story. I stood at a distance watching Mary-ann’s facial expressions change, her mouth stretching into her famous smile.

            “Ladies,” I said, approaching with my hand extended.

            Sharice looked up. “If you’ve come over here like that you better be asking one of us to dance.” She cracked a smile and looked over at Mary-ann.

            “You better stop that Sharice,” Mary-ann said, gripping her hand. “He’s a nice-looking guy but I don’t think Ronald would appreciate you flitting around with another man.” Mary-ann blushed, smiling up at me. “Who are you anyway?” she asked.

            Sharice’s expression sank into her chin. “Don’t you remem--”

            I held my hand out, pausing her mid-sentence. “My name is Sal Pitello. I’m here writing a story about you and your family.”

            Mary-ann scrunched her nose, looking around the room. “Why would anyone want to do that?” she asked.

            “I think your story is worth telling. You’ve done a lot for this community and I think people should know about it.” I walked to the other side of Mary-ann and sat.

            “Isn’t that nice,” she said. “I couldn’t have done it without this woman right here. She’s my best friend, Sha… She… Umm.” She looked back at Sharice, her head tilting to the side. “Sharice. Yes, this is my best friend Sharice. We got all this started, ah, when was it honey?”

            “Many years ago,” Sharice said. She looked passed Mary-ann, locking eyes with me and I could see how much it hurt.

            “Yes, so many years ago,” Mary-ann said. Her eyes wandered back to the crowd. “My, there’s a lot of people here. I wonder why that is.”

            I took my phone from pocket and pulled up the news. “We are celebrating. Barack Obama became the forty-fourth president.” I turned my screen to show her a picture.

            “Oh, good heavens. Never did I think I’d see a black president,” she said. Her face brightened, taking the phone to get a closer look. “Handsome too,” she giggled. “Did you see this?” she asked, spinning back to Sharice.

            “Yes. It’s a special time in our country. That’s why we wanted to bring everyone down to celebrate. It goes to show that the hard work we put in for equality is starting to pay off.”

            “Celebrating. Sorry, I’ve forgotten. What are we celebrating?” Mary-ann looked down at the phone. “I don’t know who this is, but he sure is handsome. Don’t go telling Al I’ve been having eyes at another man.” She giggled again, setting the phone down on her leg.

            With a saddened smile, Sharice stroked Mary-ann’s cheek with the back of her hand, tears scattering slowly across her face. “I won’t honey. I know Allan is the only man for you.”

            I watched for a few short minutes. Sharice began to hum as she looked into Mary-ann’s eyes. Mary-ann smiled back and I could see the love they shared for one another.

            The music grew louder and clusters of people began to dance, raising their cups in the air, shouting with excitement.

Alise came over shortly after. “I think it would be best if you took a break from all this noise mom.” Sharice nodded her head, lifting her legs back onto the footholds. “Mr. Pitello. Will you help Mama to the office?”

“Of course.” Grabbing my phone and standing, I held my wrist out for Mary-ann.

“What is it you want me to do? I hope you aren’t looking for a dance, I’ve got a husband you know,” Mary-ann said, leaning back in her chair.

I chuckled. “I would do no such thing Mama. If you hold onto my arm, I’ll help you walk

back to the office and away from all this noise.” She hesitated, then slowly grabbed my arm and I led her through the dancing crowd.

As we walked into the office, Aaron, his wife Andrea, Carol and Sharice were sitting around a small table looking through a box of old photographs. After helping Mary-ann into a seat, I introduced myself to Andrea and found a chair of my own.

“Who is this?” Andrea asked, holding up a black and white photo of a young boy. “There’s nothing written on the back.” His hair was trimmed short and head tilted slightly to the right. He was wearing torn overalls, one strap unhooked and a white Long John shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Sharice leaned forward against the table and laughed. “Who else do we know that wore overalls every day to work. And, still wears those things to this day.”

The room looked at one another and all at once said, “Allan.”

“Yeah?” Allan said from the doorway. “I knew I felt my ears burning.”

Andrea held the photograph up for him to see.

“Ah. I see you found me in my prime. Handsome little fellow, wasn’t I?” Allan walked forward and hung his arms over Mary-ann’s shoulders, kissing her gently on the head.

Mary-ann spun quickly, knocking Allan back. “Who do you think you are? I have a husband!” she shouted, throwing her arms in the air.

Allan looked around the room embarrassed. “It’s me love. Allan,” he said, waddling forward with his cane.

Mary-ann reached up and took his face in her hands. Her eyes began to swell. “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you all night.” She kissed him on the cheek. “There was a bald white man who tried to dance with me. Can you believe how many people are here?”

“I know. They’re here for you,” he said, pulling the chair out next to her and taking a seat.

“Who’s here for me?” she asked. “The house is a mess. I should clean up before they arrive, maybe bake a cake. It’s their birthday, isn’t it?” Suddenly frantic, she tried to stand. Allan quickly held her arm and she sank back into her seat.

“It will be fine. Let’s just sit here and look at some pictures.”

“Look here Mary-ann. This is from our tenth-grade dance. Do you remember?” Sharice said, pointing at the picture. “We were sitting at the lunch table and Eugene Yurps and his big head kept looking over at you. You asked me to go with you so that if he asked, you could say you already had a date.”

Mary-ann’s eyes went back and forth from the photo to Sharice as if trying to find the connection.

“You were so beautiful in that dress,” Sharice said, picking up the photo and holding it close to her face.

“Yes, she was,” Allan said, rubbing Mary-ann’s back. “Just as beautiful as she is today.” He leaned in and nestled his face in her neck. Mary-ann giggled, twisting away.

“Take me somewhere,” Mary-ann whispered.

Allan kissed her again, whispering something in her ear to make her smile. Turning back to the table, he too thumbed through a stack of photographs as a tear fell from his eye.