The Big Smoke Read online

  a bullet in the brain & keep his life,

  while some other poor sap dies

  from a shot in the leg. It’s all luck

  & perspective: pleasure is both to me.

  COURTSHIP

  Hattie, you are

  as delectable & powdered

  as a beignet. Your

  skin is white enough

  to catch a bit of sun

  in its own sugar.

  Your sweat glints

  like the jewels I’ll

  buy for you. Don’t you

  hear me talking,

  pretty lady?

  I can play my viol

  for you if it

  will make you feel

  right. We can bathe

  in champagne, dry

  ourselves with hundred-

  dollar bills like those

  Rockefellers do.

  I’ll take you out

  of the sporting house

  & into the royal

  court. Keep watching

  my exhibitions. Keep

  hiding that smile:

  your gloved hand looks

  like a dove’s wing

  when you whisper

  to your friends.

  Did you tell them

  the snappy left

  that closed Kid’s

  eye like a bank on

  Saturday was for you?

  Did you whisper

  that the gut hook dropping

  the man to his knees

  like a sinner meeting

  with Death was for you?

  “A GREAT MALTESE CAT TOYING WITH A WHITE MOUSE”

  What I told the reporters:

  I had no doubt about the outcome

  after the first round. The only

  surprise was how long

  Tommy Burns stayed on his feet.

  He was a game man & showed

  no inclination whatsoever to quit.

  My fists were better in every round

  & I landed punches I thought

  would bring him down. Like a great

  pachyderm, he refused to stop.

  & because he was so game, I was glad

  the police ended the fight.

  I wanted to be heavyweight

  champion, not injure Burns seriously.

  What I really meant:

  That man made me chase him from Texas

  to England, then all of the way

  to Australia before he would fight me.

  Four-flusher. He didn’t win the title.

  He just happened to be white & in the right

  place, like somebody striking gold. I put him

  down, but gently, in the first round so he’d

  know what was to come when he got a knee

  off the canvas. Once he collected himself,

  I bruised him with my right & talked

  to him all the while. Walk right into

  them, Tommy. Left hook to the gut.

  That’s a boy, Tommy. Straight right

  to the cheek. Take your medicine nicely.

  LETTER TO BELLE (MAY 27, 1909)

  Dear Belle,

  You will not talk to me and I have things I need to tell you. Papa enjoys my company and I am not going anywhere. I do not mind sharing his attentions with you. We both know the business. He has enough money for both of us. Let us be civil and enjoy Papa’s company while we have it.

  Cordially yours,

  Hattie

  LETTER TO BELLE (MAY 29, 1909)

  Dear Belle,

  Let me tell you about the night me and Papa met. He came into the club in the kind of fancy clothes sports can only afford for a little while. He was the only black and at least a head taller than any other man in the room. He had on a white suit and the wings on his collars were crisp enough to fly away. The street outside the club was not covered and his spats still shined like a new nickel. I was playing piano and Papa asked me to play Verdi. All the girls laughed and he kept them laughing by ordering champagne for everyone. When he smiled the gold on his uppers was like an open door in a room with no window. The club was not a champagne place and Sideways Mike had to run out to get some. A couple of the colored girls approached Papa and he politely declined. The roll of bills in his waistcoat was so large he struggled to get it out to pay for the bottles of champagne Sideways brought back. Right then I knew Papa and me would be friends. I asked him you ever been with a white? That was the first time I saw his gold dentistry up close.

  Cordially yours,

  Hattie

  CHICKEN & OTHER STEREOTYPES

  The officer said, Nigger, where’s

  the chicken? & started inspecting

  the seats of my automobile before

  I could say anything. It was another

  one of those cold Chicago days & me

  & Hattie were standing in the middle

  of Wabash while the officer slapped

  the Flyer seats with his straightening

  club. I’ll be the first to admit

  my automobile has plush seats,

  but not plush enough for a chicken

  heist. Like I would stash a stolen

  hen where I sit. Where I come

  from, folks name their fowl

  & talk about those birds like old

  friends. I offered to pay a fine,

  but the police officer—his club

  dangling from his wrist like an extra

  arm—wouldn’t hear any of it.

  He saw I had a money roll the size

  of a teacup bulging my waistcoat

  & he still kept searching.

  I finally told him, “Mr. Officer,

  please understand: no stolen chicken

  ever passed the portals of my face.

  Those chickens see the gleam

  in my eye & keep out of my way.”

  LETTER TO BELLE (SEPTEMBER 15, 1909)

  Dear Belle,

  I know you are bothered by his race but it makes no difference to me that Papa is a black. I was with blacks before him and they want the same thing as a white man. The money counts the same and I will tell you this. Papa Jack’s money spends better because there is so much of it. You see the emerald bracelets ruby rings fancy rocks I do not know the name of he tosses around like candy at a parade. I am writing you this because I hate to see it gone. Being with Papa makes me feel important. He does not beat me much either. When we are together he always has one of those big hands on my tit or around my throat. It is just play for us. Make sure it is the same for you.

  Yours,

  Hattie

  MOUTH FIGHTING

  Sometimes, the fight is over before we even

  split the ropes. A fighter’s glass jaw, the cut

  of his costume, the absence of pretty women

  in his entourage: all fair game for the mouth

  fight. Never mothers or children. Never

  wives or crippled relatives, or women at all

  unless they are sporting women. There is

  always something else to talk about. A civilized

  mouth fight is about making a fighter wild

  & as soon as I can tell he’s listening,

  I know I’ve won. Yellow fighters like Tommy

  Burns want to tear out when the talk starts.

  You can see their knees knocking as clearly

  as spoons in a vaudeville show. Others lose

  composure & that’s when it’s over. How

  is a fighter supposed to think about defensing

  when he’s trying to get at me by whatever

  means necessary? That’s why the
mouth

  is the most devastating weapon & mine shines

  to high heaven every time it takes a swing.

  SHADOW BOXING

  You know I am all

  that I am because

  of my mother.

  Uh-huh.

  I keep her image

  before me at all times

  & do not exaggerate

  when I say she is

  the inspiration for all

  my successes.

  Right, right.

  Though she was born

  a slave, she told me

  I could be president

  of these United States.

  I told her I wasn’t

  interested but would

  become something

  just as big one day.

  I was there, Jack.

  I remember.

  It is only because

  of her wisdom that I

  became champion.

  I think about her

  all the time.

  All the time, Mr.

  Champion Negro?

  Even when you’re

  choking Belle out?

  COOKING LESSONS

  Belle, I wouldn’t put

  my hand on you if you’d do

  what I say. If you’d just do

  what you’re told, I wouldn’t

  shake you that way.

  I wouldn’t raise a hand.

  I wouldn’t have cut my knuckle

  on your eyetooth. I wouldn’t

  have sparred with a grease fire

  in my fist until the cut healed.

  No bruises, no cover-up

  for the welts. Belle, this

  is a good thing when you want

  it to be. I love your brown

  hair. You want Papa

  Jack near, don’t you?

  Belle, a woman is still

  a woman & the female mind

  is much slower than a man’s.

  You need reminding.

  You need direction.

  Shakespeare had a man

  play Desdemona, didn’t he?

  If you’re Papa Jack’s girl,

  you get seal coats from Alaska.

  Jewels luminous as the streetlamps

  in London. Belle, as long

  as you do what I tell you,

  you get to cut a swath

  with the Heavyweight Champion

  of the World. You get to travel

  first-class, on steamers

  with kings & queens. You get

  all your food cooked in butter.

  You ever ate shark? If you just

  did what Papa say, you would

  already know shark fancies most

  any other fish. Only with a mean

  aftertaste—no matter how much

  butter & lemon the cook uses.

  INTRODUCTIONS

  Excerpt from Belle Schreiber’s interview with Agent T. S. Marshall. October 30, 1912

  How did you meet John Arthur Johnson?

  At the Everleigh Club, but I wasn’t thrown out like they say. I left because Jack asked me to go with him. I don’t know how he got into the club—Negroes weren’t allowed in the establishment. I was trying to untangle one of my garters and when I looked up, he was there. He was so large he blocked almost all the light from the hall.

  Were you comfortable having a relationship with a Negro?

  Two of the other girls—Lillian and Jew Bertha—had already been with Papa on the sly. They said he was built for a good time with money to spare. The first night I snuck out with him, he took me for a ride in one of his automobiles. When I wouldn’t be with him in the way he wanted that night, he called on me at the back door of the Everleigh and sent flowers. He even signed a photograph: “To my little sweetheart, Belle, from Papa Jack.”

  Did Mr. Johnson give you money for your company?

  Once we were together, he rented an apartment for me near the lake. He paid for everything and called me “Mrs. Jack Johnson.” He introduced me that way wherever we went.

  Were there other white women in his prostitution enterprise?

  There were other women. I didn’t care. Papa kept me from sporting full-time. Hattie McClay was one. You might want to interview her if you can find her sober. Hattie was around almost the entire time I was. After Papa took her jewelry and gave it to me, she started writing me letters. She would slip them under my door. What kind of person does that?

  Did Mr. Johnson buy you gifts?

  Sometimes, but he promised more than he gave. The day he gave me Hattie’s jewelry, he said, “I’ll buy you some fresh ones soon,” as he poured a string of pearls the size of cherries in my hands. Those were the only pearls I ever got from him.

  “TEXAS AUTHORITIES WILL PROSECUTE THE CHAMPION IF HE TAKES WHITE WIFE”

  I have the right

  to choose who

  my mate will be

  without the dictation

  of any man.

  I have eyes & I

  have a heart

  & when they

  fail to tell me

  who I should

  have for mine,

  it is time for me

  to be put away

  in a lunatic asylum.

  KNEE OFF CANVAS

  ROADWORK AT SEAL ROCK

  On a blue day, the ocean

  as clear as smelling

  salts. George Little

  huffed along, pacing

  me like a locomotive

  missing its locomotion.

  My lungs were a couple

  of skillets at breakfast,

  but on a day with that

  kind of blue, it didn’t

  matter much. Three little

  white girls played

  hopscotch in the kind

  of dresses most folks

  keep for Sunday. I gave

  them my gold smile,

  waved as we passed.

  The girls looked frightened

  at first, but soon skipped

  after us, singing

  under a sun as yellow

  as salted fish: Nigger,

  nigger, never die. Black

  face & shiny eye.

  RACE RELATIONS

  Etta Duryea

  There’s no understanding colored

  & white. There’s no understanding

  why your anvil cheeks say trust

  me when you smile. Del sole

  un raggio brilla più vivido nel tuo

  bicchiere. How sunburned your

  smile, filled to the top with gold

  like Rockefeller’s watch pocket.

  I met him once. He was old & thirsty.

  How sitting with you in the Flyer

  feels like butterflying in sunshine.

  Mi amore, they will all learn:

  a man is a man if he is a man.

  SHADOW BOXING

  I want to gut-punch you

  until your eyes come out

  like you’ve seen a ghost.

  I want to put you out

  of the Flyer, watch you

  go end over end into the roots

  & old leaves like Belle did

  last time she sassed. She’d

  still be on the side of the road

  if I hadn’t wanted a piece

  of her that day. I don’t

  need anything from you,

  so stop trying to keep up

  with me. I’m Heavyweight

  Champion of the World. You’re

  just a shadow of me. You

  a
ren’t man enough—you’re

  not even a man at all.

  More of a man than you,

  Mr. Heaviest Negro in

  the World. Least I’m honest.

  VEDI! LE FOSCHE NOTTURNE

  Roadwork. Roadwork.

  Shadow box. All’opra,

  all’opra! Roadwork.

  Shadow box. Dagli, martella!

  Medicine ball. Calisthenics.

  Medicine ball. All’opra,

  all’opra! Chase chickens.

  Calisthenics. Dagli, martella!

  Smoke cigar. Shadow box.

  Smoke cigar. All’opra, all’opra!

  Visit Belle. Roadwork. Visit

  Hattie. Dagli, martella!

  Chi del gitano i giorni

  abbella? La zingarella!

  LETTER TO BELLE (MARCH 10, 1910)

  Dear Belle,

  I have been with Papa going on three years. We traveled from one coast to the other. England and way down to Australia. I saw him beat Tommy Burns near to death before the police stopped the fight. I watched the crowd go for the noose before the constables stepped in. I watched the starlight come into Papa’s eyes when he realized they could not take the title back. I dressed in fox furs and posed like Josephine while Papa played Napoleon when we got off the steamer in Vancouver. We listened to Il Trovatore so many times I thought the gramophone would break. I sat outside hotel rooms while he was with another woman both of them howling like death. A few times that woman was you. We do not get along but it is not about who goes with Papa tonight or tomorrow. If you care at all for him you need to understand he loves Etta. That does not mean we cannot have a part in this good thing. Papa loves Etta but he loves what a woman can be even more.

  Yours,

  Hattie

  EQUALITY

  I came up on Ketchel driving

  to the stadium. His motorcar looked

  like a skeleton if the bones were

  meant for driving. The steering

  wheel & all its turning gears

  like a man’s ribs once they’ve been

  broken. I could tell by his posture

  his seats weren’t soft like mine.

  & even though he sported a tasty pink

  suit, Ketchel’s automobile was painted