 Hi, we are really pleased to have here tonight Guy Johnson to talk about his new book, Standing at the Scratch Line. I'm going to tell you a little bit about the book and then we're going to have Guy re-little and then we'll have a little conversation. The book opens with Leroy Tremaine forced to flee his native Louisiana after killing two white deputies. He joins the army in a ship to France during World War I where he becomes a hero and earns the new name of King Tremaine. He returns to America where he battles the mob in Jazz Age Harlem, fights the Ku Klux Klan in Louisiana, outwits Cricket politicians in Oklahoma and ends up a very wealthy man in San Francisco's Fillmore District. The book is a real page turner. It tells the story of Leroy in such a way that we learn a side of American history that you don't find in the school books. So please welcome Guy Johnson and we'll have him re-little of the book. Welcome Guy. Hello. I'd like to say a few things first. Part of the reason that I wrote this book is I was really irritated at the kind of representations that have been made for black male characters in American literature. And if you go to the movies, the most of the time you'll see black people will either be brutalizing each other or they will be humorous buffoons. This of course has changed somewhat in more recent years because we've got Denzel, we've got Laurence Fishburne and Wesley Snites, but still I really wanted to see a different character and what I wanted to do is I wanted to capture some of the historical events that actually occurred in the United States and put them in a novel. And so I did. Part of what spurred me on was, did any of you see Rosewood? Okay. It wasn't a great film, it had some good people in it, but it wasn't a great film. What really irritated me about Rosewood was here was a black town and it was savagely attacked by bigots, some clansmen and there was essentially a rape scene that happened and then the whole town was destroyed and it ended up only two black people, two black men out of the whole town fought. And at the end of the movie, all these black men came running out of the trees to get on the train to escape. And I sort of looked at that and it made me really irritated because I don't know any black people, any black men who would let their families be assaulted and run away. I don't know any white people like that. I don't know any Hispanic, I don't know any Asian people like that. This is the antithesis of what human beings would act like. So then my next question and when people read my work, they say, God, you know, there's a lot of violence in this. The reality is we lived in a really violent country and the time period that I wrote about, which is the book goes from 1916 to 1946, was a really violent time. If you were Jewish, Hispanic, black, Catholic in the South, a minor, a unionizer, it was a pretty good chance you weren't going to be around if you were going to stand up. There was a very good chance. We seem to have forgotten our history. So I wanted to stuff a lot of this stuff in it. And I don't know that I succeeded, but what I really wanted to do was I wanted it to be, I wanted it to be literature. I wanted to write well and I wanted it to be compelling. The cover, the cover of the book is a guy, an actual member of the 369th Battalion. The 369th Battalion was the most decorated battalion in World War I. This battalion also fought in the Spanish-American War. And they fought in one other small skirmish, but I think they were also in the Philippines. What I wanted, what I did was I took part of World War I. I had a, the actual book is really not about World War I. The reason we have the fellow on the cover is because of his posture, his tenor, the ambiance created by a man standing with a rifle in one hand and a gun over his crotch. Well, with the gun over his crotch, you know he's not going to run too far. I thought you'd get a bang out of that. You guys are far too serious. And what I'd like to do is I'd like to read a couple of scenes. And I want to pick up, during the period of the Harlem Renaissance, quite a few, well, this was an artistic period for black culture in the United States. But it was also a period when black people controlled most of Harlem. And if you read, if you see movies like Hoodlam, it really appears that they didn't. But in fact, the black people fought the mafia in Harlem. And the mafia controlled some part of it. But Daddy Divine would never, Father Divine would never have existed if they actually controlled all of Harlem. So what I wanted to do is I took a scene out of that. And of course I didn't mark the page. So you're going to have to bear with me as I talk about it. The reality is that during this period they spent a lot of time creating, I'm losing myself here. But what I want to get to is that there are some periods in time here where there is a nutshell of culture that we seem to have lost. And part of this has to do with people like James Reese Europe, who is an actual person who existed. He was one of the first people, he was the head of the regimental band for the 369th. They're the ones who are essentially responsible for bringing the wawa-sounding trumpets and the jazz-age music to Europe. So I put him in several scenes here. He and King Tremaine are going to be businessmen together. King Tremaine ends up owning part of a bar. And it's his first, the first night that it opens, he's sitting with one of his colleagues which is Big Ed and Noble Sissel. And anyone who knows the history knows that Noble Sissel was quite a songwriter and a composer. So I used two people who were actually existing. Now I'm going to read this scene. This is the first night that the bar opens. Excuse me? I'm on page 66, but I'm just going to move around. The lights went down and five brown-skinned women with their hair hot-combed tapped dance into the circle of spotlights in the Rockland Palace Review. The rhythms tapped out by their feet were accompanied by a lone clarinet and a drummer playing a hi-hat. The audience sat around the circular dance floor in an intimate semi-darkness that was only partially lightened by the candles on their tables. The dancers twirled and spun through their dance steps as their truncated costumes of sequins and nets shimmered under the spots. Near the end of the act, each woman was given an opportunity to display her most difficult tap combination. As the different dancers took their turn, different instruments would join in in syncopation with the tap rhythm. The first was accompanied by a stand-up bass, the second by a cornet, the next by a banjo, the fourth by saxophone, and the last by a piano. The women dancing with the banjo and the piano accompanist received the loudest applause. As the lights went up and the dancers trued back to their dressing room, Big Ed was enthusiastic. He stood up and applauded loudly. Did you see that big leg gal? Man, that honey was looking good. Lord, Lord. Sit down, Big Ed. There's more to come, Jim Europe said with a laugh. You act like you just got out of the army a couple of weeks ago. I did just get out, Big Ed said. I got demobbed the same time as you boys. His consternation caused a chuckle around the table. I think he's talking about that lean and hungry look you got on your face, Big Ed, noble Cecil said. You look like you could have eaten that girl alive. Shoot. Just let me get under her hood and check out those pistons, and I'll be going like 60, Big Ed confirmed. King smiled and said, hold on, Big Ed. I think the boys are trying to pull your coat because if you look that hungry, you're going to end up paying for it. Still, I want to meet that girl, Jim. Can you set it up, Big Ed persisted? Why don't I invite her and her friends to come to our opening day picnic next week? You do that for me, Big Ed was effusive. Damn, you think you'd given him the girl, noble chuckle? Listen, boys, I have to go backstage and get dressed for a full orchestra's appearance, Jim stood up. I think you can rest easy with your investment, gentlemen. It looks like we're going to make a lot of money in this club. You boys is luckily you got this deal to come together so quick, noble commented, shaking his head. If the Rockland Palace hadn't been sitting vacant for six months, you wouldn't have been able to swing it. Yep, we's lucky we got our money to situation straightened out so fast, Big Ed explained. That's what made all this possible. Yeah, you fellas must have found a gold mine in France, noble noted. You just got to make sure that somebody else don't end up benefiting from your investment. Mr. Europe, Mr. Europe, a young waiter hurried over to the table. Mr. Europe, some white men's is trying to force their way backstage. They said that you wouldn't mind, but Vince sent me over to check with you. The waiter was wearing the red waistcoat and black pants that was the club uniform. Tell Vince he's right to check with me, Jim said. Direct those men back to my office. I'll meet them there. Up jump the devil, noble declared with a frown of disgust. Well, here's our first hurdle with the mob, Jim said with resignation. Do you want to come back and help protect your investment? He asked King. Is this the mob you've been telling me about? The very same noble answered. An Italian underground organization that runs the protection rackets and controls all the big gambling money. They make you pay protection money in order to stay in business. Otherwise, they destroy your business. I warned you guys about this. It's why I didn't want to come in on this deal. I'm through with fighting. I don't ever want to pick up a gun again. Shouldn't get to that. We can afford to pay 5% off the top, but not more, Jim answered. I just hope they aren't greedier than that. Let's go back and see, King just suggested. There was so much about New York that he didn't understand. The strangeness and the newness of the city with its millions of people sometimes threatened to overwhelm him. But strong arm techniques were the same the world over. This was something he understood. You need me, big ed ass starting to rise? No, sit tight, King advised. I'll be back before the show starts. On the way to the office, Jim explained his strategy. This is the price of doing business in New York. I figured they'd come sooner or later. If we can hold them to 5% off the top, we've got no problem. Let me do the talking. I've met most of these guys before. I had to pay when I ran the cleft club too. Why pay them at all, King asked? Because it's cheaper than going to war. And I don't want to have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Why not make them look over their shoulders, King continued? I'm not a soldier now. And really, I never was. I'm a band leader, a composer, and a musician. I'm not ready to do any more fighting. It's hard enough trying to arrange tunes and keep the orchestra together. I feel the same way Noble does, except that this is part of my dream. Jim waved his hand around indicating the club's red and black decor. You can't let people walk on you no matter what, King asserted with a certain grimness. Just let me do the talking, Jim said. You got it, King answered, and followed with an enigmatic smile. Vince Gilroy was standing by the curtains leading backstage with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was tall, lanky, and dark-skinned and had a flattened nose. The scars on his face were proof that he did not always live among the most polite company. But he was the best stage manager north of the Potomac. I took Minetti and his boys back to your office, Vince said, flicking his ashes in the direction of an ashtray. They didn't look happy to me. I think they mean to rough you up. You want me to get help? He won't need it, King answered, another smile on his face. Well, he's got another problem, Vince retorted, blowing smoke ring. Tyrone Thigpin is back there making a scene about how he should be in the house band. And he's demanding to see that puffed up Europe. Buy him a drink, Vince, and tell him I'll talk with him later, Jim suggested. I think he's had enough firewater for this whole week. King followed Jim through the curtains and entered a large hallway. Almost immediately, they were accosted by a shouting voice. So you finally decided to show up at work. You done graced us with your presence. Quiet, God damn it, Vince hissed. There's people with families who need the money they make here. We got a show to put on. Tyrone came tipping across the hallway with a sheepish smile on his face. And his finger held up to his lips as if he was telling everyone to be quiet. It was obvious from his gait that he had drunk a considerable amount of some alcoholic beverage. Although Jim attempted to brush past him, Tyrone blocked his way. I told everybody when you got here, we was going to straighten this out because we go back a long ways. We was overseas together. Ain't that right? Tyrone tried to put his arm around Jim's shoulders as if indeed they were friends. Jim pushed him away. You're drunk and I'm busy. Why don't we talk about this later? Just the two of us. Jim made an effort to pass, but Tyrone blocked his way again. Tyrone's expression changed from a smile to a snarl. Ain't no reason for you to disrespect me, nigga. Don't act so high and mighty. You're drunk, Tyrone. Let's talk when you're sober, Jim advised him. Pushing past him even more forcefully. A troupe of six women dancers dressed in outfits that exposed a lot of mid-drift and leg exited the stage into the hallway. They were laughing and talking among themselves on their way to the dressing rooms when Tyrone grabbed Jim by the arm and swung him around roughly. I ain't got no need to meet with you alone. Tell these people I was your new house drummer. Tell them, almost everybody to know. Jim gritted his teeth and muttered, you don't work here now, and you never will. I've tried to be polite, but you're a fool. Tyrone raised his voice. All this is because you don't like me, huh? Jim swung around and faced his adversary. You're right. I don't like you. But I don't hire you because you can't play. You may think your snare drumming makes you a drummer, but to a musician, you're just a snare drummer in search of a parade. You got no foot, and the only framework you can lay down is in four-four time, and what you lay down is weak and repetitive. You have the picture now? Jim turned and walked away. The women who had been standing around, watching the interchange, began to ooh and ah. One said, hmm, that was too crisp. Crisp is toast, said another giggling behind her hands in search of a parade. Lord, help me. Did Europe hit the nail on the head, she asked? Turning to a friend for confirmation. To the paradiddle, honey, to the paradiddle, the woman said, shaking her head at Tyrone. It was clear that Tyrone had made no friends in the chorus line. The poor boy was so badly burnt, ventured the first woman who had spoken. It looked like the heat shrunk up his naps. She said, referring to the sweaty condition of Tyrone's greasy and kent hair. The women all laughed and walked away, looking back at Tyrone as they went. Tyrone started after the women, and there was an angry look on his face. King stepped into his path and said, no more talking. It's about time for you to leave or make your move. If it had been his call, he would have ended Tyrone's disturbance within 10 seconds of learning it. Everything he had seen if Tyrone was repulsive, not was just him and Tyrone. Tyrone stared up at King in confusion, then his face set in an angry frown. He put his hand into his pocket where he kept his switchblade. What do you mean, make my move? As he edged closer to Tyrone, King whispered, all you done is talk. It's time to take it to the mat. King smiled and felt an ache of anticipation. He wanted Tyrone to pull his knife. Don't tell me you're a chicken shit and a coward, he goaded, keeping his voice low. King was on his toes, prepared for anything. I ain't got no truck with you, Tyrone said, pulling his hand out of his pocket and putting it behind his back. King had seen the hidden knife gambit many times. Have you got the blade open yet, King asked? He was now within striking distance. This is your last chance to go out that door walking. The look in King's eyes and the tone in his voice made Tyrone drop his knife and kick it away. I ain't fighting, I just gonna walk out of here. He stepped back, he began to tremble. There was something about King's quiet ferocity that struck fear into him. It made him think that perhaps the rumors were true. King exposed the Bowie knife which he had palmed and kept concealed in the sleeve of his jacket, then shoved it back into its waist sheet. Get out, he ordered. Tyrone did not even bother to pick up his knife. He was sick realizing how close he had come to being killed. He walked out into the street without a backward glance. King was mildly disappointed. He sorely missed the excitement of conflict. He exhaled slowly. There had been a certain monotony to the passing days that certainly had not existed during the war. The rules of war had been rescinded. They had been folded and put away with the uniforms. He was now supposed to lay down his weapons and set aside his taste for excitement. King walked over to the door of Jim's office and tried to calm himself. He took a couple of deep breaths and walked in the door without knocking. Immediately, a smallish, swarthy white man tried to push him roughly out the door. We got enough niggers in here. Reacting without thinking, King knocked the man's hands aside and grabbed his throat, squeezing with the intent to cripple or kill. It was only the movement of a large white man that saved the little man's life. King did not have time to fully crush his windpipe before he turned to deal with another adversary. He threw the little man backward onto the floor where he laid choking, gasping and struggling for air. King saw the big man go for his gun and opened his own jacket, exposing his pistols. Go ahead, he taunted as he kept walking toward the big man. While King closed the space between them, the big man hesitated. When he drew back to punch the approaching King, it was too late. King flung himself on the man, snapping his head forward at the last minute and headbutting the man over his nose and mouth. The man stumbled backward from the force of the attack. King pursued, striking swiftly with the heel of his palm at the base of the man's nose. He missed the killing blow, but nonetheless knocked his opponent headlong into the desk. The man's head cracked against the solid mahogany and he lay silent on the floor. The exhilaration King felt from this brief physical exertion made him throw back his head and laugh. It was a terrible laugh of a spirit freed by violence. He felt truly alive. It was almost like being on patrol. He pulled out a pistol and screwed a silencer onto the barrel and glanced over at Jim Europe, who looked like he had been roughed up a bit and said with a smile, let's hear about the deal these fine gentlemen is offering. There was a tough-looking white man with greased back hair and bushy eyebrows sitting up behind Jim's desk. He wore an expensive dark pinstripe double-breasted suit and he had his two-tone shoes up on the desk. He had watched King's entrance and subsequent destruction of his men in silence. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and offered the pack to King. No thanks, King said with a friendly smile. He went over and examined the little man who appeared to be breathing almost regularly. He lifted his foot and stomped down hard on the man's head. I ain't never liked the word nigger, King, explained to the man in the pinstripe suit, but I do like the cigar. He walked over and studied the big man's prone figure and determined he was unconscious. King took out a cellophane wrapped cigar from his jacket. He went and sat on the desk next to where the white man had put his feet. You want a job, the man asked. King laughed, I couldn't work for you. Why not? Ask anybody, I pay well. The money ain't the problem, King answered with a chuckle. I just don't think you wanna call me what I wanna be called. With the casual movement, the man flicked his ashes on the floor. And what might that be? I wanna be called Mr., like Mr. Tremaine. Ain't that big a request, really? Anyways, I got me a job. I'm part owner of this establishment. And I can tell by your two friends we might not get along real good. Now how about telling me about your offer? King put the pistol down on the desk. You must be the new nigger in town and don't know who I am and who I represent. King took a wooden match out of his coat and quickly scratched it against the man's cheek. The match flared into flame. Who is you and who do you represent? He asked. The man touched his cheek and anger briefly flared in his eyes. Then he too smiled. His eyes wandered to the desk where King had laid the pistol. Go ahead, reach for it, King urged as he puffed on the cigar. The man turned to Jim who had been standing against the wall. Is this the partner who you said wouldn't go for more than 5% off the top? He's one of them, Jim said, trying to straighten his torn shirt. His lip was also bleeding. I accept. The Manetti family will accept 5% for six months. I have the authority to make this deal. I'm Tino Manetti. But understand me, you niggers, and that's what I'll call you. I'll take the first payment now, niggers. Manetti stood up. King hit him before he was fully erect. Did I tell you I didn't like the word nigger? I ain't ever been a nigger and I ain't ever gonna be what a white man calls me unless it's Mr. What are you doing, shouted Jim? He was gonna accept our deal. Are you crazy? King came over and grabbed Jim by the collar. Are you crazy? You think they're gonna let you be an exception? You better take a look around at your world. These boys would be the first to come back and blow your ass away, he let Jim go. They keep their power by intimidating and killing. If I can find out something about who sent them and their operation, as possible we might be able to shake them up and make them forget all about us. What's gonna happen to these men? They ain't ever going home. But you don't worry about that. Just go get big head and have them bring the truck around back. Get on with the show. This is what I wanted to avoid, Jim said, shaking his head. Noble was right, King said. It's like death in taxes. Can't really get away from the rough stuff if you open a business like this. He watched King leave the office without speaking. I mean, he watched Jim leave the office without speaking. When the door closed, King smiled broadly. He hadn't planned on staying in the city long, but perhaps he would like New York after all. King picked up a pad and began writing down the names of the men he wanted to contact, as well as his potential facility and transportation needs. He would be able to put his military training to use and he had a pool of trained men to choose from. This was something he understood. This was war. And the adventures are just beginning, huh? Yes. Now you dedicated this book to your grandfather, Bailey Johnson. Is there some relationship between King Tremaine and your grandfather, Bailey Johnson? Well, there is. King Tremaine is, well, my grandfather is the skeleton upon which King Tremaine is fleshed. I never liked my grandfather. He was a hard man, a difficult man. And he came from a different time period. And actually, I didn't, the book I started off writing was the book about the grandson, a friend of mine, a sculptor who said he would give me, he would sculpt me a wooden face if I wrote a short story about my grandfather because I often talked about my grandfather. He was the principal male figure in my life. Well, I started writing this story and I was about 400 pages in it and the grandfather appeared like a force majeure, a shadowy character. And another friend of mine, a writer, said, you don't know anything about this guy. You ought to write something about him and make yourself aware of who he really is. Because if he was really evil, see we had a big philosophical conversation. I was working under the opinion that there are some people who are just straight out evil and they occur statistically. And no matter what the race, they feel their job is to eliminate most of their species that they come in contact with. And my friend said, no, that's not the case, that in fact, that people are molded. Nobody is tremendously evil. Well, so he suggested that I write something on this. So I started researching and I started writing scenes for the grandfather. And when I stopped writing, I had about seven or 800 pages single spaced, which seemed to me to state that there was a story here. So then I called an agent and she said, and she said, well, I'd be interested in seeing this. I like your writing. So I sent her the book, but I made a mistake. I sent her all 1300 pages of it. And she said, well, nobody's gonna print a 1300 page book of an unknown writer. And she says, you're gonna have to cut it. So I then went back and did some more research to make it a story of its own, a novel of its own. And what I came out with was very interesting and sort of cathartic because what I came out with was, ah, my grandfather really loved me. He was molded by a time when people, men were meant, well, when men thought they were supposed to be hard. I don't recall my grandfather ever hugging me except once when I was bitten by a rattlesnake. And I think he was really curing me. I don't think he was really hugging me. But he had a different perception of manhood than I have. And I thought he, I always thought of him as a dinosaur and someone who was just cool. But when I started reading about where he came from out of Arkansas and what it was like. And if you were a person like my grandfather who did not take shit, you had to be this kind of person. So then when I started writing this, I discovered not only did my grandfather like, love me, but that my grandfather was stranger than fiction and therefore I couldn't really write about him. I had to make this guy likeable. Because my grandfather wasn't likeable. And I wanted people to relate to who he was. And so that's how that started. What did your grandfather actually do? He was your old fashioned cut and shoot gangster. Prostitution, gambling and bootlegging were the legitimate crimes. These were crimes an honorable man could be part of. He came to the Fillmore after the Japanese were interned and he bought property in the Fillmore during that period. Now at the same time, I believe there was an exodus because that area of the Fillmore was pretty much Jewish and Japanese. And as the Jews exited, blacks bought in and because the Japanese were interned, and I believe that every household that was taken over like that had a soul in it, a lost soul in it. Not a lot of people wanted to buy into that except for the people who were really disenfranchised. And that was mostly black people. It's a strange evolution. But he was a gangster and he ended up fighting the mafia as they tried to bring heroin in because he was unable to, well, he hated drugs. He used to call it heroin. He said, boy, I don't see that heroin coming in here. And you know, he pronounced boy like B-W-A-H, boy. You know, it's the language that very few people speak nowadays. Now, was he your mother's father? Yes, and he grows more saintly as she gets older. No, she's a very, your mom's Maya Angelou, the poet. She's a very powerful woman. How did they get along back then? They didn't. He had no concept of women in any kind of equal capacity. He was a sexist dog. I mean, you know, he was something else. He was not what you call a liberated thinker. But you decided that he did love you? Yeah, because he took so much time with me and I was the only child out of my generation he spent any time with. So I know that that meant he thought I was worthy of investment. Now, you did a lot of research to make this book happen. All the events are basically based on historical. They actually happened. For example, The Battles with the Mafia is documented. There's a book called The Black Mafia and it really pretty much talks about that. The 369th is history. They fought in northern France for nearly six months without a break. They left 800 men dead in the field. They were the most decorated battalion, American battalion that fought in World War I. And they were a black battalion. They were a black battalion and they were the only black battalion that fought. Now, in the book, you indicate that they were basically used as cannon fodder. Yeah. The American military is not, shall we say, the most liberated thinkers either. And racism and sexism are a big part of the American military ethos. And until the military was integrated in after World War II or during the last stages of World War II, there has been a systematic attempt to discredit the black soldier. If you'll remember, when Teddy Roosevelt first came back with the Rough Riders, he said good things about the Buffalo Soldiers. But when he ran for president, he started making disparaging comments. Really? Yeah. It has been, and I think it's been fairly systematic. And I say it's been fairly systematic that the media has not wanted to present black males as people who stood up and fought for their principles. And I say this because I would ask you out there, how many of you know of a successful slave revolt other than Toussaint Louverture? Now, everybody knows of Nat Turner, Mark Vacy, Gabriel Pasa, but you can't name one. Successful slave revolt. Does that mean they never existed? No, that means they didn't get attention. So, part of this book, and you know, let me just also say something else. Part of this book was to add to the, Joseph Campbell says, we need myths. We need to see ourselves in super conditions. This is something that human beings all need. And the whole ethos of the American culture about masculinity is one, is one a man who stands up against injustice no matter how it confronts him. Well, part of this book was to put a black character in such a circumstance. To add to that, to let this be part of the fabric of our myth, as well as part of the fabric of our literature. I think it's an important book in that context. I don't think there's another character like this in American literature, a black character like this. Now, you took 17 years from the beginning of the initial concept of writing the book to actually getting it done? Yes, some people think that I'm not very good at editing. You are working a full-time job, right? Yes, and I had a teenage son who pushed the limits of reality, too. So how did you manage to actually get any work done while you were working a full-time job? Well, you have to become inured against rap music that's played at a level where it vibrates dishes off the table. Where it vibrates dishes off the table. You squeeze time out. Writing is a tremendous, lonely occupation. But now that I am a writer, I sort of see it sort of like masturbating, it's sort of like grabbing your imagination and squeezing it a lot. Ah, he ejaculated. It's, you know, you just have to sort of build up that kind of dedication that this is going to come to some kind of fruition. Now, you're also a poet, and I was wondering before we took questions from the audience, if you would mind reading a poem? Well, you know, here's the problem. I wouldn't have written a 548-page book if I just wanted to read one poem. You know, I'd like to read two poems. OK. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. OK. Now, once again, let's see where I am. There's nothing more twisted than the fabric of human existence than love. I only say that because of all the people who claim to love God and hate abortion, yet they don't want to love the children who are here. I'm glad I struck a resonant note there. Anyway, so what I want to do is I want to read a couple of poems about just a couple of love poems. One is called City Life. We're both dangerous, like the streets at night, streaks of colored lights in the flickering darkness. We circle, we faint, we dance. It's a slow jig, a melody belabored in a minor key. Our duet, a ritual of unhappiness, a habit twisted strand by strand in boredom. The known is king. All else is surreal, for we have polished security to its jagged edge. The art is to inflict cuts that bleed easily, yet are healed by the rise of the morning sun. Every thrust into the flesh is a legal hit, after which love falls like a scarf to the floor. I would have left her, but I kept wondering among the hurtling bodies and marching feet, was there anyone that I could possibly love that would hate me less than I hate myself? A riddle constantly interrupted by the alarm. The day passes steadily in distracting routines. The night looms. I gird myself for engagement. When I win, sometimes I think this really is love. I know it's hard to clap after something like that, isn't it? All right, how about this? Experiences with the elephant. When I wrote this poem, friends of mine used to call my wife and said, God, you must be so pleased. She said, experiences with the elephant? Couldn't he have written about something smaller? Anyway, experiences with the elephant. Love has made me an actor worthy of being recognized on stage, playing parts for which there was no script. A lion tamer, treed by a passing elephant. The classic male roll with a useless whip. Swagger and bravado and tattered shreds. Scenes cast from a pond high by the withered hand that calls Kilimanjaro an afterthought. I was the probing blind man, fearful to face love, strange majesty. Blinded by my ignorance, not by my sight, I stumbled in the mighty elephant's presence. Its side was my first experience. An immense gray wall of obscurity, blocking out the sun and casting shadows across my landscape and stifling my laughter. Then I was lifted above the clouds by its serpentine trunk wrapped around me. The vista was sweet and air was pressed and squeezed from my chest as the stars and moon pressed close against my cheek. Sometime later, I felt its heavy foot weighing upon my shoulders and my frowning brow, making me kiss the earth and curse the fates. Why did I have to play Atlas for this world of pain? I didn't know then my heart subode. I couldn't distinguish truth from ego. So I felt the elephant's foot many times reacquainting me with the swamps of impulse. Now I glean that when the behemoth comes, while others take the stage to enact their roles, I must climb aboard and rest upon the regal back, hoping, despite the risk, that the ride will lead to joy. Well, I thought we would open up to you guys questions. Any questions that you might have for Guy Johnson? I'm very impressed with your conversation. You appear to be a very highly educated man. Do you feel that there is any impact that can be made on this country by any kind of literary work concerning the subject of abortion? Or is this problem so severe that nothing can be done? Do you think you yourself possibly could write a book to open the eyes of the American people to this catastrophe? Well, let me only say this. There are many misconceptions about this subject. I'm sorry, because it depends upon the way you were raised. The reality is we live in a democracy. We must be willing to accept what other people in the democracy vote as legal. We must be willing to accept when they don't vote our way. That's part of democracy. And the other thing is we have to learn how to become people who can disagree without being disagreeable. I don't know the answer to this. I don't know the answer to this. I myself am a woman's rights person. I would never have I paid for my first wife to have an abortion. I've never stopped regretting it. But that doesn't mean that because I regret it that I would stand in the way of someone else who felt that they needed to do that. I don't know that I have the answer to that question. All I do know is that ignorance is the enemy and that we need to work out a better way of dealing with each other, because the only true revolution is one that helps us treat each other better. As the microphone moves around to the next person, I wanted to ask you, since we are in this beautiful San Francisco Public Library, how were libraries helpful to you? Well, there's a wonderful, wonderful regal silence that's in a library that allows you to think the weirdest thoughts. And it allows you to try to, in the privacy of being public in a public place, to meander through the thoughts of others. And they sometimes show you that, hey, someone was here before you. I love libraries. As a matter of fact, I always wanted to work in one. And I think it's been a great blessing to me that I did not, because I don't know that I would have ever come out of the stacks. Well, I received your book as a gift. And I've read about 100 pages. And as you observed, I find it really violent. So it's interesting to hear your framework of exposing what we don't know, the history that we don't know about black men in the army, specifically. Go ahead. Sorry. Well, I'm at the point now where they're fighting the mafia. It's really incredibly brutal. And I guess my question is, from the more female part of me, it wants to say, does this guy develop any redeeming qualities? Love? I mean, there is some love interest there. But it just seems extremely one theme. This man is a good killer. He's good at what he does. Well, let me tell you something. If I had written about Miners, Virginia Miners, white ones, it would have been pretty much like this. Whoever helped us rewrite history seems to have forgotten all of this. I mean, do you think that there are only so few Native Americans because they really just went off their nut and died? No, no, no. But I mean, listen, my mom had trouble with this book. And one of the great blessings of my mother is she didn't judge me. She just encouraged me. This is a book about America. And I wanted to shove in it as many situations that affected black people. You see, when they started building macadam highways, and that's what they call them, I don't know if that's the correct pronunciation. Are we still together? Macadam highways, they didn't build them through the white farms. They built them through the black farms. But then when they saw they were going to become a commercial corridor, they took the land from the black people. When the water rights in Oklahoma, they diverted water away from black people's land. And they went back and bought the land 25 years later and put the wheat combines in there. I wanted to put all of this history in there. And all of this history is violent. I mean, it doesn't happen in, I mean, this was a tough, tough place to live in 1900. And if you were poor and white, it was tough too. I think that there's something very violent happening right now in terms of that I think that needs to be exposed in many different ways. And that's that I'm terribly concerned with how many blacks are behind bars. And then disproportionate number in any society that has that many people of one race behind bars is not a very successful society as far as I'm concerned. I'd like to just have you comment on it. Maybe write a book about that too. It would have to be pretty cagey. I'm a punster and get used to it. The reality here is that if you're poor and you do not have access to anything other than public defenders, there is a greater likelihood of you're going to jail. Then of course, the fact that we live in a society where there is racism further compounds that. And it is a terrible, a terrible injustice. I don't quite know what the answer to that is. Because first off, I have members in my family who have been incarcerated. And I'm afraid to have them in my home. I'm not sure what the answer is here in terms of remedying this, except to make this country more just, more fair in the application of its laws, because they've been saddamized, and because they've been brutalized, and because they become inured to being brutalized. And one has to understand that when you convict someone and send them to jail, that you are pretty much snuffing out any humanness or most of the humanness in that person. And not for everyone, but I would say for most people. I don't think you can get brutalized like that. I just don't think you can do that and come back. There are people I think, do you remember Eldridge Cleaver? He never turned into a decent person. He had, he captured our mind and our imagination with so long eyes. But the way he treated his wife, the kind of madness, it's frightening. Hi. I know you don't have all the answers being an African-American male in this country. Just a minute. I didn't like that way that was phrased. I know you don't have all the answers because you're an African-American male in this country. You know, you make me feel like you're just me, I'll read here now. Well, first of all, I was impressed when you mentioned why you chose the picture of the man on the front of your book. When the Million Man March occurred, I as a black woman was just so proud to see so many black men of all ages, different levels, whatever, coming together. And part of me being having a 23-year-old daughter and looking at the generation that's coming up and not knowing, having a sense of our history of what so many blacks died for in the South and in the North, the picket lines, whatever the civil rights movement, what can black men do, in your opinion, to help bring together so many young black men, middle-aged men like Minister Farrakhan did on just one day to at least have them think, think about, whatever. Well, first of all, I don't know if many of those men came for Louis Farrakhan. I think they came together for the concept of it. Farrakhan, I think he has some good ideas, but he scares me. I wouldn't want him to be my leader, OK? Even if there were no white people in the world, I wouldn't want him to be my leader. Well, let me tell you, what I'm going to do with my 13-year-old, we're going to have a barquanza. It's like a bar mitzvah, only it's a barquanza. You know why? Because I was talking with my friend as we were coming over, and it seems to me that people don't know what their ancestors sacrificed for them to be here. And that's for Hispanic, that's for black, that's for Asian. I mean, hell, these people bled for us to be here. And the struggle is not yet over. And there is no being happy until all of us, all of us, enjoy the light. There is nothing. And so I got a 23-year-old and I have a 13-year-old, a one who is going to be 13. And we were talking about, so we're going to have a barquanza. And so what we're going to do is we're going to take the principles of quanzah, and we're going to make him research him and find people in here, who are black people, who represent those principles. And then he's going to present that to us on his birthday. And that's just the beginning, but that's what we need to do. We need to go back and reclaim these children. And I don't know all of them can be reclaimed now, because when you get raised by the streets, there are not a lot of stays there for morality. But the real issue here has to be, we have to make people aware that, yes, indeed, you are your brother's keeper, and you're worth something. You're valuable. You've got to claim the children. I don't know if that answers it. Do we have one more question? Yeah. First of all, I can say your inspiration to other writers. Getting into, in our community, there is an underground economy, which you write about a little bit. An underground economy that perpetuates poverty probably, but an underground economy that also can thrive if people are allowed to. I wonder if you have any suggestions or any ideas about, we call them d-boys and d-girls, the people that are in the drugs, the people that are in the underground economy now. How can they probably, or how can they begin to overcome some of the things that they're experiencing and put themselves in the mainstream of the economy? Well, I don't know exactly all that you mean by underground economy, but I'll tell you this. Cornel West says that when a society dis, I'm trying to remember the exact words, but I won't, so I'll paraphrase it, when you disembowel the infrastructure that supports children, you're on your road to destruction. So thus, the money that we're putting in education and the way we are squeezing it down and cutting it back is destroying our country. Our education system should produce people who feel that they have an opportunity to participate in the mainstream due to the information that they possess because of what we have taught them. But we've forgotten what even the lesser animals know. We do not nurture our children. We do not take the time with our children. Now, I don't really know all the answers here either, but I certainly feel very strongly about some things. And I know that first and foremost, we need to take our education system back where it was before Ronald Reagan started dismantling it. There is nothing without that. There is nothing without that. And all of this Republican BS about sending kids to private school and letting those vouchers and all that, that's going to destroy our educational system. And personally, let me tell you something. I'd rather let people cheat on welfare and get the Pentagon for cheating on stuff. That's what I'd rather do. I mean, maybe I'm too far out there, but I'll tell you this. You give a person a stage, they go crazy. The reality to me seems to be that if you don't invest in the infrastructure that supports our children, we're really going to have a frightful new millennium. A frightful new millennium. How have you managed to emerge from the shadows of a giant such as your mother? Is that a question? Yes. Well, first off, the truth is, I always thought I was standing in her light. When you're around someone who's as inquisitive and interested in life as she is, the light gets shot all around. All you have to do is stand in one place a little bit. It was a great blessing to be her son. She opened many doors, most of which I didn't have the intelligence to walk through. Okay? And in terms of having my own voice, when I became a man, she stopped having the ability to intimidate me. But I had to become a man. I had to earn that. But once I got that, hey, it was no problem. And you know, it took no talent to be her son. You know, the truth is it took no talent. All of that stuff that she's earned, she earned it. She earned it, it's not mine. And I love her and I wish her all the success in the world. I write totally different than she does. I'm not concerned about being confused. And if I never get the notoriety that she has, that still is great. I'm getting a chance to do what I love doing. And you know, I think I'll have my own little niche.