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Energetic Black Dog
More people wounded in Central City crossfire Friday, 14-year-old girl and her 51-year-old mother. And a dude in eastern NO answered the knocking of a front door and then closed it when he saw the assault rifle pointing at him. The door was insufficient to the task of saving his life, he died, and a woman in the back of the house was treated at the scene for a mild facial abrasion, otherwise known as a stray bullet wound to the head. (As of 5 p.m. Sat., 7 people have been shot in the city this weekend, two fatally, the second death a half dozen blocks from here at Bienville and Gayosa, 15-year-old boy shot dead.)
A belligerent man on the bayou yelled out at me did I have a cigarette. I just shook my head and went back to reading the morning paper's assessment of Rumsfeld. It was nice of him to warn us that there are worse images to come, even though imagining thus has become more or less the default for many of us.
An energetic black dog jumped in the bayou and retrieved a yellow tennis ball.
Over the ten years of occasional step sitting by that Dumaine bridge over the bayou there is only one person I recognize from year to year and to her I think I've only said hello once. I don't blame either one of us for our reticence. I wonder if seeing her today will be a last?
I replaced another window at the Dumaine house today. Saw an old pal, like me a former resident of the block. He was doing some work on a rental unit across the street. He shared his cold sugary juice drink with me. He told me something that I guess I already knew but had put aside so as not to feel everything at once. Sometimes I wish I could tell you the whole story but don't count on that ever happening.
We humans are so resilient and optimistic. Hoping for good things to happen even as all around us there is ample evidence to suggest those good things will never happen without a bucketful of bad to balance the scale. You get a raise, a man across town steps in dogshit; God grants you peace and understanding, four students get shot in Maryland; boogie down all day at Jazzfest, get shot in the head afterwards.
Sometimes the good and bad is such a stew you don't know whether to stir it, serve it, spit in it, or throw it out. Carol Robinson of Newhouse News Service writes, "Virgil Lamar Ware, 13, was reinterred in Birmingham this week with all the honor of a dignitary--15 white stretch limousines stood not far from his custom-designed bronzed grave ledger. A high school choir gathered on a pretty hillside to sing for him."
He was dug up and moved to a place of respect after 41 years in an unmarked grave in a makeshift cemetery, where he had rested patiently as a forgotten victim of Deep South atrocity.
"Virgil was the sixth person killed in Birmingham on Sept. 15, 1963, following the bombing deaths of the four girls (at the 16th Street Baptist Church) and the slaying of Johnnie Robinson, who was shot by police after he threw rocks to protest the church bombing."
That day Virgil rode on the handle bars of his brother's bicycle, around five p.m., oblivious to the day's previous murders. Two 16-year-old Eagle Scouts riding double on a red motorcycle with confederate flag decals, inspired and fired up from the segregationist rally they had just attended, came upon Virgil and his brother and fired twice a .22 caliber pistol, hitting Virgil once in the head and once in the chest. He fell off the bike, said a few parting words to brother James, and died.
The two Eagle Scouts, Larry Joe Sims and Michael Lee Farley, were punished. Sims was convicted of manslaughter and Farley pleaded guilty to second degree manslaughter. They both received the same sentence. Seven months in county jail. With probation. Which was then lifted the next year so they could attend college.