The
Times That Try Men’s Souls - Philadelphia Daily News
By
Chuck Stone
It had been a lousy week, burdened with so many
heartbreaks, you wondered if God was testing your faith as He did
Job's. On Thursday, my good friend, Pete Dexter, and I were
sitting in the office, commiserating together in our despair. We
are good friends. He calls me " Brown Bomber" and I
call him " Great White Hope" and I would probably
embarrass both of us if I told you how much I care for him.
" There are times when I think this city isn't going to make
it," said a despondent Pete. " It seems like we're
going at each other's throats and don't care if it means racial
warfare. " I MUST HAVE GOTTEN four calls today and every one
of them mentioned your name. Some guy from the Northeast even
said that you had organized the thing at Graterford so you could
run for Congress." We tried to laugh it off, but how do you
confront that kind of stupidity? I reassured him that such
inanity knew no color lines. A prominent black elected official
and his supporting male black radio talk show host are marching
to that same drumbeat. In Pete's gruff way of worrying more about
his friends than himself (and not admitting it), he later
referred to a telephone threat to break both his legs. Pete's
insightful column on drugs in the Grays Ferry community had
touched a sensitive nerve ending.
My telephone rang. It was my
anonymous witness, Mr. X-M, who had witnessed the shooting of
Police Officer Daniel Faulkner and who had called twice before.
His story differed somewhat from those of the four police
witnesses, but he was afraid of the police and so far has refused
to come forward. I let Pete listen in on the conversation. Mr. X-
M's story appeared to corroborate the story told by two hookers
(also afraid to come forward) to another newspaper reporter and a
woman radio personality. The stories agree on what happened
and they all exculpate the policeman. There was no reason for
that cop to die like that," Mr. X-M said angrily. But
the stories differ on other significant details.
THE WEEK HAD STARTED off badly. It was not the
best time to be a cop, black, a black journalist, a columnist,
Jewish or the president of the United States. First, we were
rocked to our heels by the publicized details of Libyan strongman
Moammar Khadafy's hit squad to assassinate our president and/or
his top aides. Then, we were decked by state Sen. T. Milton
Street's dangerously irresponsible tirade against Jews. A
contrite Milton apologized later in the week. But time will be
needed to heal the wounds and the pain needlessly suffered by our
Jewish brothers and sisters. My god, how long will a whole group
of people continue to be scapegoated for some unrelated social
failure? Especially a group so lovingly involved with humanity's
noblest work. Milton had barely moved off the front page before
the city was horrified by a far more violent excess. The murder
of a policeman. In itself, a policeman's murder is an act so
dastardly that it stretches our emotional strings to a breaking
point tautness. This time, however, a black journalist was
accused of the murder. For those who have known, worked with and
respected Mumia Abu-Jamal - and I am one - we were shocked almost
into a bewildered impotence. Philadelphia's black and white
communities divided instantly. And everybody overreacted. Editors
who had remained silent when the Newspaper Guild endorsed a
presidential candidate eight years ago suddenly discovered a
hidden journalistic morality that questioned the "
objectivity" of black reporters raising a defense for a
fallen colleague.
I RECALLED SOMETHING Frank Rizzo had said to me
during our lunch a few months ago (an act which established my
eligibility in some circles for the annual Benedict Arnold
Award). In discussing allegations of police brutality, I chided
him about his unyielding loyalty. He stubbornly shook his head.
" That's when a cop needs support the most - when he's under
fire," insisted the former mayor. Mumia Abu-Jamal is under
fire. And his colleagues are according him the same level of
professional support. Mumia's mother, wife and friends are
standing beside him. Would you expect less? But nobody - and I
mean nobody with a shred of decency in their smallest bone -
wants Daniel Faulkner's killer, whoever he may be, to go
unpunished. His prosecution and conviction will not restore the
promising career of a fine police officer. Nor will the sentence
bring back a beloved family member. But severe punishment must be
extracted if the fragile line that protects all of us from
anarchy is to be preserved. That's how we can best honor Dan
Faulkner. By the end of the week, some of the discrepancies in
the 13th and Locust streets tragedy had begun to unravel. On
Thursday, a Daily News headline said, " Cop-Killing Bullets
Linked to Suspect." By the next day, they were unlinked. A
front-page Inquirer headline said, " Tests on Bullets
Inconclusive in Officer's Death." Four witnesses identified
Mumia's brother, William Cook, as having slugged the police
officer. But, in an incredible display of questionable judgment,
Cook's attorney held a press conference to give Cook's different
version of the events. Can't we wait for the trial? As the week
lurched toward its turbulent end, it was accompanied by John
Erlichman's revelation that Richard Nixon believed that blacks
were genetically inferior. It just wasn't our week. THEN, ON
FRIDAY NIGHT, Pete Dexter walked into a bar to try to resolve
some of the furor over his Wednesday column on drugs. The peace
mission ended with a brawl that broke Pete's good hip, etched a
few contusions in his face and put him in the hospital.
Yesterday, I tried to visit both him and Mumia, but succeeded
only in seeing Pete. In the pain of a hip-mending operation,
Pete's irreverence could not be contained. When the nurse asked
his wife and me to leave the room as she did something medically
complicated, Pete protested. " You asking a Negro to leave
the room with my wife?" he deadpanned. I vowed to return and
put chitlins in his bedpan. Yes, these are times that try men's
souls - and our sanity. But there is a reservoir of good will
that can water our parched disbelief in each other. I heard it
expressed this past weekend when an old friend, James J.
Kilpatrick, delivered a brilliantly humorous, yet sobering,
article of faith in America at the Pennsylvania Society's dinner
in New York City. Despite the drugs, increasing crime,
unemployment and racial tensions, said Kilpatrick, there is a
strength in our character that has served us well for centuries
and will continue to do so in this troublesome period. At this
holiest time of the year for many, reverent period for others and
moment of rejoicing for some - Christmas, Kwanza and Hanukkah -
let's try to enshrine the goodness in each of us. And let's try
to remember - if we can and dare - that peace on earth, good will
to all men and women means nothing unless it can thrive in
Philadelphia.