Chapter 1 - 1957
The sounds of the huge Hammond B3 organ filled the entire room. Mrs. Davis was tickling the black and white keys and mashing the bass pedals on the floor as she rocked in a back and forth motion. The six-member choir lifted their heads to the heavens as they sang out. “We’ve come this faaaaar by faith………leaning on the Loooooooord.” Willam sat quietly on his mother’s lap as she bounced him to the beat of the music. This was their weekly ritual. His mother, Martha Trent, would get up every Sunday morning at 7 am. She’d take her shower, get dressed, have her breakfast, and then do the same for Willam. Willam Trent was her son, her heart, and her joy. Actually born William Xavier Trent Jr., he was somehow stuck with the first name Willam due to a typographical error on his birth certificate. His parents never could afford to have it corrected. He was small for his age, with caramel colored skin, dark hair, and big brown eyes. He and his mother attended the First Rock Baptist Church of Greater South East. It was a small church located inside a duplex style house on Chaplain Street in South East Washington, D.C. The church consisted only of about forty members, but it had spirit. Ever since he was placed on this earth seven months ago, Willam and his mom Martha never missed a Sunday. They would attend the eleven o’clock service each Sunday without fail. Although he was too young to really understand what was going on, he’d sit there quietly smiling while his mom clapped his hands together during the choir selections. He would stare into the eyes of the pastor during the sermon as if he understood every word. It was the spring of 1957, a year of segregation, a year of people of color who still struggled endlessly just to be counted as a people. It was a time when everyone had to do whatever he or she could just to keep their head above water. But not Willam, he had no worries. He had no fears. He was only seven months old and knew nothing about these things. One particular Sunday morning was different from any other for Willam. It was his first Easter Sunday. The trees and flowers were in bloom and everyone entering the church that day was dapper in their bright and colorful outfits. Women styled some of the most fashionable hats in brilliant colors, while the men would stride closely behind in their fresh, crisp suits. Yes, this was some parade and Willam was enjoying the day. He sat on his mother’s lap as he always did every Sunday. Church went on a little longer than usual. After all, it was Easter. When the choir had finished singing their last selection and the pastor had ended his sermon, dinners were served in the kitchen of the church house. Some of the church folk would get a plate to take home because of the limited space. Others would sit and eat wherever there was room. They would sit on the radiators, the steps, and stools. Folding metal chairs were placed throughout the yard and were occupied quickly. It looked like a family reunion. This was always one of the biggest events of the year and would go on until late evening every year. Martha gathered Willam up and retrieved a plate from the kitchen. She took Willam out into the front yard. There were no seats available for Martha, but of course one of the young men was eager to give his up. Remember, it was 1957. Martha spread her wide yellow and white cotton dress across the chair. She sat down slowly as not to spill the contents of her plate. She positioned little Willam on her knee by resting his back against her left arm and began eating.“Would you like a plate for Jimmy, Martha?” Mrs. Gill asked.“Oh yes please, if it’s not too much trouble and thank you.” Martha replied. Jimmy was Willam’s daddy and Martha’s husband of three years. He was a happy kind of guy who was always laughing, cracking jokes, and dancing, but had the nastiest mean streak if you took him there. Outside of that, he was a very likable guy and Martha loved him. He was a short man, with dark curly hair and dark skin. He also worked a lot, especially on Sundays and Martha hated that.She’d always tell him, “Sunday is a day for the Lord, Jimmy. Keep the Sabbath holy! You need forgiveness Honey, we all do.” Jimmy would always laugh and joke about it. He would start shaking uncontrollably and roll his eyes around in his head yelling, “I got the spirit! I GOT THE SPIRIT! I’m filled with the Holy Ghost! Yeeeeeeeah!” Then he’d stop and look at her, all the while smiling. Of course, she saw NO humor in this. She would scold him a little more and storm off into the kitchen. He’d always finish up with something like, “You wanna be holy? Oh yeah, you’ll be holy alright; holy shoes, holy blouse, holy everything if I don’t make that extra money on Sundays! Just pray for yourself Martha, don’t you worry about me. Least I aint like those old hypocrites sittin’ over there hoopin’ and hollerin’ then goin’ out doin’ God knows what.” You see, Jimmy, like most other men in the neighborhood, had to work more than one job. In fact, Jimmy had more than two. Monday through Friday, he worked as a laborer for a local construction company in the mornings and as a janitor at the D.C. General Hospital in the evenings. On Sundays, he did what most of the other guys did. He hustled. He would make the weekly liquor run down to Calvert County. He and his good buddy Pete Little would drive down to Calvert in a truck owned by the man that Pete worked for, Ira.Ira owned the neighborhood corner grocery store “The Food Plaza”. It was a small store but very expensive for that time. Ira knew that most of the people living in the neighborhood either didn’t own automobiles or couldn’t afford one. Nor, could they afford a car for hire to take them farther into the city to shop the larger, less expensive grocers, so he took advantage. Pete worked for Ira making deliveries. Pete, also an enterprising young man, would sneak the keys every Sunday before they closed. Pete and Jimmy would use the truck Sunday night and Pete would return the keys bright and early on Monday morning while Ira got the cash registers ready for business. Ira was Jewish and trusted no one with his money.Jimmy and Pete would drive down to Calvert Country to meet Hinkly. Hinkly was the biggest white man Jimmy had ever seen. He and Pete used to joke with him all the time about him being so huge. Hinkly would help them load the liquor onto the truck. They’d pay him and he would always leave them with the same warning. “You boys be careful round these parts. You git caught, you tell on me, you be dead.” He’d smile after saying this, but Jimmy and Pete knew that Hinkly wasn’t kidding. The men would always leave without hesitation. The gears of the truck would often scream and squeal as Pete jammed his foot down on the stiff clutch and prematurely shift into gear in his attempt to make a quick exit from the forbidden land. In both directions, they would pass by the small desolate shacks and be given nasty stares from their redneck occupants, giving them even more incentive to keep their swift and steady pace. “Hey, did you hear that? Sounds like the engine. Sounds like it may have thrown a rod. You’d better pull over and let me check it out.” Pete would look over at Jimmy angrily and Jimmy would look out the window and chuckle. “I’d sure hate to break down in these parts,” he continued.Pete never found any amusement in Jimmy’s playful comments when it came to their safety down there. He knew that they were flirting with danger every time they crossed over the county line. He’d make sure that just as quickly as they arrived in Calvert, they would depart just as fast. They would load up, pay, and leave without looking back and always made sure to never take the same road twice when exiting. As soon as the men returned from Calvert, they would pull up to Tyrone Butler’s place just off interstate 295. He was the man with all of the connections. Jimmy would follow Pete to Tyrone’s house every Sunday to collect his order sheet and money for Hinkly. Tyrone bought and sold the liquor from Hinkly every week and paid Pete and Jimmy handsomely to ride down to get it. Pete was paid more of course, as he was the one who had stolen the truck. They made good money for an evening’s work. After Tyrone paid the men, Jimmy would jump in his car that he always left parked in front of Tyrone’s house and head straight home. After finishing her Easter church dinner, Martha made her rounds of hugging and shaking hands with the other members. She had been there for hours. She pulled out the chicken bone that was wedge tightly in Willam’s little hand and dropped it into the metal trashcan and they headed home. Martha opened the front door to her home which was just around the corner from the church. Immediately after stepping in, she switched on the fan. She laid a blanket out on the floor in the living room for Willam to rest on, then picked up Jimmy’s plate, took it to the kitchen and placed it into the oven. After fixing a cold drink for herself and a bottle for Willam, she bounced back into the living room where they both consumed their beverages. Shortly after, Martha took Willam upstairs, bathed him and got him ready for the night. They went back downstairs and she turned on the television. Jimmy and Martha were proud of their television. It was black and white of course, but a TV never the less.“Plop! Plop! Fizz! Fizz! Oh what a relief it is…” sang out from the television advertisement. Martha adjusted the coat hanger that was used as a television antenna in hopes of clearing up the fuzziness. After some minor adjustments, the picture became clear.
“Gunsmoke? I don’t think so young man.”
She picked up the pair of pliers lying next to the television, pushed them into the socket and turned the channel.
“Lassie, now that’s better. You want to watch Lassie Lil Will?”
After fifteen minutes of Lassie, Willam was fast asleep.
As Willam lay sleeping, a knock came from the door. It was Mr. Daniels from the church. Martha placed her index finger to her lips, “Shhhhhhh” then pointed to Willam. She opened the door. Before stepping in, Mr. Daniels looked in both directions to see if anyone was watching. He entered the living room and sat down on the couch. Martha tiptoed into the kitchen to get him a cold drink. She returned with a glass of rum and ice and sat it on the table in front of Mr. Daniels.
Mr. Daniels was a very tall and very well dressed man who always wore sunglasses. Day or night, he could be seen driving through the neighborhood with those dark plastic eye covers on. He was one of only a few men in the neighborhood who drove a Cadillac.
He had a long deep scar on the left side of his face from being cut with a straight razor, but that’s the kind of thing you run into when you run numbers.
“Is it cool? I mean, you’ve got little man right here, and where’s Jimmy?”
“It’s okay, he’s working and my baby’s fast asleep. I can take care of you.”
Martha leaned over and helped him take off his jacket and his tie. She stood up over him and slipped off her dress. They then stretched out over the couch and he took her.
Most men wanted Martha. She was tall and lean, with just enough meat on her to show her curves. She had light brown eyes, long black wavy hair, and was a very mature woman to be only twenty one years old. Men loved her and she knew how to make them feel good, especially Mr. Daniels.
Martha spoke to him the entire time that she was with him. She knew that’s what he liked. She knew how arrogant he was and how he liked his ego stroked.
“That’s right baby, stroke it just like that! Oh yeah, yeah that’s it!”
With her voice climbing higher, Willam was starting to squirm. Martha placed her hands on both sides of Mr. Daniels’ hips to prevent him from moving.
“Wait!” she whispered.
She pushed him upward and he climbed off.
“Why don’t you take his little ass upstairs?”
Martha walked over and patted Willam gently on his back until he squirmed no more. She walked back over to Mr. Daniels and mounted him. With her hips thrusting as hard as she could, she leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Give it to me Daddy, give me all you got. Oh, it’s sooooo good! Oh yeah baby!” She continued riding him until he exploded deep inside of her.
He then tried to kiss Martha, but she pulled back. Her kissing was for Jimmy only.
She immediately climbed off of him, reached over and passed him a few napkins, which were lying on the table behind her. She tipped upstairs to the bathroom where she cleaned herself quickly before returning to Willam.
“I left the money on the table, Hon. Thanks again.”
That’s right, this was a regular occurrence, and Mr. Daniels was one of Martha’s regular customers.
He placed his hat on his head and opened the door. He then peeked out of the screen door, slipped on his shades, and made his exit.
Martha had two more similar visits that evening before Jimmy’s scheduled arrival. She made a total of thirty dollars that day.
Jimmy would usually get home at about 11 pm. He followed the same routine every night. He would come in the door, kiss Martha, walk upstairs and whisper to Willam as he slept. After about ten minutes, he would make his way back downstairs, grab his plate out of the oven and sit with Martha and watch the “Honeymooners”.
After putting little Willam down for his slumber, Martha cleaned the kitchen and did some ironing. She folded all of her laundry and put it neatly in its proper place. She then went downstairs and positioned herself on the couch in preparation for Jimmy’s entrance. Once more, she looked around the room for anything that could have possibly been left behind by one of her previous guests. Now feeling confident and at ease from not finding anything in her search, she snuggled deep into the cushions of the couch.
She watched midget wrestling and “The Jack Benny Show”. She liked the character named “Rochester”.
She sat there for over an hour watching the screen until she dozed off.
Hours passed.
The loud constant beep woke Martha from her sleep. It was the sound that followed the playing of the “Star Spangled Banner” every night at the end of the television station’s broadcast.
Martha sat there glaring at the large circular black and white object on the television screen. She collected herself and looked over for Jimmy. Not seeing him, she walked upstairs and looked in their bedroom. The bed was unoccupied and the room was without his presence. After searching every room upstairs, she decided to check in front of the house for his car. She tipped down the stairs and quietly opened the front door. She peered up and down both sides of the still and silent street only to see the absence of his car. Jimmy still had not made it home.
“Where is he?” she thought. “He’s probably broken down on 295 again or with Pete drinking that devil’s water.”
She made her way upstairs, not worried, and climbed into bed. She never gave it a second thought because it had happened many times before. Jimmy would constantly breakdown, but would not give up that old 1952 Chevy II. It was red and shaped just like a little box. He loved that car.
The next morning Martha was awakened by loud banging on her front door. This was the third interruption of her sleep. Willam had awakened her twice during the night. This was unusual for him, but she tended to him, she changed him, patted him lightly on his back until he returned to his slumber.
She looked over for her husband in hopes that he would answer the door, but he was not next to her. She pulled the sheet back and slid into her slippers, put on her bathrobe, and shuffled down the slight incline of stairs leading to the living room.
“Coming, I’ll be right there,” she yelled down the stairs.
As she approached the door, the loud knocking started again.
“Alright, I’m coming. Next time don’t forget your key!”
She gathered her bathrobe then opened the door. Standing on the porch were two D.C. Metropolitan policemen. She looked past the police officers for Jimmy, but he was no where in sight.
“Mrs. Trent?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Trent. What’s wrong, is my husband in trouble? I told him that one day, one day…”
The blank look on their faces told her that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Knowing that Jimmy had not come home last night and now seeing the police at her front door made her nervous. With a trembling voice, Martha forced out the question that she feared to ask.
“My husband, is it my husband? Is he alright?”
Upstairs, Willam began to cry. He was awake and now wanted his mother.
Martha moved away from the door and the officers stepped inside. She sat down on the couch. Now believing that he was probably injured and lying in some hospital, all kinds of thoughts were racing through her mind.
“Where is he?” she yelled out.
The white officer retreated back toward the door and the black officer stepped toward her.
“Mrs. Trent, I’m sorry to inform you that your husband, James, was killed last night in Calvert County.”
Martha stared at the wall. Willam was crying louder, but she could not hear him. She had blocked him out completely. She fell to her knees and screamed.
“NO LORD! PLEASE NO, NOT HIM!”
She continued to scream and weep. Mrs. Delaney from next door, already standing on her porch curious as to why the police were at Martha’s home, had climbed over the rail which divided the two small houses and rushed in to help.
“Mrs. Trent, we’ll do everything that we can to catch whoever did this to your husband.”
Martha said nothing.
After the policemen left, like a zombie, Martha dragged herself upstairs and fell across her bed. She wept for hours.
After that dreadful day, there was a short investigation into Jimmy’s death. Of course, the murders were never solved. Not Jimmy’s, nor Pete’s. Rumor has it that that night Jimmy and Pete made their regular run down to Calvert County. Hinkly was there to meet them. He helped them load the truck as usual and they all left. The truck was found ten miles in the opposite direction from their pickup spot, emptied, and set ablaze. Jimmy was found just walking distance from the truck. His face had been severely beaten and charred from the heat produced by the flames and seven of his fingers were broken. His neck had been snapped by the rope which had dug deep into his flesh and his eyes bulged from its tightness. He had swung from that rope all night. His left foot appeared to have been completely blown off by a shotgun blast and several stab wounds ripped through his chest. As for Pete, he was never found.
Jimmy’s casket was never opened at his funeral.