Viewing page 6 of 36

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

++

BLESS THE CHILD WHO HAS HIS OWN!

In the middle of our city there is a big pale white building called the Hall of Beauty (that's what THEY call it). At high noon the sun reflects off of it; a blinding oppressive glare. It oppresses the eyes; it burns to one's very being. So WE wear 'shades' to avoid the glare. WE are never allowed in the Hall of Beauty but one day screams and commotion was heard from within.

I came to it and found that THEY were running in fright in all directions. Ientered [[I entered]] and immediately encountered a bone-chill and a stale smell. And wondered why THEY would come to this place. I entered the main gallery; it was simply called Values. As I gazed about I saw cold marble, white greek-like gods and goddesses everywhere. This is what THEY worshiped and WE were not good enough to see. As I was about to touch one of these sterile stones, I heard a quiet and soothing murmur. It said Malcolm lives... Coltrane lives... Angela..Free...DuBois lives... I turned and removed my shades. PURPLE, RED...,GREEN...BLACK...YELLOW....LIFE itself all rushed and embraced my mind and being. The warmth soon liberated me from the chill of the room. Soon more of WE were in the room. Beautiful sisters and brothers bathing ourselves in the warmth of the colors that scream for life and yet could lull a baby to sleep. THEY, the cold white sterile stones began to melt -- thats why THEY run. Then WE heard with the firm and quiet strength of a mother's voice - 'Welcome my Children. Bless the CHILD who has his OWN. - AFRICOBA

Roland Washington
Intergroup Relations
Joyce ladner
March 7, 1972