"Dear Momma- Wherever you are, if you ever hear the word "nigger" again, remember, they are advertising my book."
Before I lend this book to my boss and risk its disappearance, I thought I'd transcribe a few of my favorite parts. On meeting his wife:
"She was so nervous while she was writing it down, she kept tearing the paper with her pencil point. I rolled up the paper and put it in my pocket. Lillian Smith stayed through the second show and the Sunday evening show and she kept staring at me like no one in Willard, Ohio, would ever believe she had actually talked to this great man. When I left that night with the girl I was dating at the time, I went over and said good night to Lillian. I thought it might give her a thrill to call her, just because she was so sure I wouldn't.
That night, back at Ozelle and William's I lay in bed and thought about that face staring up at me, that soft, little-girl face so out of place in a night club. It suddenly dawned on me that my mother would have looked that way if she had ever been to a night club. I had a dream that night about Momma, and I was Richard again, and she came off the streetcar and ran into the house and said: "Richard, oh, Richard, I spoke to the star of the show, Harry Belafonte, I talked to Harry Belafonte" and I said: "No, Momma," and she said: "Yes, I did, I really did, and he's going to call me on the phone." When I woke up that Monday morning and I could almost see her expression over the phone. I just talked to her, and told her I'd call her back soon and we'd have lunch."
(!!!)
On meeting a convict after a show he plays in a prison:
"He was an artist, and he asked me if I'd like to see his work. I did. When I saw it I got weak in the knees. He had drawings of women, of what he thought women looked like. But every one had a man's face, a man's eyes, a man's nose, a man's jaw, a man's lips. They had long hair and they had breasts and they were wearing lipstick and dresses. But every one was really a man.
It was so weird that a man should think he was drawing a woman and he was really drawing a man. But that convict had only seen men for fifty years; those male faces were all he knew. And I talked to Lil about it and the more we talked and the more I thought about it, the more frightened I got. If you had told that old man that his drawings were all wrong he would have called you a liar and been ready to fight. And then Lil and I carried it one step further. If you were born and raised in America, and hate and fear and racial prejudice are all you've ever known, if they're all you've ever seen..."
On a call he gets after the death of his son:
"I started toward her and the phone rang. It was a long-distance call from Alabama, collect. I accepted the charges. It was a white woman.
"Mister Gregory?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I just heard on the radio that your son died, and let me tell you it serves you right, I'm real glad that happened, you coming down here where you don't belong and stirring up all..."
"I'm glad, too. I had five million dollars' worth of insurance on him."
There was a long silence, and then she said: "I'm sorry, please forgive me."
Such an awe-inspiring, beautifully written and sincerely felt memoir. I hope I get this back.