New York! New York! A Helluva Town! III

If you read last week’s adventure, you know that I was imprisoned by Black Muslims who had just finished a massive parade on 125^th street, ending in front of the Apollo theater where I had just introduced the Drifters. At that moment, several hundred of the more zealous of them got word that a white man was in the theater where he didn’t belong, and it might be good sport to mangle him. I was a fast runner in those days so, ordinarily, the best strategy would have been to “haul”…..but those guys had the place surrounded.

I was awaiting word from Al Heacock, my PD at WADO in New York on how to extricate myself. For me, mortal danger brings moments of pristine clarity such as comes to those who are about to hang.

This was 1960, before the contemporary Islamist days, in which an infidel would automatically be dispatched by sword. It was more like. “Let’s have some fun and beat this boy up real bad.” It did not mean they might not overdo it and accidentally whack me. This was why I had taken refuge in an upstairs office at the Apollo, looking down on my potential whackers.

To their credit, I was joined by a growing number of allies, including Count Basie, who stuffed themselves into the narrow confines of the office with me.

Looking down on 125^th street, I saw a tall skinny red haired man with glasses. I recognized him as Malcolm X, surrounded by followers.

A man sidled up to me and began whispering his interpretation at what was taking place below. “Malcolm will not order them into the theater,” he said, authoritatively. “They’ll wait for you to come out.”

”How do you know?” I asked him, as a challenge, but hoping for a real good answer.

“I am a Muslim,” he said. “Our religion forbids them to invade the theater. You are the guest of the Apollo. But….once you leave…” I got it. It all boiled down to my waiting for Al Heacock my WADO PD to get back with a way to extricate me from this mess.

The last time I had been in mortal danger from Islamic zealots was in Persia, now Iran. I have described in an earlier chapter the time when as a young Galveston boy, I was shipping out and got caught after nightfall in the Bazaar area in Abadan. I experienced a flash-back in the Apollo office.

A couple dozen Persians peeled out of the shadows and began chasing me, not just because I was an infidel, but for the shoes on my feet or any other riches I might possess, like a watch or ring.

This was when my philosophy toward facing mortal danger first gelled, the gist of which was: when in big trouble, exploit your personal resources and use them to the fullest. I was a pretty good runner/swimmer at the time and a river was a few hundred yards ahead..

When the Persian thugs started chasing after me, howling in frenzied pursuit, it was reflexive to pour on the after- burner, sprint to the Shatt Al Arab River, dive 20 feet or so off the dock into the murky water and swim a mile to Iraq, across from Abadan.

Then, with bullets buzzing like angry hornets around my head, Divine Intervention intervened and I was rescued by British tommies in a patrol boat. They fired over the heads of my pursuers, scattering them, then hauled me aboard.

Back to the Apollo: I had confidence in my faithful long time friend, Al Heacock to come up with a plan., but, as a backup, I was planning a strategy of my own. The Abadan ploy was eliminated, because the East River was miles away

My office companions were no help as none of them appeared willing to go out and reason with the Muslims in my behalf. I didn’t blame them. I wasn’t, either.

With me in the office were the Drifters., who I later learned, were not the original Drifters but a group called “The Five Crowns.” The Apollo owner hated the Drifters after a falling out a few months prior. He refused to book the original guys. The solution:. Their manager owned both names. He re-named the Five Crowns the Drifters and got them booked, the old “sleight of name caper”. Of course, their string of hits was the tie breaker.

The Five Crowns weren’t stiffs. I learned later that, Ben Nelson, one of the Crowns who came up to commiserate with me later became known as Ben E King. Such trivia didn’t matter to me at the time. I had not heard of Ben E. King, but that changed only a few months later, when, as a single, he erupted with one hit after another,.

I was getting itchy to do something.. Option: I could go to the roof and run and jump across the adjoining roofs , then descend a fire escape to the street, like you see in the movies. I didn’t tip my hand about this to any of my dozen “supporters” in the room. My paranoia was beginning to solidify

I was out of options. Count Basie sat in a corner, devoid of suggestions. Same with the others, now silent, like this was a wake. .

Then, comedy relief: Moms Mabley, the comedienne, entered amidst a lot of laughing and hugging. I had seen her act. She would come on stage and reduce even the most staid audience into uncontrollable laughs. She was not dirty, but worked “bawdy.”

Typical of her act was when she asked for a show of hands by anyone in the audience who had “made it” with a white girl. Or course, no one raised his hand and she teased them for “lyin’ to Moms.”

This was the woman who now stood at my side, with compassion in her eyes. “Do you want me to go outside and talk to those guys? Everybody loves Moms.” she said, ready to go outside at my first nod of the head. I shook it “no.”

I was ready to try the Hollywood roof jumping ploy when the phone rang. The stage manager took it, and handed it to me. It was Al.

“Harry,” he said firmly. “You can leave now. It’s been fixed.” I didn’t realize the depth of my panic when I uncharacteristically gushed, “Al; thank you… thank you. How did you… ?”

He shut me off. “Later. Harry. Just go out the front, and you will be met by a couple of their guards who will escort you to your car” Knowing me and my insatiable curiosity about how things are finessed, he hung up abruptly before I could draw him out..

I took a little time to thank my friends who had stood by me in that congested office, then scampered through the front door into the street, empty except for a couple of expressionless guys who escorted me to my car, and stood aside while I drove away.

It has been my experience that such crises often resolve themselves in an anticlimactic fashion. But…what happened? The Black Muslims seemed ready to pounce, then they just melted away.

When I returned to WADO, Al was waiting for me and, only then, laughingly explained his strategy. “What did you do, Al?” I asked incredulously.

“Simple.” He said, “I pitted power against more power. I got hold of Lee” (Lee Bartell, my big boss, who then owned the McFadden Bartell building in Manhattan where he presided over that vast publication empire.)

“I explained your predicament, to him, and he contacted Congressman Adam Clayton Powell jr.”

I got it even before Al finished explaining. Powell was the only man who held sway over those guys. He was the man who said yes or no when they applied for Mosque permits. Politically, he controlled Harlem. He could even say who received parade licenses. Powell told Malcolm X to break it up.

It was no contest. The hotheads were corralled by Malcolm X and sent packing. Malcolm himself instructed two of his guards to give me safe passage out of there.

I saw him a year or so before his death, interviewing him on the radio just before he was to forsake the Nation of Islam that he had been anointed to lead.

Instead, he went to Coretta Scott King, Martin Luther King’s widow. and swore to her that he would adopt Dr King’s non-violent ways and help bridge the gap between blacks and whites. It was too much for The Honorable Elijah Muhammad, whom many say, ordered his assassination

He had become a changed man, convinced that whites were not devils, but really nice when you got to know them, or at least some of them.

 

The Texas Radio Hall of Fame

I am humbled by Chuck Blore’s nomination of me to be inducted into the Texas Radio Hall of Fame. I’m sensitive to the fact that worthy fellow nominees do not have the advantage of my Radio Daily News megaphone in which to proclaim their worthiness, so out of fairness to them, this may be my one and only political plug.

 

Randy Michael’s Random Thoughts

Randy just bought a bunch of TV stations but remains confused on things maybe you can help him with.

What disease did a cured ham actually have?

How is it that we put a man on the moon before we thought it would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?

Can a hearse carrying a body drive in the car pool lane?

Why is bra plural and panties singular?

If a deaf person goes to court, is it still a hearing?

“Don’t give up the ship. I can’t swim”…. Admiral Farrigut.

I Regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.

So I have changed my mind…Nathan Hale