Page 178 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"Is that so? Well, I work for George Wallace, the governor of Alabama, and we don't pay too much mind to Washington, down here. So get in the goddamn car before I break your woolly head."

"What are you arresting me for?"

"Don't get smart with me, boy."

"If you seize me without good cause, you're a criminal, not a trooper."

With a sudden quick motion the sergeant swung his rifle, butt first. George ducked and instinctively raised his hand to protect his face. The wooden butt of the rifle struck his left wrist painfully. The other two troopers seized his arms. He offered no resistance, but they dragged him along as if he were struggling. The sergeant opened the rear door of the car and they threw him on the backseat. They slammed the door before he was fully inside, and it jammed his leg, causing him to shout in pain. They opened the door again, shoved his injured leg inside, and closed the door.

He lay slumped on the backseat. His leg hurt but his wrist was worse. They can do anything they like to us, he thought, because we're black. At that moment he wished he had thrown rocks and bottles at the police instead of running around telling people to calm down and go home.

The troopers drove to the Gaston. There they opened the back door of the car and pushed George out. Holding his left wrist in his right hand, he limped back into the courtyard.

*

Later that Sunday morning George at last found a working taxi with a black driver and went to the airport, where he caught a flight to Washington. His left wrist hurt so badly that he could not use his arm, and kept his hand in his pocket for support. The wrist was swollen, and to ease the pain he took off his watch and unbuttoned his shirt cuff.

From a pay phone at National Airport he called the Department of Justice and learned that there would be an emergency meeting at the White House at six P.M. The president was flying in from Camp David, and Burke Marshall had been helicoptered in from West Virginia. Bobby was on his way to Justice and urgently required a briefing, and no, there was no time for George to go home and change his clothes.

Vowing to keep a clean shirt in his desk drawer from now on, George got a taxi to the Justice Department and went straight to Bobby's office.

George insisted that his injuries were too trivial to require medical treatment, though he winced every time he tried to move his left arm. He summarized the night's events for the attorney general and a group of advisers including Marshall. For some reason Bobby's huge black Newfoundland dog, Brumus, was there too.

"The truce that was agreed on with such difficulty this week is now in jeopardy," George told them in conclusion. "The bombings, and the brutality of the state troopers, have weakened the Negroes' commitment to nonviolence. On the other side, the rio

ts threaten to undermine the position of the whites who negotiated with Martin Luther King. The enemies of integration, George Wallace and Bull Connor, hope that one side or both will renounce the agreement. Somehow we have to prevent that happening."

"Well, that's pretty clear," said Bobby.

They all got into Bobby's car, a Ford Galaxie 500. It was spring, and he had the top down. They drove the short distance to the White House. Brumus enjoyed the ride.

Several thousand demonstrators were outside the White House, noticeably a mixture of black and white, carrying placards that said SAVE THE SCHOOLCHILDREN OF BIRMINGHAM.

President Kennedy was in the Oval Office, sitting in his favorite chair, a rocker, waiting for the group from Justice. With him was a powerful trio of military men: Bob McNamara, the whiz kid secretary of defense, plus the army secretary and the army chief of staff.

This group had gathered here today, George realized, because the Negroes of Birmingham had started fires and thrown bottles last night. Such an emergency meeting had never been called during all the years of nonviolent civil rights protest, even when the Ku Klux Klan bombed the homes of Negroes. Rioting brought results.

The military men were present to discuss sending the army into Birmingham. Bobby focused as always on the political reality. "People are going to be calling for the president to take action," he said. "But here's the problem. We can't admit that we're sending federal troops to control the state troopers--that would be the White House declaring war on the state of Alabama. So we'd have to say it was to control the rioters--and that would be the White House declaring war on Negroes."

President Kennedy got it right away. "Once the white people have the protection of federal troops, they might just tear up the agreement they just made," he said.

In other words, George thought, the threat of Negro riots is keeping the agreement alive. He did not like this conclusion, but it was hard to escape.

Burke Marshall spoke up. He saw the agreement as his baby. "If that agreement blows up," he said wearily, "the Negroes will be, uh . . ."

The president finished his sentence. "Uncontrollable," he said.

Marshall added: "And not only in Birmingham."

The room went quiet as they all contemplated the prospect of similar riots in other American cities.

President Kennedy said: "What is King doing today?"

George said: "Flying back to Birmingham." He had learned this just before leaving the Gaston. "By now, I have no doubt, he's making the rounds of the big churches, urging people to go home peacefully after the service and stay indoors tonight."

"Will they do what he says?"

"Yes, provided there are no further bombings, and the state troopers are brought under control."

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