Stevedores

Me Dearest Gertrude,

Hello, my love. I’m a colonel, but I might as well be amongst the enlisted ranks. We fought hard in the Argonne but these white men still don’t show respect. I’m not just talking about saluting, they offer no aid or even speech when they look my way. In the battle, the Germans called us “Black Devils.” You will be proud of me as the French honored my men and me with a Croix de guerre. It doesn’t matter. We now work as the stevedores. We’re on the docks unloading flour. I have to continue to remind myself that I’m still part of the war effort.

I got that out of my system. How are you? Are you still putting on that lipstick and wearing those heels I bought you? Our love surpasses the harshness of this world. This war. I look forward to being the one who dips you and then brings you back up into a kiss. It’s February sixth, as of this writing. If I get my druthers, I will see that this missive will arrive on St. Valentine’s Day. By bringing the element of love to a place where love is seldom seen, I continue to write to you. No one wants to know about the black units. Very few of us got to fight, but at least we saw some action. I’m busy typing up correspondence and meeting with the generals.

What is it like in Delaware? How are you managing winter’s bitter bite? May will be here soon. I know the snow storms can be rather tumultuous. I’d love to keep you warm. I know you’re running the store in Wilmington. All of the balls of yarn are like little drops of thought that unspool from your mind. With you being so enamored with your work, I just can’t be more proud of you. The love you’ve shown me is without comparison. You didn’t have to give me a son and daughter. But you did. And they are growing and will greet me when I get home.

The power of our love allows me to deal with the racism of the American warriors and some of the French who say, “Yanks, go home!” And the Germans, ironically, seem to have the most esteem for us as most of them have never seen black faces. If it had not been for your caress, your charm, your wonder, I would not have been able to fulfill my role as a leader of warriors. I deal with the tedium with the might of the pen in which I use to draft this letter. Don’t worry. You won’t have to read my chicken scratch. This letter is of course typewritten. I hope you understand….

What I don’t understand is why Wilson even pushed us into this war. He said “for democracy.” What a crock. I don’t see any “democracy” for the blacks in the country I’m from which I am currently defending. My lovely, I want you to know that we’re still battling to get the rights that have been denied Colored people throughout America’s history. Although there is a serious chasm that exists between the rights of the most and the few, we’re still going through hell to get to a place of paradise. One day. It won’t be when we get back. They’ll look at us with yellowed eyes and spit on our uniforms. I can be an officer and I still won’t be able to get a job. I’m glad we co-own the shop. I go for women, too. Your rights are seriously limited. For everything that I do over here, I am conscious of why I’m here. It is for you and I. It is for the love that we share.

There’s a young man from Wilmington here, too. He’s got his head wrapped tight. He’s cool. I’m going to make sure he rises from private to sergeant one day. He’d fought as well. His name is Vernal Garnsboro. I said “Small world” to him and he said “We are coming from a small state, sir!” He saluted me. It felt more powerful and potent. He did it without malice or malevolence. It was true and proper and right. I returned his salute. That’s the sense that I’ve captured by being here just a few months. In the idea of being in a unit where the men are just hauling bales all day, it’s difficult to lose sight of the war effort. That’s why I am writing to you. We’re going to dance when I get home. We’re going to go to that little joint and have some drinks and just relax in our splendor.

You must understand me when I say that even though my assignment is to oversee other black men because I cannot command the whites, I find it a sense of grace and might to order them and have them respect me. They don’t respect my full-bird status but why I earned those birds on my shoulders. The responsibility that I have in making sure hundreds of men make it back to their wives and their children or their parents is not lost on me. When you sent your last letter, I had to take time to write back because I was so engrossed in the machinations of the war effort. Now, I can finally show you how there is no distraction. You are the one I am focused on at this moment. It can be just as cold over here but in my mind there is a place so warm because I can still smell your perfume. I can hear the lilt of your voice. The song in your speech is embedded in my memory.

My division is still battle-ready as they load more and more pieces of cargo to the docks. They’re like giants lifting those heavy packs and placing them down again. They want to get back into the fight. They know they most likely won’t see battle again. That’s okay for me. I’m not a second lieutenant anymore. I would’ve been down in those trenches with them. In my current station, I’m expected to give orders below and take them from above. My aide-de-camp Major Leroy Constantin keeps me motivated. Like a support beam holding up a building, he has shown nothing but loyalty, which I must earn everyday. He disagrees and shows his reasons. His abilities to become the best warrior possible shine a golden light on the lives of our lower ranking men.

I know that he will be a life-long friend. You’ll meet him. We’ll be in that joint sipping Amaretto. We’ll be emboldened to become even more determined to enjoy the fruits of America, even if the country often gives us spoiled and rotten pieces from time to time. We live in the North, but we still feel the sour taste in our mouths from the fragility of racism. You’re fighting both fronts as a black woman with her own business. Your actions show how you’ve been poised to become the dynamo you are. I just love you. Every little bit of you I savor and honor. Gerty, your mind appears on every page that I have read from our previous correspondence. You are a gem. What brings you to the level of someone with excellence in everything you do is your steadfast admiration for me. I feel it. We’re thousands of miles apart but you’re still within my consciousness.

Keep up those sales. I’ll be home and ready to feast on quail and truffles. I know, we’ll just have turkey and ham by the time Easter rolls around. But I will be home by then. I will be home like ballplayers sliding in for a run. I can only say that your whole being is the reason why I push myself to be so punctual every day, to be so precise and curt with my men, and to allow everyone in this division to be totally dedicated to their own lives. Everyone yammers about the death in war, and obviously that is true. But consider the reality of life. It is to save the teammates you came up with. Some of these boys are fourteen-years-old. They lied about their age just to get it out of the mud. Based on the knowledge of a better day, they signed up for an arduous task. I have to respect that.

My amor, you deserve all of the French clothes I’ve seen in the shops here. They would put our shop to shame, but don’t tell anyone! Once I touch down on American soil again, I’ll venture to get the same garb and something even better. All of the suede, wool, taffeta, and tatting will stuff our shop. We will prevail in all of this. There is nothing we cannot do together. Everything we ever dreamed of, we can make true. Lovely, you’re my heroine. I’ll see you soon.

Love,

Rockmond