The Book of Many Clans

NEWARK, DELAWARE FIRST DAY OF SUMMER, TUESDAY, JUNE 21, 1994

So it came to pass that the elders in the community could convene over cigarettes and beer. The cool wind of the new season despite the high temperature made the outing all the more enjoyable. Laughs rose to the heavens. Dogs scampered about. Games of spades broke out on various card tables. The children ran and shouted and acted as if lightning ran in their blood. When everything grew silent, the eldest of the various families walked out of the house. Men set down their beers and women squashed their cigarettes. The children paused their playing. Mother Mattie and Daddy Brougham marched like they were in formation. She looked spry for her ninety years and still had all her faculties. Her hands felt as soft as the soap she used to cleanse them. Daddy Brougham had worked at the auto plant for thirty-three years. His hands were hard and almost cracked but still resilient and vigorous. In their hands, thick scrolls of documents held the power of the different lines that had grown up around Newark and before.

“We have found an ancient text for this summer solstice. It is to be regarded with great power and understanding,” Daddy Brougham said. One of the children took it from the hands of the elders.

“I’ve traced the lineage of all the families back to slavery times. They read from this book ritually every beginning of the summer but it was lost, so I thought, since the sixties. We will start that once again,” Mother Mattie replied.

Forty-year-old Reggie Brougham sipped from his beer and laughed. “Who wants to know about some old slavery times? I know I don’t. Now, just because the season has changed we’re supposed to care about some old slaves?”

“You bite your tongue, Reggie,” his wife Londa, 41, scolded.

It felt fantastical when Mother Mattie opened the book. The spirit moved in the outdoor setting. Except, it didn’t have anything to do with the mystical. It had everything to do with the mood of the gathering.

“Our family goes back one hundred and thirty years in Delaware, slaves and then those who marched into freedom.” Her voice never quavered and she said it with such conviction. All eighty-eight years of her had made her feeble in body but not in mind.

“On this solstice, we will restart the tradition of reading and showing from this book selections that veterans have sent home, photographs of elders in their youth, and the dates of the births and deaths of our forebears,” remarked ninety-year-old Daddy Brougham said.

“I can’t deal with all of this,” Reggie said, standing.

“Sit down, man!” his brother Sinclair, 46, commanded.

“No, all this talk about slavery and the old ways…this is the 90’s. We shouldn’t be focused on all that old timey mumbo jumbo. What we need to be doing is focusing on how to get this money. Like you both are selling this house to the University.”

Mother Mattie moved towards Reggie. “Baby, don’t you know that everything that is has come about because of how everything that was? This first day of summer will mark our initial ritual of reading from the book, looking at the photographs over the years. Don’t you get that, boy?”

“I just was saying––”

“You’re not saying anything.”

Reggie, still standing, put his left hand on his hips and reached for his beer.

“Mom-mom, pop-pop, I want to know about the slaves,” seven-year-old little Katasha announced.

“Yes, I’d like to learn, too,” her brother Joel, 9, rejoined.

Reggie stormed off back into the house.

“This was done for many years in my youth until we ended up going to live in different states and the family lines began to shred. As we rediscover this book, we must always remember the past, live in the present, and hope for the future,” Daddy Brougham said.

Reggie stormed back out of the house. He had in his hand a sports betting book.

“This is going to save us. I’ve got all kinds of bets on baseball. This season is going to be great!"

Mother Mattie and Daddy Brougham walked over to him once again. The other people at the gathering looked on intently but had developed little patience for Reggie’s insolence. The aging couple walked right up to Reggie.

“Money is good. How else do you think we got to where we are? We worked. Just like you work. You can use your bets however you like, but that does not detract away from the truth that we must reconcile with what came before us,” Daddy Brougham said. Reggie sat down and began to listen. He watched as the book passed from hand-to-hand.

The spirit or mood or atmosphere of the outing seemed joyous even through Reggie’s antics. The family managed to look at the book and actually see the past burst off of the pages. The sepia toned images and the black faces all engendered a sense of wonder of how this tome could carry such weight of time and space in the small state of Delaware.

“That’s Morganton’s boy right there,” Fifty-year-old Henrietta Dollar remarked. “Ooh, there goes Papa Foster in his Army uniform looking just as sharp. They've got the Taylors, Sewards, Sheens, Gettys, Ryersons....What are we going to call this book, Mother Mattie?”

“We’ll officially name it, ‘The Book of Many Clans’. That was the book title the slaves had given it but the title had been wrested from them from their masters. We can claim it on this day as a summer reminder to seek and hold its power.” She flipped to the pages which showed slave hooches and men and women beaten but not broken by the ugliness of America's Original Sin.

“How did we find it after it was taken? How were you able to recover the name?” Londa asked.

“It was in an old chest in the attic. I asked one of the grands, I think it was Michael, to go up there and fetch it for me. He retrieved it with no fuss. I blew off the dust and kept going. As far as the title, it was passed down through word of mouth. I didn’t know where to look for the book. I searched my own little library first. Then I went downstairs and then into the garage. Finally, I had to get Michael to go and get it for me. And here it is.” The book must have weighed about five pounds. Reggie got up to handle the book as Mother Mattie and Daddy Brougham sat down again.

Reggie had a look of slight amusement and somewhat disdain as he flipped through the massive book. He then came to an official piece of paper. It looked like a birth certificate or a deed to the house or a bank note.

“This paper here looks real.”

“What is it?” Londa asked.

“It’s a paper saying that we can earn ten percent on every piece of property that the private University builds in Newark. This is going to blow us up like nothing else!”

“Let me see that,” Londa said. She read over it and a tear escaped her eye.

“What this means, Mother and Daddy, is that you won’t have to worry about your property being seized or having to give up your home because a big check is waved in front of your face. This is a certificate that never expires and is good enough to go to the bank tomorrow morning.”

Reggie sighed. “At least that book was good for something. We’re going to be rich!”

“We’re already rich, son,” Daddy Brougham said.

“We could be penniless, living in a one room shack like my daddy, and still know that we have our minds and the willpower to use them. That’s real wealth.”

“This is going to affect the entire town because of all of the families involved,” Mother Mattie chimed. “Every family listed in it will have a percentage of the profits of the private University. What a time!” She clasped her hands together and showed a broad smile.

“Of all the things we know, we must remember that our ancestors developed and lived on this land. The Earth is now ours to keep and we feel the spirit move over all of this. That is our solemn testament,” Daddy Brougham replied.

Reggie sighed. "I have to admit....It's the individuals who make up the clans that we have to remember. There might've been a lot of families but they all were made up of the individual. I get it, now."

The book then saw its way to Mother Mattie’s library and the certificate proclaiming how the University would pay the black families forever for the use of the land found its way to the safe in Mother and Daddy's room. Without any hesitation, Daddy Brougham locked the document away, with the thought of securing their tomorrows.