diehard klansmen such as Collier believed, were people who did not want to work, who gained money through bullying or cheating, who robbed, and who were violent. Blacks wanted to hurt whites … to steal jobs from white males, to rape white females.
It was this latter issue of race mixing that upset Collier the most. He had recently been told by one of his brothers in the Charleston den about a new scientific discovery. A scientist had found out that certain substances in semen could be transmitted into the blood supply of a man’s sexual partner and create long-lasting effects. The scientist reported that a white woman who had sex even one time with a black man might well find herself permanently altered as a result: she herself might change in her features and she might well find herself three years later giving birth to a black child.
So, Collier said to himself as he took another look at the newspaper photographs, he had done the white woman a favor by killing her. The rape was for him.
CHAPTER 21
President Charles Jackson’s eyes were locked on a squirrel trying to pry an acorn loose from underneath one of the White House’s famous rosebushes. The squirrel was scratching the dirt around the bush like a bulldozer reconfiguring the foundation of a dilapidated house. The president admired the squirrel’s persistence; the acorn was as large as the squirrel’s head and yet the squirrel “refused to give up on the dream,” as the president’s teenage son liked to say.
Charles Jackson had never given up on his dream. He was currently living it. Ever since the day his high school history teacher had played a videotape of one of John F. Kennedy’s legendary press conferences, Jackson had wanted to be president. Now he was … the first African American elected to the most powerful office in the world.
Jackson shifted his attention from the squirrel in the rose garden to the guard dog in the Oval Office. “What’s the news from the hospital, Jim?”
Jim Westfall was the president’s chief of staff. He had served Jackson in the same capacity when Jackson was governor of Connecticut. He had quickly acquired the reputation around Washington for being a highly skilled spokesman for the president and highly protective of him. Hence, he was often described as Jackson’s “guard dog.”
Westfall said, “Professor McDonald made it through surgery, so that’s good news. Unfortunately, the bullet ruptured his spleen, and he’s lost a tremendous amount of blood. Bottom line: we still don’t know whether he’s going to make it.”
“Shit,” the president said. “Hasn’t this poor man been through enough? He lost his wife and daughter because of me.” Jackson again stared out the window at the squirrel.
Westfall rose from his seat and walked over to the president. “You need to stop blaming yourself for that, Mr. President. Professor McDonald doesn’t hold you responsible for what happened in Charlottesville.”
The president continued to watch the squirrel try to pry the acorn loose. “But if I hadn’t asked him to serve, his family wouldn’t have been put at risk. Everybody knew that anyone nominated for Crandall’s seat might be in jeopardy. I certainly did. I saw the Secret Service report. People feel very strongly about affirmative action, especially during tough economic times. Folks who can’t find work often try to go back to school. If they’re white, especially if they’re white and male, it’s tough to get into the best institutions.”
Edwin Crandall was the Supreme Court justice whose seat Peter McDonald had been nominated to fill. Crandall was eighty-nine years old, and he had retired from the bench because he could no longer keep pace with the Court’s workload. When asked by a reporter at the news conference announcing his retirement about why he was leaving the Court, Crandall had quipped, “Because I’m old and falling apart.” It was a classic line from the
It was this latter issue of race mixing that upset Collier the most. He had recently been told by one of his brothers in the Charleston den about a new scientific discovery. A scientist had found out that certain substances in semen could be transmitted into the blood supply of a man’s sexual partner and create long-lasting effects. The scientist reported that a white woman who had sex even one time with a black man might well find herself permanently altered as a result: she herself might change in her features and she might well find herself three years later giving birth to a black child.
So, Collier said to himself as he took another look at the newspaper photographs, he had done the white woman a favor by killing her. The rape was for him.
CHAPTER 21
President Charles Jackson’s eyes were locked on a squirrel trying to pry an acorn loose from underneath one of the White House’s famous rosebushes. The squirrel was scratching the dirt around the bush like a bulldozer reconfiguring the foundation of a dilapidated house. The president admired the squirrel’s persistence; the acorn was as large as the squirrel’s head and yet the squirrel “refused to give up on the dream,” as the president’s teenage son liked to say.
Charles Jackson had never given up on his dream. He was currently living it. Ever since the day his high school history teacher had played a videotape of one of John F. Kennedy’s legendary press conferences, Jackson had wanted to be president. Now he was … the first African American elected to the most powerful office in the world.
Jackson shifted his attention from the squirrel in the rose garden to the guard dog in the Oval Office. “What’s the news from the hospital, Jim?”
Jim Westfall was the president’s chief of staff. He had served Jackson in the same capacity when Jackson was governor of Connecticut. He had quickly acquired the reputation around Washington for being a highly skilled spokesman for the president and highly protective of him. Hence, he was often described as Jackson’s “guard dog.”
Westfall said, “Professor McDonald made it through surgery, so that’s good news. Unfortunately, the bullet ruptured his spleen, and he’s lost a tremendous amount of blood. Bottom line: we still don’t know whether he’s going to make it.”
“Shit,” the president said. “Hasn’t this poor man been through enough? He lost his wife and daughter because of me.” Jackson again stared out the window at the squirrel.
Westfall rose from his seat and walked over to the president. “You need to stop blaming yourself for that, Mr. President. Professor McDonald doesn’t hold you responsible for what happened in Charlottesville.”
The president continued to watch the squirrel try to pry the acorn loose. “But if I hadn’t asked him to serve, his family wouldn’t have been put at risk. Everybody knew that anyone nominated for Crandall’s seat might be in jeopardy. I certainly did. I saw the Secret Service report. People feel very strongly about affirmative action, especially during tough economic times. Folks who can’t find work often try to go back to school. If they’re white, especially if they’re white and male, it’s tough to get into the best institutions.”
Edwin Crandall was the Supreme Court justice whose seat Peter McDonald had been nominated to fill. Crandall was eighty-nine years old, and he had retired from the bench because he could no longer keep pace with the Court’s workload. When asked by a reporter at the news conference announcing his retirement about why he was leaving the Court, Crandall had quipped, “Because I’m old and falling apart.” It was a classic line from the
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