Ishmael Reed: Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down

Thomas Jefferson

Meanwhile back at the ranch Chief Showcase entered Drag’s sick room. The old fat and ignorant cattlerancher lay in bed, his chest rapidly rising and falling. The Dr. was seated next to the window, his head in his hands as he did vigil for his old friend. Whispering, he saluted the Indian.

O Chief Showcase how loyal of you to come see Drag. Why just a few minutes ago we found some horrible material stuffed in his pillow. It was made up of putrid matter I analyzed to be: a one-eyed toad, wings of a bat, cat’s eyes and some strange powder. Things look grave indeed.

Chief Showcase gently sat on Drag’s bed and put a hand on the Cattleman’s forehead. Drag’s eyebrows fluttered. The room was spinning as his eyes opened.

O Chief Showcase, he said weakly, good of you to come and visit me before I ride off into the eternal sunset.

Think nothing of it Drag, I was on my way back from Paris and I stopped off at that makeshift acreage they call the Capitol.

Even in his dying spasms Drag laughed as did the Doc, who beamed at the Indian for bringing a little humor into the room.

I overheard them talking about you Drag and it surprised me seeing as how any fool could tell that you are in charge, the top dog and the one who is really number 1.

O thanks sweet Redman, Drag said clasping the Indian’s hand, but looks like Drag is about to enter the Great Corral in the Sky.

That’s what they were saying Drag. They said they might raise a cavalry and investigate those mysterious wife deaths. They said you might fill up boot hill quicker than you think. They said you called them corny dudes and all but at least back East they either kills niggers or prizes them to death. Here sign this autograph.

Drag obliged, scratching a feeble signature on a scrap of paper provided by the Indian.

Well they ain’t no threat, even in my dying breath I know that Unification it’ll never happen. Why I understand that the largest bank in the country is out in this territory now.

The door opened. A messenger ran into the room and handed Drag a note. Drag’s eyes popped. He sat up in bed and slapped his hand against his forehead.

Now I get it. Of course. Too much. That’s it. Me getting sick and the cattle dying like that. Yeah of course. Now it makes sense. Hot diggity joe joe — won’t be long now — The Indian and the Doctor were amazed at this rapid recovery by one who only a few moments before had taken out a passport for the beyond. Whatever the contents of this note — it provided a powerful curative.

What’s wrong Drag, what happened, they asked him eagerly.

A note from the Pope. It won’t be long now. Everybody take off his hat. Imagine that — I am nothing but a lowly cattleman, ugly fat and ignorant, why I use to slop hogs and ride drag, that’s why they call me Drag, because my first job was taking care of back tracking and sick cattle. But now — a royal visit!

Drag leaped out of bed and in his nightgown and cap ran past the Indian and into the hall. Below the men were making bets on his hour of departure. They scooped up their money when they saw the boss at the top of the stairs…

Men, things are really going to change now — tomorrow all the way from Rome the Pope is arriving to straighten out this inner sanctum mystery once and for all. Hang out some confetti, get the fiddler, round up all the hurdy gurdy girls from the Rabid Black Cougar — a big huzza huzza time.

Everybody made eager preparations for the visit. Banners were hung over the street, ikons strategically placed, the whole town was incensed. And everyone was engaged in furious preparations for the Pope’s visit. Everyone, that is, but Chief Showcase, who was sneaking towards the Hotel to send off a telegram.

Woooooooo wee!! Um ma um ma um ma ha ha!! Su ha su ha su ha!! Soo-kee o soo-kee soo-kee. Lalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalala. My my my my goodness. O get it. Get it

GET IT GET IT OOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo oooo

o o Mewwwwooooooooooow.

Your charm certainly works. Your strong black hands just seem to make my bones jump and shout for joy. Please ask the owner for my car keys. You can come to my apartment and take anything you want. Take my credit cards, take my status — it doesn’t mean anything just do it to me more often, you know how you do things so fine and sweet. You the finest pipe fitter I’ve ever known, O I just wish I could do more to reward you for your thrilling expertise.

The Field Marshal nestled his head next to the black masseur’s thighs as he lay in semi-consciousness on the table of an underground rub down Palace in the basement of the Army’s headquarters.

Think nothing of it boss-man Theda, the masseur said, you know I’ll do my bit to help relax you in these troubled times. The ship of state needs strong arms at its oars now don’t it.

O you’re so beautiful and understanding. Theda’s eyes became moist as he closed in on the black man and started to purr like a kitten.

Mee-yow, mee-yow, he purred while the masseur softly stroked his back. O I think I’ll just go out of my mind if you start sucking my toes like you did last week, Theda said.

The pink mist of the room was heavily perfumed and across the area on other tables, high ranking members of the Army were babbling softly out of their minds while big black masseurs in turbans and baggy pants were running their jazzy hands across their bodies.

You know, sweet and ample black man, I tried to get that provision in the Declaration of Independence, a forth-right resolution, but nothing happened. The Southern planters were dead set against it and we needed their support.

I know, Theda, I read the broadsides, I know you did all you could. Me and my wife have a picture of you on our wall. Each morning we light candles fo it and pray fo you and Mr. Thomas Jefferson. He’s a good man too.

Tom’s all right, Theda said, but he’s such a rake, nothing but a dirt farmer and anarchist. Hangs out with Jacobins like that Paine fellow. I’ve even seen him out with women from time to time. And he doesn’t know how to keep his britches on at all. Some man in Conn. is suing him for adultery right now and he reads French books and plays electric fiddle with some rock group called the Green Mountain Boys. O he’s disgusting sometimes.

Well suh, the masseur said, his hands pressing against Theda’s neck, causing him to wiggle, what about Benjamin Franklin?

O he’s just as bad, he and that Westerner Henry Clay, they carry on — Franklin draws cartoons — he invented balloon speech you know. And that Clay always brawling. Me and the fellows tried to get Randolph of Virginia to head the Convention but he was overruled. Some delegate with a squirrel cap and a filthy backwoods buckskin jacket on spread the word that Randolph was second rate at what jackasses could do infinitely better — o democracy sometimes. Phew.

Big Woogie?

Yes Theda?

What about this Hoo…this religion the Hoo-Doo that your people practice?

Big Woogie stepped back. Some of the other black attendants started to roll their eyes and drop their towels. Confusion broke out as the members of the Army asked their attendants to continue massaging their tired bones. Snapping his fingers, Big Woogie gave them the signal to return to their work.

O it’s nothing Theda, nothing to get upset about. Just some kind of superstition that our people brought from Africa. People believe in hants and such things, that’s all.

O I see, the Field Marshal said.

The page, now wearing his Hoover’s cap and knickerbockers, walked into the room.

Hey fuck-face Doompussy, whatever your name is.

Theda jumped from the table.

Well I never. Who gave you this address? I told them to never give out this phone number — why this is one of the few luxuries I have in this life…