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| Story Telling |
Rat sits back and says, "I can tell you the real story of Bessie Smith. They say she was refused service at the white hospital. That's not true, because she was brought directly to the black hospital, right where we're sitting now. Nobody from here would have taken her to the white hospital. She was hurt bad in the accident, and a doctor came along right after it happened and took care of her best he could. The doctor's friend went lookin' for a phone, but you know, they were out there near Lula, and it was all sharecroppers at that time. Very few phones. So he finally got to a phone, called up the funeral home. Ambulance didn't go for black folks then, only the hearse. That way, if they died, only had to make one trip, 'cause they normally didn't have a fancy funeral. It was a Sunday, so it took a while, and when they got her here, well, there wasn't much they could do."
Rat waves at a neighbor across the street. I think he knows everyone in Clarksdale.
"Dr. Smith, that found her, was a good doctor. My Mama's doctor (JR: not sure whether it was Smith or not, but you don't interrupt a good stream of consciousness) was a good man, a practical man. He stuck by that Hippocratic oath, yes sir. Treated every one, no matter what color. But he was a practical man. Had a black waiting room on one side, a white waiting room on the other. But he saw everyone in the same office."
He grips my hand tightly when I say it's time for me to leave. "You come on back, now. I'll be here."
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