Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 31

It has been extremely busy since 2019 began. That may be an understatement for many, if not all, of my readers. I do apologize for taking longer than normal to get this chapter edited and published. Thank you for your patience. 

For new readers to this story, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2 - 4 are linked under September, 5 - 10 under October, 11 - 18 under November, 19 - 27 under December, and 28 - 30 under January 2019.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.

Chapter 31

Cabby Perspective

Three men, two Negroes and one Caucasian, gathered their luggage and began to make their way across the crowded platform, and into the capital’s train station. Inside the massive terminal, all three came to a halt and gawked. Heads swept, eyes shifted, and mouths gaped.

“I thought Chicago’s train station seemed breathtaking in its size and architecture,” said Mr. Nathaniel Graham. “But this…”

“Is spectacular?” Mr. Reuben Jefferson asked.

“Uh-huh,” Nathaniel said as if stupefied.

Reuben chuckled. “Well, well, I’ve never known you to be a man lost for words.” Father said to his son, “So, Zebulon, this is Washington D.C. What do you think?”

Zebulon’s head still swept left and right, up and down, as if unable to grasp all that unfolded before him. “I’ve never seen so many people.”

“Son, if all goes well, this will be your home for the next several years, maybe longer.” Reuben adjusted his suitcases. “Do you think you can handle this?”

The leader in Nathaniel manifested. He took one step down the ten-yard-wide marble staircase and with confidence said, “He can.” Nathaniel stopped, turned, and looked straight into the young man’s staring, coffee-colored eyes. “You’ll do great. I have nothing but the greatest respect and admiration for your abilities and character, Zebulon.” Nathaniel gave his two bags a slight lift. “Let’s go hire a cab.”

The walk from the platform to the station exit, lugging their stuffed suitcases, reminded Nathaniel of the many cross-country quick marches while under Stonewall Jackson’s command. That was five years ago. I came close to dying when those supply trains exploded. As they neared the threshold leading to the city, Nathaniel demanded greater self-discipline. You didn’t come here to reflect on the past but to have a hopeful look to the future.

Zebulon held the door for his father and their pastor. Nathaniel stepped into the summer sunshine and heralded a cab. When he turned to wave his young charge aboard, Nathaniel noted both Reuben and Zebulon ogled at yet another object of wonder. He looked in the general direction of their gaze and then he stopped progress, too. Down the hill stood the distinctive rotunda of the nation’s capital building.

“You lads coming or not?” An angry Scottish accent assailed the visitors.

Nathaniel snapped his awestruck mind back to the demanding present. He answered for his threesome. “Yes sir.”

“Admiring the view, are we lads?” The cabby set the carriage’s brake and hopped down from his driver’s seat. “Need any help with your bags?”

It appeared to Nathaniel that the immigrant spoke to him alone. “I think we can handle it, but where do we put them?”

The driver rounded the rear and pointed to a lockable box three times larger than a regular-size footlocker. “In the boot,” he said with a condescending tone, while lifting the lid.

Nathaniel glanced at his friends and cocked his head in the trunk’s direction, put one of his bags down on the moist, brick street, and lifted the other suitcase into the box. Reuben and Zebulon followed Nathaniel’s lead as the scowling Scot waited, watching his pocket watch.

With their luggage secured, the three travelers climbed into the open carriage. Before ascending to his driver’s seat, the sun-hardened carrot top grabbed onto the railing and asked, “Where you lads headed?”

“The Willard Hotel,” Nathaniel said.

The cab driver rolled his blood-shot eyes. “I should have known. All first-timers want to stay there.” He hoisted his stocky, five-foot, four-inch frame aboard.

Nathaniel’s nose caught the scent of whiskey, and he adjusted his position on the rear-facing tanned, cow-leather bench. He twisted enough to ask, “How did you know we’ve never been to the Capital before today?” 

The cabby released the brake. “You drive folks around here for as many years as I have…” He sorted the reins and gave them a quick shake. Both horses alerted. He picked up mid-sentence. “You learn a thing or two about people—where they’re from, for example.” He made a note in his logbook, snapped the reins and shouted, “Walk on.” The cab moved forward and in less than a minute, he had maneuvered the rig into the substantial downtown-bound traffic flow.

Nathaniel did his best to remain patient with this man’s ways. He watched the wagons and buggies in line behind theirs. “I understand, but I didn’t so much as say a dozen words to you, and my friends haven’t offered one.”

The driver made a clicking sound, and the horses’ pace quickened. He cocked his head a bit over his right shoulder and spoke with increased volume. “First, that accent of yours.” He snapped his head to the left and spit some chew. “It tells me you’re from the South. I’d wager either from North Carolina, or Tennessee, maybe.”

“Franklin, Tennessee,” Nathaniel said. “I’m impressed. What other clues did you discover?” Our accent—what about his? The way he rolls his Rs is amusing.

“Your clothes. Although they appear new, they don’t match the latest men’s fashions worn by the nobles who sit in the seats of government—who we pay much but do little.”

The statesman-appearing Reuben stiffened his posture, and the thinner, taller version of Reuben, Zebulon, pulled on his suit jacket as if he examined it for hard-to-detect stains or fabric flaws. “Oh,” Nathaniel said sheepishly as he blushed.

The cabby pointed. “We’re coming up on Pennsylvania Avenue. We’ll be turning right.”

Nathaniel grasped the back of his seat and craned his neck to get a better view.

The driver pulled on the reins and the horses slowed from a trot to a walk. “The telltale sign that gives all newcomers away is the fact that they stand gawking, like a bunch of star-struck school boys, at the capitol building, which will be on our left when we make our turn toward your hotel.”

Nathaniel thought about his next question. Should I ask. I sense a reluctance in the depth of my gut. But I want to know.“ Was there anything else?”

The opining cabby twisted his head, made quick eye contact with Nathaniel and the two other silent passengers. Then he looked forward. “Sure enough, lads. You seem like good people.”

The comment sparked Nathaniel’s interest even deeper. “I don’t understand.”

The driver pointed as he slowed the carriage to a stop. “The capitol building is over there.”

The three passengers stared at the massive rotunda centered over the legislative facility. An impression hit Nathaniel as he stared at the marvelous-marble edifice. It looks like pictures I’ve seen of the Vatican in Rome. And why is the bronze Statue of Freedom the crowning feature of the Dome? Nathaniel took note of specific traits. She has long, flowing hair, but she’s wearing a helmet with a crest composed of an eagle’s head and feathers. Why does the helmet have nine stars? Why not thirteen for the original colonies? It looks like she is standing on a globe. I wonder if it represents the world. I see the inscription, E Pluribus Unum, which means, “Out of many, one.” Okay I understand that, but she looks like a typical Roman goddess of war. Why?

Reuben’s deep baritone voice resonated for the first time. “It’s magnificent.”

“It’s worth the time to take the tour,” the driver said. “I’ve seen it so many times, I’m bored with it, but I’m sure you’d find it interesting.”

Nathaniel tried to check his natural appetite for information, but the undisciplined question surfaced. “What did you mean when you said we looked like good people?”

Negotiating the right turn and easing into the northwest bound traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue, the cabby stated loud enough to be heard by a third-floor observer. “The circus clowns who call themselves, ‘Representatives,’ and ‘Senators,’ seem preoccupied with one thing.”

Nathaniel looked at Reuben, then Zebulon, appealing with his eyes for encouragement.

Reuben nodded.

Nathaniel probed deeper. “And that one thing is?”

“I noticed your limp as you left the train station, lad-di. You appear to be about the right age. I’d wager you fought in the war on the side of the Rebels?”

Nathaniel gulped. This man’s insightfulness is scary. “Yes.”

“Then I’m surprised at you lad-di—why you’d even ask. I understand you Rebels fought to keep these,” he raised his voice, “professional idiots from dictating how you should live.”

“That was my reason.”

“Well, lad, then it should be obvious. They want control. To obtain and keep control, the Federal Government needs money—and lots of it. These…men…sit around in their chambers devising crafty ways to separate you and me from whatever wealth we earn or acquire. Look around here. Have you noticed all the cranes?” He shook the reins, giving the tourists a second to search the landscape and scour the towering buildings. “They are always building new government offices around here, to fill with more people who are paid by us taxpayers, to plan high-and-lofty projects so they can steal our hard-earned money. It never ends. And they always put their ideas in the form of some crisis that only they can resolve.

“God Almighty, there ain’t nothing on earth closer to eternity than a government program. They’d cause the eternal serpent to blush in shame for the tricks they pull on the gullible, dumber-than-dirt sheep they fleece every day. They know it is easy to fool people. They make pompous speeches and convince us to release more of our wealth in the form of new taxes. They make promises that the money will be used to meet some great need—a need so great that only the Federal Government can apply appropriate resources to meet it. They dismiss our abilities as if we can’t do anything.” He twisted in his seat to connect with his fares. “You seem like smart men. I ask you, didn’t ‘We the people’form the Federal government in the first place?”

No one answered. Nathaniel wanted to tell the cab driver that he had made his point, but before he could speak one word, the feisty Scot continued his diatribe. “Those weasels behind us and Secretary Stanton’s puppet, Johnson, who occupies the White House before us, play on every emotional string and pick our pockets. I watched similar usurious devils confiscate wealth from everyone, rich and poor, over in the old country. Now I find the same thing going on here. I’m telling you, lads, it’s modern serfdom. The great mass of this ‘free’ society works as indentured servants to a ruling class of financial nobility.”  

He altered his tone and cadence. “Your hotel is ahead on the right.”

Then, once again he raised an angry discourse. “Between the Willard Hotel and the White House, they erected the Treasury Building.” He pivoted again to address his captive audience. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that this den-of-thieves built the treasury next to the president’s residence. I tell you, lads, it shows you what’s important to these swine, and it ain’t the people no more. No sir. It’s all about protecting money—who has it and how to trick those who have it to let go of it, and then they collect it all here.”

He directed his team of horses into the Willard Hotel’s entrance and almost shouted his obvious indignation. “This town no longer is filled with public servants. There should be a big sign for all inbound travelers to see at the train station. It should read: WELCOME TO WASHINGTON, D.C.—WHERE THE PUBLIC SERVES US.”

He pulled on the reins and called to his horses, “Whoa.”

The horses came to a halt and brought the cab to a stop. With a well-practiced motion, he set the brake and swiveled about. He finished with a rehearsed smiling line. “Well, here we are lads. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Zebulon hopped out first, followed by his father. Nathaniel watched the cabby descend from his driver’s seat and hurry to the carriage’s rear. Nathaniel adjusted his bowler hat and reached for a gold twenty-five-cent piece in his pants’ pocket. After he retrieved his bags, he thanked the cab driver for the brief tour and his spirited comments. He pressed the coin into the cabby’s hand as he shook it. Forever the pastor, Nathaniel said, “I agree with your sentiment, but I think you might be well served if you kept your views to yourself.”

“Doesn’t the first amendment allow me freedom of speech?” the transportation prophet asked with a recharged angry tone.

“Yes, it does.”  Nathaniel grinned. “None of us needs to put a target on our backs. We all see what one bullet can do. The entire nation may never recover from the loss of Lincoln.” Nathaniel released his handshake and placed his right hand on the driver’s left upper arm. “If what you say is true about this city, and I believe it is, you don’t need to get yourself killed for expressing yourself.”

The cabby pocketed the currency. He blinked. “I never thought it could come to this.”

“Neither did I, my friend. Our fight for liberty must continue, but we’ll have to battle with wisdom, which comes from the Supreme Judge of the Universe and Him alone.”

United States Army General Oliver Otis Howard’s executive office felt a bit stuffy this mid-August afternoon. A walnut grandfather clock stood like a sentinel in the left corner, from the university president’s point of view if he had been sitting behind his desk.

While the three guests awaited the arrival of the university’s president, Nathaniel surveyed their immediate surroundings as he stood behind one of the wing-back, burgundy leather, brass-fastened, guest chairs.

Along the wall to Nathaniel’s right rested a nearly eight-foot long matching sofa. Behind the extravagant executive desk, half octagon-shaped bay windows overlooked the campus. Flanking the bureau stood floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Nathaniel noted the concentration of Western Civilization, Economic/Finance/Accounting Theory and Practice, Theology, Bibles and Bible Commentaries texts.

Another clock sat on the eye-level shelf. Either General Howard or his office decorator placed a flag representing the University just to the right of the bay windows. Nathaniel studied its blue stitched crest against a white satin background. The American flag took its proper place of honor on the left side of the windows. A map of the United States and Western Territories hung on the far-left wall to the right of a single door. I wonder if that door leads to a conference room—maybe a modern privy. Nathaniel grinned. It must be nice to have indoor services.

“Since we don’t know how long he’ll be, I suppose we should make ourselves comfortable,” Nathaniel said to Reuben and Zebulon. He took the chair closest to the couch, leaving the two center chairs for his fellow academic adventurers.

No sooner had Reuben settled into his selected chair and crossed his legs, the office main entrance door opened. First the clock above the door began to ring with high-pitched bells, then the clock on the book shelf chimed, and the grandfather clock bonged. A rather rotund, white-haired man stalled in the center of the threshold and said something to his personal secretary, which Nathaniel couldn’t hear with all of the clocks sounding three in the afternoon. After issuing his instructions, he made his entry.

As Nathaniel rose to his feet, he thought about the multiple clocks. The general must want to know the times and seasons in which we live. Reuben and Zebulon followed Nathaniel’s lead and stood, too—Zebulon a bit tentative. Nathaniel adjusted his suit jacket and prepared to shake the one remaining, left hand of a former enemy, a man who would determine the collegiate fate of Nathaniel’s young charge.

Because he retained his army commission, University President Howard wore his Major General’s uniform. He crossed the ornamental crimson rug that covered the center portion of the deep, black-cherry wood floor. “Please forgive my tardiness,” he said extending his left arm to Zebulon. “You must be Mr. Jefferson.”

General Howard

Zebulon stared at the general’s missing arm and took a step backward.

General Howard grabbed Zebulon’s right hand and gave it an enthusiastic welcoming grasp.  He shook it with animated vigor.

“Yes, sir,” Zebulon said sheepishly.

“You’ll have to speak louder, son. These old, cannon-worn ears don’t hear as well as they once did.” General Howard released his grip. “And you must be Mr. Jefferson, the elder.”

Reuben nodded and accepted the white haired, institutional leader’s hand. “Yes sir. We cannot thank you enough for meeting with us today.”

“It’s my pleasure to be of service to you, Mr. Jefferson,” President Howard said. I understand you’ve come a long way—from central Tennessee. It’s the least I can do for you,” he adjusted his well-fed frame and addressed Zebulon, “and your son.”

Nathaniel began to fight a thought and feeling that his presence intruded upon this meeting. Remember, you never met a feeling you could trust.

The executive who could pass for a typical Santa Claus now addressed the last member of the Tennessee contingency. “And you are my good friend’s friend, and the brother-in-law of one of our distinguished field officers…Pastor Graham, welcome. Both Reverend Moody and Major John Ellis told me much about you, sir. I am honored to meet you.”

A puff of air could have dispatched Nathaniel from the room. He never expected such warmth from this gentle giant and visionary for the education of young men, now freedmen. Eleanor’s brother, John, spoke of General Howard’s exceptional Christian character, and Dwight Moody had written about it; however, they did not describe the half of it. He stood as a stark contrast to many in the North who had made public pronouncements how the South and all former Confederate soldiers should suffer punishment for driving the nation deep into the bloodiest civil war ever fought in recorded human history.

The country now knew the total American casualty count. Around 620,000 men, women and children died. The North lost approximately 10 percent of its male population. The South lost over 25 percent, which failed to inspire compassion in the hearts and minds of most surviving Northerners. Some towns on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line lost all of their men.

This is a man of grace, Nathaniel mused. He responded with a touch of relief in his voice. “The honor is all mine, General Howard.” Shaking President Howard’s surviving left hand, Nathaniel said, “I confess, I’m curious. What did Reverend Moody or Major Ellis say to you?”

The University executive pulled down and tightened his uniform’s over-blouse and stretched his neck inside a stiff, high-collared white dress shirt. He released his grip and nodded. He commanded the room, as if he were about to present a detailed, war-council briefing. “Gentlemen, please sit down.” He walked around his desk and sat in his over-sized, overstuffed, black-leather swiveling chair.

Nathaniel recognized that the general had taken control of the meeting and from practiced military discipline waited to sit until after President Howard settled. Convinced that the general had reached a comfortable position, Nathaniel felt for his seat and obeyed. Again, Reuben and Zebulon followed their pastor’s lead.

President Howard set his gaze on Nathaniel. “I understand you were wounded and captured at Gettysburg.”

“Yes, sir, that is correct.”

President Howard pursed his lips and he looked toward the grandfather clock. Then he brought his head in line with Nathaniel’s attentive stare. “You boys sure gave my corps fits at Chancellorsville and that first day at Gettysburg.” He drew a breath. “But that’s all behind us, now.”

Nathaniel half-hung his head. “Yes sir.”

President Howard leaned forward and placed his hand on top of a folder resting on his desk. He peered at the young man on the opposite side of his desk as if assessing the boy’s character. “Very well, Mr. Jefferson. Why do you want to go to college?”

From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel observed Zebulon gulp. Nathaniel had rehearsed the interview with Zebulon several times, including this very question. I hope he doesn’t forget all we practiced.

Zebulon took a large breath and recited his prepared statement. “Well sir, I believe if I am admitted, and I study real hard, your university for young Negro men could shape me into a more productive member for my community, sharpen the talents God has placed in my life, and possibly make me into a stronger follower of Jesus Christ.”

President Howard said, “I see.” He tilted his head toward Nathaniel and began to demonstrate his “No nonsense” reputation. “I see you’ve said what you think I want to hear.”

Nathaniel sensed the chastisement radiating toward him from the general.

President Howard’s eyes bore into Zebulon as if he probed for a bullet. “So what do you want to study?” He opened the file folder on his desk.

Nathaniel knew they had prepared a response for this question, too. I hope he rejects what we prepared and speaks from his heart.

After a prolonged, awkward silence, Zebulon cleared his constricting throat. “I don’t know,” he said nearly choking on his words. Another second of extended quiet passed, and he said, “I am interested in history—how did we get here, that sort of thing. I’ve heard all sorts of stories back home, but I’m certain there’s more to them than what folks recollect.”

President Howard stroked his thick-white beard and leaned back in his chair designed to fit his over-sized frame. “I think I know just the professor to guide you. He’s our dean of Hebrew antiquities.” President Howard glanced at the clock hung above the double-door office entry. “James,” he yelled. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he said to his guests. Then he raised his voice a second time. “James, come in here, please.”

Everyone heard shuffling coming from the outer-office and a Negro, younger appearing than Zebulon, entered wearing a black suit, which sported the university’s coat-of-arms. “Yes, sir, President Howard. How may I assist you, sir?”

“Thank you, James. Please send for Doctor Benjamin, and James,” General Howard waited for demonstrated cognition on the young man’s face. “Please be quick about it.”

The student aide offered a butler-type bow and in a second departed to accomplish his assignment.

President Howard commented, “To subsidize their cost of tuition, we offer many, if not most, of the students’ administrative positions throughout the school. We want to expose them to opportunities that soon may be open to them.” He let his bulldog-cheeked head rest against the back of his chair. “You should consider taking advantage of this program, Mr. Jefferson.”

Before Zebulon could respond, President Howard said, “Yes, I think he’ll be the perfect fit for your academic objectives.” He leaned forward again. “I believe it is important to match you with a proven mentor.”

President Howard began to provide an overview of his vision for the students attending the university that bore his name. He shared some of their early accomplishments, position placements of the first graduating class, and designs for the future—an extended campus for the traditional undergraduate students, and graduate level departments for education, seminary, law, and God willing, the grandest of all, a medical school and hospital.

Nathaniel listened but often wondered how President Howard’s vision advanced the Kingdom of God. It seemed too much like so many men who want to build their legacy on Earth, without laying up treasures in Heaven. I shouldn’t criticize. This may be either the trappings of Washington, or exactly what God has called him to do.  When an opportunity to speak opened, Nathaniel asked, “What about the Christian growth of the students?”

“Oh, of course we have regular chapel services.”

Why did I ask such a stupid question?  Nathaniel held his tongue and nodded. Of course, he, the “Christian General,” would offer chapel services. He probably leads them. I should know better than to challenge the man who created the first university in this nation to provide higher education for the new freedmen throughout the land.  Yet, try as he might, he could not escape the sense that President Howard’s responses lacked substance. Nathaniel started to raise his objection, but a polite yet firm rapping at the entry announced another visitor.

James opened the door and, with a wave of his right arm and extended hand, directed a better than six-foot tall, thin yet toned Negro through the office entry. The professionally dressed professor wore a charcoal-gray, pinstriped, three-piece suit, which almost matched his gray hair.

Nathaniel rose from his chair as did his friends and swiveled to obtain a better look at the respected dean of Hebrew Antiquities. As Nathaniel’s eyes met the man’s, his jaw dropped.

Thanks for reading.

I believe Almighty God can help us avoid a 2nd Civil War. Brighter minds than mine see things differently. This article, America’s Cold Civil War, presented by Charles R. Kesler, paints a somber picture. I think it's worth taking the time to read.