PERSONAL ESSAY | MEMOIR | REAR-VIEW MIRROR
An Unexpected Cross-Country Roadtrip During the Watts Riots
Two sides to a story
Moments before our car started smoking, Mother Nature’s intense brush stroke across the horizon captivated my young soul.
Her green shadowy mountains and trees skimming a periwinkle sky. The sun’s angle in creating a prism effect through puffy cotton ball clouds from the passenger’s side, fascinating.
My seven-year-old eyes scanned the scene in one fell swoop before my spirited thoughts bum-rushed my mouth.
I usually kept my inquisitiveness private around Mom because I never knew what trigger button I might push, but this question begged to be asked out loud. Before, I could contain my senses.
“Mommy, why do some people say there is no god? People didn’t make the mountains, trees, sky, or the sun.”
Her eyes widened as if I had morphed into a magical little fairy she hadn’t quite figured out what to do with yet. Rare she was at a loss for words.
“I, I, don’t know why people say that.”
We were traveling alone en route to Philly, again. No brotherly love left in the city of her birth, even though it provided refuge when she needed to mend.
Character-driven by the hands of fear, Mom drove her trusty white Pontiac this time. Except the ensuing Watts riots replaced her usual romantic heartache as the catalyst fueling her growing angst days before.
Police brutality and widespread institutionalized racism spawned a common reaction in the mid-60s. Officers stopped a 21-year-old Black man for alleged drunk driving.
Marquette Frye failed his sobriety test, resisted arrest. An officer smashed his mother in the head with a baton during the process. The natives became more than restless — they started breaking things in the streets. Everyone knew what that meant.
Burn baby burn. Watts rumbled and quaked for six days.
Ever wonder why almost 60 years later, this police scene plays on a loop daily in Anytown, USA like a relentless cash cow sequel in Hollywood? Some say we’ve come a long way.
I say progress is subjective. But, I digress.
Mom’s fight-or-flight response kicked into high gear. After several conversations with her parents, she packed our bags. Headed east, we left a troubled Los Angeles in her rearview mirror to encounter a different kind. We were on the road at dawn.
Police stationed at every stop sign as we cruised through barren streets of East LA. The quiet before the storm.
We were on the outskirts of Texas when the car began to choke and sputter. Plumes escaping the hood were fogging our view. Mom panicked. Screeched over to the side of the road and jumped out of the car.
Mom shouted, “Get out, run.”
She caught up with me, took my hand and we headed into a field of spindly wheat-colored grass, brushing my shoulders as we ran deeper into the center. When we finally turned around, we could see a police car in the fuzzy distance — the over 100-degree heat created a strange, hazy mirage.
“Stop, hey stop, come back!” yelled the police officer.
Mom turned around with her hands up as if she were being arrested for running from a car she thought might explode. Not so farfetched in Texas.
“I’ll do the talking,” she said. Thank goodness. I wasn’t clear about what had just happened. Both terrified, we ran back toward the edge of the road.
“Why were you running?”
“The car started smoking. I thought it might explode, officer.”
“You were running toward a field of snakes,” he said.
Mom was deathly afraid of snakes and law enforcement. Both conjured the same threat in her mind. Death. The thought of slithering creatures made her cringe. Yet, intrigued by the ones erect who walked the earth. Police scared her shitless based on a childhood incident in South Carolina.
“Your radiator overheated. We put water in as a temporary fix, but it wouldn’t hurt to get it checked out at the next gas station. Where y’all headed?” His Texas drawl, curious to my mind.
Mom hesitated before answering, “Philadelphia.”
“Follow us to the gas station for a checkup. There’s a country store next door if you need anything.” Mom was suspicious, but followed as instructed.
The gas station attendant put more water in the radiator and told Mom she needed oil, too. I asked if I could get candy from the store. It was a grayish wooden structure with rickety steps — a lone rocking chair sat next to the door. A round concrete barrel in front of the entrance stood at the height of my chest.
The officer escorted us over to the store. He pointed to the barrel-shaped concrete with a metal gate on top and asked if I wanted to see a real snake pit. Mom almost jumped out of her skin.
“No!”
“I want to see Mom, please?” What is it about Texas and snakes? I wondered.
“Okay, but I’m going into the store. I will watch you from inside.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw all the snakes of different sizes slithering, hissing, and rattling on top of each other. The sight etched into my memory forever. I instantly inherited Mom’s aversion to creepy creatures.
After joining Mom inside and buying snacks to continue our journey, we picked up our car from the gas station and Mom paid the attendant.
Back on the road again after our mishap threw us back a couple of hours. It took us almost two days to drive through Texas. We stopped at a scary motel to sleep — up again at dawn.
A few miles into our third day, I started pondering the riots, police, and violence sweeping our hometown. The reason we were running. Mom and everyone we knew were saying negative things about policemen.
I was a little confused. This time, I thought long and hard about what I was going to say.
“Mommy, why do people say bad things about policemen? They were nice to us, helped you with the car, and guided us to safety.”
She thought for a moment.
“All policemen aren’t bad, just like all Black people aren’t criminals. All religious people aren’t good and free will gives us the ability to choose who we want to be and what we want to believe.”
“Some people choose not to believe in God, and that’s okay, too.”
“Well, I believe Mommy. I see God in everything he made on earth.”
Her eyes widened again like I had morphed into a magical little fairy, except this time she smiled as if there was nothing more to be said.
In case you’re curious about Mom’s police incident.