Day 800: 5 Minute Freewrite CONTINUATION: Sunday - Prompt: Black-eyed peas

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Continued from "Black-Eyed Peas 1"...

Henry Fitzhugh Lee picked up the slight odor of black-eyed peas around his newsman guest once the door had been closed to his new office at the Blue Ridge Station … his mind went back to being present on the days after Christmas in his mid-teens at the Morton house, and Mama Morton being willing to teach him as she taught her daughters and her sons how to prepare the traditional New Year's meal.

Those black-eyed peas were the beginning for Captain Lee being able to cook and cook well … so many memories, so much love he as a White mountain boy had shared among the family of his Black beloved Miss Vanessa Morton… so much lost, but not all … .

This made the conversation he had with Mr. Nathan Turner from the Lofton County Free Voice especially sad, although Mr. Turner's no-nonsense attitude worked well with his marble composure. Behind his composure, Captain Lee felt deeply grieved, humiliated, and concerned … to even share what his fellow White police officers had done would be a furthering of injustice and violence toward Mr. Turner, his community, and an entirely different community also, if not done well.

Mr. Turner came prepared for battle.

“I didn't come to waste time for either of us, Captain Lee. So: here is a Freedom of Information Act demand for every document generated by this station concerning the three Black art students who were beaten down by officers from this station.”

Captain Lee looked at Lieutenant Lightfoot, who handed him a thick folder.

“I have written authorization from the commissioner to release all such information to you,” said Captain Lee, “with the added note for the record that the eight officers, and their commanders though for a different reason that we will soon discuss, are all former officers. Commissioner Scott further closed their records with a strong reprimand and a recommendation that they not be hired in police work again. Those records are also in this folder.”

Mr. Turner received the records and reviewed them … yes, indeed, Commissioner Scott had thrown the offending officers under the bus and backed it up over them several times in order to save the Big Loft police department. It was good to see downright wickedness being swiftly addressed.

Still, the beatdown paled in comparison to what the Blue Ridge Station had been covering up … .

“Thank you, Captain Lee, for this. Now, let's move on to the count this station has publicized concerning the death toll in the Ridgeline Fire. Does your initial consideration of the matter, now that you are in command, support the number of 120 deaths, with 99 for being in the actual fire and 21 killed directly by Bruce Deadwood?”

“I have only been in command here for six hours and 30 minutes,” Captain Lee said. “I have not encountered anything here that would allow me to question the number. All reports here are consistent.”

One thing about Captain Lee; he was not going to throw the officers he now had to command under the bus, point black period. He was a consummate command professional, and his language was precise. However, if you listened closely, his words left room to ask the questions that would lead to the truth.

“Is it true that this station released the number before the coroner's report came out?”

“Yes.”

“Is that standard procedure?”

“No, but there was no standard procedure anticipating the Ridgeline Fire, and no way to anticipate the delay there would be in the coroner's final report confirming the actual numbers.”

“How then was the number obtained?”

“The number of missing homeowners was subtracted from the number of known homeowners, thereby obtaining a number of 120. When the coroner's office made the initial examination, those bodies were found and identified, and 21 were found to have been shot, thereby producing the number of 99 killed by the actual fire.”

“You have said the coroner's final report was delayed. Why was that?”

“The work ended up being far more involved than the number this station officially put forward would suggest.”

“When was the report finally released?”

“Yesterday,” Captain Lee said, then put his hand up, and Lieutenant Carter put the copy in his hand. “Commissioner Scott received it yesterday afternoon, at which time I also reviewed it.”

“How soon did this station know there was going to be a discrepancy that required revision of the official number?”

Captain Lee opened a folder on his desk, and read for a few moments.

“It appears that Captain Ghent had some indication as early as September 19th, the Monday after the fire was extinguished. I can say, conclusively, that no such indication was followed up.”

Mr. Turner had heard that as well … still, he was not prepared when he finally saw the coroner's report and associated demographics report about the servant work force in the neighborhoods destroyed by the fire. One needed every ounce of black-eyed peas, garlic, onions, and turkey neck in one's belly to withstand it.

“My personal methodology to understand what you are reading,” Captain Lee said, “was I know that the great houses have an average servant staff of three, and that one out of every three are Black and two out of every three are Latino, many of whom are undocumented. The point, however, is that I estimated from the beginning that the given death toll was off by a factor of one hundred. However, until the coroner's report confirmed it, I did not have the information necessary to challenge the official number.”

Big Loft's coroner's office had been delayed in confirming its report because it had to deal with 12,140 remains, not 120. The larger number was the true death toll of the Ridgeline Fire.

After Mr. Turner left, his step weighted with the terrible true numbers, his clothes taking the last scent of the steam that came from a Black mother's love in the kitchen, Captain Lee had a flash of the feeling of loss he had when his wife had died … of love withdrawn, of being orphaned … but this time, because his people – officers, and White men – had thoroughly earned it. Of course Bruce Deadwood had not been acting as an officer when he set the Ridgeline Fire, but officers in the course of their duty had officially lied and held up the lie for six weeks about the death count, thus furthering the lie that only the lives of only White landowners counted.

Little wonder the Lofton County Free Voice had decided to write and make its stand without any regard to the feelings of those who did not see their community – 39 percent of the county was Black – as counting for anything.

Captain H.F. Lee, sick to his heart over it, surrendered to it. There was nothing he could do about it except to clean up the mess he had been put over. He had not thrown his officers under the bus, but more of them were going under when he got to the bottom of what had happened with the failure of the evacuation and the lying number. There were already, as he had carefully said to Mr. Turner, some indications to that effect.

“Lieutenant Lightfoot,” he said, “is the pull of the station's email servers complete?”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said. “All on the hard drives for the dates you ordered.”

“Lieutenants, take all the reports we have identified as germane back to our office at headquarters. It will be your task tomorrow to identify and tabulate key data based on parameters I will present to you tomorrow morning. After you have deposited and secured the records, you are dismissed for the evening, and thank you.”

“Yes, sir,” all three answered, and began packing everything up that they would take. Captain Lee's desk still contained stacks of records out of which he was developing personnel profiles on the fly … he and the officers under his command still had an interesting evening ahead.

All of his lieutenants came back after they had loaded up their cars.

“What time am I coming to get you to drive you home, sir?” Lieutenant Lightfoot said.

Captain Lee looked up in surprise, and then was flooded with gratitude for the thoughtfulness of his men.

“7:00,” he said, “and thank you, very much.”

Photo by Jasmine Waheed on Unsplash