The Mayor of Maxwell Street by Avery Cunningham

Author:Avery Cunningham [Cunningham, Avery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hyperion Avenue
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

It took nearly forty minutes for the train to leave. The ticket collectors, the porters, and even the conductors were all at a baffled loss for what to do.

“I do not see what the issue is,” Tomás said. “I purchased two first-class tickets. By law and logic, we should both be seated in first class.”

Nelly stood beside Tomás, silent, watching him come face-to-face with the bullheaded ideals that ran like lifeblood through every vein of American existence.

“I understand that, Mr. Thomas,” the conductor said. He was a burly man who, in Nelly’s deduction, would gladly manhandle them off the train if he had to. “And we’ll be happy to seat you in first class with complimentary service from the dining car. But your companion’s just not welcome. It’s the policy of the company.”

“Are you liars as well as fools? I ride this train almost every day, and I cannot count the number of Negroes I’ve seen traveling to and from Chicago in peace.”

“Yes, sir, in the third-class coach, or even second. Not in first class.”

Tomás exhaled like a fuming bull. Nelly would not say so out loud, but some part of her was enjoying this. It was horrifically satisfying to see a stranger beat at Jim Crow and point out all its malicious flaws, but to no avail. His futile frustration was like an exorcism of all Nelly had ever felt at the hands of such people, but could never express.

One of the ticket collectors held out his hands, pleading, and said, “We would be happy to reimburse you.”

“I don’t want to be reimbursed!” Tomás yelled. “I want to take the seats I paid for and enjoy a pleasant ride home. Me, and Ms. Sawyer. Deny us this, and you will deny us our basic rights as passengers. I’m prepared to stand here all day and stall this train indefinitely until you either seat us or force us from it.”

Tomás crossed his arms, daring someone to uproot him. The conductor looked over Tomás’s shoulder at Nelly and sniffed. As though he could clear his nose of her smell.

An older gentleman with a thick gray beard and a pre-war suit stood in first class.

“I have a very important meeting within the hour,” he said. “If this train is not moving by then, I will hold this company personally and fiscally responsible.”

Nelly did not know this man, but his words—more so even than Tomás’s—inspired some true ire. Passengers began to mention appointments, and litigation, and forfeited jobs. The conductor swore and slapped his hand against his knee.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine! But you two are the last off this train when we pull into the city, all right? We can’t give others any ideas.”

Tomás’s smile was triumphant. He looked back at Nelly, as though expecting a full complement of gunfire salute. She offered only a small, appreciative nod.

Instead of wooden benches that gathered everyone together like sardines stuffed into a tin, in first class, passengers sat in plush green armchairs that swiveled away from the aisle.

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