The Sharecropper Prodigy Read Online Free Page A

Like the mob that chased the monster in that Frankenstein picture show I‘d seen.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
                  When me and Ben were finally a safe distance from the store, I looked at him like I would have if he’d just told me he’d committed murder. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed or something?”
                  Ben looked at me as if he had no idea what I meant. “I was just havin’ a discussion with those men. You might call it a friendly debate. What’s wrong with that?”
                  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that, and you should already know. To be so smart, you can sure do dumb things sometimes. You showed up a white man with all his friends listenin’. And not just any white man, either. You dressed down Charlie Stone. He’s the one all of the rest of them go to for answers when it comes to news or politics.”
                  “Well, Mr. Stone didn’t seem to be too upset,” Ben said. “He seemed to kinda enjoy the debate.”
                  “What else was he gonna do? He knew he didn’t know enough to put up much of an argument with you. Anyway, it’s not Charlie Stone you have to worry about. He’s not a violent man. It’s Bob Samples and those Bullard brothers you have to watch out for. The Bullard’s are members of the Klan, and I’m not so sure Bob Samples ain’t either. I know he despises black folks. Just watch yourself for a few days and don‘t venture too far from home.”
                  Although there was no doubt Ben was much smarter than me, or anybody else I knew, he still didn’t have much life experience. He believed everybody, with the exception of his papa, could be reasoned with. There was one advantage I had on him. Two actually. One was that I was white, and that was an enormous advantage in 1939 Alabama. The other was that I was two years older than him and had seen what the Klan and other rednecks were capable of. Not only to black folks, but anybody else who crossed the invisible line that they believed threatened their way of life or the proper way things ought to be done. What they referred to as southern Christian values. But I don’t recall ever reading in the Bible about Jesus Christ burning crosses in people’s yards or beating black folks or sorry white trash within an inch of their lives. 
    *****
                  Manuel Cruz had been living in Jones County for five years. As the Depression got worse, the government started illegally deporting Mexicans as the result of riots from white workers and labor unions claiming the Mexicans were taking jobs away from American citizens. The farmers exploited the cheap Mexican labor because the Hispanics would work for considerably lower wages than the white people would. After enough pressure from unions, the deportation began. Manuel found it difficult, as well as dangerous, to continue following the trails of the migrant workers and living in the hobo jungles.
                  Manuel had attended the University of Guadalajara and had been among the top in his class until financial difficulties had forced him to withdraw. Shortly after that, the Depression forced him to take any work he could find. Manuel had worked all over the Southwest and had traveled for three consecutive years to work the tomato harvests on Chandler Mountain, near Collinwood, Alabama.
                  Manuel found the farmers, and people in general, more tolerant of Mexicans there. Probably because there were far more negroes for them to direct their bigotry towards. He had met his wife Maria while working one of the tomato farms and had come to like the area with its scenic mountains, lush valleys and friendly people. When he was forced out of California because of the deportation laws and the violence that ensued, he began