The Sharecropper Prodigy Read Online Free Page B

hoboing trains heading east. When he finally managed to get to Chattanooga, he hopped the first train bound south for Birmingham. He grabbed the few meager belongings he had wrapped up in an old carpetbag and jumped off when the train slowed down in Collinwood. He took up residence in an old barn he rented from one of the farmers he had worked for on his previous trips and began working every odd job he could find, no matter how back-breaking or dirty the jobs were.
                  After two years of very hard work and frugal living that would have killed lesser men, he saved enough to open up a little café serving Mexican food. Nobody in the county thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell it would ever succeed. To begin with, very few people ever had a meal outside the home. The Depression was in full swing and nobody had any extra cash for such frivolities. Another thing was that very few people had ever eaten the spicy foods Manuel prepared. But Manuel was savvy in marketing himself and his delicious dishes. On days when Collinwood was bustling with people, Manuel would move a small grill outside and throw some onions, peppers and different meats on the flames. The pungent aroma would fill the air and soon people who were downwind of the alluring smell would find their mouths watering and their bellies growling. They couldn’t resist the temptation.
                  Word spread rapidly, and it wasn’t long before Manuel had a thriving business. People who had managed to remain in fairly good financial health, despite the hard economic times, would sometimes patronize Manuel’s little café three of four times a week. Before long, wealthier folks from as far away as Gadsden and even Birmingham would make the long drive to dine there. Some came from as far as fifty miles away on the weekends. There wasn’t another restaurant serving Mexican food anywhere else around.
                  When Manuel saw that he might actually be able to succeed, he sent for Maria. They rented a little house and became permanent citizens of Collinwood. They were well received by most, but the hard core rednecks, of course, would never accept anybody who looked or talked different than they did. To them, they were just niggers with a little bit lighter skin. Besides that, they were consumed with envy because Manuel had become successful and they were living hand-to-mouth. That’s what really caused them to hate him. Few realized how hard Manuel had worked and how he had lived off dried beans, tortillas, and peanuts for two years while saving the money it took to get him started.
                  Not long after Manuel opened his café, Ben was in town one day and decided to take a chance and drop in. He was more curious than anything and wanted to learn all he could about the only foreigner he knew within walking distance. He had a little money in his pocket and thought he might try something if he could afford it and Manuel would serve him. None of the white restaurants allowed black folks. The White Only signs made that crystal clear.
                  Ben walked in and was glad to see that nobody else was inside. The little bell above the door had tinkled and Manuel soon emerged from the small kitchen in the back. The first thing Ben noticed was the big smile on Manuel’s face that seemed to light up the whole room. He exuded energy like a lightning bolt charging the atmosphere. He glided effortlessly over to where Ben was standing with his hand extended.
                  “Hello, amigo, uh….my friend, how are you today,?” Manuel asked, as if he really wanted to know.
                  To Ben’s knowledge, he’d never shaken hands with anybody before. He slowly and tentatively took Manuel’s hand and shook it gently. Manuel had a firm grip and Ben noticed that his hands were more calloused than his own hands were, and they stayed wrapped around a hoe