Frank Mort Jr.

Simon City, Chicago

 
 

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(Page 5 of 6)    Now the legal system decided "Rudolph passed the boundaries he was allowed". These imposed perimeters are not set in stone; they changed from moment to moment and for person to person. You never knew when you overstepped that fine line. Apparently, Rudolph crossed that imaginary, though very real border. A judge from 26th and California in Chicago told Rudolph "join the Marines or do not pass go and do not collect $200, just go to jail." He joined the Marines.    Rudolph reminded me of Fred Astaire. Rudolph loved dancing. His preferred dance was cheek to cheek, ballroom style with any lady he could find. His favorite comedians were Godfrey Cambridge and Lenny Bruce. Rudolph’s dream was to become a stand-up comedian and work nightclubs and eventually get an act in Las Vegas.    He was always worried about me as I was smart but he felt that I did not possess any street sense. I informed him that we were not on the street but in a fucking jungle with millions of mosquitoes, and what I really needed was insect repellant. He said that is why he smoked so much, as the smoke helped keep the bugs away. I asked him "if this was the type of bullshit he told that judge that gave him the choice of jail or the Marines?"    Anything this true buddy of mine got shipped to him from home, he shared with me. Candy, homemade cookies, some food that I had absolutely no idea what it was. He even shared dirty photographs of all of his women but one female, his "special lady".    One of his girlfriends, Daphne started to correspond with me. All the females I knew totally forgot about me. The only other letters I received were from family or buddies. Daphne sent me pictures of her. She was so gorgeous. I got one letter a week from her, sometimes more. I kept her letters in a cardboard box, that once upon a time housed quarts of Old Style beer. Any moment I was lonely or scared, I checked a dozen or so of her messages. This made me relax and frequently fall fast asleep and have terrific dreams.   She wanted to get an education and move out of her neighborhood. She told me to keep my head down and my chin up. Daphne was accepted into Northwestern University. She was enrolled full time as a Biology major. She wanted to become a doctor. Daphne was employed full time as an evening pharmacy assistant at Walgreens. One late Friday night while waiting for a bus to go home from work a drunken driver plowed into her.  She was in a coma that she never recovered from. That drunk driver never served any time in jail for her murder.  My friends back home in the states acted as if I was some hero on the front line. On the front line you could not find any rank above a Captain. The majority of foot soldiers were inner city teenagers. Over 40% were African-American. The balance was composed of Whites and Hispanics with a High School education or less. I was not trying to be a hero. I was only trying to stay alive and help keep Rudolph alive for his ladies. We were back buddies. Back buddies have their backs, back to back when they sit or stand; while near the front line of combat. You can stand up lightning fast by using each other’s backs for leverage.  You kept your dog tags in your right boot. In the left boot you wrote your Social Security number in it, if either of your legs were blown off and on they were retrieved, they could identify them as yours and furthermore conceivably attach them. This is if you were alive and did not bleed to death or your body did not go into shock. Rudolph & I were in a ditch talking about women and playing some jive card game he taught me and was always cheating me at. Rudolph enjoyed painting black on me, by changing the rules of this game whenever it benefited him. After I ceased to pester him for about 10 minutes, I noticed him giving me a blank stare. Usually, he would insult me in return for over an hour and call me the N word. Finally, after a few seconds that seemed like hours I asked him what was wrong? Fearing and knowing the worst had happened. I shook him and his head practically fell off his shoulders. He was hit. I carried him over 2 miles (I think) where he was pronounced dead. He was closer than a brother.      end of page 5

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  (c)Frank Mort Jr. 2003