Nine Lives of a Black Panther Page 13

  11

  SERVING THE PEOPLE

  I walked into the Watts office and found Lux sitting at the desk, listening to Sly and the Family Stone. “Hey Lux,” I hollered over the tune. “Turn down the music, man. Time to talk business. We got to do something about this violence; Us and the pigs are vamping on us.”

  “I know; this shit is tripping me out,” he answered as he reached for the stereo knob. “It’s like they got nothing else to do but chase us. I wonder what they got up their sleeve.”

  “Man,” I shook my head, “I’m thinking that we need to spend more time at Central, to find out what the pigs got planned. I feel like we getting the news secondhand.”

  He nodded in full agreement. “Yeah, brother, we need to know what’s coming next. I know we can find out if we go to the PE classes at Central.”

  My commitment to Watts was still in full force, but I believed that attending more meetings and PE classes at Central Headquarters would give us a better intelligence on our enemies.

  It turned out to be a good decision, because the conversation at headquarters was at a higher level, and it involved more discussion of outside forces against the Party. The closer I got to the Party leaders, the more useful information came my way. When I’d arrive at headquarters, the leaders would nod my way or salute me with the black power fist, which let me know I was recognized as a respected comrade. As I went more frequently, I developed closer relationships. I had crossed paths with those in leadership before, but Lux made it a point to make solid introductions.

  Geronimo Pratt and I began to develop a friendship. We’d first met at the Watts office when he was just passing through; he periodically stopped by all the offices to make sure everything was going well. During those brief stops, though, he mainly talked with Al or Lux. Then we spoke at Central when he was throwing knives with Long John and Blue. The rumor about G was that he had a bad temper, but he struck me as a friendly guy.

  When I saw him at Central Headquarters after Bunchy and John were murdered, he immediately embraced me. “Comrade Wayne,” he said with a stern look that belied his words, “Bunchy talked to me about your work with the BSU and the students. He felt that those connections could benefit the Party.”

  Damn, I thought to myself. G and Bunchy were talking about me. I didn’t realize that Bunchy felt what I was doing was important to the Party. “Oh, really?” I replied, showing my surprise.

  G continued, “Bunchy didn’t want you broadcasting that you are full time with the Party. He didn’t want you on the muscle end either.”

  “What did he want me to do?” I inquired.

  He studied me for a minute before replying. “We’ve been thinking about establishing a separate organization of students, specifically to monitor Us on campuses.”

  I smiled at G. “Right on. Let me know when you want me to start.”

  Although we never got around to starting that student wing of the Party, my conversation with G that day was the beginning of a lifelong friendship. I developed a lot of respect for him because he was direct, and I always knew where we stood in our relationship.

  The PE classes at Central were democratic, and people were encouraged to speak up. We openly discussed the state of the Party, membership, self-defense, and current events. We still engaged in the study of the Red Book, Marxist-Leninism, the Ten Point Platform, and the US laws and Constitution, but as state repression and other attacks increased, we devoted more time to safety and protection. Generally there were about forty people in a class, unless there was a major event; then, more people would come. Paul Moffett, Elaine Brown, or Long John would lead the political education classes.

  Elaine Brown impressed me as a great speaker and an intellectual. It didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes too. I also met Melvin “Cotton” Smith and Masai Hewitt at Central Headquarters. These were the people who began to play important roles in my life, and it was because of them that I began to look forward to going to Central.

  One day, I was talking to Long John after a PE meeting, and Cotton walked past us. Long John stopped him and said, “Comrade Cotton, I want you to meet Comrade Wayne; Wayne works out of Watts.”

  Cotton was about forty years old. To my nineteen-year-old eyes, he was an old man. But he was fit. He was thin, some might say kind of wiry, and he always wore handyman-type worker’s clothes, especially the classic Pendleton plaid shirts and painter’s pants.

  “Wayne,” Long John continued, turning to me, “Cotton is really important to the work we do. He supervises our buildings and handles repairs. Bunchy recruited Cotton into the Party.”

  “It’s good to meet you,” I said to Cotton. “We might need your skills at Watts.”

  I realized later that Cotton was a great asset to the Party because he was a jack-of-all-trades. He appeared to be a contractor or someone who worked in construction, but either way, he was highly skilled. Cotton was an easy person to talk to, also, because he had an even temper. Cotton didn’t fly off the handle or try to show off, like some of the guys did. He was a good dude, and we got along well.

  Masai Hewitt, on the other hand, was recruited into the Party in 1968 because of his intellect and understanding of Marxist theory. He came out of an organization called the United Front, a politically left-wing group; he was one of the teachers there. It was a revolutionary socialist organization whose members were also into karate and self-defense. Masai, whose former name was Raymond, had been an OG Slauson with Bunchy. His street name was Bright Eyes. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and he had a booming bass voice. The women loved Masai, and Masai loved the women. Masai was also disciplined. Every morning he did fifty push-ups. These weren’t fifty regular old push-ups, though; what made them so difficult was that he would do ten and then raise one finger on each hand and do ten more. He’d keep going until he was just on his thumb and pinky.

  I always thought that Masai was a good counterbalance to G. Masai was an educator, and I could listen to him spouting off about world politics for hours. G was very intelligent too, but he lacked the discipline of Masai; G was a street fighter. Together, they created a great team. When I was around people like Elaine, Masai, G, and Cotton, I felt that I was a part of something great.

  Party leader Ray “Masai” Hewitt on the telephone at Central Headquarters in 1970. COURTESY OF IT’S ABOUT TIME ARCHIVES

  The more we went to Central, the more the political education classes proved valuable. During one particular class, Elaine explained to us the reason why the character and actions of the LAPD had recently changed. “Listen up, comrades,” she said, standing before us and rapping her hand on the desk to get our full attention. “It is very important that you realize the vice squad as we knew it no longer exists. It has been transformed into what is being called the ‘Metro Squad,’ which is really the LAPD’s Panther unit.”

  Someone in back of me shouted, “I knew something was up!”

  Elaine continued. “Their focus is counterterrorism and responding to high-risk barricade situations. But you all know that means they are focusing on us. There are about two hundred officers in the unit, and they operate out of LAPD’s headquarters. Everybody should be on high alert. These pigs are even more vicious than most.”

  There was a lot of nodding and agreement in the group and a new buzz of energy. The conversation then moved on to the FBI’s Counterintelligence Program, called COINTELPRO for short. G explained, “This is a federal program designed to destroy revolutionary organizations like ours.”

  “So we’ve got to watch our asses from all sides,” somebody commented.

  “Exactly,” G nodded. “We’ve got to fight Metro on the local level and COINTELPRO on the national level.”

  G further explained that the FBI was doing shit like planting agent provocateurs in black power organizations to create conflict, fights, and even murder. This is what I believed happened in the murders of Bunchy and John. The Us Organization, or actually a plant from the FBI, was creating tension
between the Black Panther Party and Us, because we were viewed as a threat to the system. That would certainly explain why Us was so quick to pull the trigger on the Panthers. It also explains why, after Bunchy and John were killed, the police came down on the Panthers but not on Us. Three Us members were arrested and convicted for the murders; two were former members of the Gladiator street gang, George and Larry Steiner. A guy named Donald Hawkins was also arrested, but the main shooter, Claude Hubert, was never caught. For me, that was another indication that Us was working with the man. I’m sure it was quite easy for provocateurs to operate freely within Us because of Karenga’s egomania. A person who refuses to accept critique or challenges to his authority is more likely to allow goons to use violence to maintain his status.

  We had lost a few members after the shoot-out at UCLA, so we knew at this point that those who stayed and those who joined understood that being in the Party was serious business. We discussed the need to beef up recruitment, expecting it to be difficult. But we were wrong. Bunchy and John’s murders had received international attention, which drew people to the Party. Others came because they had heard about police repression and they wanted to stand up and fight right beside us.

  We made a conscious decision not to hide from the pigs while we worked. We escalated our educational programs, fund-raisers, and demonstrations at the downtown state and federal buildings. Elaine, Masai, and sometimes our white radical and Chicano allies would speak. We also increased our services to the community. We added a free breakfast program and gave away used clothes and shoes.

  The John Huggins Free Breakfast for Children Program became our signature program. We knew that black kids living all over the country were going to school hungry, so the Central Committee requested that each local office establish a breakfast program if it was capable of doing so. We already had built support from the mom-and-pop stores, who voluntarily gave food to the program. Some of the other comrades would request donations from grocery stores.

  One of the first detailed conversations I had with Elaine was related to fund-raising for the program. I approached her at Central Headquarters. “Elaine, you know I’m still head of the BSU at Harbor, and we could raise even more money for the breakfast program from the students there,” I told her.

  “Well, what’s your strategy?” she asked.

  “The BSU would be in charge of placing containers at junior colleges to collect money,” I told her.

  “I think that’s a good idea, comrade,” she said. “You should move forward with that. I will let the rest of the officers know that you’re spearheading that program.”

  The money we received from the junior colleges provided extra cash. It was a successful project. The BSU would leave jars or cans in student centers so that people could donate. Later, we would go back and pick up the contributions.

  We rented a house in Watts, on Anzac Street, where we could cook for and feed the children. Word spread quickly; soon, grateful parents from all over the area were dropping their kids off for the free breakfast. The pigs, however, hated the breakfast program, because they saw it as a way for us to generate even more community support. Sometimes they would raid the house for no reason, throwing milk and eggs on the floor, even while the children were there. I thought, How petty is that? They would come in under the guise of looking to arrest someone, but they really wanted to scare the community so that they wouldn’t participate in our programs.

  Renee Moore was put in charge of the breakfast program. We called her Peaches; she was a pretty, brown-skinned sister with a sharp nose who wore a short Afro hairstyle. Originally from South Central, Peaches grew up near Florence and Western, which was closer to the Westside. She was also in the revolutionary singing group Elaine led. They sang hippie style, and she was an alto. Peaches hung with several women in the Party including Brenda Frank and Glenda Josephs. Like G and so many other comrades, Peaches came to the Party after dealing with racism in the military. She worked out of Central Headquarters, but sometimes she would come and hang out with us at the Watts office. When she became head of the breakfast program, we started seeing her more. Although Peaches was in a relationship with Paul Redd, she and I became close friends.

  Renee “Peaches” Moore and other dedicated Party members serve children at the Free Breakfast for Children Program. COURTESY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA CHAPTER, BLACK PANTHER PARTY

  Peaches called the Watts office one morning, and I picked up the phone. “Comrade Wayne!” she said breathlessly. “The pigs vamped on the breakfast program!”

  My stomach clenched up. Damn them, I thought. “Are you OK?” I asked her. “Tell me what happened.”

  “They came up in here and tore up the breakfast,” she replied. “They threw food everywhere.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said, grabbing my coat before I even hung up the phone.

  When I arrived, I checked out the place and made note of their destruction and the mess that was left. I asked Peaches, “Did they take anything or arrest anybody?”

  She shook her head. “No, but they said they were looking for somebody I didn’t even know. I told them that, and that’s when they started throwing stuff around and scaring the kids.”

  Looking at the ruin made my blood boil, but there wasn’t much we could do. We were at the mercy of the pigs. “Well, let’s start cleaning,” I said. We had to make sure the kids could eat the next day.

  We were at war, fighting several levels of onslaught against us, and we needed weapons. But for some unknown reason, it was harder than usual to purchase guns from my usual sources.

  One windy morning, Jerry, Wendell, Baba, and I were hunkered down inside discussing this problem. I said to them, “It seems like guns are drying up in the streets.”

  In response, Jerry said, “Well, you know one place where there are plenty of guns—the armed forces.”

  We all laughed.

  But then Baba, with a serious look on his face, said, “Yeah, well, everybody has a cousin in the military.”

  Baba was right: one of my relatives had even left a gun at the base for me to pick up. Other comrades had similar connections with people sympathetic to our struggle who would help us get access to guns and ammunition.

  Children raise their fists in a “power to the people” salute. WAYNE PHARR COLLECTION

  “Fort Ord is one of the best places around,” observed Wendell.

  I knew what they were referring to. Fort Ord was a military base in Northern California, near Monterey Bay. Several of us had relatives or someone we knew there.

  We decided to drive to Fort Ord to pick up the package. Troy Ferguson of the Black Student Alliance took the lead in this mission. Because one of my roles in the Party was to make sure we had weapons, I went with them. Like a hunter searching for his prey, Troy targeted a soldier who was patrolling the base. He sized him up to determine the best way to approach him. Troy had a sap, a common weapon used by sheriffs. They’re about the same length as a billy club but flat in a kind of beaver-tail shape, made of thick leather on the outside, with powdered lead sewn inside at the round end and sometimes metal springs in the arm. Troy walked toward him with the sap and busted him upside his head. He beat his ass some more and then took his gun. It was vicious, but I understood the move. He had to move fast and draw blood to create the element of shock, so that the victim wouldn’t have the nerve or the heart to fight back. That was the technique: come in hard and fast so the soldier wouldn’t fight back; it was a way to replenish our weapons, and no one had to die.

  During the summer of 1969, Jerry used one of the M-14s we had received to shoot at a police helicopter in the neighborhood that was chasing somebody. The ground police eventually zeroed in on his gunfire and arrested him instead. They also searched his house and retrieved two more guns. I had just left his place—what luck. I was so grateful to have missed that run-in with the cops. Jerry did a little time behind bars for that one, but considering the crime, he got off easy.

  M
any of us thought that after the murders of our deputy ministers of defense and information, the Us Organization would stay away from the Black Panther Party. But we were wrong; instead, it became clear to us that they were hell-bent on destroying the Party, even if they had to do so by murdering us one by one. Two months after the UCLA shoot-out, bad blood between Us members and Ronald Freeman resurfaced. The conflict revolved around the attempt of college and high school BSUs to work with Carver Junior High School students, who were advocating for a black studies curriculum. One evening, several college and high school students made a presentation to students at Carver Junior High about the importance of BSUs and the need for a black curriculum. During the presentation, one of the junior high school administrators saw what was happening and called the police. The pigs showed up to close down the meeting. But the students resisted, which led to altercations and confrontations with the police.

  In protest, the Carver students boycotted the school system and walked out of classes the next day. Following that student strike, they decided to hold a meeting at Victory Baptist Church to continue organizing. The meeting was held on March 14, 1969. Black Panther Party and Us members also attended the meeting.

  I was with Lux and Al at the funeral home when Al got a call from one of the junior high school students. The student was so keyed up, I could hear him from where I was sitting. “Captain Ronald has been shot!” he yelled. “You guys need to come right away!”