The Fight

I refuse to fight a White man's war. Why would I fight for men abusing my brothers and sisters in the streets, not letting us ride the bus?

There is one Black man on the Supreme Court. His name is Thurgood Marshall. He worked on my case for the government. So he recused himself. My lawyer got my case all the way up there. My fate, my career is now in the hands of eight old white men, one of whom is dying of cancer and is prone to taking long naps in chambers. Great, good job.

I am going to prison. For changing my name. For not going to Vietnam. For being Black. For knocking out Sonny Liston. For joining the Nation of Islam. A month ago, my lawyer told me the preliminary vote was 5-3 to uphold my conviction. They do not believe I am a conscientious objector. That I am a minister of the faith. If they overturn my conviction, it will tell every person subject to the United States draft that all they have to do is say they are morally opposed to the war and the conscripts will dry up. They won't do that. Kiss my Black ass goodbye.

It is June 28, 1971. I picked out my clothes to turn myself in. There will be media. I have eschewed the Nation of Islam uniform for loose fitting clothes that will be easy to get out of when I go in and easy to get into when I get out: black tee shirt, beige joggers. I have fifteen dollars in my pocket. It is ten in the morning when I walk into Busted Eggs and order breakfast. I finish and ask Chad for a beer.

"Champ," he says, "I can't do that. You have to wait at least an hour. You know that."

I lay my money on the counter. The radio is going on about the decision from the Supreme Court expected today or the next. They don't know what I do. 5-3. No one else is here, just me and Chad.

" I'm going to jail," I tell him, "maybe today."

He walks away, leaving the fifteen bucks on the counter between us.

Chad comes back in a few moments with two beers, puts one by me and one in front of him.

"You're the heavyweight champion of the world," he tells me and we drink our beers in silence and then I walk outside.

Walking away, I am thinking about my wife and my two year old child--she will be four when I get out--when I imagine I hear the word "champ." I laugh to myself.

Chad repeats himself, almost yelling, leaning out the front door of the diner, "Champ!"

I turn around.

"You won! Come listen!"

I run back and go inside to listen to CBS Radio announce, "In a stunning 8-0 vote today, the Supreme Court of the United States overturned the conviction for draft evasion ..."

I am free.