“It’s worth it Margery,” Rosey says, situating the hat on her head. The brim is large and bright yellow, matching her formal dress that is simple but stylish. She stands before a long mirror checking the neat lines of her outfit in Margery’s living room.
“It ain’t worth it,” Margery says in a dress and hat that is similar to Rosey’s with large floral accents on the hat and at the hip on each dress. “It ain’t worth pissing them off. You giving them your name and your address. Just asking them to burn a cross on your yard.”
Margery stands behind Rosey and situates her dress to better position the flower on her hip.
“I’m doing it,” Rosey says defiantly and turns to Margery. “I’m doing it and I want you to do it with me.”
“Carl would skin me alive if he knew we was even talking about this. That man is good to me Rosey, and I don’t want to bring no trouble to this house. You know how white folks is.”
They stare at one another, Margery in her persistent refusal and Rosey with an expectant look that had worked in the past to make Margery relent. This is not one of those occasions.
“We’re gonna be late for service,” Margery says after a while, glancing at the large clock over the piano.
“We won’t be late, the church is right down the street,” Rosey says, waving a hand to ward off the notion. “And it can wait. We shouldn’t be bringing the devil’s day into the church no how!”
They both laugh at this. Rosey is poking fun at an elder of the church, an old woman named Althea, who made a fuss when the preacher organized the Halloween service a year ago so that the children of the church could enjoy the traditions of the day under the watchful eye of God. It was in response to an incident a couple of Halloweens ago when a young black boy went into the wrong neighborhood and was beaten within an inch of his life. It wasn’t enough to forbid children from going out, the preacher decided, they had to give them something more fun to look forward to. So the choir dressed in the colors of fall and performed on the church steps, the preacher gave a short sermon to the gathered crowd and then they would bob for apples and dip them in caramel and nuts, and paint faces, and have hayrides.
“You have to do this with me,” Rosey says after they regain themselves. “I know that if you don’t, then I won’t either. And this is important.”
Margery shakes her head.
“You would put yourself through all this trouble, just to vote for Ike? In Monroe? Like every other person casting a vote ain’t voting for that democrat. Like your one vote would mean anything in all that. You know how the election work?”
“I been learning all about it in Theo’s civics class.”
Margery is visibly taken aback for a moment.
“Theo?” she asks.
“Mmmhmm,” Rosey says, “Theo from Camp Sutton. The college professor up in Greensboro, he moved back to Monroe. He been here for a while, putting his class together. Making sure black people can vote when we show up at the polling place.”
“Theo tutoring people how to pass them voting tests?” Margery is blown away by the news.
Theo, Margery, and Rosey had all grown up together in Monroe, North Carolina. Theo was a bright kid and he went off to Greensboro when they graduated from high school and became a professor of literature. Margery liked Theo, but he was a bookish child and he always seemed more interested in his books than making friends.
Margery shakes her head vigorously.
“That’s a waste of time. Them tests is designed to be failed. Ain’t no way to pass them.”
“Theo work for some people who study this stuff. They look at the stuff they ask black people to do at the polls and do what they can to help them get around whatever so they can cast they vote like they supposed to be able to. They raise money to pay poll taxes, they teach people how to read. Theo said here in Monroe, they do the Jellybean test. It’s the easiest thing they can do that’s impossible for people to figure out on the spot. And they say they make it fair, the number on the bottom of every jar.”
Margery shakes her head slowly.
“Girl, do you hear yourself? What in the world is a jellybean test?”
“They got a jar of jelly beans,” Rosey says, miming the relative size and shape with her hands, “and the voting test is to tell them how many in the jar. That’s it. You tell them the right number, they let you vote.”
“That’s easy to cheat,” Margery says. “Even if you write the number on the bottom. If you know the right number, you can just write the wrong one.”
Rosey smiles.
“They have to count them in front of you. Theo explain it better, but they got the board of elections to put the criteria on paper. It’s the poll worker’s choice who to give the test, but the test gotta be on paper and it gotta be possible to prove you got the mind to be voting.”
Margery shakes her head.
“How many people in Theo’s class?”
“Five counting me,” Rosey says.
“So six negroes plan to walk into a polling place and demand the white poll workers to count jellybeans so they can vote?”
There is a pause and then Margery doubles over laughing.
“Girl, that’s funny.” Then Margery regains herself and puts a hand on Rosey’s shoulder. “It’s funny as a idea. It’s funny when you say it out loud. But girl, don’t be foolish. Them civil rights people come in from out of town filling people’s heads with ideas about equality that might exist on some paper somewhere, but ain’t never existed in the real world. And that get good people hurt, for what Rosey? So you can say you voted? You ain’t got nothing to prove to nobody. Ain’t none of them white men ever did nothing for us. And Theo should know better, he grew up here. Y’all show up ready to count jellybeans, y’all gonna be poking the devil and begging him to burn you.”
Rosey doesn’t say anything else and leads Margery out the door and down the street to the Mount Zion Church at the corner.
“Theodore Wilson! You can’t lie to these people!”
Theo is trying to get ready to meet Rosey at the church for the Halloween sermon when his cousin Ezekiel Montgomery, or Zeke, comes barging into his room. Theo had given him the materials for his civics class to review and give him feedback. He hoped that Zeke would join the effort and maybe teach a class of his own. Zeke is a high school teacher and basketball coach and he has dedicated himself to being a positive force in his community. He plans to vote very enthusiastically for Dwight Eisenhower on November 6, 1956 at the American Legion Post 56, but the last time he tried in 1954 to vote for his representatives in congress, he was turned away because he guessed way too high at the number of jellybeans in the jar.
“Maybe next time,” the older white man with liver spots on his face said, smiling like he genuinely hoped it would work out for Zeke the next time he tried, but Zeke knew better. As he walked out, he looked back to see a woman with gloves and a face mask disinfecting the seat where he had sat to prove his fitness to practice his right as a natural born citizen to vote for the President of the United States of America.
“Why would you lie to these people?” Zeke yells at Theo.
“Calm down. What you talking about?” Theo sits on the edge of his bed while he slips on his nice pair of loafers that make him look like a real professor in his suit with the wool jacket.
“Ain’t no such thing as a Commission on Poll Criteria. Ain’t nobody policing the treatment of negroes at the polling place. You telling these people you can guarantee they’ll be able to pass that jellybean test because they have to count the beans in front of them? I hope they ain’t dumb enough to believe it.”
Theo looks up at him with a half smile. He is disappointed. He’d hoped Zeke could see the value in his ruse. Yes, Theo had made up the Commission and all of the rules that could be invoked to ensure a fair test, but he did it with the intention of giving people the confidence to demand their right that was granted to them in 1870. And maybe if they showed up in force, they could overwhelm expectation and actually be allowed to cast a vote. It was just as good, if not better, odds of them being allowed to vote if they showed up individually.
“What if we’re the Commission…” Theo starts.
“Shut up!” Zeke cuts him off. “Tell these people the truth and I will join the class. Don’t send these people into that place not understanding what they walking into. They deserve to know the truth. They’ll be stronger for it.”
Theo nods silently.
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