CHAPTER FIVE THE PITTSBURGH COURIER
CHAPTER
FIVE
The Pittsburgh Courier
Lee’s green Ford hugged the road as he drove.
Beside him, Cora sat silent, fiddling with her purse strap.
Uncle Drew had managed to get a reporter from the Pittsburgh Courier to come down to interview her and Roscoe.
As the largest Negro paper in America, with two hundred thousand readers, it was a chance to speak to the whole country.
‘You okay?’ Lee asked, as the minutes stretched in stillness.
‘Yeah. Uh-huh.’ She nodded, squeezing her purse.
‘Because you look a little nervous.’
She let out a long breath and looked at Lee. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’
‘If you want to call it off, we call it off. But, yeah, I think talking to him, telling your story, is the right thing.’
Cora bit her lip and nodded.
‘But say the word and I’ll turn this car around right now.’
‘No,’ she said.
He reached over to take her hand, feeling the tension in her grip, and only let go to shift gears when they got to the turn-off for Uncle Drew’s.
When Cora and Lee walked into Uncle Drew’s office, the reporter already sat waiting, notepad and pen at the ready. He had the look of the north about him with his pinstriped zoot suit and his side-parted Afro. When he saw them, he stood and vigorously shook Cora’s hand.
‘Charlie Preston. Pleasure to meet you. And you must be the husband,’ he said, shaking Lee’s hand. ‘The war vet.’
‘I’m a vet, but unfortunately I’m not the husband.’ He flashed a half-smile, but then regretted his wisecrack when the newspaper man looked back and forth between them, his assumptions written all over his face, and Cora blushed, embarrassed.
‘I’m just a friend,’ Lee amended, in stiff, clipped tones that didn’t leave room for questions.
‘Right. Okay. Fine.’ He turned to Cora. ‘So, where’s your husband?’
‘He’s not coming,’ Cora said. ‘I’m sorry, but he doesn’t think talking to you will do any good. He’s kind of frustrated with everything.’
The reporter raised his eyebrows at Uncle Drew, who was struggling not to look annoyed. Lee shrugged at him in apology. He and Cora had tried to get Roscoe to agree to talk, but there was no budging him.
‘The story is the same with or without the husband to quote,’ Uncle Drew said. ‘And Cora takes a better photo.’
‘Photo?’ Cora asked.
Lee frowned. No one had mentioned a photo.
‘Mr Preston thought it would add interest to the story.’
‘But the husband’s the veteran,’ Preston said. ‘I came all this way to interview a vet.’
‘Lee’s a veteran too.’ Uncle Drew laid his hand on Lee’s shoulder. ‘He’d be happy to give you a quote or two.’
Lee raised his eyebrows in surprise. He thought the blue discharge would only complicate things, but he nodded just the same. ‘If it’ll help Cora.’
‘This story will help more than Mrs Crane,’ the reporter said nodding at Cora. ‘I’d still like to talk to your husband, but let’s get started with what we have.’
They all sat down, and Charlie Preston laid a pad of yellow paper across his lap, his pencil poised, ready to write.
‘First of all, thank you for coming forward. This is an important story.’ He looked at each of them, eagerness in his eyes.
‘This kind of discrimination is happening all over the country, and we need more people talking about it. Sharing their experiences.’
The man directed an excited, greedy expression at Cora that made Lee nervous. He wondered if they were being reckless, agreeing to this. He scooted his chair closer to her.
Cora fingered the pleats of her dress as she told Charlie Preston about the bank refusing the GI mortgage because the government labeled colored neighborhoods too risky, and she explained that nobody would sell her a house in the parts of town that could get a GI loan.
‘They turned it into a white-folks’ program,’ she said, her frustration loosening her tongue. ‘And the worst part is, they pretend they’re helping everybody, but they know they’re not. And we know they’re not. I don’t know who they think they’re fooling.’
‘That’s just it, Mrs Crane. You’d be surprised at how many folks outside the community think that you and your husband have the same chance as everybody else,’ Preston said. ‘That’s what they were told, so that’s what they believe.’
He pushed his glasses back up his nose and made a few more notes before turning to Lee.
‘And how do you fit into this?’ he asked.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t. I’m here for moral support.’
Cora reached over and clasped Lee’s arm. ‘He’s a war hero,’ she said. ‘He has a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.’
‘Is that true?’ When Preston looked at Lee, the eager excitement was back.
‘It’s true.’ He slid his hand over Cora’s, savoring the soft, warm feel of her. ‘But I also have a blue discharge.’
‘That he didn’t deserve,’ Cora said, her fingers squeezing for emphasis.
‘Well, none of us can get the benefits anyways,’ Lee said. ‘This country talks a good game about democracy, but it’s not really interested in it. The last thing America wants is equality.’
The story ran the following week in the Pittsburgh Courier as a two-page spread where Roscoe and Cora’s story was one of several, all showing how across the country Negros were cut out of GI benefits.
There was even a sidebar about decorated war heroes getting blue discharges at the eleventh hour under questionable circumstances, disqualifying them from GI opportunities altogether.
Lee and Cora were both photographed with quotes below their faces, and they got a thrill seeing themselves in the paper.
The reporter never got to speak to Roscoe.
Before he had to fly home, he drove out to Cora’s place twice, hoping to convince him in person.
He waited for him until late both times, but Roscoe stayed out, who knew where doing who knew what.
It embarrassed Cora and angered Lee on her behalf.
He might not have wanted them married, but since they were, Roscoe should have been there for her.
It burned him up to discover he wasn’t. Cora deserved the best of everything, and now Lee knew Roscoe wasn’t giving it to her.