for a departed brother or sister that first turned them toward Allah. But I was to learn later that Mr.
Muhammad's teaching about death andthe Muslim funeral service was in drastic contradiction to
what Islam taught in the East.
We had grown, by 1956-well, sizable. Every temple had "fished" with enough success that there
were far more Muslims, especially in the major cities of Detroit, Chicago, and New York than
anyone would have guessed from the outside. In fact, as you know, in the really big cities, you
can have a very big organization and, if it makes no public show, or noise, no one will necessarily
be aware that it is around.
But more than just increasing in numbers, Mr. Muhammad's version of Islam now had been
getting in some other types of black people. We began now getting those with some education,
both academic, and vocations and trades, and even some with "positions" in the white world, and
all of this was starting to bring us closer to the desired fast car for Mr. Muhammad to drive. We
had, for instance, some civil servants, some nurses, clerical workers, salesmen from the
department stores. And one of the best things was that some brothers of this type were
developing into smart, fine, aggressive young ministers for Mr. Muhammad.
I went without a lot of sleep trying to merit his increasing evidences of trust and confidence in my
efforts to help build our Nation of Islam. It was in 1956 that Mr. Muhammad was able to authorize
Temple Seven to buy and assign for my use a new Chevrolet. (The car was the Nation's, not
mine. I had nothing that was mine but my clothes, wrist watch, and suitcase. As in the case of all
of the Nation's ministers, my living expenses were paid and I had some pocket money. Where
once you couldn't have named anything I wouldn't have done for money, now money was the last
thing to cross my mind.) Anyway, in letting me know about the car, Mr. Muhammad told me he
knew how I loved to roam, planting seeds for new Muslims, or more temples, so he didn't want
me to be tied down.
In five months, I put about 30, 000 miles of "fishing" on that car before I had an accident. Late one
night a brother and I were coming through Weathersfield, Connecticut, when I stopped for a red
light and a car smashed into me from behind. I was just shook up, not hurt. That excited devil had
a woman with him, hiding her face, so I knew she wasn't his wife. We were exchanging our
identification (he lived in Meriden, Connecticut) when the police arrived, and their actions told me
he was somebody important. I later found out he was one of Connecticut's most prominent
politicians; I won't call his name. Anyway, Temple Seven settled on a lawyer's advice, and that
money went down on an Oldsmobile, the make of car I've been driving ever since.
I had always been very careful to stay completely clear of any personal closeness with any of the
Muslim sisters. My total commitment to Islam demanded having no other interests, especially, I
felt, no women. In almost every temple at least one single sister had let out some broad hint that
she thought I needed a wife. So I always made it clear that marriage had no interest for me
whatsoever; I was too busy.
Every month, when I went to Chicago, I would find that some sister had written complaining to Mr.
Muhammad that I talked so hard against women when I taught our special classes about the
different natures of the two sexes. Now, Islam has very strict laws and teachings about women,
the core of them being that the true nature of a man is to be strong, and a woman's true nature is
to be weak, and while a man must at all times respect his woman, at the same time he needs to
understand that he must control her if he expects to get her respect.
But in those days I had my own personal reasons. I wouldn't have considered it possible for me to
love any woman. I'd had too much experience that womenwere only tricky, deceitful,
untrustworthy flesh. I had seen too many men ruined, or at least tied down, or in some other way
messed up by women. Women talked too much. To tell a woman not to talk too much was like
telling Jesse James not to carry a gun, or telling a hen not to cackle. Can you imagine Jesse