Islam men communicating by walkie-talkie. In anterooms just inside the halls, more Fruit of Islam
men and white-gowned, veiled mature Muslim sisters thoroughly searched every man, woman,
and child seeking to enter. Any alcohol and tobacco had to be checked, and any objects which
could possibly be used to attempt to harm Mr. Muhammad. He always seemed deathly afraid that
some one would harm him, and he insisted that everyone be searched to forestall this. Today I
understand better, why.
The hundreds of Fruit of Islam men represented contingents which had arrived early that
morning, from their Temples in the nearest cities. Some were detailed as ushers, who seated the
people by designated sections. The balconies and the rear half of the main floor were filled with
black people of the general public. Ahead of them were the all-Muslim seating sections-the whitegarbed
beautiful black sisters, and the dark-suited, white-shirted brothers. A special section near
the front was for black so-called "dignitaries." Many of these had been invited. Among them were
our black puppet and parrot attackers, the intellectuals and professional Negroes over whom Mr.
Muhammad grieved so much, for these were the educated ones who should have been foremost
in leading their poor black brothers out of the maze of misery and want. We wanted them to miss
not a single syllable of the truths from Mr. Muhammad in person.
The front two or three press rows were filled with the black reporters and cameramen
representing the Negro press, or those who had been hired by the white man's newspapers,
magazines, radio, and television. America's black writers should hold a banquet for Mr.
Muhammad. Writing about the Nation of Islam was the path to success for most of the black
writers who now are recognized.
Up on the speaker's platform, we ministers and other officials of the Nation, entering from
backstage, found ourselves chairs in the five or six rows behind the big chair reserved for Mr.
Muhammad. Some of the ministers had come hundreds of miles to be present. We would be
turning about in our chairs, beaming with smiles, wringing each other's hands, and exchanging
"As-Salaam-Alaikum" and "Wa-Alaikum-Salaam" in our genuine deep rejoicing to see each other
again.
Always, meeting us older hands in Mr. Muhammad's service for the first time, there were several
new ministers of small new Temples. My brothers Wilfred and Philbert were respectively now the
ministers of the Detroit and Lansing Temples. Minister Jeremiah X headed Atlanta's Temple.
Minister John X had Los Angeles' Temple. The Messenger's son, Minister Wallace Muhammad,
had the Philadelphia Temple. Minister Woodrow X had the Atlantic City Temple. Some of our
ministers had unusual backgrounds. The Washington, D.C., Temple Minister Lucius X was
previously a Seventh Day Adventist and a 32nd degree Mason. Minister George X of the
Camden, New Jersey, Temple was a pathologist. Minister David X was previously the minister of
a Richmond, Virginia, Christian church; he and enough of his congregation had become Muslims
so that the congregation split and the majority turned the church into our Richmond Temple. The
Boston Temple's outstanding young Minister Louis X, previously a well-known and rising popular
singer called "The Charmer," had written our Nation's popular first song, titled "White Man's
Heaven is Black Mali's Hell." Minister Louis X had also authored our first play, "Orgena" ("A
Negro" spelled backwards); its theme was the all-black trial of a symbolic white man for his world
crimes against non-whites; found guilty, sentenced to death, he was dragged off shouting about
all he had done "for the nigra people."
Younger even than our talented Louis X were some newer ministers, MinisterThomas J. X of the
Hartford Temple being one example, and another the Buffalo Temple's Minister Robert J. X.
I had either originally established or organized for Mr. Muhammad most of the represented
temples. Greeting each of these Temples' brother ministers would bring back into my mind
images of "fishing" for converts along the streets and from door-to-door wherever the black
people were congregated. I remembered the countless meetings in living rooms where maybe
seven would be a crowd; the gradually building, building-on up to renting folding chairs for dingy
little storefronts which Muslims scrubbed to spotlessness.
We together on a huge hall's speaking platform, and that vast audience before us, miraculously
manifested, as far as I was concerned, the incomprehensible power of Allah. For the first time, I
darsice
(darsice)
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