ALEX HALEY

EPILOGUE

During nineteen fifty-nine, when the public was becoming aware of the Muslims after the New
York telecast "The Hate That Hate Produced," I was in San Francisco, about to retire after twenty
years in the U.S. Coast Guard. A friend returned from a visit to her Detroit home and told me of a
startling "black man's" religion, "The Nation of Islam," to which, to her surprise, her entire family
was converted. I listened with incredulity to how a "mad scientist Mr. Yacub" had genetically
"grafted" the white race from an original black people. The organization's leader was described as
"The Honorable Elijah Muhammad" and a "Minister Malcolm X" was apparently chief of staff.
When I entered a civilian writing career in New York City, I collected, around Harlem, a good deal
of provocative material and then proposed an article about the cult to the Reader's Digest.
Visiting the Muslim restaurant in Harlem, I asked how I could meet Minister Malcolm X, who was
pointed out talking in a telephone booth right behind me. Soon he came out, a gangling, tall,
reddish-brownskinned fellow, at that time thirty-five years old; when my purpose was made
known, he bristled, his eyes skewering me from behind thehorn-rimmed glasses. "You're another
one of the white man's tools sent to spy!" he accused me sharply. I said I had a legitimate writing
assignment and showed him my letter from the magazine stating that an objective article was
wanted, one that would balance what the Muslims said of themselves and what their attackers
said about them. Malcolm X snorted that no white man's promise was worth the paper it was on;
he would need time to decide if he would cooperate or not. Meanwhile, he suggested that I could
attend some of the Harlem Temple Number 7 meetings ("temples" have since been renamed
"mosques") which were open to non-Muslim Negroes.
Around the Muslim's restaurant, I met some of the converts, all of them neatly dressed and
almost embarrassingly polite. Their manners and miens reflected the Spartan personal discipline
the organization demanded, and none of them would utter anything but Nation of Islam clich‚s.
Even excellent weather was viewed as a blessing from Allah, with corollary credit due to "The
Honorable Elijah Muhammad."
Finally, Minister Malcolm X told me that he would not take personal responsibility. He said that I
should talk about an article with Mr. Muhammad personally. I expressed willingness, an
appointment was made, and I flew to Chicago. The slightly built, shy-acting, soft-voiced Mr.
Muhammad invited me to dinner with his immediate family in his mansion. I was aware that I was
being carefully sized up while he talked primarily of F.B.I. and Internal Revenue Service close
surveillance of his organization, and of a rumored forthcoming Congressional probe. "But I have
no fear of any of them; I have all that I need-the truth," Mr. Muhammad said. The subject of my
writing an article somehow never got raised, but Malcolm X proved far more cooperative when I
returned.
He would sit with me at a white-topped table in the Muslim restaurant and answer guardedly any