When God bragged about how faithful Job was, said Elijah Muhammad, the devil said only God's
hedge around Job kept Job so faithful. "Remove that protective hedge," the devil told God, "and I
will make Job curse you to your face."
The devil could claim that, hedged in prison, I had just used Islam, Mr. Muhammad said. But the
devil would say that now, out of prison, I would return to my drinking, smoking, dope, and life of
crime.
"Well, now, our good brother Malcolm's hedge is removed and we will see how he does," Mr.
Muhammad said. "I believe that he is going to remain faithful."
And Allah blessed me to remain true, firm and strong in my faith in Islam, despite many severe
trials to my faith. And even when events produced a crisis between Elijah Muhammad and me, I
told him at the beginning of the crisis, with all the sincerity I had in me, that I still believed in him
more strongly than he believed in himself.
Mr. Muhammad and I are not together today only because of envy and jealousy. I had more faith
in Elijah Muhammad than I could ever have in any other man upon this earth.
You will remember my having said that, when I was in prison, Mr. Muhammad would be my
brother Wilfred's house guest whenever he visited Detroit Temple Number One. Every Muslim
said that never could you do as much for Mr. Muhammad as he would do for you in return. That
Sunday, after the meeting, he invited our entire family group and Minister Lemuel Hassan to be
his guests for dinner that evening, at his new home.
Mr. Muhammad said that his children and his followers had insisted that he move into this larger,
better eighteen-room house in Chicago at 4847 Woodlawn Avenue. They had just moved in that
week, I believe. When we arrived, Mr. Muhammad showed us where he had just been painting. I
had to restrain my impulse to run and bring a chair for the Messenger of Allah. Instead, as I had
heard he would do, he was worrying about my comfort.
We had hoped to hear his wisdom during the dinner, but instead he encouraged us to talk. I sat
thinking of how our Detroit Temple more or less just sat and awaited Allah to bring converts-and,
beyond that, of the millions of black people all over America, who never had heard of the
teachings that could stir and wake and resurrect the black man... and there at Mr. Muhammad's
table, I found my tongue. I have always been one to speak my mind.
During a conversational lull, I asked Mr. Muhammad how many Muslims were supposed to be in
our Temple Number One in Detroit.
He said, "There are supposed to be thousands."
"Yes, sir," I said. "Sir, what is your opinion of the best way of getting thousands there?"
"Go after the young people," he said. "Once you get them, the older ones will follow through
shame."
I made up my mind that we were going to follow that advice.
Back in Detroit, I talked with my brother Wilfred. I offered my services to our Temple's Minister,
Lemuel Hassan. He shared my determination that we should apply Mr. Muhammad's formula in a
recruitment drive. Beginning that day, every evening, straight from work at the furniture store, I
went doing what we Muslims later came to call "fishing." I knew the thinking and the language of
ghetto streets: "My man, let me pull your coat to something-"
My application had, of course, been made and during this time I received from Chicago my "X."
The Muslim's "X" symbolized the true African family name that he never could know. For me, my