Ghost Troop Home Page April Fools Part 3

September 12, email to Congress

I address myself to Congress generally, but I speak especially on behalf of Black America to the black leaders of Congress. I believe that to be my special obligation, as very likely the most educated man in my Congressional district, the XVII of Texas, an overwhelmingly black district. I am proud to say that I had the biggest afro at the black Smiley High School in 1976 and served as their student body president, with some merit, I believe. I was harassed and beaten for daring to cross the race line and date girls of the wrong color. I know you have felt the kind of pain I did, and I sympathize with you. Now, not to be coy with you any more (and lose your love) but I’ve got to admit something to you: I’m white. Yep, blanco, but my home boys still call me a nigga, and I’m mighty proud of that. You know what kind of nigga I am? I’m the kind of nigga who gives free hapkido training to a couple of neighborhood cops, black men, so that they won’t have to reach for the goddamn gun every time their manhood is challenged. Can I be a nigga too, if I’ve done that?

I’m the kind a nigga that brings his son out to help a self-employed nigga down the street, strong man but not doing great. We cut away pine from trees in a major pruning job, until two pickup trucks and a hauling trailer were filled to the tops and sagging at the bottoms. He gave my son a twenty, which was a fine and generous thing to do, and my boy, Andrew thought so, too. Of course I helped him figure out a few new angles on how to rig his shit better. He got himself damn near smashed to death on a job a few years back, and I was fearful for him when I worked with him. I’ve learned all kinds of knots and rigging from my Army training, and I see how brave he is, and how the rope is tattered and there should be a half-hitch here and a bowline there. I didn’t take any money from him, of course, because working with your brother isn’t the same when it’s for hire, and he needed the money more than I did – he’s putting his daughter through college. I took his hand, and I took his thanks.

His name’s Larry Patrick, and he lives on Finch Street, just by the traffic circle, in District XVII. He’s a fine man, and I love him – ask him if it’s true. He’s back on duty as a constable now, and he’s as true a man as I know. He had a feud with my parents in law (Creoles, like my wife), but put it aside when we struck up our friendship. You see, I’m the kind of nigga (and Larry is, too) that talks about the for-real shit up front. When we began to enjoy talking out in the front of his house, he was noble enough to declare the feud with my wife’s folks. I told him that I already knew, and that I didn’t carry baggage for the white man, the black man, the brown man, the yellow man, the red man – for any man. Baggage is baggage, and I try to travel light. [Editor’s emphasis]

I’m Captain Eric Holmes May, ladies and gentlemen. I am the leader of Ghost Troop, 3/7 Cavalry, comprised of the many hundreds of souls restless beneath the illusions of the media. They are the dead, they are the deed, they are the deal. And they are not silent. They speak, and I believe people hear. They come like cavalry, and I know because my soul was fused with the cavalry when I was a seventeen-year-old man who had volunteered to serve his country.

I was the smart kid who didn’t have a dime and went to a public school where the teachers threw up their hands and said “too smart to teach” and were right, because just about everyone around me was destined for a low-end job or a long-term sentence. I listen to a bit of blues now and then – hey, y’all, hold on, I’m going to get a smoke and put on some Hendrix. O.K., back. Cigar lit. I hear my train a comin’ (Hendrix line and song, y’all.) Well, I mention the blues because they’s black – everyone knows that. Shit, the history of music in America and the world comes out of the black folk’s balcony. White boys like Led Zeppelin just take folks like BB King and some nastier grinding stuff and turn it into high-end production-quality rock and roll. Not to say anything against Led Zeppelin, mind you, ‘cause they’re my favorite rock group, even if they did rip off their ideas from the black folks. Hell, doesn’t every body with any sense steal from black folks?

I stole a lot of ideas from Dr. King. Do you know that when I called my rep, Sheila Jackson Lee, back in April about the cover-up of the Battle of Baghdad, she was scared and didn’t do anything about it? Do you know that when I went to my old college ROTC to confront the commander with my investigation about the cover-up of the Battle of Baghdad, and the later mini-cover-ups occurring daily afterwards, he was scared? His name is SFC Tal Avery or the University of Houston ROTC department (713) 743-3875, tavery@mail.uh.edu. Get in touch with him and ask him what I offered to demonstrate for him just before he retreated. If he says “martial arts” then he’ll remember my specific words, if he says “some karate shit” that will be good enough. I came back to visit him the next day after I’d finished my training under Master Yu (yep, I call a yellow man master every time I talk to him). He was away for the morning, so I didn’t miss a second chance to give him a demonstration, but I left my card and told Major Boyd to have him call me if he wanted his demonstration. Call Major Boyd and ask: (713) 743-3875, majboyd@swbell.net. I had resented the fear of a sergeant when confronted with things he said he knew could be true because of cover-ups he saw in the First Gulf War, and he was scared to come near the cover-ups of this one. That was a shame, folks.

Ghost Troop Home Page April Fools Part 3