The Silent Whisper

Social norms were demonstrated at an early age. If I had to classify myself, I would identify as Black/Jewish & German. My birth mother, Marie Delanie from the Delanie’s of Ireland was a Caucasian/German woman, my father, an African American man who was absent without participation, therefore, I grasp to the Caucasian linguistics. I settled in a sophisticated predominantly white community in Newark, New Jersey – Vailsburg section between So. 18^th and So. 19^th Street in 1932. A picture-perfect neighborhood, a white picket fence with a gorgeous flowerbed gently lying on the front lawn. The Germans owned many of the movie theaters including the “Ormont” which was an exceptional establishment for the elite. My mother, who was an alcoholic, placed me on the doorsteps of an interracial family at the tender age of two and disappeared into the night. My life was altered from that point, traveling from place to place without the understanding of where I belong.

Monica, foster mother #1 was awakened by the silence of the night. She heard a disturbance coming from the other side of the door, she slowly opened, lowering her head to witness my cries, smiled while extending her arms to comfort me as only a mother could. She married a successful Caucasian man who at some point embraced me as well. Shortly after my arrival, he died of a sudden illness. She remarried a man who undoubtedly loved her. Initially the treatments were delightful until the commands settled in her mind. It wasn't until I was years older when I was guided to my sleeping quarters located in a “coal” bin where coals were kept near the furnace assembly. The bin was dark, scary with one small window where the chute was positioned. I labeled my bin “my secret place,” the very first time I learned how to pray and connect with God. When I was afraid, I would gaze out the window, praying to a God I couldn’t see or feel, staring into the night sky to always be free.

Her punishments were severe, in fact, I was confined in darkness with a dim light she controlled. I turned around to see Monica standing at the top of the steps as I slowly entered the darkness, she quickly closed the door behind her. I was left alone for what seemed like hours until she quickly opened the door without a sound. I approached at a rapid speed to escape the dark, dampness of the unknown. I positioned myself at the dinner table where talking was not permitted. The more she left me alone the more I became secluded, a recluse for lack of a better word. Afterwards, the conditioning was to serve the elite, prepping for a life of acceptance under shields I could not see. The preparation was initiated by hours of listening to Hitler’s speeches on the radio. I was asked at an early age to communicate the knowledge I retained to ensure the task would be sustainable. Punishments were enhanced with decreased consumption of nutrition when incorrect answers were presented. Consequently, I began stealing food, my hunger increased to a degree of starvation. Noticeably, my body caused a reduction thereby alluding me into a facility called “The Boyland Street School” for undernourished children.

“Sally”, foster mother #2 wasn't as pleasing, the treatments were strategic, she was the total opposite of what others perceived her to be. She hid behind several masks, speaking ever so softly with a beautiful smile that lit up any room with the personality of a saint. She was so wicked; she fell down a flight of steps and severely fractured her neck. Although she was still breathing with only the movement of her eyes intact, she had limited use of control. She was crushed between the narrow steps. Apparently, someone heard her scream as she quickly fell to her knees. The police discovered her body at the bottom of the steps where the paramedics transported her upstairs to the adjacent bedroom. I’d awaken the next morning to witness Sally lying on her death bed frightened, panic in fact. She was paralyzed from the neck down with no commands over nonentity, her house or anything. She survived for a week, then vanished from my life forever. I wasn’t too heartbroken because the fear of her returning was a mere panic I could not fathom.

I ran away at the age of thirteen, I was placed in a third foster home in Silver Lakes not too far from Belleville, New Jersey. I ventured into a nearby restaurant to nourish myself. I was a runaway, a judge who was the head of New Jersey was sitting on the other side of the restaurant witnessed me sitting at the edge of the counter. He walked over, and asked me if I were catholic?” I replied, yes. He said, “I’m taking you to a girl’s shelter." I told him who I was and briefed him on my life struggles. He lowered his head and said, “you’ve suffered enough." Abruptly, he changed course and said, “I’m taking you to my home." Judge Sagatino, foster father #3 invited me to his beautiful home where he persuaded me to spy on his daughter because she was socializing with unfamiliar territory. The reward was a weekly compensation of five dollars to become his personal informant. He was a tall handsome Italian man who married a beautiful Italian woman, Betty, who I identified as very meek and quiet. I had food privileges, the freedom to journey without restrictions. I had to abide by the rules, of course, but the treatment was fantastic. They were quite wealthy with a telephone in the home, two cars and all the splendors one could imagine. I was made to feel the comforts of a family from the very beginning.

Betty had a weakness for helping Caucasians in the neighborhood. She showed me how to become docile and to always put their needs ahead of mine. Unfortunately, the conditioning was so concentrated the desire to serve inadvertently became my normal. There, I was instructed and forbidden from playing with the nonentities on the block because I was told they were poor, and they did not look like me. The analogy was taught at an early age, in fact, it was a rule. There were two African American families approximately seven doors away. One family, Ms. Smith who lived with her daughter and son and Ms. Washington who worked for a Chinese laundry company within walking distance from her home. My mother was subservient to this one particular prominent Caucasian mother who accused me of stealing her diamond ring. The accusations were rapidly communicated because my interaction with her children was not well received. I was punished for false accusations on a regular basis. I knew I wasn’t white, but I craved to be in their presence to explore their customs and develop an accepted because I thought I was well received and privileged.

CHEATING DEATH

ONCE… When I was nine, I had an operation on my throat, my mother Sally had given me “Sloans Liniment”, causing a fiery burning sensation almost immediately. She opened my mouth, poured it directly down the center of my throat. The doctors removed my tonsils but failed to remove the roots of the tonsils which caused severe bleeding. It was so sever; the priest was informed to grant me my last living rites. I died and went to an ambiguous location. When I died, God said, “you have a job to do." I knew I had an outer body experience where I mysteriously traveled through a pathway and halted at a moment’s time. A being appeared and touched me on my right shoulder and told me we are not ready for you yet and to go back down because I have a job for you to do. I was revived and went home the next day. 

TWICE… In the 1950’s I was in a terrible accident; I was thrown across McCarter Highway about ninety feet, landed on a mattress outside a fire station in it's resting place. I stood up and ran about a half a block away where I collapsed which landed me in St. James hospital in Newark, NJ. The lord showed me when your mother and father forsake you, I will take you up. He placed a hedge around me where nobody could ever do anything else to me no matter what I did. I walk a solitary life, me, and the Lord. Subsequently, I left the hospital and proceeded to a friend's house where remained isolated for five years until I left in 1959. I began walking down High Street, a car came soaring around the corner. I saw him approaching, as I called on the Lord, I froze, hitting the fire hydrant not too far from where I was standing. The wheels were spinning at a rapid rate.

THIRD TIME… A frightening breast cancer diagnosis in 1992, the doctors implied there was nothing more they could do for me, I was dying. One-by-one, the doctors and nurses approached my bedside and said, “the bottom line is you’re dying," I said, tonight? Not tonight, I turned my head to the left and told to the Lord about it and went home the following day. The diagnosis did not define me, what the Lord told me that night defined whether I lived or died. At a moment’s time I promised God I would always cling to him. My survival is intentional and unexplainable, I'm living my best life at ninety-three years young.

My foster families were afraid of me because I had for a lack of a better word, telepathic abilities. It’s a gift I could not control. I heard God tell me to leave my job and go find another one. I remember working at a facility in Central Jersey when the Lord spoke to me in a soft whisper, "remove yourself and never look back." I couldn't quite understand the command until he instructed me to go to "Middlesex General Hospital" now "Robert Wood Johnson Hospital" to gain employment. I immediately completed the application because the Lord told me it was mine. The interviewer instructed me they were not hiring today, I replied, “you will hire me today." She desired to know where I came from and why I was there. I briefly explained. She replied, “who told you to come here?" I replied, "God told me to come here." She repeated, “we are not hiring today," “I replied you will hire me today!" We talked for an extended period followed by a statement she replied firmly, “I don’t know why I’m hiring you, but you’re hired." Immediately, I was told where to go to collect my uniform. I’ve always traveled alone, a wonderer in the wilderness of strangers, in unfamiliar territories with God’s watchful eyes still upon me. My life's story is not coincidental. The belief in something definite, the faith in something you can't see of feel and the promises of God upon my life is the ultimate survival story. The consequence of my journey were to survive what seemed impossible because of God's Silent Whisper, I listened, obeyed, and I kept the faith.