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Oh!

Oh, almost didn't
make that jump.

It would've hurt
something terrible

in a permanent kind
of way.

God, damn it.

Messed my shine all up.

They know people trying
to jump these trains.

I don't know why they
just won't slow 'em down.

Hell, I'd be willing
to buy a ticket

if they was free.

No.

They force a gentleman to
use these Philistine tactics

and don't even make it
easy for 'em to do it.

You know, I, I used to
didn't have to take the rails

to get to a show before
William decided to-

First off, my name
Abel, Abel Green.

Damn glad to meet you.

Sorry if I scared you
when I jumped on here.

And mayhaps you've heard
of me or us, rather?

No?

Really?

No, no, no. I know why.

You don't recognize me
without my face on.

Hey, that's me and
William Benson.

All right, come on, kinfolk.

William Benson, the
great colored actor,
comedian, minstrel.

You heard of Burt
Williams, right?

The song, "Nobody"?

Well, think Burt Williams

with a whole lot less money

and a more complex
kind of funny.

Yeah, I was his partner,

and we were Captain
Davenport's Minstrel Troupe,

featuring two willing and able
bonafide darkies.

William came up with
that, the bonafide part.

See, and that's how
we competed against

the white minstrels
in blackface.

That's where our
pitch came from,

which was, why hire fake coons
when you can hire real ones?

When these boys wipe off the
black, the black still there.

Now William Benson,

he had more sense
than a little bit,

and made a bundle of
money making people

think he ain't had none at all.

Yes Lord, things were real sweet

when William was around.

But,

life is change.

Thing is, sometimes
you make the change

and sometimes the
change make you.

All the biggest
changes in my life,

either William had
something to do with 'em

or he was around when
I made 'em.

He's the one that brought
me into the show business.

Well, getting paid side of it.

See, all Negroes are
actors by necessity.

The script is passed down
generation to generation,

and the Negroes
that know they lines

tend to live longer than
the Negroes that don't.

Generally speaking as
it pertain to dealing

with white folks.

Now as far as dealing
with other Negroes, well,

memorization won't help.

Negroes be changing
on the daily.

William, he was privy to
one of my best performances,

performed in front of
an all Negro audience,

outside of the liquor house

where an angry husband
held a straight razor

but inches away from
my adam's apple.

Now when William saw I was able
to convince said individual

that the black ashy
bottom he saw climbing out

of his bedroom window did
not belong to one Abel Green,

rather to some other dirty,

derelict defiler
of his lady love.

Well, William offered
me a job on the spot.

You know, we hit the
road the next day,

made money makin' folk laugh
all across this nation.

NAACP didn't think
we're very funny though.

A lot of Black newspapers
didn't appreciate

our brand of humor either.

I got this article right here
from the New Negro Gazette.

"The Negro performing
in blackface,

dancing and singing
like a bubbling fool
in front of whites,

betrays the advancement
of the entire race."

JA Sutter, publisher.

When I read that to William,
he got real, real quiet,

that right before a
thunderstorm type of quiet.

Then came the boom.

Why the negrocity of this Negro.

Are we not the race?

Is our skin not Black?

I'm a colored actor
doing the best I can,

trying to make a
living the best I can,

and for that they call me Judas.

I say with the utmost certainty

that neither you nor I have
caused a single crucifixion,

Abel Green, while
these Romans crucify us

on their editorial pages
every chance that avails them.

Bastards.

William always
used too many words

for the point he was making.

Still, he was the smartest man

I ever knew, white or colored.

All them big shows we did.

Them white folks still don't
know that Captain Davenport

was really William Benson.

Yeah.

They ever found out they
paid a couple of coons

that much money, some of
'em drop dead on the spot.

I'm gonna tell
you how we did it.

Yo, William had this
cousin from New Orleans

named Alonzo Price who
could pass as white.

So he would pose as
Captain Davenport

for a small cut of the money.

Get to town a week
before us, book the show,

We would come and perform, ha.

I'm telling you,
it was beautiful.

That boy William, he
always had a plan.

You know he knew
everything, read everything.

He'd get drunk, spend the
night reciting Shakespeare.

Yeah, he would.

He knew the complete
works except for Othello.

He refused to commit
that one to memory.

He said Othello was nothing

but a minstrel show
without the punchlines.

The only weakness he had
was for, shall we say,

ladies of the night.

Now I know some might think
I'm wrong for saying that,

but where I come from, if you
gonna tell a man's business,

then you tell all of it.

It wasn't that William
couldn't get a regular woman,

it's just with the
money we were making

and the times being what
they were, hell still are,

a man with a dollar or
two didn't have to go

to a house of ill repute
to find a lady friend.

I asked William why he
liked prostitutes so much.

He said, because they
were master actors.

He said they knew the
secret to managing vacancy

and he wanted to learn it.

Now I ain't know what he
meant by that at the time,

but I damn sure understood
after Jefferson.

Jefferson was one of those

life-changing moments,
like I mentioned earlier.

Shit, it's the reason William

ain't going on this gig with me.

It's the reason why I got
less money in my pocket.

It's the reason why I wake
up some nights sweating,

which turns into
shaking and crying.

It's the reason why I sleep

with a bottle of whiskey
on my night table

and a pistol
underneath my pillow.

I wanted to drive to town.

Damn some walking.

Jefferson was about
three miles or more

from this colored hotel.

And we had us this
brand new Ford Packard.

Couldn't even drive it 'cause
Alonzo had gotten sick,

and as William put it,

it makes no sense to step in
some shit you can step around.

Two colored fellas driving
that brand new Ford?

Well, so we walked.

It was hotter than
fish grease that day.

You know, it wasn't
even noon yet,

but the air was thick, thick
enough to cut like cake,

so we cut across this field and,

we smelled the body
before we saw anything.

It was a sweet stench
like burnt pork.

Once we came down the last
dip at the end of the field,

we saw the tree at the edge of
the wood where the body hung.

I ain't want to go towards it,

but it drew Will in
like he was hypnotized.

I followed behind him and,

it's hard to believe
what we was looking at

was once human,

once a man.

He was burnt black as tar,

and parts of him was missing,

his lips, ears, nose,

even his private parts.

I turned my back and vomited but

Will just kept starin'.

There were beer
bottles, peanut hulls,

cigarette butts everywhere.

Some of 'em even
had lipstick on 'em.

And Will,

he looked down
and saw this doll,

this little rag doll
with hay-colored hair.

Somebody brought
their little daughter

to watch that man burn,

brought her like they were
taking her to the county fair

to watch the apple
bobbing contest.

Anyway,

when William looked
down and saw that doll,

a noise came outta him

I ain't never heard come
outta any human being.

And he started cussing,
throwing bottles in the trees.

I had to put my
hand over his mouth,

drag his ass out of
there before we ended up

swinging in the wind like
the poor fella above us.

We made it to Jefferson
later that night.

And you're damn
right, we performed.

What was we supposed to do,

take the night off
'cause we was upset?

No, we were supposed to
run and tell the sheriff.

No, buddy.

Me and William did what
we were supposed to do,

and I'll tell you this,

it was by far our
best performance ever.

The laughs came roaring in

from a sea of faces

that looked just
like those faces

that watched that man burn.

And I smiled so
hard on those faces

I thought my mouth was gonna
split from the stretching.

I smiled even harder
when I got paid.

And I smiled all the way till
I got to the dressing room

and I shut the door
behind me, wanting to cry.

Stage lights had dried
out my damn eyes.

Later that night, William looked
at me and said he was done.

He said I could keep
going if I wanted to,

but if he kept going he
may never feel clean again.

Hit me like a brick.

And like I told you before,

William the one that brought me

into this here show business.

So I asked him if he thought
he was better than me,

if he thought he was
a bigger man than me

because he can walk
away from all of it.

The show business, the money,

the ability to not have
to live like a nigga,

even if he had to play one
on stage to be able to do it.

He said he wasn't
better than me,

just more tired.

I called him a coward,
walked out the dressing room.

I ain't seen him ever since.

Heard he ended up

with one of those
ladies of the evening,

drank himself to death.

Me?

I have nightmares.

And in those calamities
of the dreamscape,

it's me burnt and
hanging from that rope.

Well still, the
devils that done that,

they mind ain't gonna
change one way or the other

about Negroes 'cause I stopped
blackening up.

So I keep dancing and smiling

and they pay me for that.

You know, good money too.

You know what they
don't pay me for

is what I'm thinking
behind all that smiling.

That's all mine and none
of they damn business,

which is good for both parties,

'cause if they really
knew what I was thinking

behind all that
smiling,

well let's just say I'd probably

wind up in the same predicament

as that fella near Jefferson.

So, I take my instructions
from the great Negro poet,

Paul Laurence Dunbar.

And I wear the mask
that grins and lies,

hides my cheeks
and shades my eyes

and let them bastards
dream otherwise.

You know cause
reality is just this.

As William once
sang so beautifully.

♪ When life is full
of clouds and rain ♪

♪ And I am filled
with not but pain ♪

♪ Who soothes my
thumping bumping brain ♪

Nobody.

♪ When winter comes
with snow and sleet ♪

♪ And me with hunger
and cold feet ♪

♪ Who says, ah, here's
two bits, go and eat ♪

Nobody.

♪ I ain't never got nothing
from nobody no time ♪

♪ Until I get something
from somebody sometime ♪

♪ I don't intend to do
nothing for nobody ♪

♪ No time ♪

Boy, I miss my friend.

It's hard being nobody
all by yourself.

That's probably why I talk
about Will all the time.

I'm scared, I admit it.

Happen if I get
tired like he did?

Happen when I feel like I
can't get clean no more?

I'll probably use that
38 underneath my pillow

rather than a bottle
like Will did,

'cause I ain't got
nothing but this here.

This song, this
dance, this jig show.

And the next one, some
miles up these here tracks.

Lunceford County Dixieland
Theater to be exact.

8:30 this p.m.

Either I'll see you
there or I won't.

Either way, I gotta
be about the business

of my preparations.

So, if y'all don't mind,

excuse me.

Church, turn to your
neighbor and say, neighbor.

Neighbor.

- I know.
- I know.

- Jesus.
- Jesus.

- Is Black.
- Is Black.

Oh, some of y'all
scared to do it.

Even though it say right
here in the good book,

feet the color of bronze,

hair like wool.

What white man you know got
a white face and black feet?

Oh, this earthly journey
ain't the end of the story.

That's why I'm focused on
building my spiritual house.

See, I know when it snows,

it's white folks
jumping outta heaven,

'cause they done found
out God is Black.

And now they got to account

for all the trifling
shit they done done.

Amen.

Your home is above
the clouds, beloved.

These words of liberation
drip syrupy sweet

from the lips of
the enlightened one.

Reverend William Benson,

founder of the
Church of Revelation,

minister to the downtrodden

and those lost in
despair from a life lived

behind the walls of Babylon.

Peace be upon him.

Let us bow our heads in
a brief moment of silence

as a sign of reverence
for God's prophet.

When Abel Green didn't
have a pot to piss in,

nor a window to throw it out.

When I was a child
digging in garbage cans

and begging in the streets,

Reverend Benson gave me a
home, food, clothing, shelter.

And he taught me the
ways of a holy man.

He believed God had
brought me to him

for the purpose of
training for the ministry.

Now I began to accompany him

and his assistant
minister Alonzo Price,

on the visits to the
sick and shut in.

I was 17 and living in Prospect

when I performed
my first miracle.

Her name was Mary Bingham.

She was a school teacher,

and she reminded me of a
photo I had of my mother

who died of tuberculosis when
I was just seven years old.

Pneumonia had wrapped Ms.
Bingham in its death grip,

and the doctor said she
would not survive the night.

And while Reverend Benson and
Alonzo consoled the family,

I knelt down on the
floor by the bed,

placed my hand on Mary's brow,

bowed my head, and
I began to pray.

I prayed all that evening
into the next morning.

I didn't sleep, I didn't eat.

It was the end of the
second day when I knew.

I stood up,

and Miss Bingham opened
her eyes, healed.

In a mere few days she
was back in the classroom.

And after her healing,

I became the miracle
worker of Prospect.

A massive heart attack
took Reverend Benson

away from this world
not too long after that.

His last act was
to name me Pastor,

and Alonzo Price was to
support me in that capacity

as assistant,

Assistant Minister of
the Church of Revelation.

Can you see the people?

Imagine the multitudes
in your mind.

You know Black folk who
heard the tale of the miracle

of Mary and her boy healer came
from miles and miles around.

Our numbers grew to
the point to where

we had to hold services
in fields and parks.

I began to spend
long weeks fasting,

hours a day in prayer
and meditation.

I stopped combing my hair
and cutting my nails.

And I began referring to
myself as The Instrument,

The Instrument of God.

When I hadn't come outta
my room for several days

and members began to
whisper about my sanity,

Mrs. Benson had Alonzo
break down the door.

And when she saw me,
she broke down crying.

Sister, God has called
me to build a Zion

for colored people on Earth,

to be the shepherd of his flock

until our Jesus returns.

I am the instrument of God,

and let all bear
witness to my power.

Oh, hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah.

Mrs. Benson was speechless
for a long time.

Before she left, she
walked over and said,

"This is not what
my William intended.

Satan done stole your mind boy.

And I can't have no
more to do with you."

It was after Mrs. Benson left,

that Alonzo Price shared with
me what God revealed to him.

God has also told me that
you are to be his instrument.

And I, your first bishop,

Chairman of the
church's Holy Council.

You know, he has told
me that you are to heal

10 sick people at
our next service.

He has provided me proclamations

and instructions as
to how our church

is to operate from
this moment onward.

You are to take a trip with me

dear brother, tonight.

We drove for a long time
down a dark country road.

It was late when we got
to where we were going.

And I remember this dog
tied to a tree in the yard,

his blood-red eyes
looking right through me.

Didn't bark, just
growled and stared,

drool dripping from
the sides of his mouth.

When we went into the house,

I could smell burning
curling irons and hair grease

as soon as we entered.

And in the kitchen
was a small woman

with unusually big hands
holding a straightening comb.

Her name was Esther.

And when she was done,

my tangled jungle was
straighter than a horse's mane.

Rather than cut my fingernails,
she painted them gold,

each one representing one of
the Lord's Ten Commandments.

And she handed me a mirror and

I saw my transformation, I wept.

Esther began to rub my back,

kissed my tears, massaged
me in delicate places

with those powerful hands and

in a moment of
weakness, I did sin.

When Alonzo found
out he had Esther

excommunicated from the church.

Now I hold in my hands
the way of heavenly glory,

which also contains the
three points of light.

The truth God whispered
into Alonzo's ear.

Point one, no woman shall lie
with the Instrument of God.

Point two, no man
or woman shall speak

to the Instrument of God

if Bishop Alonzo
Price is not present.

Point three, no one shall
keep the confidence of anyone

who questions of blasphemes
against the Instrument of God,

Bishop Alonzo, or the
Instrument's Holy Council.

The holy council
were a group of men

God pointed out to Alonzo.

The men God gave the strength
to bear the physical burden

of upholding the law
amongst the people

and delivering the punishment
to the law breakers.

As Aaron spoke for
Moses, Alonzo said,

"God tasked him
to speak for me."

He delivered the sermons
from then on out and

the sick and afflicted
came to me to be healed,

and the holy council
would line them up

and I would step down from
the dais as the sweet cherubs,

small children of the church,

dressed in their white
suits and dresses,

angel wings pinned
to their backs,

gather my robes so
I wouldn't trip.

I would close my eyes and
lay my hand upon the heads,

and empty my mind
of all thoughts

so that I could feel God's
energy flow through me.

Mm.

Feel his healing
power stretch forth

through the palm of my hand
into their afflicted bodies.

They fell out as I touched them,

each one,

and opened they eyes a few
seconds later, fully healed.

Our movement grew,

and so did our wealth.

But the Bible teaches us
that it's easier for a camel

to get through the
eye of a needle

than a rich man to
get into heaven,

but a instrument of God
is beyond man, amen?

Amen.

As Alonzo explained,

colored people ain't gonna
follow nobody poorer than them.

This was a time of high living,

of gold Cadillacs
and white rose petals

sprinkled before my
feet, wherever I walked.

This is before
everything fell apart,

before our summer revival
near the town of Jefferson.

Alonzo had delivered the word,
offering had been collected.

Cherubs gather my robes.

I stepped down from the dais
to unleash God's healing power,

when I looked into the
eyes of Deborah Lee,

that's what she
told me her name was

when God had used me to cure her

of lameness in Lunceord
County, just two weeks before.

Now, she stood in front
of me as a deaf mute.

Alonzo noticed the
bamboozled look on my face.

The council swooped in
like desperate wolves,

seized Deborah, roughly
escorted her away.

Alonzo dispersed the gathering

and I was quickly driven home.

Why would this woman
fake her affliction?

Now why would God not smite
her for mocking his instrument?

That night I couldn't sleep.

Came down to get
a glass of water.

That's when I heard 'em.

"You ignorant fool.

How the hell did you pick
the same woman twice?"

Damn, boy.

The words hit me
like a runaway train.

Everything I was and everything
I thought about myself

and my relationship with God
was destroyed in that moment.

Soon as Alonzo
came into the hall,

I asked him if he knew he's
doomed our souls to hell?

You've turned us into
false prophets, brother.

Get on your knees.

Now, Alonzo!

We must beg the Heavenly
Father for forgiveness.

We must reveal the
truth to God's people,

and accept their judgment.

What have you done, brother?

Lord Jesus, what
have you done, man?

The entire holy council
had been in his study

when they came down on me
like they did, Deborah,

stripped me to my under clothes,

cut my hair, my
nails, bound my hands.

And then Alonzo towering
over my shivering frame,

cast his sentence like a
judge from the Old Testament.

"You are no longer
the Instrument of God.

You have blasphemed against the
bishop and the holy council,

therefore I'm assuming
leadership of the church.

We'll tell the flock that
you have ascended to return

with Christ at the end of days.

Now take this spawn of Satan

where we'll never hear his
blasphemous tongue again."

They threw me in
the trunk of a car,

and we drove for hours.

When they opened the trunk,

they set upon me with clubs

and left me in a bloody
mess on the side of the road

in the middle of nowhere.

I laid there for a long
time thinking I was dead.

Then I heard a truck, footsteps,

and I felt a cold
barrel of a shotgun

against the temple of my head,

and heard a voice most
often associated with those

that hang my kind from trees.

"Explain yourself, nigger."

God has truly forsaken me.

Were the only words I can muster
past my busted swollen lips

I passed out.

When I woke I was in a barn.

I was fully clothed.

My wounds had been bandaged,

and there was a jug of water,

and a note that read,

"Have your Black ass out
this county by sunset."

Testimony is this.

God is good all the time.

And as you can see,

I embraced my second chance

and got my Black ass out
that county by sunset.

So the past few months,

I've been working as a
porter on this train.

I hold Bible studies
on Wednesday nights

for the other porters
and the cooks, too.

I'm no longer
performing miracles.

God doesn't trust me in
that capacity anymore.

Yeah. I'm just grateful
for a second chance,

a chance to show
Reverend Benson,

who I know is looking
down on me right now

from behind them pearly gates,

that his saving my
life was not in vain.

I know I'm a child of God
and made in his image,

but I also know.

♪ The devil never rests come
day, come dusk, come dawn ♪

♪ You compromise, you
wind up sold in parts ♪

♪ So don't it strike you funny ♪

♪ When you look him in the eye ♪

♪ The devil looks a
lot like you and I? ♪

When I first met William Benson,

I was handcuffed
to a hospital bed

with three broken ribs facing
robbery and assault charges.

Shit like that can happen

when you rob houses
and run from cops.

Needless to say,
I was desperate,

and I ain't seen no
future without a cage

and some muscle bound
motherfucker with
a shiv in his hands

and plans to make me his bitch.

I was vulnerable, you dig?

And Benson,

he knew that shit.

Let me ask you a question.

Do you still go to hell

for making a deal
with the devil,

if the devil presents
himself like Christ?

Look look, what if an
angel ends up dying

during the process?

Ooh, then you best
believe you going to hell,

with some groovy
gasoline drawers on too.

You know, my thing is this.

Make sure you take the bastard

that put you on
the path with you.

When Benson walked
into that hospital room

with them suede patches on the
elbows of his tweed jacket,

only Black man I ever seen
look anything like that

was Greg Morris on
Mission Impossible.

He sat down real
slow and cool like,

like you could imagine
Steve McQueen doing

if he was a soul brother.

Abel Green, I'm William
Benson, special agent, FBI.

Then he crossed his legs,
leaned back, smiled.

Not that, I got your
ass now, kind of smile.

No rather, everything's
going be all right bay bruh.

That kind of smile.

"A man's life is like
a page in a novel.

In order to have a happy ending,

a man's gotta write sentences

that makes that happy
ending possible.

You ain't writing them
kind of sentences, son.

Your paragraphs
are all fucked up.

And in your current
chapter, you're facing time

for armed robbery, assault,
possession of stolen goods.

Good gracious, nigga.

The point is, right
now your story

ain't got no happy ending
and no way to get to one.

I can change that.

You want me to change that."

Then he stood up,
walked out the room,

I ain't seen him
again till I was ready

to get out the hospital
and head to jail.

Told me the deal in
simple sentences.

"And I'm sure you
heard of this group

calling themselves
the Black Panthers.

Yeah, well the FBI
heard some things, too."

Needed someone to
confirm or deny.

Told me I was to go down to
their offices and try to join.

They'll meet me at a place
and time of his choosing

once a week.

They chose me 'cause I
grew up on the west side

with this cat named Frank Red.

Frank was involved
with the Panthers

and 'cause he knew me
from the old neighborhood,

Feds figured that
might be my way in.

Benson had me feeling like
Eliot fucking Ness, you dig?

They never used
the word informant.

I never thought of
myself as a snitch.

No, I was special agent
Abel Green on the scene.

Star of the story,
the hero, shiiit.

Hero ain't nothing but
a goddamn sandwich.

♪ Revolution has
come, off the pigs ♪

♪ Time to pick up a
gun, off the pigs ♪

♪ The revolution has
come, off the pigs ♪

♪ Time to pick up a
gun, off the pigs ♪

I ain't gonna lie.

First time I went
to a rally I was,

I was mesmerized.

I ain't never seen no shit
like that before in my life.

Talking about the cops like
that with the cops right there.

Black people, looking good, too.

Sharp as a tack and
comfortable as a broke dick dog

talking that big
bad and bold shit.

Black leather jackets,
berets, powder blue shirts,

fists raised in the
Black power salute.

Baby, those pigs was red as
beets wanting to do something,

but scared to 'cause
there wasn't no easy way.

Black folks weren't gonna be

the only ones leaving fucked up.

Frank was at the party
office when I went in

and asked to join,

and we talked about some people
from the old neighborhood,

what I've been up
to in the years past

since we'd seen each other.

And then he broke out
into this bag about

how I've been locked up,

because I was Black and poor,

which was a result of capitalism
that couldn't be reformed,

that had to be torn down for
the people and the planet,

and this and that.

I mean this cat could
run it down, runnin'.

Then an angel walked in.

Ooh.

Chocolate angel.

Big doe eyes, curly fro.

"Comrade Mary, this
here's my man, Abel Green,

from my old neighborhood,

says he wants to join the
vanguard of the struggle."

And I was like, nah, I ain't
never heard of no vanguards,

I wanna join the Panthers.

They both bust out laughing
at my ignorant ass.

But her laugh though,

it's like listenin' to Motown
on a sunny day in the park.

I got lost and caught up in it.

And Frank asked me why I
wanted to join the party.

Well I was prepared for this,

and I felt like Hank
Aaron at the plate

getting ready to knock
one out the park.

So I go, "so I can kill
honky pigs, brother."

Room was silent.

Frank looked at me

like I was the dumbest
motherfucker on Earth,

and then he broke
out into his bag.

"The pig is a tool of
the power structure

created to suppress
and oppress the masses.

The pig is not a color.

It's obvious that you don't
understand what we are about.

We are not trying to
replace racism with racism,

rather replace racism spawned
by capitalism with socialism.

Do not believe what they say
about who we are in the press.

The press is a tool
used by the capitalists

to misinform, spread lies,

and alienate the
vanguard from the people.

Boy."

I'm telling you, them ole
capitalists were a bitch.

And then Mary chimed in,

throwing me the lifeline
I wish she never had.

"Just because the brother
doesn't know the time

doesn't mean he can't learn
what the time is, Frank."

"Everyone's level of
consciousness is not the same.

We have to raise the people up.

We have to educate the
people, you know that."

So, they invited me to the
political education classes

they held on Friday nights.

I said right on, gave
him five and split.

Met Benson at O'Leary's,
a dive bar in Old Town.

He just sat, stared into
his glass of Scotch.

Soaked it in what I told him.

He smiled that smile of his,

told me I done good,
slid me an envelope.

250 bucks.

Yeah, I was on cloud nine baby.

But that night I dreamed
about Mary Bingham.

I ain't gonna lie,
when I woke up,

them sheets were
a little sticky.

That Friday night I
had my ass at them

political education classes.

And when I tell you them
discussions were heavy,

Lenin, Marx, Mao, Fanon.

I ain't never heard of
none of these dudes.

And these cats were
talking about 'em

like cats be on the corner

talking about Walt
Frazier and the Knicks.

I'm making connections
to what was going on

in ghettos of America

to what was happening in
ghettos all across the world.

And sometimes Mary
would be there,

and whenever she made a point,

the crowd would erupt into
chants of right on, Sister,

tell it like it is Sister Mary.

I would leave Mary's
name out of it

whenever I reported to Benson.

I told him everything
else though.

Who was there, who said what.

We talked about a lot
of other things too.

Our lives, our families.

He'd give me advice, the
type of advice I wanted

from an older Black
man all my life

to fill the void I was trying
to fill with nigga logic,

which the only type of knowledge

a blood from the street got,

but listening,
learning from Benson,

I really thought my life
was gonna be different.

After a few months,

the Panthers started to
recognize my dedication,

let me volunteer at
the breakfast program

they ran for the kids.

Them hungry kids be
in there lined up.

Big eyes, swollen bellies and
they would feed 'em man, free.

You know, after I told Benson

how the community was
looking at the Panthers

like superheroes and shit,

that's when things
started to heat up.

Brothers started to
get arrested constantly

on bullshit charges.

My main man, Tommy, who worked
at the free health clinic,

the Panthers ran on Jefferson
Street, got snagged.

So Frank assigned me to
the clinic to help out.

And Mary, she was a nurse
prior to joining the party.

So she ran the clinic

along with this other doctor
from the community and,

no, no, no, no, no, no.

Come on now, I gotta
get to O'Leary's.

And start the fuckin'
train man, come on.

Shit!

Damn.

Wanna know how
beautiful Mary was?

One night she was bandaging
the hand of this junkie,

when the junkie just vamped,

grabbed her and started
demanding drugs.

I picked up this metal tray,
about to bash him in the head,

when Mary just kneed
him in the nuts.

He dropped like a
sack of potatoes,

and she motioned me over to
help her sit him in the chair.

She said, "Let's make sure
we get him something to eat.

Brother looks like he
hasn't eaten in a while."

And the junkie, you know,
tears coming down his face,

he can't stop apologizing.

And I done seen junkies
do a bunch of shit.

Apologizing after
being kneed in the nuts

while trying to get a fix,
ain't one of 'em.

We became close over the
months that followed and,

damn, she was right.

I was getting
edumacated, you dig?

In a way I never had before.

Hell, I ain't know shit about
Black people, not history.

Something nobody
white ain't taught me.

I ain't know nothing about
the government either,

so the more I learned
about the Panthers

and what they were trying to do,

the shittier I felt for
trying to betray 'em.

But what was I gonna do?

You know, come up to
Frank and be like...

Hey blood, I hate
to drop this on you,

but I've been snitching for the
FBI for the last six months,

but I like y'all now so I
ain't gonna do it no more.

We cool?

Instead, I thought about Mary.

We began spending the few
free moments we had together.

And when I was with
Mary, I felt like a man,

not like somebody
pretending to be one,

and that was something
very, very new for me.

And one night we
were cleaning up

and I just came straight out

and asked her what
we were doing?

And she took my
face in her hands,

she kissed me long and deep,

and I accepted what I knew

from the very first moment
she spoke up for me.

It was around this time Benson

started hounding me
about these guns.

These illegal guns the
Panthers were supposed to have?

And then he started asking me
about the clinic constantly,

even had me draw him a
diagram where everything was.

So I finally just asked him

if they were gonna
raid the clinic.

He was silent.

And that's when I
told him about Mary,

and that I loved her,

and I asked him to let me know

if they were gonna raid
the place, you know,

to give me a heads up so I can
make sure she wasn't there.

And he looked me dead in my
eyes and said, of course I will.

Of course, I will.

He smiled,

patted me on the back, slid
me an envelope full of cash

and ordered us
two T-bone steaks.

Well,

they never raided the clinic.

They burnt the motherfucka down.

It was late.

Maybe they thought nobody
was gonna be in there,

but they couldn't
have known, right?

Mary,

she had left, came back to
do some work, laid down,

fell asleep on the couch and,

she ain't make it out.

She ain't make it out.

It didn't take the Panthers
long to figure out who did it.

This drug dealer by the
name of Alonzo Price

had been selling drugs
in the community,

was getting heat
from the Panthers

and given an ultimatum what
was gonna happen to his ass

if he ain't stop.

Crazy thing is,
I had met Alonzo,

but not in the streets.

I met him in O'Leary's,

and Frank told me they
found a business card on him

from a FBI agent
named William Benson.

He said he told him
some other things too.

Now I seen a couple of brothers
move to block the doors,

but they was too slow.

I bust through 'em,
they chased after me.

I lost 'em in the city and
I just made this train.

I'm a snitch.

I'm a fuckin',

I'm a low life fuckin' rat,
that's what the fuck I am.

But even Judas had his reasons.

If you dumb enough to
think it's just about

30 pieces of silver,

then you dumb as a
box of rocks for real.

Shit ain't that simple.

Nothing is.

But, Judas did try to make it
right when he hung himself.

I know putting a bullet
through Benson's head

isn't gonna bring Mary back.

But I'm still gonna do it.

Have to, it's the
least I can fuckin' do.

Ah fuck!

Fuck they get on the train?

It's Frank.

He got three other
Panthers with him.

Ah,

I guess Abel Green still
don't get no happy ending.

Fuck you too, William Benson.

Fuck you.

You're staring at me like
that because you've seen me,

but for the life of you,
you can't remember where.

I would tell you to
stop, but you won't.

I've just done the
most difficult thing

I've ever had to do in my life,

so I don't feel
like engaging you.

But um, If I don't
say something,

you're just gonna
keep staring at me

until I get off the train.

So here it is, I'm Abel Green.

You probably recognize
me as Donny Diamond

from "The Revenge of
the Killer Pimps."

Oh, you also could have seen
me in "The Death Merchant"

or the "Take Back
the Street" series,

but I haven't done any films
like that in a long, long time.

But I see you have your paper
there ready to be signed.

So I'll take it from you.

Oh wow, you went
to go see a play?

That's awesome.

All right, have a great night.

Oh man.

You wanna know what it's like

being a Black
actor in Hollywood?

In 1988 it's about being
killed by white men

with raspy voices.

Yeah, I've been shot a lot.

You know, Magnums,
shotguns, Uzis.

Been blown up quite a bit too.

You know, grenades,
rocket launchers, twice.

In "Death Merchant 3",
the white vigilante hero

strangles me with
his shoe strings.

In "Take Back the Streets"
the white vigilante hero

throws me out of a skyscraper.

In "Take Back the
Streets Again",

the white vigilante hero
douses me in gasoline

and sets me on fire.

And in "Take Back the
The Final Chapter,"

the white vigilante
hero's daughter

cuts off my testicles

and stomps 'em with her
ruby red high heels.

Yeah, I stopped doing
movies after that.

Didn't stop acting though.

I took a job over at
Alonzo's Hard Bodies,

it's a vitamin and
supplement shop.

Alonzo Price was
this steroid freak,

competed in a couple
Mr. Universes,

and he liked to hire
actors as salesmen

because you had to be able
to act to sell that bullshit.

Sir, can I be honest with you?

Take a look at yourself.

Now, would you fuck you?

See? But that's not your fault.

I know you care about your body.

I know you like to work out,

but to get the
results that you need,

you need this, my friend,

Price's Big and
Swole Protein Powder.

For just 19.95, you too
can be ridiculously ripped

and stupendously stacked

and as a side effect, it makes
your penis grow three inches.

And then one day while
stacking the shelves,

I heard, "Does man love art?

Man visits art, but squirms.

Art hurts.

Art urges voyages, and it's
easier to stay at home.

You wanna stay at
home, Abel Green,

or you wanna come up
with me to New York,

make some money and do some
acting that means something?"

I looked up,

and standing there
by the creatine,

was the baddest, boldest,

best writer, actor,
director, I ever knew,

my friend William Benson.

I hadn't heard from him in years

and he just shows up
when I need him most,

quoting Gwendolyn Brooks,
the Chicago Picasso,

offering me a role
that changed my career.

Will,

a beautiful human being.

I met him in college.

There were three
African Americans

in the theater department,

William Benson, Mary
Bingham, and yours truly.

Will was a couple years ahead,

and the first thing he
asked me when I met him was,

"What do you want
your legacy to be?"

And I was like, "I'm 18, man."

He responded, "Exactly."

This dude, not only was he deep,
but he was like Shaft, too.

You know, Jim Kelly
minus the fro.

I had a couple of football
players after me once.

They had me cornered
in this bar,

I thought was done for sure.

And then I hear (yelling).

They took one look
at Will and took off.

I believe one of those big
white boys shitted himself.

Will, he was that type of
friend. He always had your back.

You know, a hell
of an actor, too.

Everyone said he was gonna
be the next James Earl Jones.

Instead, after he graduated,

he got offered the
same roles I did.

And that's when he started

the African Roots
Theatrical Concern.

Will cast me in this
amazing play called,

"The Whispering Dream."

It's this love story
about this soldier

returning home from Vietnam,

and I played the
lead, Ulysses James.

Boop.

"Abel Green is brilliant.

He takes us on an
emotional rollercoaster

without the sentimentality
and overreach

a lesser actor would employ.

It is indeed his understatement

that makes the horrors of
Ulysses James even more riveting

and gives this
production five stars."

JA Sutter, "Main
Stage Magazine."

It's pretty awesome, right?

Yeah.

Wanna know how I repaid
Will for this opportunity?

When he needed me,

I turned my back on him and
ran as fast as I fuckin' could.

It was late.

I got drunk in a bar not too far

from Will's place
on Jefferson Ave.

Had a key to his place, he
was supposed to be outta town.

I was too drunk to drive home,

so I headed there and when I
was on the stairs walking up,

this guy brushes past me,

almost knocks me
down he's so upset.

And the front door to
Will's place is open.

Will is standing in
the middle of the room,

shirt ripped,
furniture overturned.

I was like, "Will, what
the fuck? Are you okay?"

And Will goes,

"My ex-boyfriend just found
out he's HIV positive."

And he sat down on the couch

and didn't say a word
like he was in shock.

Eventually he asked me
if I would go with him

to get the test and I
promised him I would.

I lied.

I didn't even know he was gay.

He dated Mary Bingham.

How the hell you go from
that to loving on some dude?

And the betrayal
of it all is that

he knew everything
about my life.

I mean, he knew things about me.

What kind of person can
compartmentalize like that?

God, I was mad as hell,

and he might have AIDS,

this shit that's going around
that ain't no cure for.

Know how many times I had
drank something after him?

Used his shower, hugged
him, shaking his hand.

I was like, this motherfucka.

I'm telling you I had no
love for Will right then.

The company season was over
so I got ghost like Swayze.

Back in LA almost a year later,

Mary Bingham flew out to
see me and she was pissed.

She asked me why I hadn't
been to see Will and

I told her Will's a liar.

I got nothing to say to him,
and you shouldn't either.

He betrayed you most of all.

"Always knew Will was gay.

We had an arrangement.

And you of all people
know how hard it is

for a Black man to
get a leading role.

A gay Black man? Times
that to infinity."

So you was part of this lie?

You know what?

You and Will can
both go to hell.

"I'm so sick of these
faggot producers

always running everything.

What I gotta do, suck
a dick to get a role?

You remember saying that?

Probably not.

And that's not the worst thing
you've said over the years.

The fact that Will
loves you so much

is something I will
never understand."

Will lied to me!

"Like you lying to yourself?"

I didn't say
anything after that.

Mary went on to tell me that
Will had full blown AIDS

and she didn't know
how long he had.

I spent that night
after Mary left

trying to prove to myself
that she was wrong about me.

But the fact is,

I can't even hug another man

without having a
forearm in between us.

I loved Will,

but I've never said
that to any man,

and I've never had
any man say it to me.

In my old neighborhood,

you'd rather have somebody
talk about your mama

than call you a
faggot or a punk.

It was a code, and I
thought a lot about those

that followed it and what
they had done for me,

which was absolutely nothing.

Will on the other hand.

That night I couldn't sleep.

I stayed up channel surfing

and I came across
this religious program

called Reverend Frank Red's
God's Truth Christian Hour.

"Christian family,

the Bible teaches us that when
a people get away from God,

when they engage in
filthy, nasty ways,

God will punish them,

and that is why we have AIDS.

Now that is not hate.

I hate no one, and
I pray for everyone,

but my Bible teaches me
that homosexuality is a sin

and the wages of sin is death.

Amen."

Fuck you, Rev.

God doesn't have anything
to do with this shit.

Fucked up people.

People who bring
suffering into the world,

seem to live forever.

And the dreamers, the
lovers, the people

who actually make this
hell worth living in

seem to die too soon

and in fucked up ways
that nobody deserves.

That can't be God's plan.

Next day,

I got my ass on a plane

and I flew to New
York to beg my friend

for what I knew no way
in hell I deserved,

his forgiveness.

I saw him, he had just
gotten out the hospital.

His body was covered in
these purple splotches,

leach-looking like things.

It's a type of skin
cancer AIDS patients get.

The fact that he was gonna
die finally hit home.

He opened his eyes
and held out his hand.

"Does man love art?"

He tried to laugh, but the pain,

I took his hand in mine and-

"Art hurts."

"I knew you would come."

I moved into Will's apartment

along with some other members
of the African Roots and

we took care of him.

Mary said she was gonna come
by to feed Will at noon,

so I'm sure she's
found the body by now

and called the
proper authorities.

At first I didn't
think I could do it,

but how could I not?

What would you do if your
friend said, help me?

I'm tired of hurting,
I'd do it for you.

I tell you what I did.

I kissed Will on
his forehead and

I gave him the overdose of
morphine that he asked me for.

And if that condemns my soul
to hell, then so be it but,

I don't think it does.

This is me.

My mother and father didn't
always try to kill each other,

just on the 1st and 15th
of the month.

I would go into my bedroom

and turn the TV up
as loud as I could.

"Star Trek, the Next
Generation" was my show.

Now I dreamed of traveling
to brave new worlds.

And in these worlds, higher
pursuits took precedence

because food, clothing,
and shelter were the given.

and not the daily
struggle to acquire,

and not the root cause

of cut lips, black eyes,
broken coffee tables.

Now I stopped believing
in the existence

of those worlds when
my father lost his job

and committed suicide.

Now, I never watched
"Star Trek" again,

'cause even if those
worlds did exist,

what the fuck did they
mean to Abel Green?

Did you know on Saturn
people live to be 205?

They have orange snow too.

Imagine snowboarding on sherbet.

Now I've seen it in my dreams.

Wilma Benson told
me it was real.

That's what these
cans are about,

leaving here, getting to Saturn.

Wilma says, if you can
imagine an elsewhere,

you can build it.

Now the problem is most of us

don't want to
build an elsewhere,

we'd rather just figure out
a way to be on top here.

It took the murders
of four people for me

to get to Wilma's
understanding of things.

You probably read about it or
saw the special on "Dateline."

Then again, you may not
have paid any attention.

You know shit happens
so much these days

you can turn it into
a drinking game.

Every time somebody goes off
into a school or workplace

and shoots up a bunch of
people, take a shot of vodka.

But, when you're in
the center of it,

vodka shots won't help.

You might find yourself
beaten half to death

in a ditch outside
of Jefferson Park,

which is where I was
when Wilma saved me,

so don't do that.

Before I began my studies
with Wilma Benson,

I didn't have a
picture of my parents

or a girlfriend on my dresser.

I had an 8x10 of Warren Buffett

that I talked to each morning
while preparing for work.

"Good morning, Mr. Buffett.

Today I'm gonna do something
to make you proud."

I had pocket sized
pics in my wallet

of Bill Gates and Bloomberg.

I named my fantasy
football team Greenspan.

I voted Republican because
that's what rich people did,

and I intended to be rich.

I made love to my
girlfriend while listening

to David Bach's "Automatic
Millionaire" on CD.

And when I really wanted to
get kinky, I played Suze Orman.

Y'know money has
always been at the

core of the American dream.

Before the housing bubble burst,

I made a shit-ton of
money selling that dream

to folks who look just like you.

The crooked broker
who suckered people

into loans they couldn't afford.

I was that guy.

Started at the bottom,
worked my way to the top.

Went from working for the
banks to contracting with them.

It was the wild, wild west,

and I was Clint with
the Stogie hanging out

the side of his mouth,
trigger finger itching.

I came to collect the bounties.

That's what I called
subprime loans,

'cause we got a bonus
for each one we made.

And Black and Latino communities
were the best targets.

And we pushed those fucked
up loans there the hardest

because nobody gives a
damn about what you do

to Black and Latino communities.

And as far as my conscience,
I found that new cars,

sex with beautiful women,
good coke, single malt Scotch,

and Cuban cigars can
clean the conscience

better than ammonia
can eradicate piss
from a toilet seat.

I met Alonzo Price
at a church picnic.

His daughter and son-in-law
had died in a car accident

not too long before,

and now he and his wife,

both in their sixties,
were raising their boy.

And so I talked to Price about
securing the boy's future,

a college education, a
nest egg the kid could have

to start life with
something to lean on

when Price and his
wife had transitioned.

Once I had the hook
in, I talked Price

into taking a second
mortgage out on his home.

And you know what he said to me

after we made that deal?

Mr. Green, I know your parents
are mighty proud of you.

Four years later,
he lost the house,

and the stress of
which caused his wife

to have a heart attack, so.

"There are other worlds
they have not told you of.

Okay?

There are other worlds
they have not told you of.

There are other worlds
they have not told you of.

Wrap your mind in the
peace that is Saturn.

Wrap your mind in the
peace that is Saturn.

Wrap your mind in the
peace that is Saturn.

Peace, Saturn.

Peace, Saturn.

"Abel Green, you
lousy son of a bitch,

get your ass out here now!"

I heard Price from
the men's room.

I was in the stall
doing a line of coke

and it wasn't even 12.

My secretary Mary
Bingham was dead.

There were three more shots.

Frank Red in accounts,

Tom Pedelton, our IT specialist,

and Esther in Human
Resources, all dead,

as I sat, hiding
in the restroom.

Felt like two lifetimes passed

before Alonzo finally walked in.

"I know your ass
somewhere, Green."

He began going
through the stalls.

But when the sirens howling
from the street grew louder,

he knew he didn't
have much time.

He ran past the men's room
and there was one more shot.

The police found his body
outside of my office door.

When I met Wilma Benson,

I was trying to end my life.

I rented a room
at a cheap motel,

drank an entire bottle
of Johnny Walker Red.

My plan was to hang
myself in the closet.

I stood on the chair, put
the noose around my neck,

when I heard this banging
and crunching noise

coming from the alley outside.

And I got down to look,

and there was this
homeless woman

with a bunch of coats on

rummaging through the
dumpster for cans,

stamping them flat, putting
them in a large trash bag.

And I yelled down,

would you stop making
all that damn noise?

And she looked up
and hollered back.

"I freed a thousand slaves

and I could have
freed a thousand more

if they only knew they
were slaves."

And she went back
to smashing cans

and putting them in the bag.

Now I raced down after her.

I don't know what I was thinking

or what I was planning to
do, but I followed her.

And when we reached the
outskirts of Jefferson Park

where a lot of homeless lived,

I realized I was
being followed too.

And right before
Wilma made it over

the last dip in the field,

my stalkers
announced themselves.

One administered the beating,

while the other went
through my pockets.

I started to lose
consciousness but,

I felt so relieved.

If they killed me I no
longer had to see the faces

of my dead friends or
Alonzo or his grandson,

who is now in the
foster care system.

But they didn't kill me.

Someone lifted my first
attacker off the ground,

and threw him face
first into a pine tree

like a paper airplane.

The other attacker
swung, my hero ducked,

lifted that guy, twirled
him a couple of times

and tossed him too.

I squinted through my swollen
eyes to get a better look and,

it was Wilma,

this little bitty
Black homeless woman.

And she picked me up,
threw me over her shoulder,

and I blacked out.

When I woke, I was
in a lean-to tent.

There were a couple of cots
and books scattered about.

And the one lying on her pillow

was a biography
of Harriet Tubman.

I got up and went outside

and there was this
structure like 14 feet high,

made outta tin cans
hammered into wooden beams.

And there was Wilma
hammering on the platform.

And she told me her Earth
name was Wilma Benson,

that she was from Saturn

and the structure
she was building

was a spaceship to return home.

So yeah, like you, I thought
she was batshit crazy.

But when she called me over
and handed me a hammer, I went

and while I hammered
away at those cans,

I didn't think about Price,

or the death of my friends

or drugs or alcohol.

The only thing that mattered

was hammering those cans
into that wooden frame.

And from the time I
nailed the first can

to the moment we stopped,

I existed in a complete
state of calm and peace.

Peace like I never felt before.

And I didn't understand why,

but the only thing that
mattered was, it was.

Then it began to rain.

I spent the night with
the woman in the lean-to,

and she told me about Saturn.

Delusional, deranged,
I don't know,

but that night I
dreamed of Saturn

like I was dreaming in HD.

I spent the next three weeks
living with Wilma in that tent.

In the morning we'd
collect the cans.

In the afternoon, we hammered
them onto the structure.

And out of the blue one
day, she said to me,

"You have to forgive yourself.

If you don't,

Saturn will always be
beyond your reach."

I began to cry.

Wilma picked me up,

rocked me in her arms
until I fell asleep.

When I woke,

Wilma was gone.

I got up and went outside and

the structure we had
built had disappeared.

I mean, this thing was huge.

There's no way it
could have been moved

without making hella noise.

I never said what the fuck

so many times in a single day.

I went and asked the
other homeless people

who slept there, what they saw.

And they all looked at
me like I was crazy,

even the crazy ones,

like there was never a Wilma,

like there was never a
big ass wooden edifice

with tin cans hammered onto it.

I went back to the tent,

and I saw this written on
it in big gold letters.

Let me show you.

Every great dream
begins with a dreamer.

Always remember, you
have the strength,

the patience and the passion.

Reach for the stars

to change the world.

I left Jefferson
Park that night.

The next day I
liquidated all my assets.

I closed all my accounts.

The wealth I had left over,

I anonymously sent to
the families I destroyed,

the ones I could locate anyway.

And then I went back
to my McMansion,

beautiful home bought with money

stolen from people's dreams.

I went through every room,

doused the curtains with
gasoline, struck a match,

walked away from my burning
house and didn't look back.

That was seven years ago.

Today, I live on the streets.

I, um,

I work odd jobs.

I have everything
I need to survive.

I'm free now.

And somewhere in this purging,

I found the courage
to forgive myself,

not forget what I've caused,
but to move beyond it.

And some nights, I sit
out underneath the stars

and I wonder what Wilma's doing.

I'm tired of that now.

I've decided to go visit her,

to visit Saturn.

Not to stay,

just to see for myself

and thank Wilma for
all she's taught me.

That's what these
cans are about.

I'm gonna build a spaceship
just like Wilma Benson,

and then I'm gonna sit
down in the middle of it,

let my drums speak my heart,

and wait for the
universe to answer.