Pride

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  You try everybody and everything within range, provided they are ignorant of the revelation. It was in this fashion that I found myself sitting in the busheling room of my father’s establishment, reading aloud to the Jews who were working there. Reading to them from this new Bible in the way that Paul must have talked to the disciples. With the added disadvantage, to be sure, that these poor Jew bastards could not read the English language. Primarily I was directing myself toward Bunchek the cutter, who had a rabbinical mind. Opening the book I would pick a passage at random and read it to them in a transposed English almost as primitive as pidgin English. Then I would attempt to explain, choosing for example and analogy the things they were familiar with. It was amazing to me how well they understood, how much better they understood, let me say, than a college professor or a literary man or any educated man. Naturally what they understood had nothing to do finally with Bergson’s book, as a book, but was not that the purpose of such a book as this? My understanding of the meaning of a book is that the book itself disappears from sight, that it is chewed alive, digested and incorporated into the system as flesh and blood which in turn creates new spirit and reshapes the world. It was a great communion feast which we shared in the reading of this book and the outstanding feature of it was the chapter on Disorder which, having penetrated me through and through, has endowed me with such a marvelous sense of order that if a comet suddenly struck the earth and jarred everything out of place, stood everything upside down, turned everything inside out, I could orient myself to the new order in the twinkling of an eye. I have no fear or illusions about disorder any more than I have of death. The labyrinth is my happy hunting ground and the deeper I burrow into the maze the more oriented I become. With Creative Evolution under my arm I board the elevated line at the Brooklyn Bridge after work and I commence the journey homeward toward the cemetery. Sometimes I get on at Delancey Street, the very heart of the ghetto, after a long walk through the crowded streets. I enter the elevated line below the ground, like a worm being pushed through the intestines. I know each time I take my place in the crowd which mills about the platform that I am the most unique individual down there. I look upon everything which is happening about me like a spectator from another planet. My language, my world, is under my arm. I am the guardian of a great secret; if I were to open my mouth and talk I would tie up traffic.

• From The History of Christianity II: From the Reformation to the Modern Megachurch (2017)

  CHURCH ORGANIZATION õ Every grown man in good standing in the LDS Church becomes a priest; it’s a rite of passage, like a bar mitzvah for Jews. For a long time, up until 1978, black men could not become priests. At present, women cannot be priests, although a small group of feminists within the church is pushing to change that. õ Each Mormon meetinghouse is led by a man called a bishop. He serves the church until the church leaders appoint someone else. õ The LDS Church was autocratic from the start and remains very hierarchical. The structure is complicated, but at the head of the church is the president, who chooses two counsellors. Together they are called the First Presidency. Below them is the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. õ An important element of Mormonism is going on a mission. Every healthy young man is supposed to go on a mission when he’s 18 for two years. In recent years, women have been encouraged to go at age 19 for slightly shorter missions. 178 The History of Christianity II õ The main point is to convert people to the Mormon faith. But Mormon missions are also a rite of passage, a challenging experience that many Mormons go through and that bonds them together. GROWTH õ A fundamental question about Mormonism is this: Why has the LDS Church grown so quickly? õ Part of the answer is the church’s early leadership. Smith was a religious genius. First-hand reports of what he was like in person make it clear that he had amazing charisma. He also addressed people’s frustrations in a way that existing churches did not. Additionally, Brigham Young was a great organizer and leader. õ The second big reason is the church’s devotion to missions. The third is that Mormons emphasize family, so they have a lot of children. õ The last reason is that Mormons have created a very distinctive culture that instills an intense sense of loyalty and commitment in church members. Being Mormon is not like being a member of most other Christian denominations. It’s a much stronger identity. õ Some observers have called Mormonism the ultimate American religion, a pioneer faith that emphasizes free will and family. Heaven is the ultimate homestead: Mormons seek the place where righteous families become gods, beget their own “spirit children” just as the Heavenly Father begot them, and live together as an eternal family. Lecture 18—The Mormons: A True American Faith 179

• From The History of Christianity II: From the Reformation to the Modern Megachurch (2017)

  178The History of Christianity II CHURCH ORGANIZATION õEvery grown man in good standing in the LDS Church becomes a priest; it’s a rite of passage, like a bar mitzvah for Jews. For a long time, up until 1978, black men could not become priests. At present, women cannot be priests, although a small group of feminists within the church is pushing to change that. õEach Mormon meetinghouse is led by a man called a bishop. He serves the church until the church leaders appoint someone else. õThe LDS Church was autocratic from the start and remains very hierarchical. The structure is complicated, but at the head of the church is the president, who chooses two counsellors. Together they are called the First Presidency. Below them is the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. õAn important element of Mormonism is going on a mission. Every healthy young man is supposed to go on a mission when he’s 18 for two years. In recent years, women have been encouraged to go at age 19 for slightly shorter missions. 179Lecture 18—The Mormons: A True American Faith õThe main point is to convert people to the Mormon faith. But Mormon missions are also a rite of passage, a challenging experience that many Mormons go through and that bonds them together. GROWTH õA fundamental question about Mormonism is this: Why has the LDS Church grown so quickly? õPart of the answer is the church’s early leadership. Smith was a religious genius. First-hand reports of what he was like in person make it clear that he had amazing charisma. He also addressed people’s frustrations in a way that existing churches did not. Additionally, Brigham Young was a great organizer and leader. õThe second big reason is the church’s devotion to missions. The third is that Mormons emphasize family, so they have a lot of children. õThe last reason is that Mormons have created a very distinctive culture that instills an intense sense of loyalty and commitment in church members. Being Mormon is not like being a member of most other Christian denominations. It’s a much stronger identity. õSome observers have called Mormonism the ultimate American religion, a pioneer faith that emphasizes free will and family. Heaven is the ultimate homestead: Mormons seek the place where righteous families become gods, beget their own “spirit children” just as the Heavenly Father begot them, and live together as an eternal family.

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  In the hood, everybody knows who the best dancer in the crew is. He’s like your status symbol. When you’re poor you don’t have cars or nice clothes, but the best dancer gets girls, so that’s the guy you want to roll with. Hitler was our guy. There were parties with dance competitions. Kids from every neighborhood would come and bring their best dancers. We’d always bring Hitler, and he almost always won. When Bongani and I put together a routine for our dance crew, there was no question who was going to be the star attraction. We built the whole set around Hitler. I’d warm the crowd up with a few songs, then the dancers would come out and do a couple of numbers. Once they’d gotten the party started, they’d fan out to form a semicircle around the stage with a gap in the back for Hitler to enter. I’d crank up Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” and start whipping the crowd up even more. “Are you ready?! I can’t hear you! Let me hear you make some noise!” People would start screaming, and Hitler would jump into the middle of the semicircle and the crowd would lose it. Hitler would do his thing while the guys circled around him, shouting him on. “Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler!” And because this was hip-hop, the crew would do that thing where you shoot your arm out in front of you with your palm flat, bopping it up and down to the beat. “Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler!” We’d have the whole crowd in a frenzy, a thousand people in the street chanting along with their hands in the air. “Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler!” — Hitler, although an unusual name, is not unheard-of in South Africa. Part of it has to do with the way a lot of black people pick names. Black people choose their traditional names with great care; those are the names that have deeply personal meanings. But from colonial times through the days of apartheid, black people in South Africa were required to have an English or European name as well—a name that white people could pronounce, basically. So you had your English name, your traditional name, and your last name: Patricia Nombuyiselo Noah. Nine times out of ten, your European name was chosen at random, plucked from the Bible or taken from a Hollywood celebrity or a famous politician in the news. I know guys named after Mussolini and Napoleon. And, of course, Hitler.

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  I’m strong and healthy, ain’t I?” he shouts, and to prove it he picks up a chair with his good arm and smashes it to bits. I get back to the desk and there’s a telegram lying there for me. I open it. It’s from George Blasini, exmessenger No. 2459 of S.W. office. “I am sorry that I had to quit so soon, but the job was not fitted for my character idleness and I am a true lover of labor and frugality but many a time we be unable to control or subdue our personal pride.” Shit! In the beginning I was enthusiastic, despite the damper above and the clamps below. I had ideas and I executed them, whether it pleased the vice-president or not. Every ten days or so I was put on the carpet and lectured for having “too big a heart.” I never had any money in my pocket but I used other people’s money freely. As long as I was the boss I had credit. I gave money away right and left; I gave my clothes away and my linen, my books, everything that was superfluous. If I had had the power I would have given the company away to the poor buggers who pestered me. If I was asked for a dime I gave a half dollar, if I was asked for a dollar I gave five. I didn’t give a fuck how much I gave away, because it was easier to borrow and give than to refuse the poor devils. I never saw such an aggregation of misery in my life, and I hope I’ll never see it again. Men are poor everywhere—they always have been and they always will be. And beneath the terrible poverty there is a flame, usually so low that it is almost invisible. But it is there and if one has the courage to blow on it it can become a conflagration. I was constantly urged not to be too lenient, not to be too sentimental, not to be too charitable. Be firm! Be hard! they cautioned me. Fuck that! I said to myself, I’ll be generous, pliant, forgiving, tolerant, tender. In the beginning I heard every man to the end; if I couldn’t give him a job I gave him money, and if I had no money I gave him cigarettes or I gave him courage. But I gave! The effect was dizzying. Nobody can estimate the results of a good deed, of a kind word.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  He squeezed harder. She jammed her elbows into his sides and he made a meek “whoof” noise. He dropped his arms, panting. “God, you’re strong. How did such a small person get so strong?” She grinned like a wolf. “I dunno.” She let go and rolled off, and padded into the bathroom. He followed her. “Are you a gymnast? A dancer?” “No. I used to work out with weights in school.” She dabbed between her legs with a nubbly white washcloth. “University?” “Yeah.” She grabbed a fat economy-size jar of mentholated mouthwash, threw her head back and dumped a big splash into her mouth. Her cheeks worked vigorously as she sloshed it to and fro. “Do you show your strength in the way you deal with people? I mean, outside of this place?” She spat a green burst of mouthwash into the sink and looked at him. “Yeah. I do.” “How do you make them aware of it?” She leaned against the sink, facing him with her arms behind her, her face thoughtful and soft. “I just…don’t let people sway my thinking. I don’t mold myself to fit what other people think I am.” She came forward and put her arms around him. “It’s interesting that you find strength in women attractive.” “Why?” “Don’t most older men like passive, dependent women?” “Oh, that’s an awful stereotype. Don’t believe it.” “Is your wife a strong woman?” “Yes, she is.” “Is she a lawyer too?” “No. She’s an antiquarian. She’s got a small rare-book business.” “Did you meet her in college?” “Yes. She studied art history and Latin. I was very impressed by that.” “Was she the first person you had sex with?” “Almost.” “I bet that’s why you see prostitutes.” She let go of him and hurried to get dressed. The outermost flesh of her backside jiggled as she balanced on one spike heel and stuck the other through a leg of her underpants. “What do you mean?” “You had so little chance to screw around when you were young. You’re trying to get it now.” Her fingers were flying over the tiny buttons of her checked dress. “You know, I think you’re writing a book. That’s what you’re doing here. You’re one of those journalists doing undercover work on prostitution.” She smiled miserably. “No.” “What do you do, besides work here? I think you do something. Am I right?” “Of course I do something.” She said “do” very sarcastically. She trotted to the mirror and got out her shiny silver lipstick case. “What? What do you do?” He came toward her. “I don’t like to talk about it here.”

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  Perhaps one does it just because nobody believes; perhaps the real secret lies in making people believe. That the book was inadequate, faulty, bad, terrible, as they said, was only natural. I was attempting at the start what a man of genius would have undertaken only at the end. I wanted to say the last word at the beginning. It was absurd and pathetic. It was a crushing defeat, but it put iron in my backbone and sulphur in my blood. I knew at least what it was to fail. I knew what it was to attempt something big. Today, when I think of the circumstances under which I wrote that book, when I think of the overwhelming material which I tried to put into form, when I think of what I hoped to encompass, I pat myself on the back, I give myself a double A. I am proud of the fact that I made such a miserable failure of it; had I succeeded I would have been a monster. Sometimes, when I look over my notebooks, when I look at the names alone of those whom I thought to write about, I am seized with vertigo. Each man came to me with a world of his own; he came to me and unloaded it on my desk; he expected me to pick it up and put it on my shoulders. I had no time to make a world of my own: I had to stay fixed like Atlas, my feet on the elephant’s back and the elephant on the tortoise’s back. To inquire on what the tortoise stood would be to go mad. I didn’t dare to think of anything then except the “facts.” To get beneath the facts I would have had to be an artist, and one doesn’t become an artist overnight. First you have to be crushed, to have your conflicting points of view annihilated. You have to be wiped out as a human being in order to be born again an individual. You have to be carbonized and mineralized in order to work upwards from the last common denominator of the self. You have to get beyond pity in order to feel from the very roots of your being. One can’t make a new heaven and earth with “facts.” There are no “facts”—there is only the fact that man, every man everywhere in the world, is on his way to ordination. Some men take the long route and some take the short route. Every man is working out his destiny in his own way and nobody can be of help except by being kind, generous and patient. In my enthusiasm certain things were then inexplicable to me which now are clear. I think, for example, of Carnahan, one of the twelve little men I had chosen to write about. He was what is called a model messenger. He was a graduate of a prominent university, had a sound intelligence and was of exemplary character.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  Whenever I think of someone trying to harm him—any of my children really, but especially him—I picture myself turning into a mother tiger and lashing out. I would do anything to protect him.” “Why would you think of anyone trying to harm him?” asked Lily. “Just out of the blue?” She woke up feeling guilty and frightened and angry at Lily. She dimly tried to sort it out. Why should she feel any of these things? The doctors hadn’t tried to tie her tubes. There had been no conversation with Lily. She went back to sleep. When Daniel was sixteen, he had another girlfriend. She was another small girl, with dark hair and light-brown glasses. She wrote poetry and talked a lot about feminism. Virginia still had a snapshot of them on their way to the junior prom. The girl looked embarrassed and distressed in her gown and corsage. Daniel was indifferently handsome. — Charles became a delicate, pretty adolescent. His eyes were large and green and long-lashed, his neck slender. He slouched like an arrogant little cat. Girls got crushes on him, they called and asked to speak to him in scared, high-pitched voices. He was rude to them and hung up. The only girl he liked was a homely, jittery kid who wore a leather jacket and bleached her hair. But that ended when the girl was sent to some kind of institution. — Camille got married a month after she graduated. She and Kevin flew to New Jersey for the wedding. They posed for snapshots in the den. They were radiant against the jumbled background of random shoes and scattered newspapers. Everybody walked around the house talking and laughing and eating hunks of white cake. Kevin’s father shook hands with Jarold. Kevin’s mother helped in the kitchen. Camille and Kevin went to Spain for their honeymoon. Then they moved to New York and got jobs. Camille wrote letters on heavy gray stationery with “Dr. and Mrs. Kevin Spaulding” printed across the top. — Magdalen was married the following spring. She married a Southern lawyer whom she had waited on in the health-food restaurant. “Wouldn’t you know it?” said Anne. “She probably did it to shock you. She couldn’t have Camille getting all the attention.” “It’s what she wanted all along,” said Betty. “A daddy.” John was ten years older than Magdalen. He was broad-shouldered and slow-moving, with lazy gray eyes. Magdalen cuddled against him, her hand quiet on his lapel. Jarold watched them with deep approval. It relaxed him to talk about them or look at them. Virginia was happy that Magdalen had found someone normal to take care of her. She was proud of her daughter’s wedding beauty and of her successful husband. She enjoyed a smug feeling of vindication now that Magdalen had come to such a conventional end.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  Virginia would see a beam of light in the driveway, then hear a car door slam and muffled voices. The door would bang and Charles would appear, nimbly swaggering in his frayed knickers and flapping sleeves. He’d grab something to eat from the kitchen and wheel into the den, yelling his lines in a mocking voice. “You see, sir, I don’t think my mother would like me to be a pirate. Would your mother like you to be a pirate, Slightly?” She went to the play on opening night and sat in the front row with Jarold and Daniel. Charles was vibrant on stage. His airy movements had more authority than anyone else’s in the cast, except the lead. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. The pale little girl playing Wendy lay fainting before him in her white nightgown, her long brown hair fanned across his feet. He said, “When ladies used to come to me in dreams I said, ‘Pretty mother, pretty mother.’ But when at last she really came, I shot her.” Tears came to her eyes. She looked at Jarold and saw him smiling and blinking rapidly. Charles said, “I know I am just Tootles and nobody minds me. But the first who does not behave to Wendy like an English gentleman, I will blood him severely.” When the play ended, Virginia went to the dressing room. It was an old classroom with heavy wooden mirrors propped against the walls and cardboard boxes full of makeup and cold cream on the desks. Children were leaping around the room, chattering and singing songs from the play in sarcastic voices. They were bright-eyed and demonic when seen up close. Virginia saw Charles. She saw him dip his hand into a jar of cold cream, turn and slap it across a timid-looking girl’s face. The girl smiled painfully and tried to laugh. Another girl pointed at her and laughed. Charles turned away. — She dreamed of a conversation with Lily. They were sitting at the kitchen table with cups of tea before them. She said, “After I had Daniel, the doctors told me that I shouldn’t have any more children. They said it would be unsafe. I was lying there in the hospital when they came in and announced, ‘While we’ve got you here, we’re going to tie your tubes.’ And I said, ‘Oh, no, you’re not.’ I wouldn’t let them do it, and the next year I had Charles.” She smiled foolishly at Lily. The dream-Lily smiled back. “Charles is a beautiful boy,” she said. “I think he may be a genius in a way people don’t yet understand.” “Don’t ever tell Daniel or Jarold I said this, but Charles is my favorite child.

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  I worked as a middleman for Bolo and Andrew for a year. Then Bolo left school; the rumor was that his parents got arrested. From that point on I worked for Andrew, and then as he was about to matriculate he decided to quit the game. “Trevor,” he told me, “you’ve been a loyal partner.” And, as thanks, he bequeathed unto me his CD writer. At the time, black people barely had access to computers, let’s start there. But a CD writer? That was the stuff of lore. It was mythical. The day Andrew gave it to me, he changed my life. Thanks to him, I now controlled production, sales, distribution—I had everything I needed to lock down the bootleg business. I was a natural capitalist. I loved selling stuff, and I was selling something that everybody wanted and nobody else could provide. I sold my discs for 30 rand, around $3. A regular CD in the store cost 100 to 150 rand. Once people started buying from me, they wouldn’t buy real CDs ever again—the deal was too good. I had an instinct for business, but at the time I knew nothing about music, which was odd for someone running a music-pirating business. The only music I knew, still, was Christian music from church, the only music allowed in my mother’s house. The CD writer Andrew gave me was a 1x CD writer, which meant it copied at the speed it played. Every day I’d leave school, go to my room, and sit for five to six hours, copying CDs. I had my own surround-sound system built with old car speakers I’d salvaged from the junkers Abel kept in the yard, and I strung them up around the room. Even though I had to sit there while each CD played, for a long time I didn’t really listen to them. I knew it was against the dealer’s code: Never get high on your own supply. Thanks to the Internet, I could get anyone anything. I never judged anyone’s taste in music. You wanted the new Nirvana, I got you the new Nirvana. You wanted the new DMX, I got you the new DMX. Local South African music was big, but black American music was what people were desperate for, hip-hop and R&B. Jagged Edge was huge. 112 was huge. I sold a lot of Montell Jordan. So much Montell Jordan. When I started, I had a dial-up connection and a 24k modem. It would take a day to download an album. But technology kept evolving, and I kept reinvesting in the business. I upgraded to a 56k modem. I got faster CD writers, multiple CD writers. I started downloading more, copying more, selling more. That’s when I got two middlemen of my own, my friend Tom, who went to Northview, and my friend Bongani, who lived in Alex.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I smiled. “I’m so proud of you.” Theresa studied my face. “Really? I was afraid you'd think it was a really stupid thing to do.” I shook my head. “You were really brave.” “T was very scared,” she sighed. I smiled. “Somebody once told me that being brave means doing what you gotta do even though you're scared.” Theresa looked up at me. “Do you get scared, Jess?” Her question stunned me. “Are you kidding? Pm scared all the time.” She nodded. “I thought you must be, but this is the first time you’ve ever said it to me.” “Really? Don’t I talk to you about how I feel?” Theresa bit her lower lip and shook her head. My face burned. “I thought you knew.” She nodded. “I do know—sometimes, most of the time. But you never talk about it.” I sighed. “I don’t have any words, honey. I don’t know how to talk about what I feel. I don’t know if I even feel things like other people do.” Peaches gently pulled Theresa away from me. “C’mon y’all. We’re gonna buy Georgetta and Theresa drinks till they can’t stand up.” Ed arrived at the bar twenty minutes later. “I missed it?” she shouted. “Oh, shit. Why couldn’t I have been here?” I laughed. “Be glad you weren't. It could have gone another way. It was right on the edge.” Jan clapped me on the shoulder. “Yeah, but the femmes showed them tonight— don’t mess with us. It was like what happened in Greenwich Village a couple of weeks ago.” I frowned. “What happened?” “Stonewall!”? Grant shouted. I looked at Ed and shrugged. Jan grinned. “The cops tried to raid a bar in Greenwich Village, but they got a fight instead. The drag queens and he-shes really kicked ass.” Grant laughed. “I heard they tried to burn the bar down with the cops barricaded inside.” I sighed. “Shit, I wish I had been there.” “Yeah,” Ed thumped her fist on the bar, “that’s how I feel about missing what happened tonight.” | My friends converged on me the moment I set foot inside Abba’s. Ed looked as excited as I was. “‘Let’s see the ring!” she said. I looked around. “Is Theresa here yet?” Ed shook her head. “Not yet. C’mon, hurry up.” I pulled the silk handkerchief out of my inside jacket pocket and opened it. The gold band was studded with a tiny diamond and two small ruby chips. Everyone made the same sound at once. Oooh! Ed patted me on the shoulder. “How long you two been together?” “Close to two years.” Ed laughed. “And how long you had that ring on layaway?” I smiled and shrugged. “A long damn time. Is everybody ready?” Edwin nodded. “Jan and Frankie are in the bathroom getting ready. They couldn’t get white dinner jackets so we all got cream color. Is that OK?”

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  The only thing I was missing was my own CD writer, because it was the most expensive component. At the time a CD writer cost as much as the rest of the computer, nearly 2,000 rand. I worked as a middleman for Bolo and Andrew for a year. Then Bolo left school; the rumor was that his parents got arrested. From that point on I worked for Andrew, and then as he was about to matriculate he decided to quit the game. “Trevor,” he told me, “you’ve been a loyal partner.” And, as thanks, he bequeathed unto me his CD writer. At the time, black people barely had access to computers, let’s start there. But a CD writer? That was the stuff of lore. It was mythical. The day Andrew gave it to me, he changed my life. Thanks to him, I now controlled production, sales, distribution—I had everything I needed to lock down the bootleg business. I was a natural capitalist. I loved selling stuff, and I was selling something that everybody wanted and nobody else could provide. I sold my discs for 30 rand, around $3. A regular CD in the store cost 100 to 150 rand. Once people started buying from me, they wouldn’t buy real CDs ever again—the deal was too good. I had an instinct for business, but at the time I knew nothing about music, which was odd for someone running a music-pirating business. The only music I knew, still, was Christian music from church, the only music allowed in my mother’s house. The CD writer Andrew gave me was a 1x CD writer, which meant it copied at the speed it played. Every day I’d leave school, go to my room, and sit for five to six hours, copying CDs. I had my own surround-sound system built with old car speakers I’d salvaged from the junkers Abel kept in the yard, and I strung them up around the room. Even though I had to sit there while each CD played, for a long time I didn’t really listen to them. I knew it was against the dealer’s code: Never get high on your own supply. Thanks to the Internet, I could get anyone anything. I never judged anyone’s taste in music. You wanted the new Nirvana, I got you the new Nirvana. You wanted the new DMX, I got you the new DMX. Local South African music was big, but black American music was what people were desperate for, hip-hop and R&B. Jagged Edge was huge. 112 was huge. I sold a lot of Montell Jordan. So much Montell Jordan. When I started, I had a dial-up connection and a 24k modem. It would take a day to download an album. But technology kept evolving, and I kept reinvesting in the business.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  90 Leslie Feinberg Jan shook my hand. Duffy clapped me on the back. “Atta girl’ Sammy, the truck driver, patted my shoulder. “He’s a jerk.” Walter, the repairman, caught my eyes and nodded his head once in my direction. “Alright,” Jack yelled as he turned the machinery back on, “get back to work, all of you.” None of us would have attended the union picnic if it wasn't for Duffy. It was his idea that I should organize all the butches to come. “And you can bring all your girlfriends,” he added. “Jess, do you have a girlfriend?” The look on my face answered him. I knew he was just trying to get to know me better, but that was not a great place to start. “Jess,” he said, “did I say it right? Gzr/friends, 1 mean.” I laughed. “You’re alright, Duffy.” The other butches weren’t all that wild about coming, but Jan understood it would be a breakthrough and she promised her lover, Edna, would come as well. Once Jan said yes, the other butches agreed. We brought our baseball equipment. Once Abba’s reopened in the spring we had formed the Abba Dabba Do’s softball team. Jan and Edna and I sat under a tree. Duffy brought us bottles of beer. “I like him,” Edna said, after he left. I smiled. “I do too.” Jan patted my shoulder and told Edna, “The kid’s becoming a real union organizer.” “Aw, Iam not,’ I demurred. “Hey, kid,” Jan told me. “We can use all the unity we can get. You been doing real good on this job trying to hold everything together. Take a few bows, OK?” I swelled with pride. Edna stood up. “I need a cup,” she said. I studied Jan as she watched Edna walk away. Her face was filled with pain. ’d unconsciously noticed the weight of Jan’s sadness lately, but I hadn’t really thought about it. Jan looked at me, and she let me see a little further into her eyes than usual. I tried to show her how much I cared about her before I spoke. “You OK?” I asked her. Jan shook her head slowly. “TI think I’m losing her,” she said. My stomach clenched. Jan slapped my thigh. “T’m gonna get another beer, you want one?” I stood up with her. “No, but,” I rested my hand on her arm, “if you ever need to talk, you know ...” Jan smiled and walked away. Duffy sat down next to me. “Hey, Jess, you’re the only one I know who I could ask this question.” I felt flattered. “T wanted to ask you about Ethel and Laverne,” Duffy said. I looked around. “Are they here?” Duffy shook his head. “Too bad,” I told him, “TI always wanted to meet theit husbands.” Duffy spoke carefully. “What’s the story with Ethel and Laverne? Are they lovers?” “Naw, they’re both married. You know that.” Duffy fumbled for words. “Yeah, but aren’t they butches?”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I shrugged. “It was hard. I talked to Jan first. She said pretty much the same thing I did to you—we shouldn’t be fighting each other. But she agreed Grant could be a real pain.” Theresa led me to the couch. “Did you talk to Meg?” “Yeah. Jan came with me. We talked to Meg before everyone else showed up to the meeting, I told Meg even if she barred the Black butches and queens that wasn’t gonna keep the peace because I would have jumped in Grant’s face over the shit she said, 138 = Leslie Feinberg too. Jan backed me up.” Theresa smiled. “Did you mention me?” I laughed. “Not at that point. I told Meg by the time she excludes everyone who might be offended by Grant when she’s drunk, she may as well shut down the bar. I said it would make more sense to bar Grant when she’s plowed.” Theresa nodded. I lit a cigarette. “So?” she urged. “Then what?” I sighed. “T said it wasn’t just about me and Ed being friends. I told Meg I didn’t think she handled it right. She said she’s got a business to run. I said I know that, but I wouldn’t go to an all-white bar.” Theresa slapped my shoulder. “Good for you, goddamn it. Right on!” “Anyway, when Grant got there she apologized for taking out her anger at her brother’s death on everybody else.” Theresa nodded. “Good.” I shook my head. “Well, it wasn’t enough, really. She wouldn’t say she was sorry for the racist shit she said. Grant shook Ed’s hand. Ed told me to let it go for now.” Theresa jiggled my arm. “Did you and Ed talk?” I smiled. “Yeah, we went over to her house afterward. I told Edwin I love her—she’s my friend. I said the world was changing faster than I am and I needed to do some catching up in order to understand. Ed talked to me for a couple of hours.” Theresa began kneading my shoulders. It felt so damn good. “What did she talk about?” I tried to remember. “So much stuff that it’s hard for me to put it all together and tell you. You know, I always fall back on assuming that what Ed and I deal with every day as butches is pretty much the same, you know? Ed reminded me about what she faces every day that I don’t.” Theresa smiled and nodded. “What did you say?” I shook my head. “I didn’t say anything. I listened as hard as I could. Look what Ed gave me.” I showed Theresa the copy of The Souls of Black Folk by WE.B. Du Bois. Theresa read the inscription: To my friend, Jess—Love, Edwin. Ed dotted the 7 in her name with a little heart.

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  Selling slowly evolved into hustling because Bongani saw all the angles and knew how to exploit them. Like Tom, Bongani was a hustler. But where Tom was only about the short con, Bongani had schemes: If we do this, we get that, then we can flip that for the other thing, which gives us the leverage we need to get something bigger. Some minibus drivers couldn’t pay up front, for example. “I don’t have the money, because I’ve just started my shift,” they’d say. “But I need new music. Can I owe you guys some form of credit? I’ll owe you a ride. I’ll pay you at the end of my shift, at the end of the week?” So we started letting drivers buy on credit, charging them a bit of interest. We started making more money. Never more than a few hundred, maybe a thousand rand at a time, but it was all cash on hand. Bongani was quick to realize the position we were in. Cash is the one thing everyone in the hood needs. Everyone’s looking for a short-term loan for something, to pay a bill or pay a fine or just hold things together. People started coming to us and asking for money. Bongani would cut a deal, and then he’d come to me. “Yo, we’re going to make a deal with this guy. We’re going to loan him a hundred, and he’s going to give us back one-twenty at the end of the week.” I’d say okay. Then the guy would come back and give us 120 rand. Then we did it again. Then we did it some more. We started to double our money, then triple our money. Cash gave us leverage in the hood’s barter economy as well. It’s common knowledge that if you’re standing at a corner of a main street in the hood, somebody’s going to try to sell you something. “Yo, yo, yo, man. You want some weed?” “You wanna buy a VCR?” “You wanna buy a DVD player?” “Yo, I’m selling a TV.” That’s just how it works. Let’s say we see two guys haggling on the corner, a crackhead trying to sell a DVD player and some working dude who wants it but doesn’t have the money because he hasn’t got his wages yet. They’re going back and forth, but the crackhead wants the money now. Crackheads don’t wait. There’s no layaway plan with a crackhead. So Bongani steps in and takes the working guy aside. “Look, I understand you can’t pay for the DVD player now,” Bongani says. “But how much are you willing to pay for it?” “I’ll pay one-twenty,” he says. “Okay, cool.” Then Bongani takes the crackhead aside. “How much do you want for the DVD player?” “I want one-forty.” “Okay, listen. You’re a crackhead. This is a stolen DVD player. I’m going to give you fifty.”

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  Always, when we came forward in a group, I was signaled to stand apart; from birth I was favored that way, and, no matter what tribulations I went through, I knew they were not fatal or lasting. Also, another strange thing took place in me whenever I was called to stand forth. I knew that I was superior to the man who was summoning me! The tremendous humility which I practiced was not hypocritical but a condition provoked by the realization of the fateful character of the situation. The intelligence which I possessed, even as a stripling, frightened me; it was the intelligence of a “savage,” which is always superior to that of civilized men in that it is more adequate to the exigencies of circumstance. It is a life intelligence, even though life has seemingly passed them by. I felt almost as if I had been shot forward into a round of existence which for the rest of mankind had not yet attained its full rhythm. I was obliged to mark time if I were to remain with them and not be shunted off to another sphere of existence. On the other hand, I was in many ways lower than the human beings about me. It was as though I had come out of the fires of hell not entirely purged. I had still a tail and a pair of horns, and when my passions were aroused I breathed a sulphurous poison which was annihilating. I was always called a “lucky devil.” The good that happened to me was called “luck,” and the evil was always regarded as a result of my shortcomings. Rather, as the fruit of my blindness. Rarely did anyone ever spot the evil in me! I was as adroit, in this respect, as the devil himself. But that I was frequently blind, everybody could see that. And at such times I was left alone, shunned, like the devil himself. Then I left the world, returned to the fires of hell —voluntarily. These comings and goings are as real to me, more real, in fact, than anything that happened in between. The friends who think they know me know nothing about me for the reason that the real me changed hands countless times. Neither the men who thanked me, nor the men who cursed me, knew with whom they were dealing. Nobody ever got on to a solid footing with me, because I was constantly liquidating my personality. I was keeping what is called the “personality” in abeyance for the moment when, leaving it to coagulate, it would adopt a proper human rhythm. I was hiding my face until the moment when I would find myself in step with the world. All this was, of course, a mistake. Even the role of artist is worth adopting, while marking time. Action is important, even if it entails futile activity.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  The man looked over the top of his seat at us. “What’s it to your” “That’s my sister you’re talking about,” Ben glared. “Oh, sorry,” the guy said. He looked at me and squinted. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” “You ever work in Texas?” I asked him. He shook his head. “Then you don’t know me,” I told him. The bus lurched into motion. We were headed out to a plant in Tonawanda. The agency promised us a steady gig with the possibility of permanent hire. Ben and I rode in comfortable silence. When the noise level on the bus became boisterous I whispered to him, “Is Annie really your sister?”” He smiled and winked. “Did you really work in Texas?” he asked me. I smiled and winked back. As we approached the plant I saw picket lines barricading the entrance. Then I understood—we were hired to break a strike. “Scabs!” the shout went up the moment we got off the bus. It was hard to catch my breath in the frigid air. Ben stood at my side. “I don’t want any part of this,” he said. I heard a woman’s voice shouting through a bullhorn. “We’re gonna hold this line. We’re not going to let a single scab through. ’m ready to do whatever I have to do to defend our jobs and our union! Are you?” The union women and men roared their agreement. The cops flipped the visors down on their riot helmets and held their clubs horizontally across their chests. Those billy clubs were almost as thick and long as baseball bats. The cops were ready to attack in order to bring us in as scabs. 196 = Leslie Feinberg Another temp bus arrived. The men who got off that bus gravitated toward us. We formed a group of sixty men. I looked around at the guys I rode in with. The oldest of the men announced loudly, “The devil can’t buy my soul!” “Well, I need a job, goddamn it. I got a family to feed,” someone behind me yelled. “T’m no scab,” Ben shouted. “I never crossed a picket line in my life and I never will. And I’ve got no respect for any man who does.” He took his UAW catd out of his wallet and held it aloft so the picketers could see. Several of the other men pulled out their union cards and held them up proudly, too. I clenched my fist and pumped the air. The strikers cheered us. Less than a dozen of the temp laborers agreed to be escorted by police into the plant. Most of the guys got on the bus again and asked the driver to take us back to the agency. I listened to the men talk to each other as we rode. This bicentennial year was supposed to be filled with patriotism, but the guys were sounding more and mote like Theresa used to talk. “There’s more hard times coming, mark my words.”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I understand what he was driving at. “Well, they’re he-shes, but they’re not butches.” Duffy laughed and shook his head. “I don’t get it.” I shrugged. “There’s not much to get, really. I mean they look like Spencer Tracy and Montgomery Clift, but they really seem to love the guys they married.” Duffy shook his head. “But they’re inseparable. Don’t you think maybe they’re lovers and they’re afraid to let people know?” Stone Butch Blues 91 I thought about it for a moment. “Jeez, Duffy, it’s not like they’re getting off much easier by being married—they’re still he-shes. They’ve gotta deal with the same shit butches do. Imagine Laverne going into the ladies room at the movies. Or Ethel at a bridal shower. I don’t think people who give them a rough time give a fuck who they sleep with. It’s probably harder for them, too,” I added. “They don’t have a place to go like we do—I mean like the bars. All they got is their husbands and each other.” Duffy smiled and shook his head. “The way Ethel and Laverne are with each other, I was sure they were lovers.” “Oh, they love each other alright. You can see that. But it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re hot and bothered for each other. They really understand each other. Maybe each of them just likes looking in the other’s mirror and seeing a reflection that smiles back.” Duffy put his arm around my shoulder and hugged me. “You’re very smart about people,’ he said. I blushed with pride and pulled away in embarrassment. “I’m gonna get some food.” I heard Grant’s voice rising before I saw the confrontation. She was shouting, nose to nose, with 92 Leslie Feinberg Jim Boney. “What do you mean you don’t want no fucking girls on your team?” she yelled. Boney shouted in the direction of the other guys, “Cause we want to win, don’t we, guys?” He smacked his fist into his first-base mitt. “Hey Boney,” I called out as I strode toward them, “you talking about softball? We'll kick your ass!” A silence fell over the picnic. For one thing, everyone knew this was about a lot more than a softball game. On the other hand, baseball was sacred to these guys. The thought of playing against girls bordered on heresy. If they won, where was the victory? If they lost ... it was too humiliating for them to consider. Even the butches stared at me with a horrified look on their faces. But it was too late, my boast hung in the air. “C’mon, Boney,” I said. “We'll challenge you to three innings, and we'll whip you, too.” Boney sneered. “Bet you won’t, Goldberg.” The way he said my name made me realize how much he also hated me as a Jew.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  I answer that, The sanctification of the Blessed Virgin cannot be understood as having taken place before animation, for two reasons. First, because the sanctification of which we are speaking, is nothing but the cleansing from original sin: for sanctification is a “perfect cleansing,” as Dionysius says (Div. Nom. xii). Now sin cannot be taken away except by grace, the subject of which is the rational creature alone. Therefore before the infusion of the rational soul, the Blessed Virgin was not sanctified. Secondly, because, since the rational creature alone can be the subject of sin; before the infusion of the rational soul, the offspring conceived is not liable to sin. And thus, in whatever manner the Blessed Virgin would have been sanctified before animation, she could never have incurred the stain of original sin: and thus she would not have needed redemption and salvation which is by Christ, of whom it is written (Mat. 1:21): “He shall save His people from their sins.” But this is unfitting, through implying that Christ is not the “Saviour of all men,” as He is called (1 Tim. 4:10). It remains, therefore, that the Blessed Virgin was sanctified after animation. Reply to Objection 1: The Lord says that He “knew” Jeremias before he was formed in the womb, by knowledge, that is to say, of predestination: but He says that He “sanctified” him, not before formation, but before he “came forth out of the womb,” etc. As to what Ambrose says, viz. that in John the Baptist there was not the spirit of life when there was already the Spirit of grace, by spirit of life we are not to understand the life-giving soul, but the air which we breathe out [respiratus]. Or it may be said that in him as yet there was not the spirit of life, that is the soul, as to its manifest and complete operations. Reply to Objection 2: If the soul of the Blessed Virgin had never incurred the stain of original sin, this would be derogatory to the dignity of Christ, by reason of His being the universal Saviour of all. Consequently after Christ, who, as the universal Saviour of all, needed not to be saved, the purity of the Blessed Virgin holds the highest place. For Christ did not contract original sin in any way whatever, but was holy in His very Conception, according to Lk. 1:35: “The Holy which shall be born of thee, shall be called the Son of God.” But the Blessed Virgin did indeed contract original sin, but was cleansed therefrom before her birth from the womb. This is what is signified (Job 3:9) where it is written of the night of original sin: “Let it expect light,” i.e. Christ, “and not see it”—(because “no defiled thing cometh into her,” as is written Wis. 7:25), “nor the rising of the dawning of the day,” that is of the Blessed Virgin, who in her birth was immune from original sin.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  10:5–85. These twelve Jesus sent forth, and commanded them, saying, Go not into the way of the Gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not: 6. But go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. 7. And as ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand. 8. Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give. GLOSS. (non occ.) Because the manifestation of the Spirit, as the Apostle speaks, is given for the profit of the Church, after bestowing His power on the Apostles, He sends them that they may exercise this power for the good of others; These twelve Jesus sent forth. CHRYSOSTOM. Observe the propriety of the time in which they are sent. After they had seen the dead raised, the sea rebuked, and other like wonders, and had had both in word and deed sufficient proof of His excellent power, then He sends them. GLOSS. (non occ.) When He sends them, He teaches them whither they should go, what they should preach, and what they should do. And first, whither they should go; Giving them commandment, and saying, Go ye not into the way of the Gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not; hut go ye rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. JEROME. This passage does not contradict the command which He gave afterwards, Go and teach all nations; for this was before His resurrection, that was after. And it behoved the coming of Christ to be preached to the Jews first, that they might not have any just plea, or say that they were rejected of the Lord, who sent the Apostles to the Gentiles and Samaritans. CHRYSOSTOM. Also they were sent to the Jews first, in order that being trained in Judæa, as in a palæstra, they might enter on the arena of the world to contend; thus He taught them like weak nestlings to fly. GREGORY. (Hom. in Ev. iv. 1.) Or He would be first preached to Judæa and afterwards to the Gentiles, in order that the preaching of the Redeemer should seem to seek out foreign lands only because it had been rejected in His own. There were also at that time some among the Jews who should be called, and among the Gentiles some who were not to be called, as being unworthy of being renewed to life, and yet not deserving of the aggravated punishment which would ensue upon their rejection of the Apostles’ preaching. HILARY. The promulgation of the Law deserved also the first preaching of the Gospel; and Israel was to have less excuse for its crime, as it had experienced more care in being warned.