Columnist – John Sammon
“The Negra,” Rush tells me, “is like a fine tobacco plant. It must be cultivated.”

My name is Billy Bo Ray Bob Lee Harvey. Me and Rush is-a-settin’ here a restin’ our feet in the Mississippi mud, talkin’ bout Negras.

It’s clear that Rush and me don’t like Negras, and we wish misery on ‘em.

Rush sings a little joking song fer’ me. “Da’ sun come up. Da’ moon go down, darkies are dancin’ all around.”

It’s pretty clear that Rush don’t like Negras. He takes out a Bible and points to a passage where it says God created Negras to serve their white masters.

And then them Yankees come down here and changed it all so’s white people of distintion like us could no-more take-a whip to ‘em. Or place a-iron collar around their neck and then wup’ ‘em good like they deserve.

Rush and me, wez just good ole’ boys.

Them damn Yankees. They launched that war-a-there’n cause they jus’ wanted to take away our rites. Ever since they-done gotten their freedom, them blacks been uppity. Jus’ cause ‘dey can run and jump dey git in sports and make a lot of money and act big for their britches. Rush tells me it’s all political. Dat’s why we done joined dat group the Soldiers of the Burnin’ Cross, to defnd da’ rites of the white folks before them darkies take over.

We dun’ swore on a Bible to fight agin’ ‘em them communistic socialistic preverts who ere tryin’ to take over and take away our rites.

Rush and me. Weez real Americans.

If God didn’t want us to rule over Negras, he wouldn’t have made ‘em and brought ‘em here for us to boss. Jus’ the othern day when they had that big earthquake over in dat island, we both said “it’s God’s will. He’s gettin’ even for ‘em being so uppity. Serves ‘em rite.” We couldn’t believe that a darkie could become president and would be given our money to ‘em. Didn’t dat’ beat all.

A darkie president?

And now he’s a-suckin’ up to ‘em tryin’ to win their favor. But it won’t do ‘em any good. We can see through ‘em. Rush told me howz you can judge a buck (male African American). You look at the rolls of hair on da’ back of da’ head. One roll, not so good. Two rolls is better. Three rolls, you got yourself a boy. A three-roller. One that can pull a plow.

Me and Rush. We ain’t goin’ nowhere. We’re here to stay.

We’re white and we’ll fight, and so help me God.

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