Quit Playin’

Crying in the Wilderness!

by Vincent L. Hall

These are excerpts from the opening lines of Chapter 12 in the new book by Vincent Lewis Hall, “A Warrior on My Side,” my 40-year ride with Dallas County Commissioner John Wiley Price.

“Call and response” is an African and African American liturgical tradition that is prevalent in the Black Church. The Warriors, led by the Protester-In-Chief, John Wiley Price, arrested their enemies, friends, and admirers, using it as a tool to degrade, deride, and diffuse their foes. One institution at a time.

Wikipedia says that “In Sub-Saharan African cultures, call and response is a pervasive pattern of democratic participation in public gatherings in the discussion of civic affairs, in religious rituals, as well as in vocal and instrumental musical expression. Our call was for action; the responses we received were initially unfavorable. John Wiley Price and his “Warriors” always left an “Ass-Whipping” at the will-call booth with no name on it.

Anyone who ventured into the area was eligible to claim the ticket. The “freed admission” came with all the appropriate accouterments: picket signs, bullhorns, and a proclivity to instant insults. The Warriors, on our best days, were as improvisational as we were irreverent. This justice cartel was prepared with water, food, and supplies. There were always children on weekends, and someone was assigned to care for them.

“The line” was predominantly female, but no less threatening than a line of Black Panthers. Black women carry with them a peculiar and potent mix of adrenaline and emotion. Either of the two can be a spark for the other. Many of the women were professionals, most were single mothers, and all were conscientious women who hated the plight of Black people; here and abroad.

They were well-studied in “The Struggle” from Dallas to Denver and from Detroit to DeKalb County, Georgia. They understood the connection between the fight for justice in the sweltering cities of America’s South and the anti-Apartheid movement in Soweto, South Africa.

John Wiley Price was their Nelson Mandela, their Minister Louis Farrakhan, their modern-day recasting of El Hajj Malik El Shabazz, otherwise known as Malcolm X. John Wiley Price drew women to him like a magnet, and not just his seductive, sophisticated side. Strong Black women are attracted to strong Black men. Black women have, since slavery, seen their men emasculated and embarrassed. Black women have watched as Black men are treated as eunuchs are.

Sisters, like “White Den Mothers” to the Ku Klux Klan, want to see strong men in their own race. These Black women, the core and crux of the Warriors, were all akin to Rachel, who appears in Jeremiah 31:15. They came to protest the vile and inhumane treatment of their boys and men, whether at school, at work, or anywhere else in the world.

And they were emotionally charged when the need arose. John never played on the sincerity of these women. He was a lion to the White man in the street, but he was in their employ as a servant. If they had problems with cars, home repairs, or finding an artisan who wouldn’t gouge them, they called on “Commissioner Price.”

If it involved a contract, a car sale, or was of a business or negotiation nature, John was their man. If the Warriors called at midnight with a child in jail, a mother rushed to the hospital, or a father who finally succumbed to a fatal disease, John came running. John’s overwhelming reverence and respect for Black women has never been a hustle. It’s an honorable way to show his appreciation for the role that they play in our sojourn as a people and his stature in this community!

A long-time Texas Metro News columnist, Dallas native Vincent L. Hall is an author, writer, award-winning writer, and a lifelong Drapetomaniac.