“I do,” said Simple, “because that is what I am always coming face to face with—race. I look in the mirror in the morning to shave—and what do I see? Me. From birth to death my face—which is my race—stares me in the face.”

“Don’t you suppose race stared Ralph Bunche in the face, too? And Adam Powell? And Joe Louis? And Paul Williams? And Dr. Butts? But Ralph Bunche, Negro, became internationally famous. Adam Powell, Negro, went to Congress. Joe Louis, Negro, defeated the world’s best fighters. Paul Williams designs houses for Hollywood stars. Dr. Butts writes articles for the leading papers, gets fellowships, speaks all over the country. Suppose they had all just stood at a beer bar like you and moaned about race, race, race!”

“I ain’t as smart as Ralph Bunche,” said Simple. “I can’t holler like Adam Powell, having no microphone in my throat. And I ain’t built like Joe Louis. I’m a light-weight. Paul Williams is colleged, and got mother wit, too. And I cannot write no articles like Dr. Butts. But every time Dr. Butts publishes something, Joyce buys it, or else asks me to buy it for her, so my money helps support him. Butts has got some of my money. I bought tickets to every one of Joe’s fights in New York, so my money helped Joe get that championship belt. I put my dollars in the box office when I go to the movies which helps them movie stars pay Paul Williams to design them a house. And I vote for Adam Powell. So they all come right down to me. And where am I?”

“Through leaders like those we’ve just mentioned, you will get somewhere,” I said. “You have to take the long view.”

“It seems like to me this very last week were as long as a year. Sometimes I start work on Monday and by the time I get to Tuesday, it looks like I done worked seven days. By the time I get to Wednesday, it seems like a month. And when Saturday comes, I been slaving a year. Some weeks just naturally seems long, I mean, long! No week should seem like a year, but when you’re working at something that don’t get you nowhere, they do!”

“Some weeks do lengthen out to infinity,” I said.

“I don’t know infinitive,” said Simple. “But there is something wrong somewhere with the way weeks are made. If I was to make a calendar, I would crowd a work-week into one day. But I would make a vacation-week stretch out over a month, particularly the week before Christmas on my calendar.”