“Birds are not customarily interested in the doings of human beings,” I said, “except to the point of keeping out of their way.”

“I would keep out of people’s way,” said Simple, “but also I would observe everything they do.”

“Suppose they captured you and put you in a cage?”

“No, I would not be a pretty bird, the kind anybody would want in a cage. I would be just a plain old ugly bird that caws and nobody would want. That way I would be free. I would sail over towns and cities and look down and see what is going on. I would ride on tops of cars in Italian weddings, on top of hearses in Catholic funerals, I would light on the back of fishtail Cadillacs in Harlem, and when I wanted to travel without straining myself, I would ride the baggage rack of a Greyhound bus to California.

“Before I left I would build me a nest on top of the Empire State so that when I came home I could rest on top of the world. I would dig worms in Radio City’s gardens and set underneath a White House bush when I visited Washington. I would wash my feet in every fountain from here to yonder, and eat greens in every meadow. Down South I would ignore FOR WHITE and FOR COLORED signs—I would drink water anywhere I wished. I would not be tied to no race, no place, nor fixed location.

“I would be the travelingest bird you ever met—because everywhere that Jackie went, I would go. Every time Robinson batted a ball over the fence, I would be setting on that fence. I would watch Joe Black daily, and caw like mad for Campanella. I would outfly the Dodgers from New York to St. Louis, and from Boston to Chicago. Everywhere they went, there would be old me. Ah, but I would fly! On summer evenings I would dip my wings in the sea at Southampton and in winter live on baby oranges in Florida—if I did not go further to the West Indies and get away from Jim Crow. In fact, come to think of it, I believe I would just fly over the South, stopping only long enough to spread my tail feathers and show my contempt.