I feel compelled to write this. It has nothing to do with Q or politics, so feel free to stroll on by.
A great man died today and he was my friend.
His name was Harold Eldon Don Shumate. His friends called him 'Shu', but his mama named him Harold, so I called him that, also to 'F' with him a little bit. Cause that's how we did .
Here is the story of Shu. Nobody else will tell it, so let me.
He was bigger than most. He put you in mind of Patrice O'Neal the comedian, if you know who that is, both in size, mind, and way of speech. He could talk long schiff, and that's why we got along. I was the white version of his black ass.
Harold grew up in the ghetto of Los Angeles.
One time, while he was in high school, the honorable Revrum Jesse Jackson came to speak to the kids. Harold was late and walked in bold as S down the aisle wearing a hat. The Revereum, determined to make a point and to teach these feral yutes respect, stopped speaking and told Harold to take off his hat. Harold told Reverum Jackson to go 'F' himself and walked out, stingy brim and all.
Harold didn't take much schiff, even from a pandering, race hustling 'man of God', and he damn sure wasn't gonna be told what to do.
Then Harold moved to Fresno to become some kind of medical technician or some such. He tells the story of his first time driving into Fresno from L.A. He made the same mistake I did when I first came.
He didn't know not to stop during that approach into town, for there be orcs. The west side of Fresno is where the black people be is at. So Harold stops at a convenience store, to get some snacks. He pulls up to park and notices several shady characters loitering around the front of the store.
Being street-wise, big, and from out of town, he knew he would immediately be a target. He could have pulled out, but Harold liked his food and he was hungry.
So he gets out and doing his best black Forest Gump walk, he saunters into the store all derpty der, like the dopiest, countrified N word you ever did see. The mugs looked him over, dismissed him as a non-entity and went back to plotting against the white man. Harold got his snacks.
Then he got hired with the Fresno County Sheriff's Department and came to work with me. I said 'good, that's a biggun', but little did I know his worth at the time.
One time we worked at the 'Branch Jail', which was outside of town in the country and consisted of five barracks full of miniumum security 'timers'. Think Cool Hand Luke without the man with no eyes.
We were working a night shift out of Rampart...haha just kidding. But night shift. Boring as hell. All the inmates were asleep in the wee hours. Harold had brought a boom box and a Marley tape. We sat in chairs in the yard across from the inmate barracks and sang along to Marley. I think Harold was surprised that I knew all the words and better than him.
There were no complaints from the inmates, and they could have. We were hella loud. We musta been good. (I know I was. I'm a Bob Marley singin' son of a bitch).
I used to drive the van back to town when we got off work. Like I said, I talked hella schiff at the time (I got better). I was always a fan of the racial humor, and on the way back to town one time, I was talking a little smack to a black female.
Old Shu would normally have got in my racist ass, but he told me later that he saw me looking in the rear view mirror when I said my stuff and that I had a particular glint in my eye. He knew that I was just trying to 'get their goat', as the white people say, and he let me live. Harold could read people. We then became friends.
Nobody, except me, could talk to the inmates better than Shu and get them to talk to him. He became a Sergeant in the 'Classification Unit' and became a well-respected Gang Officer, travelling across the state giving lectures on black gangs (bloods, crips, and the local Fresno versions of such. He was a very popular and sought after speaker with a unique style.
I retired some years ago, while Harold toiled on and got married. He had always had one love of his life, a beautiful little black chick named Lisa May. She broke his heart yet he carried a torch for years and would have no other.
Once I retired, he finally got married and moved into my neighborhood. He then developed health issues similar to mine. His kidneys failed him and his ticker went bad, all due to diabetes, the devil's disease.
Just today, his wife came home to find him dead on the floor.
I am very sad to lose my friend and I mourn the fact that Harold Eldon Don Shumate no longer marches across the earth.
He was one of the great ones. And I will miss him.
Bagster
p.s. Sucks getting old.
Thanks for sharing, Bags
Beautifully written. In the words of James Michener: ‘Where do we get such men?’
>>Harold Eldon Don Shumate
Thanks for letting us meet your friend. So sorry for your loss. Hate hearing that one of the good ones are gone.
Thank you for sharing Harold with us. Through your wonderful eulogy, I miss him, too.
Sorry about your loss. That was a beautiful tribute for a friend.
So very sorry Bagster!
Thank you, bagster.
Aw, bags...
:-(
Condolences for your loss.
He’s up there laughing at you now, I’ll bet.
Good remembrance of a friend.
Thank you for sharing , Bagster. May your friend rest in peace.
God bless.
Bags:
Sorry for our loss, and thank you for sharing your memories.
You have a Patriot heart of gold.
Glad you are a fren.
God bless Harold Eldon Don Shumate.
Bagster,
I am so sorry to hear that you lost your dear friend. I will keep you and Shu and his family in my thoughts and prayers.
Bagster,
Thank you for a lovely tribute to your friend.
So very sorry to hear about the loss of your friend. Sounds like you were both gifted to have been friends.
Great piece bud straight from the heart doesn’t get any better.
Great eulogy. Sorry for your loss.
God bless you - and your friend, Gimli.