When I was a wee colored tot wearing knickerbocker trousers and with a snotty nose, when Ralph J. Bunche was still an honest-to-goodness “colored” Negro such as Richard Wright, Sterling A. Brown, E. Franklin Frazier, and other angry colored men of that day, when that bountiful, beautiful black bitch located on the southern side of the Mediterranean Sea and hugged snuggly by the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, was being ravished by Europeans in the guise of concern for her poor savage inhabitants and in the name of Christianity, I met Ally Bush.
Ally Bush was only a nickname, of course, for a dirty-faced, sloppily dressed, awkward, thumb-sucking, light complexioned, thirteen year old, loudmouthed colored boy from Harlem. Al...
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