righting fate prologue and ch.1

RIGHTING

FATE

A NOVEL

ANTHONY EZELL MILLER

Excerpted from RIGHTING FATE by Anthony Ezell Miller.

Copyright © 2011 by Anthony Ezell Miller. All rights reserved.

Anthony Ezell Miller is currently seeking representation

for the RIGHTING FATE trilogy and television series.

The cover photo is public domain.

P R O L O G U E

―God doesn’t like me. And I don’t care much for him either.‖

It had been two years since Louis Winston told the preacher

presiding at his wife’s funeral those words. But today, as he used his

300-pound frame to pry open his office door, he decided they hated

each other.

The former linebacker for the Kentucky University of Colored

Students rammed his shoulder into the door and finally was able to

move the heavy desk lodged against the other side. When he opened

the door, water rushed out just below the knees of his grey, pinstriped

slacks. They, along with his monogrammed shirt, a-shaped undershirt,

and red, paisley, silken boxers were already wet from his swim to the

construction trailer. He squeezed through the door opening and

climbed over the desk into a room that was part construction office and

part wading pool. The sound of the newly formed rapids around him

was so loud that he didn’t hear Ms. Pettigrew drive up on the bank.

R IGHTING FAT E 5

Ms. Pettigrew was a middle-aged, diminutive redhead, with

powdery white skin, who didn’t miss anything. When news of the

flooding in Franklin County was aired, she immediately drove to the

future site of Garden Valley, a Winston Properties Community. She

wasn’t surprised to see her boss’ 1959 Imperial at the scene. But, she

was surprised to see Ohio’s largest, Negro, suburban development

turned into a rapidly flowing river. And, in the center of it was her

office.

Louis had the office built on a hill so that he could better monitor

workers’ progress. But now, half that hill was gone, and half of the

trailer was underwater. It looked like a wounded battleship sinking in

defeat. Except, the door to this battleship was open. She knew her

impulsive boss was inside, probably with spiteful determination his only

plan for getting back.

She stood in the steady rain with her hand to her gaped mouth

for only a second before turning back to the road. A pickup truck with

two men approached.

―Excuse me! Excuse me!‖ Ms. Pettigrew waved her hands to get

the driver’s attention. The truck slowed enough for the two men and

Ms. Pettigrew to exchange glances. Her pleading look was met with

their icy ones as they drove on by. Another car passed with three men

dressed in raingear who did the same. Finally, a police car approached.

―Excuse me! Officer!‖ She waved both arms over her head. The

officer stopped and rolled down his window.

―Ms. Pettigrew what in the hell are you doing out here? There

ain’t nothing—‖.

―Mr. Winston is in there. You’ve gotta help him.‖ She gripped

the chrome frame of the officer’s rolled down window.

The officer drew a long breath followed by a longer exhale, as his

windshield wipers kept time. ―Ms. Pettigrew we got sandbags going up

all along Stennis Road, and I’ve already got three places I’m supposed to

be—‖.

6 ANTHONY EZELL MILL ER

―John, look at the water!‖ She thrust her hand towards the

waters. ―He can’t get back! How is he supposed to—‖.

―Dammit Jean! If the damn fool went out there…‖ The officer

looked at the scene, shook his head, and then looked at Ms. Pettigrew.

―You need to go home.‖

They stared in each other’s eyes as he rolled up his window. He

turned his gaze to the road ahead, but she kept her stare fixed on him as

he drove away.

Another truck towing a boat passed the patrol car in the opposite

lane, and headed towards Ms. Pettigrew. Before she could flag the

driver down, the truck slowed and started to pull over. The driver was

a colored man.

―Mr. Sims! Oh, thank God Mr. Sims!‖ Ms. Pettigrew ran to the

truck, as the slim man climbed out. Her face was wet from rain, but her

eyes showed that she had been crying.

―Ms. Pettigrew.‖

The emotion of the moment and the appearance of a

compassionate face should have been enough to make her melt into the

hero’s arms. But, she was still white and he was black, so instead, he

handed her his handkerchief. And she accepted it.

―He’s in there.‖

―Damn fool, I knew it.‖

Within minutes, he had parked the truck a hundred yards

upstream, tied the boat to the winch, and rowed across the tide until the

water made him collide with the bottom of the capsized trailer.

―Mr. Winston!‖ He tied the other end of the boat to the lattice

that trimmed the bottom. ―Mr. Winston!‖

Mr. Sims climbed out of the boat and peered through the

doorway. Inside, he saw the office almost entirely submerged. The

room slanted downward like a hillside, and Louis sat at the top. He

didn’t greet his foreman; he just stared at the water gathering beneath

his feet.

R IGHTING FAT E 7

―Uh, Mr. Winston?‖ Mr. Sims looked for some sign of emotion or

understanding of the situation but found none. ―Mr. Winston, we got

to go now.‖

Louis rose to a standing position and walked downhill into the

water. It came up to his chest. He climbed over the desk and Mr. Sims

helped him into the boat. Mr. Sims rowed hard against the current

while Ms. Pettigrew cranked the winch to reel them in. Louis sat in

silence while his employees completed the rescue.

―Oh Mr. Winston I’m so sorry.‖ Ms. Pettigrew said.

―Go home. You all have been a pleasure to know.‖ Louis climbed

into his car and drove away.

When he arrived home, he exited his car, entered his home, and

proceeded up the stairs to his study, leaving a trail of mud as he went.

One wall of the study was entirely hidden by books on a wide

array of topics and eras. His self-constructed drafting table anchored a

side of the room, while his desk occupied the opposite one.

Louis opened the top right drawer of his desk and took out a

pistol. He examined the weapon, but returned it to the drawer.

Louis found himself a glass and a fresh bottle of $14 bourbon.

After pouring and gulping two quick shots, he plopped down in the

chair at his desk and opened the drawer beneath the gun drawer. There

were about 10 or more different vials of half-used medications that

Louis had unintentionally amassed over the years. He emptied all of

them on the desk forming a small pile of what looked like breath mints.

This time, Louis poured himself a full glass.

He put one pill on his tongue, took a swig, and swallowed. He

followed it immediately with three pills at once, another swig, and a

hard swallow. He repeated the three-at-a-time dosage for four more

rounds then leaned against the back of his chair and waited to die. ―See

you soon,‖ he whispered and closed his eyes.

After some minutes, he opened his eyes again. Nothing

happened. ―Oh no you don’t, not this time.‖ He leaned forward to grab


another handful of pills. Before he could touch them, he felt a sharp

stabbing pain in his stomach, like being stabbed with an ice pick, except

from the inside outward. The pain was so intense that Louis doubled

over clutching his stomach.

He placed both palms on his desk and tried to raise himself to

standing. The pain struck again. This time Louis found himself on his

hands and knees on the floor along with the pills, a lamp, and several

other items he knocked off the desk with his fall. His stomach

tightened, chest convulsed and a pink and white mixture of blood and

medication erupted from his mouth onto the rug.

Outside, Marian’s school bus approached their driveway. On the

bus, Marian was finishing sharing her observations about their bus

driver and her neighbor, Mrs. Turner.

―I bet you she’ll come out to the bus,‖ Marian said.

―Daniel’s mama always comes out too, and so does Kendall’s

mama at the next stop,‖ Cora countered.

―Yeah but they don’t change their voice so high when they talk,‖

Marian said, singing the last words and batting her eyes to imitate Mrs.

Turner. ―She don’t talk like that to me, and she sure don’t talk like that

to Mr. Turner.‖

Cora laughed. ―Teedy, you crazy.‖

The bus rolled to a stop between the Turner and Winston

properties. And, as Marian predicted, an extra-friendly Mrs. Turner

was there to receive her son. Despite the rainy weather, Mrs. Turner

stood under an umbrella with well-coiffed hair and an unbuttoned coat

that seemed to hang in such a way so as not to obscure the view of her

form-fitting sweater. Marian exited the bus and pressed past the

children and Mrs. Turner who had struck up her usual singsong

R IGHTING FAT E 9

conversation with the bus driver. As the bus idled, Marian gave Cora

another glance and giggle, climbed her porch steps, and entered her

home.

―Daddy! I’m home!‖ she said, as she took off her coat. ―I got my

math test back, and guess what?‖ She flapped her B+ math test in the

air.

She saw muddy footprints leading upstairs and then heard a

thump.

―Daddy?‖ she said again and started up the steps.

Barely past the third step, she heard a crash followed by a much

louder thud. This wasn’t a familiar sound at all.

―Daddy?‖ she said with more gravity this time and sprinted up

the remaining steps.

She opened the door to the study and found her father lying on

the floor on his back. He was dressed for work, but his clothes were

wrinkled and dirty, and he was covered in blood, vomit, and sweat. He

didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anything. His glassy-eyed stare

was fixed towards the ceiling. He convulsed violently, kicking his feet

against the desk and floor.

―Help,‖ she whispered to herself and then realized that was

exactly what she needed.

―HELP!‖

Marian ran to the window in the study, jerked up the sill, and

yelled as loud as she could.

―Help! Somebody help my Daddy! Somebody!

C H A P T E R 1

Cleveland – 1969

Marian stood in the center of the avocado floor rug speaking to

17 fellow female students at the University of Cleveland. Eleven of the

girls were white and six were black including Marian’s two best friends,

Carolyn and Deborah. Marian had the co-eds’ full attention. Since she

arrived on campus nearly two years ago, she commanded attention.

It wasn’t just her looks, although they were striking. Each of her

features considered alone were average; but her chestnut skin, brown

eyes, high cheekbones, and dark brown hair all came together in just

the right way to make her beautiful. The slightly curvy sophomore also

inherited her father’s height, which meant that she stood eye-to-eye

with most men and inches above most women. Her beauty, stature, and

poise—gained from being thrust into the family matriarch role too early

in life—made her downright intimidating.

R IGHTING FAT E 11

Marian began her concluding remarks to the gathering. ―Sisters,

we are vibrant, committed, and wise.‖ She looked a different woman in

the eye with each word. ―I believe our brothers are capable, but.‖ She

looked upward and then back at her audience. ―I’ll just say it plainly,

because I don’t know any other way to say it.‖ Again, she paused.

―They need us. Any movement. No, every successful movement has

always needed us,‖ she stressed, tapping her loose fist against her heart.

―You didn’t come here looking for a cause, and neither did I.

Like many of you, I came to college for…‖

―A husband!‖ One of the co-eds interjected, garnering laughs

from the audience.

Not easily rattled, Marian laughed along, albeit less heartily.

―Some of you may have come to find a man. I can dig that too,‖ she

offered. ―Either way, we all will have to deal with the action or

inaction we take tomorrow. Remember, whatever you choose will

likely be the first step in defining, not just the woman you are,‖ again,

she stared intently into a few of the faces around the room. ―...but the

woman you will be. I hope to see you all at Haydn Hall tomorrow.

Thank you.‖ As they applauded, Marian sat, crossed her right leg over

her left, straightened out her plaid woolen skirt, and waited for the rest

of the agenda to unfold.

The next speaker was Leslie Niedringhaus, a white classmate of

Marian’s who helped organize the co-ed gathering. She and Marian had

met in sociology class last spring. Initially, the two held very different

views on many of the nation’s current events regarding race, rights, and

riots. Leslie, the daughter of a chemical manufacturer executive, was

not particularly vocal in her views, but the format of the class forced

her to share them. And, when she did, Marian was always quick to

offer an opposing point of view, triggering a spirited debate. The

professor usually gave them a few minutes before declaring a draw and

resuming his lesson. However, that all changed Thursday, April 4th of

last year, when news of the assassination of the civil rights leader, Dr.

Martin Luther King, Jr., reached the campus.


Dr. King and his non-violent approach resonated with Leslie,

even more than it did with Marian. Leslie would often mention Dr.

King as her best example of how to go about effecting change. His

death really shook her. For some, his death drove them to violence; for

others, it drove them to prayer; for Leslie, it drove her to action. She

spent the following year reading more, attending more gatherings, and

eventually participating in her first protest. The thrill of being involved

in civil unrest, being outside the bounds of authority was like a drug to

Leslie. One try and she was hooked. She had found her voice, her

calling.

The next day at Haydn Hall, Leslie and Marian, saw the fruits of

their labor: 13 of the 17 young women showed up for the rally. Over 70

other young men and women joined them, and more were coming.

Student smokers, many of whom started the habit in college as an act of

defiance against their parents, puffed cigarettes and funny cigarettes

until the auditorium air was hazy. Some protestors dressed like typical

students, while others dressed like hippies. One co-ed, who idolized the

folk-singer, Joan Baez, brought her guitar so that she could ―keep the

fires burning through song, baby.‖

Most of the attendees were university students, but there were

several unfamiliar faces in the crowd. The administration referred to

them as outside agitators or less officially, rabble-rousers. The rabble

were a mix of career protestors and expelled students who travelled to

campuses to incite students to action—sometimes violent action. But,

today’s gathering was peaceful, and was going just as the triumvirate of

Leslie, Marian, and Marian’s boyfriend, Shawn Franklin, had planned.

―Today they will know that we are not just cogs in their wheel!‖ a

tall, lanky, light-skinned Shawn shouted to angry cheers. As far as he

was concerned, the event was already a rousing success. They did it.

They organized. Nearly 200 students, who would normally be

attending classes, are here following him in his rally. His face showed

intensity and anger, but inside he beamed with pride. Shawn pined for

R IGHTING FAT E 13

leading a movement ever since he attended a speech by the increasingly

confrontational, Stokely Carmichael, national chairman of the Student

Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. In fact, his protest would have

been even more militant if Shawn’s favorite uncle had not given him a

call two nights before with the blunt, brief counsel ―don’t get your

black-power ass kicked out of school.‖ Shawn, the first of the Franklins

to go to college, got the message. Even if his rally was light on

militancy, it was still happening. As news reporters with their pencils

and pads began entering the hall, Shawn’s excitement soared.

Over the past three years, the university’s administration had

seen riots and growing student unrest throughout the nation. What

once seemed to be only bussing and dining issues for a southern

minority had now spilled over to what authorities viewed as widespread

anarchy in the name of every cause from ending the Vietnam War to

eliminating black poverty. On campuses, protestors coupled national

issues with student life issues. Sensing that it was only a matter of time

before conflicts hit his university, the president had worked with Ohio’s

governor, the National Guard, the Ohio Board of Regents, and other

institutions to craft Procedures for Campus Peacekeeping, their

playbook for navigating civil disobedience on campus. Today, they

would need it.

Students had barely begun filing into the building before a

teacher alerted the administration. The vice-provost, in-turn, called the

local police and the National Guard. The Guard dispatched a small

battalion to the campus and placed additional troops on alert. The local

and campus police joined the Guard, and took up positions near the

building and auditorium entrances. Once the peacekeeping forces were

in place, the president, the provost, and vice-provost made their way to

the protest. The procedures recommended that only two administrators

engage the students to keep from being overly intimidating.

Nevertheless, the vice-provost, a former Cleveland Browns defensive


end, cut an imposing figure, and the president felt more comfortable

bringing his brawn with him.

The three administrators entered the hall to a chorus of boos and

jeers. As page 12 of the playbook instructed, the administrators were to

―walk in and firmly establish that they are the authority‖ and to ―take

care to not belittle or be condescending towards the students’ concerns,

as this may incite more rebellion.‖ The president and his two men

stepped up to the podium where Shawn was speaking. Instead of

grabbing the microphone or shoving the teen aside, the president

gestured towards the podium.

―May I?‖ he said in an authoritative voice that was difficult to

oppose.

Shawn stepped back from the podium while keeping a

contemptuous eye on the entourage.

―Students, I appreciate your willingness to be involved in the

affairs of your campus,‖ the president started in a validating tone. ―And

I assure you, we will be happy to receive a list of your concerns and give

careful consideration to them over the coming weeks.‖ Divert, delay,

and defuse were the first tactics employed.

Before Shawn could comment, a voice rang out in the audience,

―Now! Hear us now!‖

A second voice in the audience chimed in with a chant, ―Now!

Now!‖

It did not take long for the restless crowd to all join in the refrain.

―Now! Now!‖

Emboldened, Shawn returned to the microphone. ―Now, Mr.

President! Right here. Right now. We know what we want. Right

here. Let’s go!‖ Now full of adrenalin, Shawn weaved like a

prizefighter as he spoke.

Expecting their initial refusal, the president came prepared to

meet with the students. He spoke directly to Shawn loud enough for

R IGHTING FAT E 15

the microphone to pick it up. ―We are prepared to meet with two of

your representatives to discuss your concerns.‖

Having just scored his first concession, Shawn demanded more.

―Two? It’s three of yawl. You’ll meet with all three of us.‖ He swept

his arm in a circle pointing to himself, Leslie, and Marian.

The president agreed, and Shawn, Leslie, and Marian followed

the administrators off the stage to find a vacant office in the building.

The protestors continued their sit-in with protest songs and chants they

picked up from the last three years of watching other campus uprisings.

Seeing an empty platform and an opportunity for her debut, the co-ed

with the guitar made her way to the stage.

While Shawn and Leslie were happy just to have pulled off the

rally, Marian resolved to celebrate after they actually got their concerns

heard. But, now that they were walking with the president of the

University of Cleveland to the negotiating table, she found it difficult to

stifle her giddiness.

The six walked outside the auditorium into the hallway. They

tried to enter the building supervisor’s office, but it was locked. They

eventually found a vacant classroom towards the rear of the building.

The parties entered and took their seats in opposing positions. The

vice-provost considered closing the windows to keep out interference,

but since the classroom was in the back of the building far from the

action, he decided that the fresh air might make the atmosphere less

contentious.

The president started. ―You all know our names, but I don’t

believe we’ve met.‖

―I’m Shawn. Shawn Franklin and this is Marian and Leslie.‖

―Mr. Franklin, you said you were ready to discuss some issues.

Let’s hear them.‖

Shawn replied, ―Things need to change around here. Black

studies. Black faculty. Man, things need to change.‖

Marian, sensing that her boyfriend had not yet transitioned out of

revolution-mode, chimed in, ―Most other major institutions have black


studies programs and black teachers that are essential to educating black

students. UC needs more of both.‖

Not wanting other causes to get less attention, Leslie added, ―it’s

also important that the university change with the times. The

restrictions on curfews and co-ed visitation are archaic. If we are old

enough to fight wars, we are old enough to manage our social lives.‖

Leslie had barely finished speaking when a glass bottle corked

with a white rag set aflame sailed through the open window. When the

bottle hit the concrete floor, it smashed and sent glass and gasoline

spraying outward in a 6-foot radius from the point of impact.

Fortunately, five of the attendees were outside of the radius, but

unfortunately, some of the gasoline landed on Leslie’s right side. In an

instant, the flame ignited the gasoline, creating a blue and orange pool

of fire on the concrete floor, and setting Leslie’s clothes and skin afire.

Realizing she was burning, Leslie panicked and ran around the

classroom, crashing into desks and chairs, and screaming in pain. Her

running added more oxygen and swelled her flames. Within seconds of

the blaze, the vice-provost swung into action. He ripped off his suit

coat and tackled the burning co-ed with it, smothering the flames. The

provost joined in the rescue and attempted to extinguish the flames on

the floor with curtains he ripped from the windows.

―Get the fire extinguisher in the hallway!‖ the president yelled to

Shawn and Marian. Shocked, Marian continued staring at Leslie while

Shawn took off running. He found the extinguisher at the end of the

hallway and ripped it from the wall. He returned to find that the

provost’s drapes were ineffective in quelling the blaze. The president

yanked the extinguisher from the teen’s hands and began extinguishing

the blaze. Within seconds, the fire was out. Leslie was continuing to

scream in agony as her seared flesh continued bubbling.

―Get an ambulance! She’s gonna need an ambulance!‖ the vice-

provost yelled. Again, Shawn took off running towards the officer

stationed at the front of the building. He knew that the nearest

policeman was inside the auditorium, so, he burst through the doors

R IGHTING FAT E 17

where they had exited near the front of the stage. In a panic and

oblivious to the crowd, he ran straight for the policeman.

―She needs an ambulance. She was on fire. She needs help! She’s

dying,‖ he said hurriedly. The policeman reached for his walkie-talkie

and tried to calm Shawn down enough to get details. As soon as he

understood what the panicked young man was trying to communicate,

he relayed the information to the commanding officer and sprinted

with Shawn back to the classroom.

Some students near the door saw the distressed rally leader burst

through the door, mumble something about fire, and run out again.

They could still smell the smoke from his clothes as he exited. They

also began to smell the smoke from the burned classroom. Not needing

any more clues, they felt they had solved the mystery.

―Fire!‖ one yelled.

―They set the place on fire!‖ another cry rang out.

―Fire! Get out!‖

Their words were motivating enough, but the urgency with

which the yelling students made their way to the exit was even more

compelling. Their panic was contagious.

The commanding officer was outside and unaware of the

situation developing in the auditorium. He ordered more officers to

assist in getting the burn victim out, when suddenly the doors flung

open in front of the rush of exiting students. At that point, everyone

knew the situation had officially escalated from a disturbance to a crisis,

and police protocol now trumped the peacekeeping playbook.

Back in the classroom, Marian and the others could hear the

chaos in the auditorium, but they all were too concerned about Leslie to

investigate.

The president looked at the officer who arrived with Shawn.

―What the hell is going on out there?‖

―I don’t know sir.‖


―Find out!‖ he barked.

The young officer spoke into his walkie-talkie again. An equally

excitable officer replied over the speaker. ―The students are running

out of the building, yelling about a fire. We’re trying to get control of

the situation, but, but…I gotta go‖. The speaker went silent.

The president imagined students crushed under the stampede of

other students, and he was furious. He was going back to that podium

and demand that they calm down before someone gets hurt. He jogged

down the corridor, but the previously empty hallway, was now full of

students pushing out any exit or window that they could. There were

no open doors for him to re-enter the auditorium. It did not matter.

He was too late to restore any order. In less than four minutes, the hall

was vacant, except for a handful of injured students near the exits.

Police attended the students as the sound of ambulances neared.

Marian rode with Leslie to the hospital, while Shawn stayed with

the authorities for questioning. They needed to sort out the facts to

decide if they were going to charge him with inciting a riot. Marian

protested their investigation, but decided she had better get in the

ambulance to be with her friend while the authorities still allowed her

to leave.

The doctors stabilized Leslie. She would live. However, her right

leg, her right forearm, and her right hip and torso would never look the

same again. After surgeons finished skin grafts from her unburned left

side, her entire body would bear scars from the injury. But, she was

alive, and other than physical appearance, doctors expected her to make

a full recovery.

Marian sat in the waiting room. When Leslie’s parents arrived,

they moved quickly into Leslie’s room without noticing Marian.

Marian watched them through Leslie’s door. Mrs. Niedringhaus was

distraught, and Mr. Niedringhaus was beside himself. Leslie was

heavily sedated and unaware of anything happening around her. The

doctor attending Leslie spoke to the Niedringhauses. Marian assumed it

R IGHTING FAT E 19

was to share the same mixed news she received. They spoke more, and

the conversation must have turned to requiring an explanation, because

the doctor looked in Marian’s direction. Immediately, Mr.

Niedringhaus marched towards Marian.

A teary-eyed Marian started, ―Mr. Niedringhaus, none of this

should’ve happened. We didn’t do any of this. Our cause was always

nonviolent.‖

―Cause?‖ Mr. Niedringhaus erupted. ―What cause?‖

Seeing her husband bearing down on the young black student,

Mrs. Niedringhaus moved to join them in the waiting room.

―You’ve always been able to ride in front of the damn bus in

Cleveland! You’re in college for Christ Sakes! You!‖ He thrust a

pointed finger at Marian. ―In College!‖

Marian had several retorts that she had used with others who

suggested that the civil rights struggles were over, but having seen and

smelled Leslie’s burned flesh, she was too overwhelmed to offer any

resistance.

―My daughter is burned half to death, and for what? What?‖ he

demanded. ―Adding a negro studies class? Or, or, the right to, to stay

out all night?‖ He stuttered as he became more agitated. Mrs.

Niedringhaus stepped in and attempted to calm him.

Somehow, he had actually managed to list two of the causes on

Shawn, Marian, and Leslie’s list. And, at that moment, Marian couldn’t

help but agree that the issues paled in comparison to the price her

friend had just paid. Mrs. Niedringhaus moved Mr. Niedringhaus to a

neutral corner, while a deflated and sobbing Marian excused herself

from the waiting room and meandered towards the hospital cafeteria.

In the cafeteria, she purchased a bottle of Coke and a pack of

Virginia Slims. She opened the pack, lit the cigarette, took a long draw,

and closed her eyes to savor it and calm her nerves. It didn’t work. The

smell and taste of smoke wasn’t as appealing as it was before the fire.

Instead, she pressed the smoldering brown stick into the ashtray and

sipped on her Coke.


No stranger to sorrow and confusion, Marian wondered how in

the world she always seemed to end up on this side of things.

Marian circled the topic in her head on the bus ride back to her

dormitory. When she reached her door, a continually ringing phone

was there to greet her. Expecting it to be Shawn, she felt some relief

that she now did not have to think alone. She unlocked the door as fast

as she could, and rushed in to pick it up.

―Hello?‖

―Teedy,‖ Louis said in a somber tone.

―Hi Daddy,‖ Marian replied with surprise and trepidation.

She wondered how she was going to tell him about today’s

events.

―The school called.‖

―The school?‖ Marian replied with some indignation.

―They told me about the march. Are you okay?‖ Louis asked. He

wondered how he would respond when he heard Marian’s voice. He

was livid when he first heard the news, but he knew that this was his

time to be there for her.

―March? It was a rally.‖ She suddenly became flustered. ―Daddy

that was never supposed to happen. All along, we said no violence.

Daddy, Leslie got burned. She got burned so bad.‖

This was the most Marian said about the incident since it

happened. It felt good to let it out, and as her emotions rushed out, so

did her tears.

―Teedy,‖ Louis replied in a reassuring tone. ―Teedy, it’s alright,

I’ll be there tomorrow.‖

―Daddy, you don’t have to drive all the way up here. I’ll be fine,‖

she said, choking back tears.

―Teedy. They suspended you.‖

―Suspended me? But I didn’t do anything.‖

―Sweetie, they said they have to conduct an investigation.‖

―Go ahead. Investigate. I didn’t do anything,‖

R IGHTING FAT E 21

―They said you and the other leaders are suspended during the

investigation, and depending on the results you might be able to apply

for reinstatement next semester.‖

―Might be able to apply? Daddy, they can’t. I didn’t do anything

wrong!‖ She emphasized each word with a stomp of her foot.

―I know Teedy. Just calm down. Look, I’ll be there around noon,

okay? We’ll pack you up and come on home. It’ll get sorted out.‖

―Daddy this is not right! I didn’t do anything.‖

―It’s gonna be okay, alright? It will. Okay?‖

―Yeah,‖ a defeated Marian murmured.

―Now, I’ll be there tomorrow around noon, alright?‖

―Okay.‖

―Daddy loves you.‖

―I love you too.‖

Marian hung up the phone and immediately called Shawn. She

was ready for a real revolution now. They couldn’t do this to them.

They had to fight.

Shawn’s roommate, Jeremy, picked up the phone, and told

Marian that Shawn had been arrested, and they weren’t letting anyone

see him except his parents or his attorneys. Again, Marian felt sucker-

punched. In less than 8 hours, her whole world had changed, and she

did not have a say in it. Exhausted from trying to comprehend

everything and solve everything, Marian finally gave up. She hung up,

lay on her bed, pressed her face into her pillow, and cried for 10

minutes straight. It felt like hours.

Her friends, Carolyn and Deborah, stopped by to see if she had

returned from the hospital. They were equally surprised and devastated

to learn that Marian was leaving the next day.

After shedding a few tears themselves, the three girlfriends

decided to make it an all-night goodbye. Carolyn, who had the best

album collection of the three, went back to her dorm to retrieve her

records. Deborah talked her boyfriend out of his stash of beer and a few

joints. Marian contributed her barely used pack of Virginia Slims.


Their musical lineup usually included black empowerment songs

like James Brown’s ―I Don’t Want Nobody to Give Me Nothing,‖ but

tonight Marian wasn’t in the mood. Instead, they opted for everything

else, including Sly and the Family Stone, Marvin Gaye and Tammi

Terrell, and a four-song album, Hot Buttered Soul, from a new artist

named Isaac Hayes. The three girls talked, sang, laughed, cried, and

sometimes laughed until they cried into the early morning hours.

The next day, Louis arrived on campus around 11:30am to pick

up Marian and her things. She had not done much packing as she had

just woken up 30 minutes prior to his arrival. She and her father

packed a lot, and talked little.

The drive home was equally quiet. When Louis did speak, he was

encouraging. And, Marian spent most of the 2-hour drive back to

Columbus wondering how, in less than 24 hours, she could go from

being a pre-law student, to being kicked out of school.

Louis and Marian decided that she would work at his

architectural firm through the spring and summer until the university

reinstated her in the fall.

Louis had an impressive list of contacts, since Architectural

Digest featured one of his homes four years ago, a rarity for a black

architect. He even knew a few government officials in Cleveland who

should be able to nudge the school administrators to reinstate Marian

quickly. Unfortunately, both Louis and Marian had underestimated Mr.

Niedringhaus’ resentment and influence, as he saw to it that neither

Marian nor Shawn was ever offered reinstatement.

Anthony Ezell Miller is a husband and

father of six. Most of his career has been spent

managing marketing for global technology

firms. In 2002, his first film Dear Angry was

released to DVD and later aired on the INSP

cable network. He served as writer and

executive producer for the film.

Righting Fate is the story of the

Winstons, an African-American family whose

ambitions routinely butt heads with society’s

color lines during the 20th century. The family

has to decide how far they’ll go to get what

they feel they deserve. The story’s backdrop

showcases the rarely explored, affluent African-

American lifestyle of the early 1900s. The

trilogy spans three generations of Winstons

trying to right their fates.

righting fate prologue and ch.1

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