Maxine
Sullivan (May 13, 1911 – April 7, 1987)
The
customers sat in hard back chairs. Listening to the swing. Of the
barbershop door. Daddy cut hair. Maxine Sullivan of Twelfth Street
swept up the floor. Everyone read The Free Press. The
Hindenburg exploded in flames.
In the Sahara Desert
it rained. Little
Maxine danced around the room in her new pink dress.
January.
And the Red Sox acquired 19-year-old Ted Williams.
Slush in the streets. April seemed so far away. But little Maxine
would sing. And all the customers. Would listen. Amongst all the
noise. Tyrants in Europe. The boss at work. Maxine had spring in her
voice.
One
weekend. Maxine took a bus. And did not return. Loch Lomond. An odd
song. For a little black girl. To build a career upon. Little Maxine
was “Going Places” in the twentieth century. With Louis
Armstrong. When he was king. With Ronald Reagan. Before he was
president.
One
afternoon. Elmer J Fudd flew. Waldo Waterman's Arrowbiles. Over
Spain. Laughs. Poured down upon. The Basque. Town of Guernica. And
Maxine. Stepped off the stage. In an age of selflessness. There was a
child. To raise.
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