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344 pages

English

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As a Texas-based solider in the US Army, who is but twenty-three years old and black as well, Corporal Tyrone Lattimore is generally regarded as soft-spoken, intelligent, highly proficient, and compassionate. In some circles, however, the corporal is perceived as an enigma-a man who marches to the beat of a different but benevolent drummer, and that, alternately, makes him a very controversial figure. Seemingly, he has no inhibitions, no hidden agenda, no feelings of ill will or animus and exudes an insatiable love for his fellow man-regardless of a person's race, religion or gender. He's acutely aware that everyone has a special story, sometimes easy and sometimes hazardous, and he stands ready to help them navigate through it. To him, it's an engrained calling.

Sujets

Dráma

Romance

Fiction

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Publié par	Stratton Press
Date de parution	02 juillet 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781648954757
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

DARK YESTERDAYS BRIGHT TOMORROWS

Lionel B. Harris

DARK YESTERDAYS BRIGHT TOMORROWS
Copyright © 2021 Lionel B. Harris

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Stratton Press Publishing
831 N Tatnall Street Suite M #188,
Wilmington, DE 19801
www.stratton-press.com
1-888-323-7009

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in the work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Shutterstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-64895-474-0
ISBN (Ebook): 978-1-64895-475-7

Printed in the United States of America

To both my mother, Ruby, and my Uncle Bill (William Strickland), the two most stellar influences in my life…

I have a dream this afternoon—that the brotherhood of man will become a reality in this day. With this faith, I will go out and carve a tunnel of hope through the mountain of despair. With this faith, I will go out with you and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows . With this faith, we will be able to achieve this new day when all of God’s children, Black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing with the Negro in the spiritual of old. Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Contents
PART One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
PART Two
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
PART Three
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
PART Four
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
PART five
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
About the Author

Part
One

Chapter
One
Fort Sam Houston, Texas (San Antonio)
Friday—August 9, 1963

“You had a good home, but you left.”

When Thomas Holland went through basic training at Fort Leonard Wood, there was this kid (a weird sort, to say the least), who seemed to almost constantly recite that particular phrase and especially during moments of exasperation and ritualistic harassment. And throughout the succeeding months that Private Holland accustomed himself to military life, he had grown to detest those words and their perpetual origin, the goofy kid.
Eddie Marlowe was the youthful soldier’s name, and even though he and Holland had parted company after their rigid stint in Missouri, the boy’s favorite words, “You had a good home, but you left!” lived on. In fact, they virtually haunted Private Holland whenever an unpleasant or taxing situation arose. And such was the case when, as an incoming soldier, he first arrived at the Fifty-Third General Hospital of Fort Sam Houston, Texas. Dressed in his khaki uniform, he stood inside the unit’s orderly room and momentarily signed in on the register sheet as he previewed his forthcoming fate. And right then and there, as Ed Marlowe’s prophetic words virtually swirled through his mind, Holland deemed that fate to be gloomy and somewhat despicable. Stationing himself next to the nearest window, he keenly observed the personnel of Fifty-Third General as they arrived in the company area, fresh back from an apparent field exercise.
However, the word fresh was, to a certain degree, inappropriate in this instance. For when the soldiers went about their business, emerging from a lengthy convoy of jeeps and two-and-a-half ton trucks and then assembling themselves in a formation, they were everything but fresh . On the contrary, they were collectively dirty, sweaty, and from the looks on their faces, disgruntled and beat to their socks as well. Furthermore, it appeared that they were unanimously opposed to the recently called assembly.
Nevertheless, the soldiers of Fifty-Third General did adhere to the general program. Although their movement was void of any kind of enthusiasm, row by row, they lined themselves up and assumed an at-ease position until the utterance of the word attention was heard. And of course, the men did snap to that familiar military stance in the wake of that command.
Currently, although Private Holland was still indoors and was approximately twenty paces from the specific officer who had called the soldiers to order, he was within clear hearing range of the assemblage. And he was intent upon listening to the proceedings when he was suddenly distracted. Momentarily startled, he turned to confront the forceful voice, which stemmed from directly behind him.
“Sir, I’m sorry,” he promptly said, responding mainly to the glistening silver bars of the officer before him. “I didn’t hear what you said. I’m sorry, sir.”
The steely gray-eyed intruder stood silent for a moment, a moment that seemed more like an hour to a nervous Thomas Holland. Garbed immaculately in a tropical worsted uniform with shoes sparkling to almost complement the shine of his captain’s bars, the officer just stood there, seemingly studying the enlisted man. Then, finally, in a gruff tone, he reissued his most previous words.
“I said I want your narrow ass out in that formation!” he shouted. “And, mister, don’t you ever tell me you’re sorry about anything again! Is that clear?”
Holland was befuddled and inwardly quite angry, but he was smart enough to be submissive too. “Yes, sir, that’s very clear, sir.”
“What is your name, young man?” the captain then asked.
“Private E-2 Holland, sir. My name’s Thomas Holland, sir.”
Now, the captain perused the private’s chest area.
“Report to me immediately after formation is dismissed, Mr. Holland,” he demanded, “and don’t let me catch you absent of your name plate again. Now move out, soldier.”
Private Holland had set his duffle bag on the floor, near the door, when he first entered the orderly room, and through his frustration and haste to obey his superior’s orders, he soon found himself sprawled on the floor. He then tumbled, nervously looking back at the humorless captain (who, in fact, was shaking his head in disgust), and finally made his way outdoors to the ensuing formation. The private was steamed but still quite docile as the captain strutted spryly behind.
But soon, when Holland took the liberty to blend in with the now-rigid sea of men, his anger was steadily on the decline. During his rather brief stint with the United States Army, he had learned to denounce certain adversity as “militaristic bullshit,” and that’s how he perceived the captain’s recent actions. Therefore, he assumed the stance of attention and, just like the other soldiers, awaited the next command.
“At ease, gentlemen,” shouted the officer who was presently in charge of the assemblage. “First and foremost, I’d like to commend each and every one of you on the excellent job you did at Camp Bullis for the past twelve days. I greatly appreciate your cooperation and your fruitful efforts, which, combined, served to make the field expedition an overwhelming success. And believe me, you will all be justly rewarded for your exceptional performance in the near future.”
Presently, the soldiers of Fifty-Third General managed to suppress their weariness and perk up to a degree. In fact, with smiles beaming and hands clapping, they rendered a rousing ovation to the speaker and didn’t quiet down until the officer opted to talk again. But in their merriment, it was obvious (even to a neophyte like Thomas Holland) that they were genuinely fond of their addresser.
“I thank you for your approval,” the officer teasingly spoke, resuming his delivery. “But enough said about that, so let’s push on. Now, I do realize you’re dog-tired, and God knows you have a right to be, but before we dismiss you this evening, I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to your new company commander—Captain Joseph A. Grabowski. Captain Grabowski…”
To the surprise of everyone pr