Ghosts of Manila - Mark Kram [17]
But Clay had no import in Muslim decision-making; he was merely a follower, a useful idiot with a name to them. Yet his lack of empathy stung followers of Malcolm. Clay had been far more than just nurtured by Malcolm. He had listened to his every word and wanted desperately to be like him, even to the point of taking on his mannerisms. Clay, like Malcolm, would turn away from the camera while a question was posed, then look directly and challengingly into it while answering; like Malcolm, he would also poke the index finger of his right hand into his cheek while listening. When Malcoln was on the ropes with the Muslims, Clay asked him if he should stay in the movement. Fearing for his own life, Malcolm told him to stay in line—for the moment.
At the time, the police were wary of a black civil war. Only hours after Malcolm was killed, a fire broke out in Clay’s second floor apartment at Seventy-first and Cregir on the Chicago South Side. Conveniently, Clay was having dinner with his wife, Sonji, at the Arabian Sands Hotel in Chicago when John Ali, the Muslims’ executive secretary, called him with the news. Firemen later called the blaze an accident, but it looked suspicious; the neighboring apartments were hardly damaged. Insiders believed the fire was an attempt by the Muslims to remind Clay to stay in line. Much more worldly and observant than Clay, Sonji suspected that her husband was being watched and tracked closely by the Muslims, and hinted to him that the Muslims had set the fire. “Nobody knew where we were having dinner,” she said. “The night of the day Malcolm X was murdered! It was too coincidental.” Retaliation by followers of the fallen Malcolm would come later, not against Ali but Elijah. While the bomb squad was summoned to his Chicago mansion, only to spend a long time opening a delivery that contained a ticking grandfather clock, the real thing later exploded in his Harlem mosque. Elijah was cordoned off, and Clay relied on a small group of guards, called the Fruit of Islam (Fruit of the Loon to detractors), who walked about with ears laid back and dead eyes. They would always be at Clay’s side. Tex Maule, of Sports Illustrated, who could forgive Clay almost anything, showed up at Clay’s quarters prior to the Folley fight, and he was amazed how easily the Muslims pushed him around.
Maule was trying to console Ali about the military draft, saying, “The way they’ll treat you, it will be like you’re on vacation.” Ali was clearly agitated, like a man who was seriously divided about a decision he must make, and time was running out. He asked Tex if he had ever been in jail. “Tex!” one of the Muslims intruded. “Man with that name never been to jail. He put people in jail.” He was referring to the fact that Maule was from Texas. Another Muslim added: “He say no problem. Why, that white trash out there send your ass to Nam in a second. And they’ll lynch you way up in a banana tree.” Tex tried to dispute their fantastic analysis of Ali’s situation. A Muslim waved him off, saying: “Some bullneck cracker corporal put a blade in him before he even get to Nam.” Another quickly added: “You be doin’ the stockade shuffle. Jist ’cause you don’t wanna wash dishes.” Tex urged Ali not to believe “this bullshit.” Ali said: “I don’t know what to believe.” A Muslim walked over to Ali: “Champ, go take a walk.” Ali said, “I don’t feel like it.” The Muslim said: “Listen to me! Jist get out, okay?” When Ali left, the three Muslims moved close to Maule, one of them pointing his finger and saying, “You best stay outta our business. Now haul your white ass outta here. You got nothin’ to say here.”
Current hagiographers have tied themselves in knots trying to