The Strivers' Row Spy Read Online Free Page A

his desk, leaned forward, and handed it to me. “Go ahead and skim through it. Take your time and make sure it rings a bell.”
    I began thumbing through it, looking for the article. It took me a moment to digest his comment. Wow , I thought, one remark about this Garvey individual had been the impetus behind their bringing me to Washington. This had nothing to do with Du Bois after all.
    â€œTake your time, Sidney.”
    I found the article and began pretending to read, trying to collect my thoughts. I’d read this article many times. Loretta had brought it to me, excited beyond words to see my name in print. I did know some things about Garvey. I’d been reading about him off and on since he’d arrived from Jamaica in 1916.
    He was a powerful orator and operated out of Harlem. I’d read some of his remarks and took exception to his seeming disrespect for Du Bois, who’d been fighting the fight here in the United States, literally, before Garvey was even born. Based on what I’d read, I had myself convinced that Garvey was committed to destroying Du Bois, the NAACP, and everything it stood for.
    Garvey’s arrogance and seemingly quick dismissal of too many American colored leaders was upsetting. I didn’t know if he appreciated the unique nature of the Negro American struggle compared with the struggles of coloreds in other countries, including his own.
    My dislike for Garvey wasn’t just about his politics but also about his approach to leadership. He was flirting with becoming a demagogue.
    Based on what I’d read and heard from others, Garvey detested and was jealous of Du Bois because of his New England background, Harvard education, and close relationships with whites. The last thing our people needed was a conflict between two of its own leaders.
    And Garvey would definitely have success if his aim was to rile up angry colored folk. Spying on him for the Bureau would actually mean spying on him for Du Bois as far as I was concerned.
    â€œYes, I remember making a statement to my college newspaper,” I finally said, returning the paper to him.
    â€œJust how familiar are you with Mr. Garvey?”
    â€œI know nothing about him. I made that remark because a Middlebury newspaper reporter showed me a quote Garvey had made before coming to America regarding light-skinned folks in the West Indies.
    â€œThe quote seemed insensitive. I had never heard of Garvey so I flippantly made the remark, knowing that I was two months away from graduation. What I actually said was ‘If Garvey truly has a problem with light-skinned coloreds, that attitude has the potential to undermine the American Negro agenda, especially considering how many people are light-skinned.’ They took my quote out of context.”
    Hoover retrieved a file from his desk drawer and stood. “One minute,” he said, heading for the door and exiting.
    One minute turned to five so I stood and began pacing back and forth, trying to get the circulation going in my legs. I also took some deep breaths. Maybe he’d been simply leaving the room to share info about me with colleagues—to get second and third opinions about my answers.
    Lying to Mr. Hoover about not knowing anything regarding Garvey was easy and important—especially if I intended to continue playing the apolitical character he seemed to like. But all the reading material Professor Gold had provided me with was enough to keep me well informed about the up-and-coming leader and soapbox orator. Nevertheless, I was actually telling Mr. Hoover the truth about the quote I’d made to the paper: They had taken my quote out of context.
    â€œHere you are, Mr. Temple,” said Irene, walking in and handing me a glass of water. “Was told you might be thirsty.”
    â€œThank you.”
    She scurried off and I sipped. I walked over and took a closer look at the photographs hanging on the wall to the right of Mr.