Chapter 1

Wednesday, June 30, 1976

I was alone again. Was I going to take advantage of this opportunity? That question kept rolling around in my head. Could I make better choices this time, well sure I could? I would remember all the pitfalls. I would know what to change and how to change it. A coherent idea began to take shape, slowly turning into a plan. I could see myself taking advantage of this opportunity. I don’t know how long it took for this decision to become a solid plan, but it did. It would start with playing football being a team player and getting high marks in high school. That would lead to college, which would lead to a better career outlook. Maybe I could take ROTC and become an officer, or start a company, or politics. I could see myself being a success. I could feel it.

I woke up. There was beeping, loud, and constant beeping. Also, indiscernible voices, muffled by being broadcast over a PA system. There was light, muted, and dull. And most of all, there was the pain. Lots of pain. High intense levels of pain. My whole body was in discomfort. I was in casts and bandages and strapped into the bed. I could not move very much at all.

Soon my eyes adjusted to the lights, and I was able to focus. I saw I was in a hospital room, attached to tubes and wires. A nurse walked through the door. She was an African American, full-bodied, on the short side. Maybe 5’ 3” and was wearing a starched white nursing uniform and cap. I haven’t seen a nurse wear that for ages. They generally wore scrubs like most everyone else in the hospital. She looked at me and made a beeline to my bedside, turned off the constant beeping. Then she started to poke and prod me. Did I mention I hurt everywhere? Her administrations were not improving this situation. “Hey, that hurts!” Was that my voice? It had to be. I spoke the words. The voice wasn’t mine though it was deep and melodic. I sounded quite different than I expected.

“I’m sorry young man, but I have to examine you and make sure you’re ok. I am going to be quick about it and go get the doctor.” With that being said, she took my temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. It was during this procedure I make a most startling discovery yet. I am a black person. I mean, I am an African American.

To take my blood pressure, she moved the bed into an upright position. While this was happening, I could see my unbandaged hand. It’s the hand of a black person. I am a black person. I mean, I am an African American.

I’m beyond speechless. The Guardian said I would go back to being sixteen. I would get a chance to do it over. I was going to be a success, but Nothing was said about being a black man. Then the nurse left me.

This was more than I bargained for, I didn’t expect this. I am not a racist. I never believed whites were better than blacks. I never discriminated against them. The ones I met and worked with were just like anyone else. They all had their faults and problems, their hopes, and their dreams. But if I am honest, I never put much thought into it or them as people. Of course, I never put a lot of thought into other people in general. I can see how I was very self-centered the first time around. I had to come to grips with being black. I was still in a state of shock when the doctor walked through the door. A small cadre of other medical professionals trailed after him.

They came over and formed a semi-circle around the bed. One of my visitors extended a hand and introduced himself as Doctor Albright. He and all the men with him were white. I saw some nurses, some of which were African American. It appeared I was in a teaching hospital. The doctor gave a summary of my chart reading to the assembled group, and they discussed treatment methodologies.

“You’ve got to be one of the luckiest young men I have ever known. We thought we’d lost you. You have been in a coma for nearly three weeks. Can you remember anything at all?” I started to think about the accident. At first, I remembered the F-250 and the T-Bird. But slowly, that image faded, and a different and more horrifying image replaced it. I saw it first at real speed and then in slow motion. The Semi ran a stop sign and crashed into the car with my parents and me. My father was driving, and my mother was in the front passenger seat. The truck mangled the sizeable black sedan. I looked on as the truck’s momentum ripped the car in half. The car was struck on the passenger side. Mother never had a chance, and she never saw it coming. Father wasn’t much better off. He, too, died nearly instantly. Because I was in the back seat and wearing a seatbelt, I was spared, but still, I was severely injured. The truck driver survived.

This flash of memory was over in an instant. I answered the question. “I was in a car accident. I was with my parents, and a semi-truck hit us. And it must have been bad because I am here.” I knew the answer to the next question, but I had to ask, “How are my parents? Where are they? Are they ok?”

The look on his face said what he didn’t say, and confirmed the truth of my memory. Instead, he asked, “Can you tell me your name?”

“My name is Calvin Michael Johnson, but I prefer Michael,” I answered quickly. “You said I was in a coma for three weeks. Could you tell me today’s date?”

“Of course, Michael. Today is Wednesday, June 30, 1976.”

Wow, I thought. I am back in time. I really can have a do-over. But being black, that’s going to make everything different. And no parents, where am I going to live? Questions, many without answers, rushed through my mind.

“Ok, that means four days until I am sixteen. I was born on July 4, 1960. By the reaction to my question about my parents, I can only assume they didn’t survive the accident, or they succumbed to their injuries. I guess the first order of business is my physical assessment. I am in pain, lots of it. I assume there are extensive injuries. But what is the prognosis? Are any of them permanent? What about leaving this place? When and under what circumstances will I be released from this hospital? And the biggest is, do I have an attorney to represent my needs? If not, I will need one.”

Doctor Albright clears his throat, “Ahem...” pauses for a second, and continues. “Well, your visible injuries include starting with a fractured skull and a deviated septum. Your left humerus, which was broken with a clean straight break, is next on the list. Your left ulna has a hairline fracture, which should heal well. You have three fractured ribs on the left side. The left tibia required surgery to repair, six pins currently holding it in place. They should be ready to come out in about six weeks. Your ankle is sprained, with some ligament damage. Also, you suffered from a concussion. Internally there are some significant injuries. First, you had a bruised spleen. Your liver has suffered damage, and we had to remove part of it. You should be fine. Your liver will regrow, so that should be encouraging. The other injuries you suffered are minor lacerations and contusions. Many were the result of the glass breakage or being thrown into the rear driver’s side passenger door and the seatback in front of you.

“We will prescribe some pain killers now that you are out of the coma. My professional opinion is you should have a full recovery, with some physical therapy and time. I would recommend taking things easy at the start. But by the end of summer, you should be ready for full activities. As for being released, I have to say it will be some time before that occurs. And there is an attorney outside waiting to speak with you. He has been working tirelessly on your behalf.”

While listening to this, I let out a yawn involuntarily. “I think it’s time we let you get some rest, young man. We should be getting to other patients on our rounds.”

“Can I get something to eat? I’m starving,” I asked just before Doctor Albright was about to exit the room. His response didn’t thrill me.

“I think for at least the first couple of days, I am going to keep you on a liquid diet. You can have some broth and some ice chips sent to you. Maybe if you can hold that down and things move along as they should, we can revisit solids.”

I expected this, but it didn’t mean I was happy. I understood the reasons for it, but dang it; I was famished.

The doctor was exiting the room as a tall, lean gentleman entered the room. He was over six-foot-tall if you used the doorframe as a reference point. He had a very well put together look to him, white starched and pressed shirt, dark navy-blue suit coat and trousers to match. He had jet black hair that appeared professionally kept. His appearance screamed lawyer to me. The man walked to my bedside and offered a greeting and a smile.

“Hello, Michael. I am Mr. Sawyer, Thomas Sawyer. And yes, I’ve heard them all. I really am Tom Sawyer. I am your attorney. I don’t use the term lawyer for obvious reasons,” he said with a light laugh. We have a lot to discuss, but I won’t take up too much of your time right now. I mainly came by to introduce myself and to give a brief overview of your legal situation. Let me say that I was your parents’ attorney for many years. I am the one who drafted their will. I have already started to probate the will. It’s a legal requirement in this state, no matter how many heirs there are. Both your parents had a life insurance policy with double indemnity for accidental death. The insurance company sent the check to my office after I filled out the proper paperwork. You’ll have access to ten percent of the insurance policy value every year until you turn 18. Until then, it will be held in a court-approved trust for you. Your ten percent without any accruing interest is 50,000 dollars. This money is for your living expenses and educational needs, along with a stipend for limited spending.

“I’m sorry to announce, I have followed your parents’ wishes concerning their final affairs. They both chose cremation. I have a copy of their joint will for you to look over. I highlighted the cremation wishes so you would know. I wasn’t taking liberties and doing things without authorization. These things required promptness.