"Spider Robinson - Night Of Power" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Spider)

Night Of Power

(c) 1985 by Spider Robinson; all rights reserved. This book may not be
reproduced in whole or in part by any means without permission from the
copyright holder. For information contact Spider Robinson through Bibliobytes.
This is a work of fiction, newly revised for this 1994 edition by the
author. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional,
and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.


CHAPTER ONE


"The infant mortality rate in Central Harlem and the Fort Greene section
of Brooklyn is almost double the city rate, and twice as high as the national
rate, according to a recent report.
"The report...showed that of every 1,000 babies born in 1980, 27.8 in
Central Harlem died and 26.6 in Fort Greene died. The citywide infant
mortality rate was 16.1 per 1,000 births compared with 12.5 per 1,000 births
nationwide....
"The infant mortality rate for minorities here in 1979 was 68% greater
than the rate among white New Yorkers, the report indicated.
"The infant mortality rate is an indicator used to measure the quality
of life..."
-Esther Ross, New York Amsterdam News, August 21, 1982


"In the first years after the [First World] War, 70 black Americans were
lynched, many of them still in uniform. Fourteen were burned publicly by white
citizens; 11 of them were burned alive.
During the 'Red Summer' of 1919, there were no fewer than 25 race riots
across the country. A riot in the nation's capitol lasted 3 days; in Chicago,
38 people were killed and 537 injured during 13 days of mob rule."
-C. Eric Lincoln, The Black Muslims in America


"The white man need expect no more Negro blood to be shed on his
behalf...the dying to be done by the black man in the future will be done to
make himself free."
-Marcus Garvey, 1920


"There's a shitstorm coming."
-Norman Mailer, The White Negro


It was, of course, just after they had passed the last exit from the New
England Thruway that the car cleared its throat apologetically.
"Ahem. Excuse me," it said with its usual irritating diffidence. "I will
be needing fuel within the next fifty klicks."