The Mighty Miss Malone (33 page)

In the 1930s, boxing was really the only game in town, and the Joe Louis–Max Schmeling bouts brought together a perfect storm of many elements of history.

There was the racial aspect: many African Americans pinned their dreams on Joe’s shoulders, hoping that he could show our humanity and give us a sense of pride by excelling in this brutal sport. Race played an extremely important role in Schmeling’s homeland, Germany, as well. In 1936, before the first fight, the growing Nazi Party proclaimed that white superiority would be proven because no black man could beat a white.

There was the economic aspect: the fights took place at the nadir of the Great Depression. A conservative estimate of
American unemployment was twenty-five percent. Hundreds of thousands of children under twelve years old were homeless or on the road. It was a time when desperate Americans of all races were searching for something, anything, to celebrate. This is one of the reasons why Negro League baseball games were so important, and it wasn’t unusual for more than fifteen thousand people to attend a game.

There was also a political aspect to the fights: Louis and Schmeling served as surrogates for two cultures and political doctrines that would soon be at war. Neither man asked for these roles, but these were the parts they had to play.

It was in this atmosphere that on June 19, 1936, a rather nonchalant, heavily favored Joe Louis was handed his head by Max Schmeling. The euphoria in Germany was exceeded only by the absolute despair the result visited upon many Americans, particularly African Americans. Nearly every black person who is old enough to remember the fight has a story of how devastating Joe’s loss was. Ask someone in their eighties about the first fight—the horror of what happened is still alive in their retelling.

Flash ahead two years to 1938. While the racial and economic dynamics had not changed much since 1936, the political scene had altered radically. It was becoming increasing clear that Nazi Germany and the group of nations known as the Allies were about to go to war.

Joe Louis took this fight much more seriously. And on June 22, 1938, in New York City, he and Schmeling met for the second time.

My father was often animated when he spoke about
something he felt deeply; when he talked about that second fight he would absolutely light up. Something came into his eyes that wasn’t there very often. It was a sense of joy, a sense of pride, a sense of redemption.

I remember him telling me, “Joe hit him so hard in the first round that you could hear Schmeling cry out in pain on the radio above all the screaming. When Schmeling got up, Joe hit him again and broke his back.”

Several of Schmeling’s vertebrae
were
cracked during the one-round fight, and he was hospitalized for days to recover from the horrific beating. My father told me that the streets of his city, Grand Rapids, Michigan, and every other city across the country were filled with jubilant, crying people of all races. Joe Louis had given all Americans something to cheer about.

As the years went by, for many people the fight became a symbol of certain aspects of the human condition. In particular, it showed that almost nothing falls into well-defined categories of good and evil. While Max Schmeling was reviled at the time, he was, as we all are, a complex person. He never was a member of the Nazi Party, something rare in Germany for someone of his stature and fame, and mostly resisted Hitler’s attempts to paint him as an Aryan superman.

Years after the fight, his path and Joe Louis’s diverged greatly. Schmeling became wealthy. Louis, after many economic losses and much poor planning, was only able to find work as a greeter at a casino in Las Vegas.

The men developed a true friendship, and Schmeling would make an annual trip from Germany to see Louis. It is believed that Schmeling provided economic help to the struggling Louis
as well. Louis respected Schmeling so much that he requested that Schmeling be a pallbearer at his funeral.

Nothing is as obvious as we want to believe it is. There are different shades and interpretations to every story.

Recently, as I watched the news and heard stories of the horrific economic struggles so many people are having right now, I was struck by this fact: even though the Great Depression took place some seventy-five years ago, we haven’t come very far. Billie Holiday’s line, “Them that’s got shall get, them that’s not shall lose,” is truer than ever. The black and Hispanic middle classes have been nearly wiped out in the past five years; the “wealth gap” between white and black households is an unbelievable twenty to one, the gap between white and Hispanic households eighteen to one. Meaning the average white household is twenty times wealthier than the average black household, eighteen times wealthier than the average Hispanic household.

Those are cold and impersonal statistics, but behind those statistics are the lives of the poor. Often those poor are women and children—mostly children. I am horrified at the immoral, selfish calls to cut the paltry programs that have been set up to aid these young people. Langston Hughes’s line “It never was America to me” (as adapted by David Bowie) played over and over in my head while I researched and wrote
The Mighty Miss Malone
.

Even though Deza is a fictional character, many of her woes are based on the lives and struggles of very real children. A particularly rich and heartbreaking source was the collection of letters children sent to President Roosevelt during the Great Depression.

Authors are frequently asked what they want a particular book to accomplish. What I want
The Mighty Miss Malone
to do is, first, to provide an enjoyable read. Second, as with all of my books, I want this to be a springboard for young people to ask questions and do more research on some of the themes the book explores, in this case the Great Depression and poverty in general. And third, I hope that Deza can serve as a voice for the estimated fifteen million American children who are poor, who go to bed hungry and whose parents struggle to make a dignified living to feed and care for them.

After writing that last sentence, I can’t help feeling this: the fact that in late 2011 I can write that there are fifteen million poor children in this country is, to quote the Mighty Miss Malone, “A tragedy, a true tragedy.”

(Figures are from the National Poverty Center of the University of Michigan Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy—2009 Poverty Thresholds.)

Although only my name appears on the cover of
The Mighty Miss Malone
, this novel is more of a collaboration than most people would believe. It would not have been possible without the insights and suggestions that a few old and new friends and trusted family members have provided. I would like to thank the following people, who, through their careful reading, helped me more fully understand Deza’s story: Habon Curtis, Lindsey Curtis, Cydney Curtis, Sarah Curtis, Kimberly Sleet, Hannah Furrow, Annaliese Furrow-Casement, Camden Furrow-Casement, Alexandro DiCosta, Valis Vanderlinden-Casement, Leslie Acevedo, Kathryn Black, Roz Ivey, Coleen Beamish, Carson Prieur-Smith and her grandpa Doug “The Thug” Tenant, Nechole Drake-McClendon, Knicolas McClendon, Steve Mariotti, Traki Taylor, Saundra Patrick, Joli and Anthony Cooper and the incredible Lauren Pankin.

I was also immeasurably helped by my usual crew of readers, Leslie Curtis, Pauletta Bracy, Janet Brown and, most especially, Rose Casement. Thank all of you for your ongoing support and suggestions.

Much of the research for this book was painstakingly done
by Mrs. Leila Shaiya. Thank you so much, Leila, for digging up sites and readings that brought the horrors of the Great Depression to life. Your work added so much to the book and is greatly appreciated.

A special thank-you to Marian Wright Edelman for her continuing struggles on behalf of the real world’s Dezas, the mostly forgotten and ignored victims of poverty: the children.

Thank you to Habon and Ayaan Curtis, Jay Kramer and Gail Ganakis for all of your support. Each of you has made my work life much easier.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to my friends at Wendy Lamb Books and Random House who have brought
The Mighty Miss Malone
to life, among them Dana Carey, Caroline Gertler, Sabrina Ricci and Megan Looney. The many hours you spent going over this book and your brilliant ideas and keen insights have been invaluable. Kate Gartner, thank you for your art direction, and the cover. I am grateful to Tamar Schwartz and Tracy Heydweiller for keeping the book on schedule. For their support and hard work on behalf of my book, I also thank Adrienne Waintraub, Tracy Lerner, Lisa Nadel, Alexandra Bracken, Judith Haut, Elizabeth Zajac, John Adamo and Mary Beth Kilkelly and the marketing team; Joan Demayo and her sales team; Chip Gibson and James Perry.

A huge thanks to Barbara Perris. For seventeen years you have given me the freedom to know that when I make a mistake you will gently show me a better way. Now that you’re retiring, I’ll miss you a great deal.

Let me conclude by saying the world is unfair. If there was a smidgen of justice, the cover of
The Mighty Miss Malone
would say “by Christopher Paul Curtis and Wendy Lamb.” Ms. Lamb, I am so grateful that you saw something in
The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963
those many years ago. You have not only helped give birth to Kenny Watson, Bud Caldwell, Steven Carter, Luther T. Farrell and Deza Malone, you have also helped give birth to Christopher Paul Curtis, author. I can never thank you enough.

Christopher Paul Curtis is the bestselling author of
Bud, Not Buddy
, which won the Newbery Medal and the Coretta Scott King Award, among many other honors. His first novel,
The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963
, was also singled out for many awards, among them a Newbery Honor and a Coretta Scott King Honor. His most recent novels for Random House include
Mr. Chickee’s Messy Mission, Mr. Chickee’s Funny Money
, and
Bucking the Sarge
.

Christopher Paul Curtis grew up in Flint, Michigan. After high school he began working on the assembly line at the Fisher Body Flint Plant No. 1 while attending the Flint branch of the University of Michigan, where he began writing essays and fiction. He is now a full-time writer. Christopher Paul Curtis currently lives in Detroit with his wife, Habon, and their daughter, Ayaan.