Bridgett Davis - Lucky Numbers

 

 

I was in my first-grade class one day, and I had just shown my teacher, Ms. Miller, an assignment. We had to color paper petals, cut them out and paste them onto a picture of a flower. And as I'm returning to my seat, Ms. Miller stops me and she says, “You sure do have a lot of shoes.” The week before, she had asked me what my father did for a living. And I said, “He doesn't work.” And she said, “Well, what does your mother do?” And I froze. I knew I could not tell her that my mom was in the numbers, which was a lot like today's lottery, except that it was underground and [chuckles] it really existed for decades before the state basically took it over. [audience laughter] 

 

My mom was a numbers runner. That means that every day, except Sunday, she would take people's bets on three-digit numbers, collect their money when they didn't win, pay out their winnings when they did and profit from the difference. And the thing is the numbers was wildly popular. It generated millions of dollars in every major city in the country. And so, you can imagine that a lot of that money circulated through the Black community and those dollars turned over many, many times. I mean, numbers money helped to provide services that Black folks desperately needed. It really helped with launching small businesses and providing college scholarships. It helped folks get home loans and it even helped a fledgling NAACP stay afloat for years. 

 

My mom was high ranking. She wasn't just a numbers runner. She was a banker. And that means that she didn't just have her own customers, but other bookies turned their business into her. She was the only woman in Detroit operating at that level for a long time. That's how she was able to give us a solid middle-class life. A solid middle-class life. And so, you can imagine that I was really, really, really proud of my mom. I just thought, this is really incredible that she's able to give us this middle-class life. But what I loved most of all was, I mean, I can do it now. I can conjure the sound of her voice on the phone taking her customers bets. She would say, “Okay, Ms. Queenie, I'm ready to take your numbers. Six-nine-two, straight for 50 cents. Seven-eight-eight, box for a dollar.” 

 

And folks had these really creative ways of coming up with numbers to play. They had all kinds of ways they would think about what three digits they wanted to play. They could play their birth dates, or their anniversaries, or their addresses or their license plates. Some people even like to play their favorite Bible verse. [audience laughter] And for me to just hear my mom reciting those numbers every morning, it was like a daytime lullaby, because it meant that everything was right in the world, because my mom was handling her business. 

 

On the other hand, it is true that it was a livelihood based on a daily win or lose gamble. So, yes, I also remember how we would all gather around and wait for that phone call every evening that would announce the day's winning numbers. They were based on racetrack results. It was like this tense silence moved through our home like a nervous prayer. When we actually heard the winning numbers, we took our cues from mama, either she looked relieved or she looked worried. Either, she'd been lucky that day or one of her customers had been. It wasn't that she ever resented her customers winning. She would always say, “Folks play numbers to hit, so you cannot be mad when they do.” 

 

I was so proud of my mom. I knew she was not like any of my friends’ mothers. I knew she was running things. And one day, I decided I was going to organize all of her numbers running materials. Yeah. [audience laughter] And so, I went through the house gathering everything into this shallow cardboard box. Her spiral notebooks, and her white scratch pads, and her black binders and her red ink pens, and then I very carefully painted on the side of the box, Mama's numbers. I used bright pink nail polish. I was so impressed with myself, because I remembered the possessive S. [audience laughter] 

 

So, I proudly show this to my mom. She takes one look and says, “You cannot put my business out in the street like that.” That's when it hit me that I had to keep my admiration for my mom private. It's not that she was ever apologetic or embarrassed about what she did. There was no shame attached to it. My mom made it very clear that the numbers was a legitimate business that just happened to be illegal. [audience laughter] She had all of these ways to help to mitigate the risk of exposure. 

 

My mom basically lived a low-key lifestyle. She never flaunted her wealth. Yes, she always drove a new car, but it was a Buick Riviera and not a Cadillac. We lived in a lovely home on a tree lined street, but we did not live in one of the big houses in an exclusive enclave in Detroit. We were well dressed. My mom was the best dressed of all, but her style was understated. She was classic and classy. No one would have ever described my mother as flashy. 

 

My mom's edict was, “Keep your head up and your mouth shut. [audience laughter] Be proud, but be private.” And that's why when my first-grade teacher asked me what my mom did for a living, I knew I could not tell her the truth. I knew I could not reveal the family business. We all knew to keep that secret. The only problem was I hadn't been told what I should say. So, I said to Ms. Miller, “I'm not sure what my mom does.” And after Ms. Miller said to me, “You sure do have a lot of shoes,” she said to me, “Before you sit down, I want you to name every pair of shoes you have. Go ahead.” I was so nervous, because it felt like a test and so I didn't want to get it wrong. I went through this mental inventory of all the shoes that lined my closet shelf and I just started naming them. The black and white polka dotted ones with the bow tie, the buckled ruby red ones, the salmon pink lace ups.

 

I managed to get through 10 pairs of shoes. And Ms. Miller said to me, “10 pairs is an awful lot.” I could hear something bad in her voice, as she ordered me to take my seat. And then, the next day in class, Ms. Miller called me back to her desk and she said, “You did not tell me you had white shoes.” I looked down at my feet and I felt like I had been caught in a lie. I knew I had disappointed my teacher. And the rest of the day, I was so worried that I was in trouble. 

 

And so, that evening, after my mother was finished taking her customer's bets and before the day's winning numbers came out, during that brief expectant pause in the day when she was least distracted and still in a good mood, I told her what happened at school. I confessed that I forgot to tell Ms. Miller about the 11th pair of shoes. I have never seen my mother get so angry. She was furious. And I thought, I am about to get a spanking. But in fact, my mom said to me, “That is none of her damn business. Who does she think she is?” 

 

And then, my mom stood up and said, “Get your coat.” And I thought, oh, my God, we are going back to school and she's going to confront Ms. Miller. But in fact, my mom took me to Saks Fifth Avenue, [audience laughter] where we made our way to the children's shoe department. [audience laughter] [audience applause] 

 

She pointed to the most beautiful pair of yellow patent leather shoes, and she said, “Those are pretty.” I'm telling you, I still can remember when my mother pulled out a $100 bill and paid for those shoes, the saleswoman looked at her the way Ms. Miller had looked at me. On the way home, my mom said, “You're going to wear these to school tomorrow. [audience laughter] And you better tell that damn teacher of yours that you actually have a dozen pair of shoes. You hear me?” The next day, I wore my new shoes with a matching yellow knit dress. And in class, I was so nervous, but I did as I was told. I walked up to my teacher's desk and I said, “Ms. Miller, I have 12 pairs of shoes.” She looked down at my feet, and then she leveled her blue eyes at my face and she said, “Sit down.” [audience laughter] Ms. Miller never said another word to me. 

 

Sending me to school that day in those decidedly unsubtle, bright yellow shoes, my mom really did risk raising Ms. Miller's suspicions. But she did it to make a point. And it was one that I understood and heard loud and clear, “No one can tell me, ever what I'm entitled to.” My mom used material things as armor against a world designed to convince us, Black, working-class children of migrants that we didn't deserve a good life. And her mission was to make sure we knew otherwise. 

 

So, yes, 12 pairs of shoes for a six-year-old girl who's going to outgrow them in a few months might seem excessive. But for my mom, it was an investment in how I walked into the future with my head up. But I did continue to keep my mouth shut. For decades, I never told anyone what my mother did for a living. Not even after Michigan's daily lottery became legal, [audience laughter] and not even after my mother died, which means I never got to tell anyone how proud I was of her until now. Thank you.