It was a warm summer evening in the year 1991. It was somewhere around seven o’clock. Three or four of us were sitting in the headquarters of the Harriet Tubman political club (Nostrand Ave.and E.New York Ave./ Maple ), which was doubling that year as the campaign office for Maurice Gumbs. The NYC charter had extended the council to 51 members from 36; and the 40th district was created, by slicing out pieces from the districts of Mary Pinkett (deceased), Enoch Williams (retired to Florida where he is now the mayor of a small town), Susan Alter (who was to later run for Public Advocate, on a ticket with republican mayor Rudy Giuliani), and Weiner (East-Flatbush/ and south). Gumbs was facing Una Clarke and Carl Andrews in that race. If memory serves me right, it was the homestretch of that contest.
Suddenly the doorway darkened and four men entered unannounced. They were Clarence Norman, Sylvester Leakes, Ed Miller and Carl Andrews. They weren’t smiling. For a fleeting moment I thought that the “afro-American boys” had come to “throw-down” or “rumble” with the “coconuts”/lol. I got up and made sure that my back was against the wall; I didn’t know what this was about, but I felt sure that it wasn’t about a joint lit-drop, or some co-operative mailing plan.
Leakes spoke first. He was a member of the school board like both Maurice and Carl. He seemed to want to be the broker of this visit. He explained why they came. He asked some direct questions. Maurice answered. Clarence Norman spoke next, he continued down a lawyerly path, asking some rather poignant questions; again Maurice answered. Then Ed Miller spoke. He was slick. He went down a campaign–tactics path. He asked questions about literature and campaigning methods and such; again Maurice answered. One or two times, one or two others from our side chimed in here and there; but the tension was real. I kept my big mouth shut-something uncharacteristic for a feisty (and sometimes impulsive) fool. It was best. This was a first for me after 18 years in Brooklyn.
Then Carl Andrews spoke. Carl had been almost totally silent till this point. He had mini-tears in his eyes as he spoke. He dabbed them away with his fingers so they wouldn’t flow. He was pissed. He was really really angry and quite emotional too. I have never seen Carl like this before (nor after), in my life.
Look, for years all types of things have been alluded to relative to Carl Andrews; both in words spoken and written. In fact, when I did my article on Clarence Norman (and Carl) recently on this blog, many were surprised that I defended them somewhat. Even in that article I said that I didn’t think that Carl was a virgin to all the shenanigans of Brooklyn’s politics, over the last two decades. I even went as far as saying that I believe that Carl and Clarence both know where many of the bodies are buried–so to speak. After all, they used to be thick as thieves; they were good buddies. I still think it was wrong however, for the DA (Hynes) to allow all the rumor, innuendo and aspersions cast on Carl’s name, to go by without some type of investigation (or grand jury), whereby he could have been afforded an opportunity to clear the air, his reputation and his name.
Despite all the talk, Carl has maintained a level of civility which is nothing short of incredible. I have never heard him bad-mouth any other politician or activist in the many years I have known him (except for one or two/lol). I have never heard say mean things about anyone really, except for Una Clarke. And even here he was mild in essentially calling her ‘crazy’. He is always with a ready-made smile and a hug for you, even when you may be on the other side of the contest. He is a very likeable guy. Truly. Much more so than Clarence, who is usually very serious in his demeanor.
So, what was it that made Carl Andrews cry-both literally and figuratively? What was it that made Carl make a few choice snide remarks (over the years) about the only politician that he seemed to dislike then (to me at least)? It was this: someone had put out some very derogatory political-literature about him. In the pieces, it was claimed that Carl Andrews despised Caribbean-Americans. It was also said that Carl thought that Caribbean-Americans were primitive, and that they swung from vines on trees like monkeys and gorillas; that they wore loin-cloth and walked around barefooted in the forests, and sometimes played with the wild animals; and that they were relatively backward people in essence. This was done in a district with a significant Caribbean-American population. The pieces were lit-dropped and/or even mailed in some spots. It was a hit below the belt. It was a hit straight to his balls or groin area.
Carl spoke about the fact that his (step) father was from “the islands”. He spoke of his many Caribbean-American friends (even girlfriends/lol). He spoke proudly of his ability to work with all peoples. He spoke of his ability to build bridges and coalitions along racial, ethnic and nationalistic lines. He spoke like a man who felt the race was being stolen by some low tactics. He wanted to be sure that Maurice and his campaign wasn’t responsible, even though they felt strongly that it was all coming from Una Clarke’s camp.
Maurice in turn produced the pieces of negative literature that was being circulated against him; then he showed Carl pieces that attacked both of them jointly. He even willingly agreed to submit to a lie detector test if needed. Then we later found out that there were pieces accusing both Maurice and Carl of corruption (on the school board). Some of them were actually mailed. One piece actually blamed the students’ falling (and failing) reading and math scores on the two of them. Another piece implied that they were complicit in burning down the district office. It wasn’t nice folks. Not by a long shot.
On the election night of that September Democratic party primary, Carl Andrews went to bed with roughly a 50 vote lead; by the time the machines were recanvassed and all the paper ballots counted, Una Clarke won the seat by about 30 votes. Carl was devastated-as anyone could expect; they had stolen his race with their last minute shenanigans.
Carl Andrews had the liberal party line in the November election that year. Maurice Gumbs endorsed him to no avail. Una won the race even though Carl did well. The Harriet Tubman political club was split over that endorsement. Some of the Caribs in this muti-racial, multi-ethnic, multi-nationalistic club, thought that it was a question of Caribbean-American empowerment, and that Una should be forgiven and supported. Others wanted her punished for running such a nasty campaign. The club suffered a mortal split. It was never the same again.
For those who are new to this area, Carl Andrews holds the distinct honor of having being whipped by both mother and daughter (Una and Yvette), at city and federal levels. The first race could have gone his way however, if only he had responded to the negative attack of that race, in a timely counter-active manner.
Many years later, Una Clarke was up for re-election; a young man with no Caribbean-American heritage, background or connections, decided to challenge her for the seat. Una Clarke started telling people that her challenger hated Caribbean-Americans; something akin to what happened in 1991. This time it was no contest.
Stay tuned-in folks.