Anthony Owens (Part III)

Della did not realize that she was psychic until she moved to Harlem. Her third-eye remained closed through her youth. She did not blink and see the light until she was 33.

Her father had ‘the gift’ too, but was able to channel the energy through his music. In 1923, it was not glamorous to have insight into the future. Phrases such as ‘touched’ were used by the voodoo-superstitious descendants of former slaves to describe individuals in society who could ‘touch’ others like Miles could with his guitar. Western psychiatrists would likely diagnose him as ‘schizophrenic’, ‘psychotic’, or ‘delusional’, but Black folks from the Creole mix of New Orleans knew miles had been blessed with the gift of ‘sight’. They feared him because he had authority over the emotions of others. That is why he left New Orleans for Harlem in the first place. A prophet is never accepted in his own hometown and those who practiced black magic in New Orleans wanted his gifts for themselves.

When he picked up a guitar for the first time, he played it as if it were an extra appendage. He was a natural, gifted musician. Like a young man learning the art of masturbation, he picked up the guitar, tuned it a little and released his very soul into the universe. The melodies that flowed from him almost effortlessly enabled the young man to prophesy so that all would understand the very nature of life. He didn’t have to say a word when he played guitar. Some insisted that the voice of the Holy Spirit could be heard when he played in gospel ensembles in Harlem churches. His favorite performances were at places like the Cotton Club though. The real spirit within him was set free when he played for sinners. Those performances were like pouring wine into new wineskins.

Della’s Aunt Ethel told her all about the gifts of the spirit and tried to explain to her why her father was so ‘different’ and ‘quiet’. The devout Baptist convert was wise in her own right and had a full understanding of all things spiritual. She was taught to read from the pages of the Holy Bible and shared her beliefs with her adopted daughter.

Music was not Della’s forte. She was not inclined to the natures of sharps, flats, majors and minors so she had to find an alternative way to channel her ‘gifts’. She became a fortune-teller, a psychic- reader, an out and proud prophetess. Residents of Harlem who had heard her father play guitar came to depend on the almost forgotten daughter from New Orleans for soulful inspiration after Miles had passed. Della attended church regularly, wore big red hats and never put a check into the offering plates, but she did give the church wads of bills that often fell out of the brass bowls at Convent Avenue Baptist Church and onto the hardwood floors of the prestigious Harlem worship hall.

Nobody blinked and looked twice when she put up a ‘Psychic Advisor’ neon sign in her living room window. Church folks came to her for advice regularly because many in Harlem considered her to be a ‘woman of God’ and sermons at church were simply readings of ancient scripture, re-hashed over and over again, with no real guidance for folks living in a modern world.

The young men who lived in Della’s tenement building thought the business that she ran was a fraud, a big rip-off and a money-making scheme. They seemed to be the only ones in Harlem who thought the crystal ball, insight-phenomena of Della’s ‘readings’ were absolutely absurd. That is why she liked living with ‘troubled’ young men. They didn’t bother her for ‘advice’, but rather, they seemed to just need her like a mother.

The tenants at 1211 Lenox Avenue all went through hell while living in that house though. Della knew anyone who took a set of her keys was destined for misfortune. She ‘saw’ that and could do nothing to stop their woes—crack addition, AIDS, lost jobs and demons. They all had lots of demons in them.

She started the psychic service to take care of and to help support the young men that had been sent to her. The money that she placed inside of offering plates at the Baptist Church was a mere formality. There was no better way to deal with the voices in her own head than to help those who were really in need. She enjoyed the influence she had over hypocritical Harlem church folk, but inside was not concerned about the salvation of their souls. They were already lost and would never be found by the spirit—Della knew that. They were too concerned about being wealthy like the white folks that had once enslaved them.

Pastor Billy T. Walker and the Rev. Al Sharpton were just two of her high-profile clients. There was never a shortage of cash around the house when men and women paid a hefty price for some of Della’s mystical insight. When one of Della’s ‘baby boys’ was falling on hard times, she took him under her wing, turned the other cheek and asked him to sit down in her kitchen for a cup of tea while she cooked for them.

“Let’s break bread,” She said. “There is nothing to fear but fear itself. Fear is the root of all sin,” she explained to her weary friends—the ones she cared most about.

“Tell me all about it, dear,” the powerful sorceress suggested while her tenant would start sharing an excuse as to why the rent would not be paid on time.

“I lost my job, Della. Can I do some things around the house for you? I’ll take the garbage out to the curb every day, fix the plumbing in here and any other odd jobs you may have.”

Della heard the same story over and over again. She already had several ‘supers’ in her building, but always the need for just one more. Reading those troubled men was so easy for her.

Helping them helped her to ‘see’ the life her father had experienced while living in the same building years ago. She wondered if he had seduced his landlady, Miss. Miller and talked her into leaving him that house. The lady of ‘mixed’ cultural heritage died from one too many drinks just days after her father had married Miss Miller. Their marriage seemed very suspicious to Della. The truth was, Miss Miller loved her daddy as much as the moonshine that had put her in her grave.

The young men who lived in Della’s building tried seducing her too, but having a man was not the most important thing in her life. She knew when they flirted with her that it was all about her property and surplus of money. They were not after her for her love, but none the less, she loved them like a mother and was glad to be able to help when she could.

Continued Here…

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