Elizabeth Cauffman

Without social justice warriors like Ms. Cauffman. Fighting for the meek. They will never be able to inherit the earth.

Mathew 5:5 Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.


At the tender age of five I came to realize the reality of my situation as a young black boy in America. I discovered that words did hurt, even worse than a Sonny Liston left jab, or a Muhammad Ali overhand right. Because out of all the words that ever existed, since the beginning of time, there was just one word, and one word only, that would just come out of nowhere, when you would least expect it. And this word when spoken had the power to drop me to the canvas like a “Phantom punch”. The word Nigger, “Shook up the world.” And as I lay on my back, looking up at the sun that seemed like glaring stadium lights, I asked myself, should I get up? Was it worth it to keep getting my ass knocked around? The word Nigger was a much better fighter than me, and nobody wanted me to be a man anyway.

Or should I just be the Nigger that the world wanted me to be? I had to get on my feet before the count of ten, but when I tried to do that, my soul seemed as though it was disconnected from my body. It was like I was having one of those out of body experiences you hear people talk about when they die, and then come back to life. There I was, hovering over my body, looking down at my lifeless flesh. I saw the referee, Jersey Joe Walcott, trying to get the word Nigger to go to a neutral corner, while the time keeper counted for him “five!…six!…seven!…” I tried to yell as loud as I could to wake myself up, “Get up and fight, sucker!’’, but it was to no avail.

Then in a flash I was back in my body…“ten!” So there I was, laying there still on my back, feeling defeated, having lost my dignity, my courage, questioning my self-worth, questioning whether I was worthy of love, or giving love.


Losing to Nigger that day in the playground, in front of all those fans, would forever define me, from that day on. And force me to lose the ability to distinguish between what it meant to be a man, and what it meant to be, ―A killing machine, an indomitable-if-evil force, a brute, condemned to a life of trouble, and a person of questionable ways.‖ ( Johnny Tocco)

Click the link below, to read my Amazon book, “BEAST: THE DECONSTRUCTION OF CHARLES SONNY LISTON” , and leave a review. Thank you

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.