I know,,, ooops or knew Ossie Davis well,, as a matter of fact I had lunch
with him just last week, he looked a little pale though and I noticed this.

He told me I was his best friend. He told me he admired me and thought I was
a very very good person. I rented him a boat of mine once,, one of my oldest
boats but the dumb fella spent the entire day trying to start it out on the
Chesapeake,,, he still had to pay though but he understood that as he is one
of my best friends. As a matter of fact,, I helped him become a star,, I am
to thank for his fame,,

A great loss and I will miss him dearly..

Goodbye my good friend, for we will meet again soon, I am sure, You and I
have been good friends and I will miss you,, goodbye my friend as I have
meant so much in your life, I have helped you and I have paved your road for
you to success. A tearful goodbye,,

Harry









"Harry Krause" wrote in message
...
The great actor Ossie Davis has died. He was working on a movie in Miami,
and apparently passed away while in his hotel room. He was 87.

He had many great roles, but I remember him best for his eulogy of Malcolm
X, which he wrote and then delivered in 1965 at the civil rights leader's
funeral. Here's what Davis said in that stentorian voice he used so well.

Here—at this final hour, in this quiet place—Harlem has come to bid
farewell to one of its brightest hopes—extinguished now, and gone from us
forever. For Harlem is where he worked and where he struggled and
fought—his home of homes, where his heart was, and where his people
are—and it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again—in
Harlem—to share these last moments with him.

For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who have loved her, have fought
for her and have defended her honor even to the death. It is not in the
memory of man that this beleaguered, unfortunate, but nonetheless proud
community has found a braver, more gallant young champion than this
Afro-American who lies before us—unconquered still.

I say the word again, as he would want me to: Afro-American—Afro-American
Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his use of words. Nobody
knew better than he the power words have over minds of men.

Malcolm had stopped being a Negro years ago. It had become too small, too
puny, too weak a word for him. Malcolm was bigger than that. Malcolm had
become an Afro-American, and he wanted—so desperately—that we, that all
his people, would become Afro-Americans, too.

There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends of the Negro
people, to tell us to revile him, to flee, even from the presence of his
memory, to save ourselves by writing him out of the history of our
turbulent times.

Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial and
bold young captain—and we will smile. Many will say turn away—away from
this man; for he is not a man but a demon, a monster, a subverter and an
enemy of the black man—and we will smile. They will say that he is of
hate—a fanatic, a racist—who can only bring evil to the cause for which
you struggle! And we will answer and say to them:

Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch him or have him
smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean
thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public
disturbance? For if you did, you would know him. And if you knew him, you
would know why we must honor him: Malcolm was our manhood, our living,
black manhood!

This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we honor the
best in ourselves. Last year, from Africa, he wrote these words to a
friend: My journey, he says, is almost ended, and I have a much broader
scope than when I started out, which I believe will add new life and
dimension to our struggle for freedom and honor and dignity in the States.

I am writing these things so that you will know for a fact the tremendous
sympathy and support we have among the African States for our human rights
struggle. The main thing is that we keep a united front wherein our most
valuable time and energy will not be wasted fighting each other.

However we may have differed with him—or with each other about him and his
value as a man—let his going from us serve only to bring us together, now.

Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother of all, secure
in the knowledge that what we place in the ground is no more now a man—but
a seed—which, after the winter of our discontent, will come forth again to
meet us.

And we will know him then for what he was and is—a prince—our own black
shining prince!—who didn’t hesitate to die, because he loved us so.