This sermon, or “teaching,” is the high point of the service, what everybody has come to hear. An air of expectancy runs through the crowd as the moment to begin the teaching approaches. This is stock drama for the Black Muslims whether the meeting be a national affair where Elijah himself is to speak or a local meeting where the temple minister is to teach.
This air of expectancy is set stirring by the second-in-command, who keeps up a running promise that something good is about to happen. As warm-up man for Elijah’s Washington, D.C., speech, Malcolm X electrified a crowd of some five thousand in Uline Arena with this:
“But you must remember that what is good news for some is bound to be bad news for others.”
“All praise due to Allah,” the people shouted back.
“What is good news for the sheep,” Malcolm continued, “is bad news for the wolf!”
“Make it plain, Mr. Minister. Make it plain.”
The good news, as everybody knew, was that Elijah would be there soon with a message of freedom for the “sheep” (the black man) and a message of destruction for the “wolf” (the white man).
The setting for local meetings is much the same. In New York Minister Henry X gets the crowd ready for Malcolm by saying, “We are here to receive a blessing. The truth is going to be told here this afternoon.”
“The Messenger’s Minister will be here shortly with word from the man who saw God.”
“The Minister is going to tell you who and what you are!”
“Then he is going to tell you who and what the devil is!”
“Then he is going to show you why you had better hurry up and get out from among the devil before you get destroyed with him.”
This brings the crowd to their feet, cheering. The side door to the upstairs temple swings open and Malcolm X, a tall, rawboned, Ichabod-Crane-looking man, strolls in flanked by an Honor Guard. As he walks to the platform his light-skinned, granite face is stern. He looks and acts like a military officer who may give a fatal order any minute. His clothes, always a size or so too large, literally drape from his body, making him look more gaunt than he actually is.
“Big Red,” as Malcolm was called when he was peddling prostitutes and dope on the streets of Harlem, is a dashing and handsome man. Women of all races and creeds are drawn to him. He speaks with an authority that is all but hypnotic.