Back To The Future

“Not from school.”

Marty shook his head.

“Then you couldn’t know me,” George said.

“Oh yes, I do…Your birthday’s August 18th and your mother’s name is Sylvia, right?”

George shook his head, not because the information was wrong but because he was amazed. Had the fellow gotten hold of school files or looked through his wallet? Was he a young cop or what?

“Well?” Marty continued. “Isn’t that correct? Isn’t it also true that your father enlisted in World War I as a sixteen-year-old, was sent to France before they found out, and shipped back without firing a shot?”

George nearly choked on his Pepsi. Someone could have gleaned the other information by looking at a questionnaire, but the story about his dad was inside-family material. How had this young man found out?

“Uh-huh,” George replied. “That’s all true. How did you find out and who are you?”

Having enjoyed amazing and confounding the young George McFly, Marty suddenly realized he had no plausible answer to the question. He could not tell him the truth, of course. That was not only implausible but might bring on a new barrage of questions.

In reply, he smiled and tried to look enigmatic.

“Let’s just say I’m your guardian angel,” he said. “All that stuff about your family isn’t really important, though. What’s important is that you shouldn’t let that creep Biff Tannen push you around.”

“That’s a fact, man.”

The reply to Marty’s charge, so rapid and direct, did not come from George McFly, but from Goldie Wilson, a black busboy who was sweeping up several feet away. George and Marty turned to look at him. Pausing in his work, Goldie returned their gazes with an intense, nearly mesmerizing, look of his own.

“Say, what do you let that boy push you around for?” he asked.

George blinked, taken aback by the usually quiet black man.

“This isn’t the first time I saw him treat you like that,” Goldie went on. “I clean up a lot of mess around here, but nothin’ makes me sicker than seein’ him practically spit on you. Why don’t you stand up?”

“Well, uh, he’s bigger than me,” George stammered, his voice whiney and miserable-sounding.

“Everybody’s bigger than you when you’re on your knees,” Goldie replied. “Listen, if you’re gonna make it in this world, you gotta have some respect for yourself. You let people walk over you now, they’ll be walkin’ over you the rest of your life. You want to be a door mat, have people wipe their feet on you till you die?”

George shook his head. It wasn’t a very decisive gesture.

“The man’s right,” Marty said. “And he’s got a lot more reason to curl up and die than you have.”

“That’s a fact!” Goldie nodded. “Look at me. Most people think I’m nothing, but I know I’m something. You think I’m gonna spend the rest of my life, behind a broom in this slophouse?”

The counterman, attracted by the raised voices, had gravitated to the scene. Now he looked at Goldie with a curling lip. “Watch it, Goldie,” he said meaningfully.

Goldie didn’t flinch. “No sir!” he said to George. “I’m not gonna end up here. I’m gonna make something of myself! I’m going to night school. Every night of the week. I’m gonna be somebody!”

“Goldie,” Marty interjected, something suddenly clicking in his mind. “Would that be Goldie Wilson, by any chance?”

Goldie nodded. “That’s me,” he said. “And you can just remember that name, because, like I said, it’s gonna mean something one day.”

The counterman chuckled.

“He’s right,” Marty said. “As a matter of fact, he’s gonna be Mayor of Hill Valley someday.”

Goldie looked at Marty closely, frowning, searching for the hint of sarcasm that would normally accompany such a remark made by a white man. There didn’t seem to be any guile, however. This fellow was either sincere or the world’s greatest actor. In either case, Goldie decided not to be put off by the comment but to accept it as a challenge.

“Mayor?” he said. “That’s a good idea. I could show folks how to run this town. I wouldn’t be a cheap politician on the take all the time. I’ll be honest and efficient.” Then, looking at Marty, he said: “You got a crystal ball or something? How do you know I’m gonna be mayor?”

“I just know, that’s all.”