: About Me

War;strife and politics.We've seen it.We've lived it.Or;we've merely read about it. Truth be told;I've done all three. Nothing to be brag about;I'm sure. Yet;still and all;It's quite an accomplishment for a forty-two year old black man;who's earliest childhood memories;were of my uncle's car;buring in the driveway. A victim of the violent reactions;brought about;with the slaying of arguably;the greatest civil rights leader of any generation. Dr Martin Luther King Jr. Time stood still that day for me. To be sure;forty years later;I can still see it in my mind's eye;as if it were this morning.The rear windshield errupting from a thrown brick; followed seconds later by a molotov cocktail.[a dirty flaming rag;stuffed in a coke cola bottle;filled with gasoline.]Hell of it was;even though I witnessed this spectacle of civil unrest;and grew up in the very city Dr King lost his life in;and my Uncle Jack;with whom my mother and us four kids where residing;was himself;a member of the sanitation department;Dr King's reason for being in Memphis.; had no memory of Dr. King until years later;while attending Hamilton Jr High during Black History Month.This was at a Pep Rally in celebration of his life and personal sactifice to us;and to Memphis's Sanitation worker's,in particular.I feel a sense of shame;when I reflect on that fact. All around me;significent;historical;and tragic events where taking shape and unfolding. Yet I was blind to it all. True;I was only two at the time;and I'm sure society will give me a pass. After all;I was an adorable little tyke. Fresh out of a GQ Magizine;if they'ld had fly toddlers gracing the covers back in the day.Oh well.What's a fellow to do?And you know;the most amazing thing about poverty in those days;from a young child's perspective? You have absolutely no idea it's going on within your life;or around you. You're growing up. You're exploring and seeking out the unknown and untested. I dont want to make this sound like a Star Trek episode;but;it pretty much fit's the pattern. You're so busy trying to figure everything out;you dont have time to rate you status in the social circles. Besides that; you've known no better;and everyone around you's at the same level that you're at. Poverty was just a way of life. Pimps;with large cadellacs;fat wallets;numerous prostitutes;and carrying 38 specials; where the local heroes. Joe Cools;in a flimflam hats. Cocked to the side; with matching double breasted suits;and highly polished stacks. A walking stick and diamond stick pin;to set the whole thing off. This wasn't Huggy Bear;from Starsky & Hutch;baby! But the real deal. You dig? This was the late 60s and early 70s; in all it's glory. I grew up in the best of times;to be a black ,poor child;in inner city America. Man;it was something! I didnt have to watch Good Times.;I was living it. Minus the father. He wasnt dead,though. He'ld split. Four kids into the marriage; the thrill was gone;and so was he. I was eighteen months old at the time;but he left a lasting impression;none-the-less. From all accounts;he darn near beat me to death. Way I got it was;he couldnt beat my mom;being smaller than her;so he took it out on me. The oldest two being girls;I guess I was the odd child out. Shortly after getting pregnant with my little sister;they had a parting of the blankets .He left for St Louis;and my mom packed me off to the hospital and the rest to my aunt and uncle;where I soon joined them. As terrible as all that was;I didn't remember any of it.But it left scars,I'll have to carry for the rest of my life. Not physical;mind you. But emotional. Yeah;it's there to this day;and cut's deep. I've tried many things and many remedies to lead a normal life. Nothing has worked;these far. I'm a pychological mess;but with a quick and imagitive mind;that's helped mask and over come a lot of emotional short comings;when dealing with the public; or with people in general. I spent the first month of my first three years of school;in a special education class.They where acually called,The Retarded Class,in school,back then. Can you imagine that?From first grade to third grade;that was my home,during the first month of school. I've often wondered,exactly who were the retarded ones. I mean;after the first year;and going to the exact same school;with the exact same Principal and faculty?Come on! If you determined after the first month of the 1st grade,that I wasnt retarded;why keep putting me right back in the same place at the beginning of the next two school years? I always passed to the next grade,with no indications that I couldnt keep up in class. Every year;I'ld go to my assigned classroom;and a day later;be switched to Special Ed. Thirty days later;I'ld be back in my assigned class. Playing catch up;and working extra hard to get to the level of the other kids. Mad genius!That's what I was.Anyway;my mom finally informed the principal of the child abuse and they finally understood why I was so withdrawn. Oh;you dont think I was a genius;huh? Well now;let me tell you. I wrote my OWN comic books. Pictures;layout; storylines;characters;the whole bit. Yeah;that's right! At the wise old age of THREE. How do I remember that? My cousin was drafted;so he claimed; the same year;for Vietnam. He volunteered; but didnt want my aunt to know;so he told her he got drafted cause of his being in ROTC at Hamilton High. Sounded plausible,at the time. Course;after his second tour was over;he fested up. I remember growing up. Moving from project to project. Every now and then;we'ld get lucky and find a home to live in for a few years. But money was against us. I worked a few odd jobs,while growing up. I worked for a man named Weasel.He did garden and landscape work;in rich people's neighborhoods. Paid me $120 a day. I went with him;mostly on the weekends;on fridays and saturdays. Never sundays;He went to church;and never worked on the Lord's day of rest. I;on the other hand;went to church;and then worked for Buck. He owned a Bar and Grill Lounge;at the head of our block;only two houses down from where we lived on Hemlock St..I met Weasel through Buck.I went to work for Buck by accident. I had two friends[more like family].Our families where real close and our backyards;backed up to each other.One day before school;we were in Bucks parking lot when he pulled up with his wife. he asked David and James Earl Shields;my knot headed friends;when they where going to clean the parking lot;he'ld been paying them to do. They mouthed off at him and got into a big argument about him not paying enough for the work they where doing.He was giving them $50 bucks apiece;each week; to clean the lounges's parking lot each morning and afternoon. And to clean and stock the storage room twice a month.You got to understand that $50 was a lot of money back in 1976. especially for a kid with no bills to pays and growing up in poverty. As it turned out;they refused to do any better;unless he paid more;and told him to get someone else. Well;as I was there at the time;he asked me would my mom mind if I worked for him;doing what he was paying them to do;and I said she wouldnt care ;as long as I did nothing stupid;or broke the law. So he fired them;and gave me their jobs;at $60 a week.I even got paid that day;right then and there. We headed off to school;and to make them feel better;I gave them $10 a piece. They still had their job with Weasel.At least for the next seven weeks. After that;Weasel fired them and hired me at $120 a day;which was cheap for him;cause he was paying them $100 each;and they missed a lot of days cause they didnt feel like working. Buck told him,how good I was working out;so he asked me to work for him on the weekends. Best jobs I had,for three years.Then;fortunes changed. Bucks was burnt down;and he got shot.Didnt kill him;but;might as well had. he never reopened. You ever get to Memphis,Tn;stop in;at South Parkway and North Hemlock St. You'll find the lounge is now a motel inn. Weasel had a heart attact and died,just five months later.Back to the poor house I went. But it was good while it lasted. One thing I learned though. Being poor is an easy thoughtless process;until you've had a taste of what money can bring. It's hell going back to pot luck and low top Chuck Taylors. I had a taste for the high tops and gambling halls by then. I was just turning 16;and dirt poor again. We moved back to the projects that fall. A new school;new fights and ole hunger. I dont think my mom was working at that time. I'm almost sure she wasn't. She was around the house too much. Sad thing is;I'ld just made my first fortay into the realm of romance. I'ld met a cousin;of a friend of mine. She was shyer than me. Rail thin; like Olive Oil of Popeye. But she had the most beautiful face;I'ld ever seen in my life. Matter of fact;it was my baby brother,Jerome who got us to talking. He was good at talking to people and he wanted her big sister;who wanted to talk to me. I wanted her younger sister;cause the big sister wore enought clothes;to be called dressed;but barely. More woman than I could deal with at that age. Her sister was dressed in a white one piece jumpsuit;and as lovely as an angel. They say you never miss what you never had;but that's a lie. Not a day goes by that I dont regret us moving;and her being out of my life;only a few months after we'ld met. Would of, should of; could of.One year later;we was on the move again. Got evicted and moved back to south Memphis. The seedier;poorer side of town. That's were I grew into manhood. Or a reasonablely facsimily,there of.The real growing up accured after joining the army. That move back to the southside;is also where I begin to understand the meaning of povery;being poor;and doing without. Wearing the same shoes until tape and cardboard could no longer hold your feet inside of them.Having three pair of pants and six shirts;worn thin and no money to replace them. Things had gotten worse by then.Five growing kids;the economy gone to hell in a hand basket;food and clothes prices through the roof. That's what I remembered about 1979 to 1983. Even welfare,became a passion of hate for me. My mom was on welfare most of my young life. Not to long after my dad split and she moved away from her sister's house. It wasnt a thing I gave thought to in the early 70s.Prices were cheap and even though we did most of our Xmas shopping from the dipsey dumpsters,behind the apartments;while we lived in the projects as young kids;we where happy and contented. Fed and clothed. But during my last five years of childhood.;from 1978 to 1983;reality made a believer out of me. Poor was bad. My mom was raising five kids on a $98 dollars a week income. Fortunately;during the last three;she lived directly across the street from her job;so that eliminated the need bus fare. She acually had six kids;but;gave the last to my aunt to raise;cause she couldnt support six of us on $98 a week;and $250 welfare.Plus the $120 a month she got in food stamps. I'll tell you this about welfare. I witnessed the destruction of a race of people. More destrutive in my opinion than what the pimps and the blight they where spreading among the young people caused. Mind set's altered.I was soon seeing th lack of initiative;ambition;except where fun and easy money was concerned. And that triggered a rash of crime;that has gotten more widespread and more out of control than ever. I'm only forty-two years old;and I CAN REMEMBER a time when you could safely leave your doors unlocked;and run and play outside;with little regard to murder,rapes;and things of that nature. It was a rare occurence back then. Families permanently dysfunctional. Oh;greed was a factor in a few cases.No doult about it.But that came much later.LONG after the damage was done. Did you know that women;on welfare where not allow to have a man living at home with them? If they did;it effected their welfare status? Regardless of the fact they wheren't married? That was a contributing factor in a lot of relationships not fully taking hold. I was told by a gentlemen;who never came up the way I did;that women where having babies to get on welfare and that they didnt want a man or want to be married;work ;or get OFF welfare;and were producing more babies in order to receive larger welfare checks. It's that kind of second handed ignorence that perpetrated all the stereotyping;to begin with..Are there SOME truth to that? Absolutely;without a doubt. But they where in the minority back then. I have personal knowledge;that it was more prevelent in the mid-eighties and early ninties. It was less than 3% of the women when I was growing up. I cant tell you the numbers now;but;from the women I HAVE come in contact with;that are;or where on welfare;nearly all of them where of the type the gentleman spoke of. Understand;that could still be a insignificant number of women;because I rarely talk to;or engage in conversation;personally;since leaving the military in 1992. When I was 17;I had my mom sign for me to join the army.Even though I had an Art scholorship and a good chance at a football scholorship to Southern Mississippi University. President Reagan was doing a lot a saber rattleing over Nicaragua and the Sandinistas. My cousin had served two tours in Vietnam and I wanted to walk in his footsteps. I saw the mess welfare was making of life and I didnt want anything to do with foodstamps or welfare ever again.Fact is;the day I got back from basic training and AIT;my mom gave me some foodstamps and asked me to go to the store for her. I told her;I dont deal in food stamps anymore.Just give me a list of what you want and I'll pay for it myself. Truth be told. I'ld rather starve to death and die before excepting welfare or foodstamps. That program should've been abolished years ago. That same money could've been spent educating these women in vocational jobs;and paying them to learn;as they go;with medical asistance for them and their families;until they joined the workforce and became a contributing member of the tax paying community. Sure would've been a lot cheaper than paying out monthly checks for eighteen years of each child they where rearing;alone with medical and foodstamps. In the long run;it help less than it hurt. The individuals;the economy,the national debt;as well as the American tax payers,all lost on this dumb welfare state existence. As a result;we have to hire more foreign workers to fill the high skilled jobs that we could've put these people through training for;[similar to the training the West german's received;back in the eighties;when I was stationed there; And heaven's no;I'm not saying we abdicate to their system of government.]and maybe;the other jobs wouldnt have had to be exported overseas;due to high taxes;cause we would've had more workers paying taxes and a more sustainable economy. You know;we might have had more welfare people with money in the stock market;and fewer in the drug market.Of course;we'll never know now.I spent my next eight years;nine months and some change;being all that I could be;in the AARRMMYYYYY!Finished Basic Training and AIT[ Advanced Individual Training[for the less emformed)],at Fort. Benning,Ga. Best time of my military career. Of course;I didnt know that at the time.It wasn't the most FUN;I ever had in the military.Just the best time.Drill Sergeants yelling at you;raw recruits tearing up and falling all over one another.Didnt bother me a whole lot;and I dont know why.I loved it. I know most christians say;there's no such thing as ghost. Now I was raised a Baptist Christian;and I didnt believe in ghost either.BUT; one October evening;near the end of our AIT training;as a matter of fact;we where one week from graduating.The drill instructors;as they're now called;took us to see the Doughboys. A military academy college football team;and we road there and back;in a cattle car. A gutted out Cattle trailer;converted into a bus trailer. With long benches and those doors like you find on a city bus. Anyway;we had formation;as we always do;to make sure everyone way accounted for. Then we where dismissed to the barracks;which where about thirteen hundred meters from the parade ground;where all company formations are held.I sprinted ahead of everyone;to be the first man in the showers;as the water didnt stay hot for long,since September had rolled in.The first thirty men,got the long hot showers;and the rest took their chances. you had to wait;at least forty minutes after everyone finished showering before the water was back to strength. I made it back to the barracks,in jig time. First in,with a shower on my mind. There's a bulb that burns at either end of the barracks;top and lower floors.Just;at the top;we didnt have any doors to the outside. Not bothering to turn on the main lights;I took a sharp left at the top of the stairs and sprinted halfway down the floor to my bunk and locker;on the right hand side of the room.One thing I learned at that time was;it's very hard to open a combination lock in the semi gloom. So you can understand the deep level of concentration I afforded to the task. It was on my third attempt to open that darn lock,that I felt a presence in the room with me. Right over my right shoulder;in fact. Kind of a movement;that's felt rather than heard. I put it off as the others finally getting back;so I exerted more effort at getting the combination right.Not wanting to turn around and acknowledge what i persumed to be Trued;my friend;who had the bunk under me. Just as the lock popped open;I felt a tug on my right shoulder. Thinking it was Trued;trying to prevent me from getting my shower gear;I just shrugged him off and snatched the lock off;ready to open the locker. As I was grabbing the locker handle;the hand came again;but this time when I tried to shrugg it off;it dug in a bit deeper. Again thinking it was Trued;I got pissed at him for digging into my shoulder with his fingernails. The mind is a wonderful tool for the storage of information. You know what I mean? Just little tidbits of all kinds of useless observations and facts. Part of our training was to observe enemy positions;and to commit to memory;weapons;unit ensignias;equipment;and so forth;then get back to the line of departure;or the rallying point;so everyone could give his version of what he recconoitered;to form an assessment to forward up the chain of command for Battallion's S2 to process. It's a hell of a mental exercise;but you get to the point where you're not even aware that you're doing it.Just becomes an automatic reflex;on the order of breathing or walking. Well; that's what I experienced at that moment. Fashbacks of little tidbits;that put Trued in perspective;and gave me to know;it wasn't Trued I was about to take a hard backhand swing at. I vividly recalled that Trued was a nail bitter;so he DIDNT HAVE SHARP FINGERNAILS! Not much of any;for that matter. So;thinking to better aim my blow to the asshole with the longnails;I turn my head,over my right shoulder;in order to ac quire my target..... AND FROZE! Froze up;is a better word for it.I was looking at a WW1 doughboy. Or more to the point;looking THROUGH him. If anyone ever saw the movie Sgt York;you'll know what I'm talking about. He had the pieplate helmet,with the small backruck;with the roll on top of it. The whole nine yards!Well;I didnt see a rifle of any kind;or any weapon.If you think that's untrue;you're wrong. That's exactly what happen to me! Here's the rest;as far as I can determine.He was still gripping my shoulder;and as I turned to face him;he let go. If anyone's ever had that feeling of your hair standing up on the back of your neck;and you feel a sudden flush rush over you;you understand my physical disposition,at that moment.Why didnt I run or yell? I have no idea. I may have yelled and just dont remember doing so. I was having a hell of a time not wetting myself.Well;at that point;we just stood staring for what seemed like fifeteen to thirty seconds.I remember he was young looking;but didnt look wounded or anything;like you see in those movies.He was somewhat more defined in some places alone the leftside of his face and neck. Could've been dirt or blood;I dont know;or maybe even the backdrop of the bunks and the row of lockers,showing through,behind him.The worst part is what happened next.He opened his mouth to speak.Once;twice. Three times. He formed words. I could clearly see that. But he made no sounds. Nothing at all. But every time he opened his mouth to speak; it got COLD! I mean freezing cold. I could feel it in my bones;type of cold.The fear factor went up several notches after the second time.And I vividly remember him doing it the third time.He looked so young and miserable. Unfortunately; no matter how many times I've gone over it in my mind;back then when I was young;and as I commit this;for the first time to print; I can't for the life of me remember what happened next. The next memory of that night;that I'm positive of;was me jumping down the outside porch stairs and sprinting back towards the cattle cars. I never got that far;cause a good number of my fellow soilders had already made it back down to the company barracks area. I slowed;stopped;and headed back;at a slow walk;for the barracks again. The starcase leading down from the second floor;where I was located;to the first floor;has approximately forty-two,to fifty-three stairs;going at an angle of; say;a 52 degree angle. Impossible to jump from;without contacting the stairs at some point. Yet I can't for the life of me recall,ever descending those stairs;or leaving the area of my locker. I just can remember how I came to be jumping from the porch to the pavement below the porch steps. But I do recall that much. Was it fear that blocked out so much;or was I sleep walking from the cattle car and woke up in time to keep from breaking my fool neck,as i jumped from the porch landing?Well;this was a little about the life I've led;up to that point.my autobiography;as it were. And as Paul Harvey say's;"Soon you'll know;the REST of the story.

My passion is ...

My passion is art and meaning through the words I write;to express emotions or to tell a story.

I know too much about ...

I know too much about having to strat over;not having control over what you do;as far as your works go.

My parents always told me ...

My parents;my mom really;would always tell me that regardless of how many times you fall short;never give up on yourself;even if other's tell you you're worthless and will never suceed

My childhood ambition ...

I've always wanted to be a star.Not in front of cameras;but behind the scenes. Writing;producing;directing.

My favorite memory ...

A beautiful girl;I met in church;named Ursula;when I was seven

Why I write ...

I find it easier to express my thoughts and moods this way

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

My read is people. There mannerism;habits and personalities. Watching their reactions to life's many plays,is asounding. I listen with an inner ear to capture the mood of life and try to project it's direction for the near future.

My first job ...

The first job I ever held was cleaning up a parking lot and storage room,at the now defunct;Buck's Lounge. That was back in 1976.

My best moment ...

My best moment;is yet to come.As for past achievements;I'ld have to say being awarded the Army Commendation Medal;from serving my country during the first Gulf War.

My inspiration ...

I've always been inspired by the works of Sindey Poitier and the talents of producer John Ford in bringing out the most in the limited budgets he had to work with.

Creative Writing > Novel Excerpts Novel excerpts: Conflict

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On The President's Watch... Troubled Decisions Washington, DC The White house [Oval Office} 1023 EST 18 April 2008 Keith Nathanial Martin. US President and the most powerful man in the world. Although, he wasn't feeling so powerful at the moment. President Martin sat idlely at his desk, trying to wish away the mountain of paperwork requiring his signature. Threating to spillover onto the floor, the correspondences and official documents, filled his in box to overflow. He knew that the recent events of the past few months had been busy ones. He'd been too caught up in the past events to giv...

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