Detrich Levy had just read her essay on black men. In it she wrote that she thought black women deal with drugs, violence and poverty better than black men, and that a good black man is hard to find.
At the other end of the table, Joe Oliver reached for several sheets of his writing.
“There’s a reason for that,” Oliver said. “We go through a lot that women don’t. Let me read you the paper I just wrote and you’ll see what I mean.”
Oliver’s narrative described a rough confrontation with police that had occurred the day before, during which one officer “reached into my underwear looking for dope.” Oliver said he had just been standing behind his home in the alley when the police approached.
“I think I’ve been searched by the police a hundred times,” Oliver read from his essay. “I never get used to it. Every time it’s like being raped.”
Levy’s and Oliver’s writings led to a heated discussion among the dozen or so men and women from the West Side who are part of an unusual writing workshop run by the College of Education of the University of Illinois at Chicago and funded by the W.K. Kellogg Foundation and the university.
Should Oliver have been standing in the alley, inasmuch as he knows drug deals go down there? Can black women ever understand black men? Is there anything the group can do to reduce tensions between police and residents?
The men and women usually meet separately each week in the fieldhouse at Emmet School, 5500 W. Madison, but this day the two writing workshops met together.
Many of the women are mothers of children at Emmet. None would give their ages, but all called themselves “middle-age.” The men are 15 to 20 years younger than most of the women. Most have been in gangs, and many have dropped out of school.
They have dubbed their workshop the Austin Grassroots Think Tank, and their writings are published in the Journal of Ordinary Thought, a glossy, black-and-white magazine that is the brainchild of Hal Adams, a UIC teacher who brought the idea with him from Seattle, where he had developed a similar program for homeless parents and their children.
When Adams came to Chicago he started a writing workshop in public housing as part of Project Chance. The program was picked up by UIC’s College of Education, and workshops were established for mothers of children at Emmet and Bond School, 7050 S. May St., in Englewood.
In summer 1992, Adams got a grant to pay a group to attend the writing workshop, and five men from the Emmet neighborhood showed up. Later, two asked Adams if they could form their own men’s writing group.
The group met throughout 1993, and in January 1994 a special men’s edition of the Journal of Ordinary Thought, called “Through the Eyes of a Villain,” was published.
Adams said he objected at first to the title, saying it made the men appear evil. But they told him they wanted to use the title because of its irony-that society saw them as evil and would have to read the magazine to “see beyond their fears, to see that we’re men thinking about the world and how to remake it.”
The writing has become a springboard for understanding between the men and the women, an alternative to violence for some of the men, and a foundation for effective community action. Last year, after several members wrote about the dangers of the drug dealing they saw going on in a vacant building behind Emmet, the group decided to do something about it. They contacted the police, went to Housing Court and got the owner to clean up the building and post a guard during school hours.
“Writing is magical,” Adams said. “It gives people access to a level of their experience they usually don’t touch.”
Following is a selection of writings from members of the Austin Grassroots Think Tank. All the men’s works come from “Through the Eyes of a Villain,” and the women’s come from editions of the Journal of Ordinary Thought published in February and May 1992, and January 1993.
“Life”
Life . . . it’s a hard subject to talk about because I’m having a hard time dealing with it. A buddy of mine was smoked about a month and a half ago on the South side. It was gang related. Another one of my homies had his picture taken with a 12 gauge. The last thing he saw was the flash. It was drug related. When I lived in Cali, one of my boys got beat down by some bloods over his truck. This also was gang related. His wasn’t fatal like the other two, but it could have been. I could go on and on with these types of stories, but it’s hard, especially when it’s one of your boys. Each time I heard bad news like that I wanted to strap up and take care of business. But who gives me the right to kill another . . . just because he killed my boy? . . . We’re becoming extinct, being hunted by our own kind.
– Kevin Scofield, 22
Untitled
I’m in a very sticky situation. Twenty-six years old, born and raised on Chicago’s West side. I’ve been given an opportunity to have some of my thoughts published, but I don’t know what to say. I want to say don’t use drugs, but I’ve tried them all and I still smoke weed and drink beer. I want to say don’t sell drugs, but I’ve sold to kids, bus drivers, postal workers and my friends’ parents. I want to say get you a decent woman and stick with her, but I can’t trip because if your woman or daughter came over my crib and slipped up I’d stick her. . . . Who am I to give advice when I can’t even get my own act together?
Check me out though. You don’t live the life I’ve lived and not learn something. For instance, I’m absolutely positive that there is a God. I can’t debate you on his name or his preferred religion, but I know he exists and he loves me. As crooked as I am, he still loves me. He obviously knows all the wrong I’ve done in the past but he ain’t trippin on all that. He sees me trying to turn my life around and he rewards me. He’ll comfort me and give me wisdom or peace of mind. I’m not lying, joking, or exaggerating. He knows my dreams and answers my prayers. He has billions of people and animals to worry about plus the stars and planets are his and he still cares whether or not I’m happy? It blows my mind. The advice that comes to mind, get to know the Lord, because he knows you. You can act like he don’t exist all you want, but one day he’s not going to wake you up in the morning, and then you’ll have to explain why you turned your back on him.
– Joe Oliver, 26
“My Life”
Growing up on the West side is a task all people can’t do. There is a fear of death that haunts the neighborhood. Many people are scared because of drive-by shootings and drug sales on the corner, to come outside or even let their children play in front of their own houses. I can see where they’re coming from. Sometimes I feel like that, cause I’m a black man on the West side of Chicago that about seen everything from group beat downs to getting shot, to getting cut, to shooting first, to seeing murder, to kicking it with murderers. I ain’t saying that I’m a bad guy or a nice guy, but I came a long way. All the things I did in my life, I’m surprised I didn’t go to jail or die, but I know I came a long way. I got a long way to go. Looking back through all the madness, I believe I was possessed, but now I feel peace and blessed and the demons have left and I can start with my self-evolution, evolving to a peaceful state.
– Derrick “Flex” Morris, 23
“Hoodcat”
About a half a year ago, I was a straight up hoodcat, always on the prowl. . . . My life revolved around gangbangin’ and smokin’ chocolate tye. I guess I did have nine lives and used up about five of them. I was just a little hood kitten tryin’ to get glamour on the streets of the West side. A person with too much glamour sleeps in a wooden bed or dwells in a cold room with bars comin’ between him and the world. I often look back on those days and think, damn, I was bad. My ex-solid four corner hustler brothers say I turned into water-n-mud, I’m softer than a waterbed with a thick padded comforter. But now I’m living for the Lord and I don’t have to try to be hard in front of him to get the glamour. Lord please forgive me for all the dirt I’ve done. I’m in a new mob, I’m a GD (God’s Disciple). With a solid heart for my people and others. I grew from a hood kitten to a hood cat on the prowl for knowledge, wisdom, and success.
– Devlon Miles, 18
Untitled
Sometimes I wonder if anyone remembers us, the blacks, the underachievers, the unemployed, the most bellicose race there is. Here we are in a city, struggling to make it and take care of our families, and we get no help from those people of power. I wonder if they talk about our situation, and if they do, what do they say? The U.S. sends troops to Somalia and other places around the world and we are in more need of help than any country. We are here, but who knows for how long. We are the forgotten people! This place we live in it’s a forgotten place, but all in all we go about our way and do what we can to survive.
– Trevor “Noot” Jackson, 25
“Mr. Rogers Neighborhood”
On every corner there is a drug spot and a liquor store. Graffiti is everywhere, gun shots are everyday background noise. Buildings are decaying in front of our eyes. My friends die or go to jail so much it’s part of casual conversation. Once my brother was attacked for nothing, mistaken identity. I was so mad I wanted to shoot up the corner, but I didn’t have a gun. This is just everyday life in the ghetto. God I love this place.
– Sam Oliver, 27
“Mistakes and Problems”
As a young mother, I screamed a lot. I seemed not ever to be pleased with my sons’ behaviors. They fought too much. They cried too much and wanted too much for my income.
I did homework with them every day. I had to warn them about certain dangers in the street. I worried daily about the same things. I did the same homework with each of my sons at various points in their lives-the Constitution, Iowa testing, final exams, spelling, and math tests. I thought not having all the money I needed was a big deal.
This routine was tiring and boring, but I was persistent, and after years of preaching, I think it sank in.
As an older mother, I’ve found that screaming only taught my sons how to react to a problem emotionally rather than calmly, with understanding. I’m concerned that fighting could have started at home. Sometimes we solved problems and pain by striking back, so my sons learned to fight problems instead of solving them.
I have finally realized that through it all, my children appreciated and were thankful for all I did.
A lesson learned late, but better late than never.
– Kathleen Robinson, 45
Untitled
I love school. I would like to do it over so it would help me more. I would learn more about different things that I don’t know, like the new mathematics and some spelling.
I know it would be hard, but I am willing to learn. It would help me and my children, not only my children, but all boys and girls I know. I know I would not fail if I did it all over.
– Anita Wilson
“School, Hope and Power”
The school I work at gives me hope. I feel this school sticks together with parents, teachers, and principal. I feel like if I move to the South Side, I will miss these people. I won’t find anyone like them anywhere else. I feel like I will be leaving my family. I have been on the West Side three years, my first time out on my own. Robert Emmet School is power to me and other people there.
– Debra Brookens
“Time”
Time is a word people never realize. Time is patience. Time is putting forth an effort. Time is looking and waiting for the future, whatever it may be. People fail to understand the value of time. Time is precious. We live day to day, but have little time to do anything. My grandmother used to say, “Live while you have a chance, because you can’t bring back what you have lost. So, my child, wipe your eyes and go on with your life and stop worrying about what’s going to happen tomorrow. Use the time you have today.” She would say, “Trust in the lord with all your heart and lean not on understanding.”
– Yvette Beasley
Untitled
I am the mother of seven children and six grand kids. I don’t have a good education, but thank God I do have good mother wit. Some people have a good education and some don’t. When it comes to our children, education is fine, but without mother wit they are lost, because only those with mother wit understand children need discipline along with their education. You have to have mother wit in order for your children to respect you and other adults. My children obey me and their father and respect other adults.
Five of my children already completed high school. My oldest has completed college. My 21 year old son is in the navy. My 22 year old son lives in Mississippi, attending mechanical school. My 23 year old son didn’t go to college, but he has a full time job. He works at O’Hare. Sharon is 20 years old. She will be attending nursing school in September. My 19 year old was supposed to graduate in June, but he won’t until January. My ten year old is doing fine. He got a great report card and will be going to fifth grade.
I am very proud of all of them. I just thank God for them.
– Mary Smith
“Sept. 13, 1991 3:00 AM”
What am I doing up? I don’t know. You know you can think in bed, but I don’t think about good things.
My mother passed away . . . okay, it will be three years this Sept. 30. I didn’t want her to go, but I really thank God for letting her stay with us until we were old enough to make it.
I cry sometimes when something special comes around, like when I had my son and he had to stay in the hospital the whole of October. I felt I needed my Mother with me with the new baby because she was here for the first one. When we found out my son had sickle cell anemia I cried night and day. All I could say was, I need my Mother. God answered me. He said, “Read your Bible.” When I opened that holy book I saw my Mother on every page. Then I knew she would be with me every day and night.
I have so much to let out and this is a good way.
– Alberta Adams
“Dangerous World II”
It is a dangerous world today. Something I wonder about a lot is how my children will live in this world. I know it’s coming to an end one day. I hope and pray I will live to see my children grow up and make something out of themselves.
So much is happening out there every day of their lives. I see things and hear things-people and deaths, and so many young people killing one another over nothing. That’s why I worry about a lot of things. I pray to God every day of my life that nothing will happen to my kids. I tell him, don’t forget us down here. Just keep on watching over us and everybody in the world.
– Joyce Turner
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For copies of the Journal of Ordinary Thought, contact Hal Adams at the UIC College of Education, 1040 W. Harrison St., Chicago, Ill. 60680; phone 996-7357.
