BLACK PRESIDENT, Chapter 42. Sarah gets her sons into college, pulling them out of gang-related activities in Chicago.

https://www.waterstones.com/book/black-president/rick-schmidt/9780955861314

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

June 5, 1979

Freddie Hanks was a dark-complected Black youth, and he’d come to understand the school hierarchy. Light-skinned Blacks, like John Little and his brother Jackson, got treated like upper-caste Negroes – the elitists, the chosen ones. As a child, Freddie had cried himself to sleep the first time he’d been called “nigger.” Whites made him feel he was dirty. Black and dirty. And it wouldn’t wash off. Freddie kept his self-hatred corked up deep inside his psyche, where it penetrated his soul. And inevitably, it seeped out into the world in the form of “attitude.” He had the anger, and he could hurt people with it, hurt them real bad. With his wide, black face, and heavy black body, Freddy Hanks really had no place to hide.

Yeah, yeah, I’m black and I’m proud. Black is beautiful. He’d heard it from his parents a million times. Slogans for self-improvement. But it didn’t really help. At some point, Blacks with light skin becamethetargetofhisdissatisfaction. ThosetwoLittleboys,for instance. They seemed more self-important than the others, and they didn’t even seem to have to work at it. No need for an attitude. They just were superior. Just the tone of their voices made a person want to follow them, do their bidding. Even large-boned, hulking Freddie wanted to please them. But they hadn’t really noticed him, hadn’t wanted him around. The sad thing was, Freddie believed he could never really be happy until he was either accepted, or them destroyed.

Freddie noticed that both the Little boys had a way with the girls. A slim and sexy cheerleader, Judy Johnson, was always flirting with Jackson Little in the science lab, acting flustered and helpless. Freddie watched as she licked her pouting lips, made every possible signal that she was interested in him. The Littles...and the Blackstone Rangers gang... had the hottest chicks at their beck and call. The most popular black kids, the best athletes, were all gang members. And the prettiest women hung out with them. Freddie and most of his friends had to deal with the leftover pickings.

At home Freddie was aware of his parents financial strain. Sometimes he compared himself to the twins as a way to hope for something better. First, he imagined their nice, big house, a new car out front; Plymouth or something better. And he fantasized about their good looking parents, well-dressed, rich of course. The more Freddie fixated on the twins the stronger his desire was to be a part of their lives. He hoped some of their luster would brush off on him. Freddie made a pledge to himself that he would be in their social class someday, and then follow them all the way to the promised land. And one day, part of his dream came true.

It was around his sophomore year in High School that the Blackstone Rangers recruited Freddie to join their gang. There were other gangs: Satan Killers and a particularly low-life bunch called KK (short for Kop Killers). But the gang everyone wanted to join was the Rangers. Freddie was thrilled when he was approached by Denny, one of the leaders.

“Yo, Freddie! Come in t’be a BR? What yo say?” said Denny, cutting and dicing his words as usual. Freddie tried not to look too eager .

“Say yuh? O’ som’ o’ dem others?” asked Freddie, wary of taking the bait unless it was the real thing.

“Say me, an’ Pete, an’ Johnny Downs. Say us, the gang...man.” Denny, pulled a Life Saver roll out of his pocket and took the red one off the top before offering Freddie some. Freddie put a green one in his mouth and immediately crushed it between his teeth, swallowing.

“Yeah...I’m thinkin’ I wanna,” said Freddie, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, I’m in,” he finally declared.

The Little twins noticed an immediate difference in Freddie right after he joined the Blackstone Rangers. Suddenly he held his head higher, walked with more swagger. And his appearance improved: tattered jacket soon replaced with an expensive brand. His old, shabby shoes became black shiny ones. Although John and Jackson had avoided the first overtures from Freddie to be pals, they found themselves relating more easily to him now that he was a more confident person.

“Ay, John,” called Freddie, as he wheeled up on his flashy new bike, figuring to be noticed.

“Nice bike, Fred!” said John, straddling his beat-up Schwinn. Overly aware of the rust and scratches of his ride, John squinted at shiny chrome and commented, “You win a contest or sumptin’?”

Freddie saw his chance and jumped into the sales pitch.

“Blackstone Rangers get all the best shit. They gave me this fo’ Christmas...cause I deliver stuff sometimes. They had it around and I needed it, so they done give it ta me. Rangers are the best.” Freddie took a big cold breath, kicked a dirty chunk of snow away from his tire and popped the question.

“You want to join the Rangers? I can get yuh in, yuh know.” Before John could answer, Freddie added the best incentive he could think of.

“I get paid $50 every month. Yuh cud get sum money too. I know they’d pay yuh sumptin.”

John thought about his family’s ongoing shortage of funds. He’d heard his mother on the phone, crying to his Dad about money, asking when he could send more. Sarah and Dee had spent many a night sitting around the TV, wondering out loud if they had anything left to sell with the rent coming due. Since Rudy had started helping out, his mother didn’t seem as worried, but he still heard money talk from time to time. Somehow, they had survived, but maybe he could ease the situation with some extra cash. Maybe he should join the Blackstone Rangers.

“Yeah, I might want to,” said John as he stared admiringly at the new Freddie. Yeah, maybe I want to have some new things, and money too, he thought to himself. Maybe I can’t please my mother with good grades, but if I could supply some cash to the household...that might be even better. Make things more equal between me and my “straight-A” brother. Jackson wouldn’t be the only one doing everything right all the time!

“Yeah, I’m in.”

Because of John Little’s natural leadership abilities, it wasn’t surprising that he quickly rose through the BR ranks, to a leadership position. Sarah had watched her son get more deeply involved in gang activities and she worried about it. She saw clearly that he would become “top” at anything he was involved in...top criminal in this case. In her desperation she went to the nearby public library and started looking up colleges on both the east and west coast. She ultimately discovered a small art school in Oakland, California, called Franklin College of Art. What immediately caught her eye about FCA was the incredibly small tuition ($550 per semester), and the fact that they admitted almost anyone, on-probation if, like John, their grade point average was below C. And she respected their interesting philosophy, as described inside the little application booklet she’d received in the mail. She re-read the FCA mission statement more than once to herself:

“Art has been with us since the dawn of man, images scratched on cave walls, vessels sculpted for storage of food and other essentials. In our modern world, artistic pursuit is often dismissed as a frivolous activity in rigid high school curriculums. But in actuality, we need art more than ever in these troubled times. A life can be turned around with art. Perhaps your son or daughter has suffered from low self-esteem. Maybe their life is caught in a series of bad decisions. We often find that students with poor grades and hardship can flourish at our institution, to become the “A” students of tomorrow.

Let us help your son or daughter create something beautiful, and meaningful – in painting, sculpture, jewelry, ceramics, photography, film, video, or industrial design. We’ll help them forge a professional art career in the subject of their choice. At FCA we strive to make a difference. Let us open their world!”

There was something about the sensitive words in the application book that seemed to perfectly fit John’s needs and spirit. He hadn’t been appreciated yet for his innate intelligence, had been made to feel ashamed for his poor grades and test scores. It had been all the more painful for John as he watched his brother become a high- achiever. John Little just couldn’t learn from books, couldn’t properly absorb words on a page. It pained him to read. He had even complained about words jumping around the page as he tried to study. But no one had been perceptive enough to identify his problems in professional terms. In the future, his educational difficulties would be labeled as a “learning disability.”

In any case, Sarah knew that John was headed for serious trouble in Chicago gangs, unless she could send him away to some school.

***

As the summer of 1979 progressed into August, Sarah continued to hold back telling John about “his college” enrollment. She didn’t dare give him any extra time to back out, or somehow derail her plans. He had already withstood all the hoopla surrounding his brother Jackson’s approaching departure to prestigious Brown University in Rhode Island – his brother would be attending on a full scholarship; free tuition, free text books, free food and lodging. Sarah had watched as John tried to remain cool in the face of his brother’s great accomplishment.

“Yeah, I’ll be here on the home front, good buddy,” said John, faking some enthusiasm. “Watching over Mom and Dee, hanging with the Rangers, getting paid, you know! So don’t you go worrying about having all the fun. Hell! I couldn’t stand t’ read all those books anyway!”

A week and a half later, around August 15th, Sarah had watched John help Jackson pack up his new shirts and pants in the suitcase on his bed. She had again sensed John’s sadness and jealousy and knew that the time was right. So she just blurted out the words.

“John. You’re going to college too.”

“How’s that?” It had seemed like just a cruel joke, since John knew that his twin was going to be the college student, not him.

“You got into the Franklin College of Art,” she announced. “In Oakland. That’s in California, near San Francisco. You got accepted and you’re going in September.”

“No...Really?”

“You’ll be “on probation,” and will have to do better than B in your classes. You’ll be taking something called 2-D and 3-D Beginning Design, where you get to make things. Also an introductory painting class...and video as an elective. Anyway, you can decide all that when you get there. Registration is September 5th and I paid tuition already. You’ll need to get a part-time job, but the college helps students get employment. You leave in two weeks.

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