Soc: Welcome to the Cage: The Grade Changing and Sexual Scandal at South Oak Cliff High School That Almost Cost the University of Kansas Jayhawks Its 2008 Ncaa National Championship

By FH Jr.

When Frank Hammond became a counselor at South Oak Cliff High School in the Dallas Independent School District, he had a good feeling. As a black man with a solid church upbringing and a degree from a historical black college, he felt he could really make a difference in the lives of young, inner-city kids who attended this predominately black high school.

It didnt take Hammond long to discover that all was not well within the walls of the high school. In SOC: Welcome to the Cage, he provides a behind-the-scenes look at what happened at this school as the focus turned from understanding black dynamics to black exploitation. Hammond reveals the scandals that took place at the school, including a corrupt and unethical principal, a staff that stole from students and engaged in inappropriate sexual relations, security guards who forced students to cage fight, and manipulation of student grades.

SOC: Welcome to the Cage narrates the transgressions and describes what happened when Hammond blew the whistle; the school district was forced to choose between doing what was right and protecting its basketball championshipsan action that affected a member of the University of Kansas national championship basketball team.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462022007

FH Jr.

FH Jr. earned a master’s degree in educational counseling and was employed as a counselor at South Oak Cliff High School in Dallas, Texas, during the time these events occurred. He now lives in Grand Prairie, Texas.

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Contents

Chapter 1: Introduction To The Hero’s World

Chapter 2: The World Of South Oak Cliff High School

Chapter 3: The Hero’s Journey Begins

Chapter 4: The Hero Looking Good

Chapter 5: The Midpoint

Chapter 6: Things Get Tougher And Tougher

Chapter 7: The Worst-Case Scenario

Chapter 8: The Comeback

Chapter 9 The Finale

About The Author

CHAPTER 1:   INTRODUCTION TO THE HERO’S WORLD

What started off as an attempt to mend fences between my ex-wife and me led to what became known as the story that was too big to be told: the story of South Oak Cliff High School and the event known as Cage Fighting. Before I took the job as counselor at South Oak Cliff, better known as SOC to the locals, I was trying to put my life back together. Though my tenure as a counselor for the Ft. Worth Independent School District (ISD) began as a very promising career, it ended as a tragic story of unfounded allegations of sexual harassment by some of my female coworkers. Before the unfounded allegations I worked at a middle school called Meadowbrook Middle School, which was an inner-city school located west of Dallas. As a counselor at Meadowbrook, my life was pretty sweet; I had friends and nice coworkers, and I was part of an administrative team. I shared a space in the building with another counselor named Isom, and we had the grade levels divided between the two of us.

Athough my career as a counselor in Ft. Worth began as an elementary counselor the counseling department felt that since I was an African American male, my skills would be better served by working at the middle school level. I’m not sure what month it was, but I do remember what had just taken place in my life. I had just returned from lunch with my close friend and roommate Billy, who was working as a long-term substitute at our school at the time of the event. As we entered the building, we were laughing and joking the way we always did. Billy had been my friend for years, going back to the days when I lived in Midland, Texas. He had gone through a bitter divorce, and he had come to live with me in an effort to restart his life.

But on that fateful day, I was called into the principal’s office at Meadowbrook and told I was needed at Central Office. Our principal was a great lady; she was a former women’s baseball and basketball coach. Some principals could not handle power, but not our principal. She had the respect and trust of everyone, including the kids. Thinking it was a practical joke, I looked at my principal, Ms. Burris, and said, Yeah, right, when she told me I had to drop everything and report to Central Office. Ms. Burris looked me straight in the eye and said, Frank, I am not kidding. You have to go to Central Office right now. After hearing this, Billy went one way, and I immediately turned and went to my office, got my bag, and headed to Central Office, better known as Human Resources. That day turned out to be my last day ever setting foot inside the building of Meadowbrook Middle School.

Although I was to report to Central Office, my appearance had nothing to do with counseling or any new changes whatsoever. When I arrived, I was told to report to an investigator named Charles McCarty. A lady who was at the front desk when I arrived gave me directions and actually escorted me down a long hallway until we came to an office that said Ft. Worth ISD Investigation. I was told to take a seat and wait. While sitting down, I thought to myself Boy, Ms. Burris and the gang really went all out in pulling this prank. I decided to just play along. Sooner or later I expected to get a call on my cell phone telling me it was all a big joke, and to come back to the building so everyone could have a good laugh at my expense. Instead of a phone call, however, I was greeted by a tall African American man who called himself Charles McCarty. When he asked me if I was Frank Hammond, I said I was. He told me he had some paperwork for me to sign. In less than one hour, my life had gone from laughing and joking while eating soul food at a restaurant with my buddy Billy to standing in front of a desk with a man I did not know dressed in a police uniform, signing paperwork. On March 27, 2001, I was placed on administrative leave pending an investigation. I was not told why I was being placed on administrative leave, and I was told by McCarty to go home and report back to his office first thing in the morning. I kept asking what this was about and what the charges were. McCarty said nothing but warned me that I was not to contact anyone from Meadowbrook Middle School, or I would be terminated from Ft. Worth ISD. I took my paperwork and left the building. As soon as I got to my vehicle, a black Rodeo, I called my principal, Ms. Burris. Hey, this is Mr. Hammond, I said. She stopped me mid-sentence and said, Frank, I was told I could not say anything to you, and she hung up the phone.

When the next day came, I drove to the Human Resources building of Ft. Worth ISD. The ride was short; I was ready to get there as soon as possible and find out the reasons why I was being placed on administrative leave. I walked down the hallway to Investigator McCarty’s office, which was located just two doors down the hall. From the beginning, he treated me like I was guilty of something and proceeded to tell me my options, such as resigning from my job as counselor at Meadowbrook Middle School. Before he could go any further, I said, I need to know what this is all about and why I was placed on administrative leave. McCarty opened a folder and finally began telling me about the incident that would lead to me becoming a counselor at South Oak Cliff High School. Mr. Hammond, he said smugly, very sure of himself, there are two women at your school who have made allegations against you stating that you have been sexual harassing them. The two women named by McCarty were the principal’s secretary, Renita Jones, and Elizabeth Lopez, my counseling secretary.

Although I was not surprised that one of the females making the allegations was Ms. Jones, I was completely blown away by the allegation of Ms. Lopez. Ms. Jones and I were involved in a constant power struggle, though I wasn’t sure why; one minute she would be laughing with me, and the next minute she would not speak to me for days. My relationship with Ms. Lopez was that of a boss and his employee. I would often suggest ways she could improve her work status, such as explaining to her that if she went back to school she would be able to get better-paying jobs. She often complained about needing to make more money to support her kids, and I allowed her to work after-school tutorials for more money. Ms. Lopez was attractive, but I never asked her out on a date because she had a boyfriend—and, according to her, he was very abusive. She and I often talked about our families and cultural matters, such as how I could reach our Hispanic students.

Renita Jones was very different. She would often come out of nowhere and say crazy things to me, such as, Mr. Hammond, I had a dream about you last night or I got a twin sister I’m going to fix you up with. She would often arrange to be alone with me, despite constantly telling others in the office she simply could not stand me, and on one occasion she came into my office while one of the male teachers and I were just shooting the breeze and talking about football. Let me get out of here, she said, "before someone says we’re in here having a ménage a trois." She would always flirt and say inappropriate things to me and other men, but we would just laugh and blow her off.

After I found out I was being charged with sexual harassment, my mood shifted from shock to surprise to anger, and that was because McCarty was acting as if I were guilty, and he treated me as such. It was obvious to me that this guy’s job was not to try to get to the truth, but to try to weed out the perceived problems of the district. I remember his conversation with me as he tried to get me to admit that I had been sexually harassing Ms. Jones and Ms. Lopez. Hey, man, he said, we all get carried away and make mistakes, and I’m pretty sure you did not mean to get caught up in all of this. He tried to make it look as if he were some type of church pastor and my soul would be saved if I were to admit my sins and repent. He asked me again if I would like to resign and just walk away; according to him, I could leave the district with a clean record. After listening to such foolishness, I responded by saying, Man, I have been popular all my life and I have never had any problems picking up women. Therefore, I don’t have to sexually harass any women at work. During that moment, I took the opportunity to let him know that he was not the only one in the room with law enforcement experience. Before I changed my career to counseling, I had worked in law enforcement, and I recognized his technique.

What started off as a day of information gathering with Charles McCarty of the Ft. Worth ISD’s Office of Special Investigation (OSI) ended with a meeting with Kathleen Kirk of OSI. Walking farther down the hall, I came to an office that said, Kathleen Kirk of OSI. She was a small white lady who appeared to be a smoker, and she was similar to McCarty in her assigned title and duties. My greeting to her was not too warm; in fact, it was quite the opposite. Kirk was a rude woman with a chip on her shoulder. She wasted no time and got straight to the point. Why would these two women make up this allegation about you if it was not true? she said. After just a few minutes with this woman, I knew I had no chance, so I told her exactly what I’d told McCarty: I don’t have to sexually harass women in order to get a date. Angry at the way I was being treated, I told her I needed to call my union representative to protect my rights.

A call had been placed before I arrived, so I didn’t have to wait too long to meet with an attorney. My union attorney was named Michelle Bobo, and she knew my story. Seeing that I was probably too angry to be interviewed that day, Bobo thought it was best for me to go home. She told me not to talk to anyone, especially anyone from Meadowbrook Middle School.

Meanwhile, Kirk simply approached women in the building and allowed them to throw rocks and hide their hands. While Kirk was interviewing the women of Meadowbrook, McCarty was busy interviewing the guys as well. He targeted a man named Eric Taylor to ask about my behavior around women. Taylor’s job was that of a school behaviorist, and he worked with the students who attended what was called in-school suspension. Taylor, Billy Gibbs, and I would often hang out a little bit after school and shoot some hoops along with the school’s basketball coach. We often shared stories of our personal lives and our families, and, yes, we sometimes talked about the women at work. I did share with Taylor the story about coming home from a long trip to Arkansas to see my family and finding Jill Humphreys, a teacher from my job, at my house. She was seeing Gibbs, and I shared with Taylor that I had a one-night involvement with her, and so did Billy. She knew I was not interested in anything long-term with her, and she was really into Billy. It was plain to see that McCarty and Kirk had their own agenda, which was to make the punishment fit the crime so the two of them could justify their jobs.

Refusing to give in to intimidation and pressure, I told the investigators that the women were lying, and I explained why each woman was making the accusations. My relationship with the women in the main office had taken a turn for the worse when I got engaged to Jeanette Dunn and I stopped doing things like bringing donuts and picking up lunch.

The two investigators spoke with me about the seriousness of the allegations and the need for a conclusion to the investigation. I was offered the opportunity to take a polygraph, which I accepted. However, I insisted that the women bringing the charges take the polygraph as well. McCarty left me with Kirk while he went to make arrangements for me to take the polygraph. When he returned, I was busy writing a statement. Before I finished writing my statement, I was given directions to the polygraph office and the time of the scheduled appointment. I started thinking about the conversation I’d had with Taylor regarding the investigator’s attempt to manipulate his account of the relationship between Taylor and me in order to make the charges stick. With the advice of my personal attorney, I decided to write a statement only, instead of taking the polygraph. For some strange reason, McCarty wanted to speak with my attorney, and as far as I was concerned, I wasn’t paying my attorney by the hour to speak with an OSI investigator.

The word polygraph usually strikes fear in the minds of most people. For me at that time, it was a means of ending a well-orchestrated lie designed to get me fired from the Ft. Worth ISD. In less than two weeks, I had gone from being a popular counselor to being the subject of rumors claiming I had a dark side. I’d been banished from the school and forbidden from contacting anyone who worked there. The stress I was feeling wasn’t coming from the lies being told about me, but from the fact that I knew the investigators were working hard to convict me. Officers McCarty and Kirk put all their confidence in the women of Meadowbrook Middle School who had brought the charges against me. They were sure that the women were telling the truth and that the results of the polygraph would be proof they needed to convict me.

On Wednesday, April 11, 2001, Investigator McCarty wrote a memo to his boss outlining the results of the polygraph given to those who’d made allegations against me. McCarty wrote about the following results: Ms. Lopez refused to cooperate with the instructions of the polygraph operator; according to the report, she held her breath and moved her hands repeatedly, and therefore no allegation could be verified. Ms. Jones could not pass a specific question regarding a statement where she reported I said, Give me some rubbers. She denied making the statement, I could put something in your mouth with nuts, but she could not pass the polygraph regarding that statement or the rubber statement. Ms. Jones gave a written statement stating, I remembered that I could have told Mr. Hammond that I could put something in his mouth with nuts. Ms. Humphreys failed the statement, Come to my office and have sex; then she passed, and then she failed again. Ms. Humphreys told the polygraph operator she’d had a two-month affair with me. Ms. Isom was contacted but stated she had to think about taking a polygraph test. Ms. Isom called McCarty and said that the time I touched her was the only time my actions were physical. Ms. Isom went on to describe me as being very shady. She said we did not have a very good working relationship.

According to the memo, Taylor was the last employee to take the polygraph. He confirmed on his polygraph test that I had told him about my encounter with Humphreys. Further questioning was difficult for Mr. Taylor, and he stated that he felt he could not breathe. Then he departed the polygraph office.

When Taylor ran out of the office, he took McCarty and Kirk’s case against me with him, and they knew it. Mr. McCarty concluded his memo with, It appears some degree of collusion is occurring.

When I got the news, I was sitting in my truck, with salt coming from my body after two nonstop hours of shooting hoops. For a minute it was like a heavy weight had been lifted off me. Say it again, I said to Ms. Bobo. She seemed more than happy to repeat it: All the women making the accusations against you failed their polygraphs, she said. I hit both hands on the steering wheel of my truck. Hell, yes! I screamed as I drove out of the YMCA’s parking lot. I tried to ask Ms. Bobo when a conference could be held, but for some strange reason the question that came out of my mouth was, When can I return to work at Meadowbrook?

After sharing the good news with me, Bobo scheduled a meeting with Bobby Whiteside, the actual coordinator of the OSI. McCarty and Kirk had their work cut out for them justifying why they’d prosecuted me with such vigor. On Tuesday, April 17, 2001, McCarty, Kirk, and UEA representative Bobo met with Humphreys to allow her to explain why she’d made the allegation against me. Ms. Humphreys explained that she’d originally heard about the investigation from a coach and had come forward to offer her statement about me. She said she’d had an affair with me and offered a sworn deposition that included statements like, I am withdrawing my charge of sexual harassment against Hammond. She noted that after she’d ended a brief relationship with me, her communication with me had become confrontational. Humphreys, confronted with the truth, tried to worm out of the incident any way she could, and she ended her statement with, I am withdrawing my charge of sexual harassment against Mr. Hammond.

When Humphreys left the room, looking like a defeated woman, the culprit behind it all, Ms Jones, was waiting in the hallway. She was called in and given the same opportunity to explain her motives. I did not intend to personally file sexual harassment charges against him for what he said to me, she said. According to the actual report I read, Ms. Jones followed that statement with, Mr. Hammond did ask me for some rubbers, and I responded in an inappropriate manner. Jones admitted to making sexual comments to me in the presence of Taylor. She knew she was boxed in, and, like a trapped rabbit, she had nowhere to escape. Showing a little mercy for Jones, the investigators simply thanked her for coming in and allowed her to leave.

Unlike Jones, Humphreys, and Isom, there was something behind the allegation that was made by Ms. Lopez, but at the time I could not put my finger on it. On Friday, April 20, 2001, Ms. Lopez reported to the site for her second polygraph. After two hours, the polygraph operator reported that she’d failed to follow instructions and could not pass the test. It was plain to see she had taken some days to get some coaching on taking the polygraph but in the same manner as before.

It is hard to explain the ordeal of being accused of sexual harassment. I remember the look on my fiancee’s face when I told her why I had been put on administrative leave. At first she tried to be supportive, but as the event went on, doubt began to seep in. Days and nights started to become awkward to the point where we just stopped communicating. Finally, I received my Dear John Letter, which came in the form of a telephone call that came when I was at home, sitting in my living room, watching ESPN. Jeanette told me she was breaking off the engagement because I wasn’t the man she’d thought I was. After our breakup, I took up running, and running became my means to escape.

Meanwhile, the Ft. Worth OSI had a date with reality. After completely ruining my reputation, my relationship with Jeanette, and my career, the investigators focused on damage control. Damage control began in the form of a final summary. The portion of the final summary devoted to Humphreys stated that she withdrew complaint (had an affair with Mr. Hammond). Ms. Jones withdrew her complaint, failed the polygraph, and admitted she’d made an inappropriate comment in response to Mr. Hammond’s comment. One by one the final summary showed how the women, when confronted with the truth, threw themselves at the mercy of the court in the form of the OSI. Last came my fellow counselor, Ms. Isom. Although she had a different approach to our duties, I never thought in a million years she would stoop to actually trying to get me fired from my job. According to the summary, she said I had touched her on the hip, but she stated that it was an accident.

Anyone who has worked for a school district in Texas should be aware of the fact that the first job of any investigative body is to protect the school district’s ass, and in my case that’s what took place. On Wednesday, April 25, 2001, the following recommendation was made: Mr. Hammond is to remain on administrative leave and is not required to report to OSI until operations administratively transfers him for the 2001–02 school year. Kathleen Kirk will conduct an exit interview with the four female complainants. Ms. Lopez will be offered the opportunity to transfer. Ms. Isom is scheduled for a transfer. Dr. Tocco stated the school will be reconstituted.

I was told to report to a school called Monning Middle School, where I would be one of two counselors. Not knowing what to expect, I figured that my appointment to the school would be met with criticism and mistrust by faculty and staff members. I had no choice but to report to the school, so I showed up as ordered.

Monning Middle School was considered the Cadillac of Ft. Worth ISD, and getting the opportunity to work there was like a dream come true. It was the perfect place to work—for me it was too perfect. Although Monning Middle School was located some twenty miles far west of town, for me it wasn’t far enough away. Despite every effort the school district made to please me, there was no escaping the looks and quiet comments I would get regarding why I’d been moved to Monning. However, in less than two weeks, my popularity with the students and staff had grown tremendously, and my relationship with the other counselor—a woman—was solid.

In my many years of being a counselor, I have witnessed all sorts of trauma, including both physical and emotional. We are often taught, as caregivers, to take care of others, but where does one go when we have no more care to give? Most people turn to drugs or alcohol; I turned inside. Struggling with trust issues, I gave up on people and became a recluse. Unlike most people who have problems being alone, I embraced it; for me there was no time like me time. I found myself going to the movies and on outings by myself, and, before I knew it, I was my own best friend. In less than a year, I had managed to completely shut the entire world out. I found myself ignoring the many phone calls I got from both friends and family. Finally, my solitude was interrupted by a knock on my door in the form of my six-foot-four buddy known as Anthony McCoy, who lived in Midland.

That knock came in the summer of 2002. I opened the door and let Ant in. What’s up, dog? he said as we embraced in the traditional soul-brother hug. When Ant came in, we just laughed. Ant and I went way back to the days when we were students at the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff, better known as the Yard to those who graduated from the school. Whenever we got together, we allowed ourselves to shed our professional mannerisms. There were no concerns about using proper English or correctly conjugating verbs, and usually our encounter consisted of profanity and drinking, followed up by more profanity and drinking. Behind all of our craziness, Anthony and I had a big-brother/little-brother relationship, with me playing the role of the big brother. As soon as Ant stepped into my house, I looked out at my driveway to see what type of car Anthony was driving. Ant, I said, get you a damn car. We both laughed. Anthony had been driving the same car for more than a decade: a 1991 pebble-beige Nissan Stanza, which had been through a lot over the years. Describing his car would be like describing a piece of crap. The back door was held together with a string tied to the other door across the seat. I wasn’t sure about the purpose of the string, but it was funny as hell, and I often teased him about it. The driver-side door would not open, and he had to climb in through the passenger door in order to open the driver-side door. The car also had problems with the air conditioning and the radio.

Anthony had learned to compensate for the lack of amenities in his car by using a boom box belonging to his son, Anthony Jr. Although I teased Ant about his car, often calling it a piece of crap, I was quick to jump in and ride. Come on, man, I said as we walked out of my house. Let’s go to the liquor store and get some Mist. Mist was our code word for Canadian Mist, a brand of whisky. Ant climbed in first and slid into the driver’s seat. I followed him into the car. Dude, I said, still teasing Ant, you should do a commercial for Nissan—you really got your money’s worth with this fucker.

Fuck you, he said, laughing. Just pour me some Mist. We liked to drink our Mist with Coke, Sprite, or 7UP.

Our conversation at that time was centered on my new job. After being released on administrative leave for sexual harassment, I was told to report to Monning Middle School. They placed me at the school because they feared I would otherwise file a lawsuit against the Ft. Worth ISD. Some considered Monning Middle School the Cadillac of Ft. Worth ISD middle schools. Damn, man, they treat you like a king at your school, giving your ass a leather jacket and a pair of binoculars, he said.

In case of hard times, I can eat the jacket, I laughed.

We went outside onto my patio and continued to drink. Drink up, man, Ant said, and, speaking of barbecue, let’s get something to eat. We left the house again and went to the local wing stop around the corner. Our car of choice was my black 1998 Rodeo. With food in one hand and drink in the other, we went back to my house.

The conversation changed from my job to my experience of being on administrative leave for sexual harassment. Man, what was it like being on administrative leave for sexual harassment? he asked. When you told me that, I just could not believe it. It had been over a year since my experience, but I could feel myself getting angry just talking about what had happened to me. I went inside and turned on an outside light so we could keep talking. For me it was like a therapy session, and although I had never really spoken about the incident, I was ready to get something off my chest. Ant, I said, sitting down again, I’ve been popular all my life. I’ve never had to sexually harass any woman. And check this out. You want to know how they settled the case against me? They made the women take a polygraph.

Are you fucking kidding me? he said. And then what happened?

Well, all the women failed the test. And you know what? They allowed them to take the damn test again, and they failed again.

So what happened next?

Hey, man, your ass is like a little kid sitting around a campfire, listening to ghost stories. I have my suspicions, but I can’t really put them together yet, like I said.

Come on, Franco. I know you, and there’s something you’re not telling me, he said. You and Batman are the most prepared people I know, so it’s not like you to get caught slipping.

Anthony knew me better than anyone, and his response to the incident told me a lot. Without saying anything, I knew he knew I was innocent. The conversation stopped until we returned from the local store with some ice and Sprite so we could keep drinking and watching ESPN. After we returned to the house, the conversation continued about why I was placed on administrative leave for sexual harassment. Anthony and I were now having the conversation about Gibbs that we probably should have had years ago. For some strange reason, we’d never dealt with Gibbs or our suspicions.

Judging from the conversation, I knew we were starting to believe we had a Judas among us in the form of our good friend Gibbs. We were starting to put two and two together, and something just wasn’t adding up. Anthony was sparing no punches when it came to Gibbs, and he let his feelings be known when he said, Gibbs was probably telling your secretary that you said that if she didn’t go out with you, she’d be fired.

All I know is that my ass was on admin leave and I was about to lose everything, I said. Jeanette broke off our engagement, and I can’t say I blamed her. How do you tell your girl that you’re on administrative leave for sexual harassment? Anthony and I were from Arkansas, and we’d often talked about the differences between how we and Gibbs had been raised. During our time in Midland, the three of us had been thick as thieves. We were the best of friends, and until Gibbs’ divorce there was never any doubt in our friendship. We never had to keep an eye on one another; besides, that’s what being boys was all about. There was an unspoken code of conduct that was stamped on your birth certificate that said true boys just did not backstab one another.

I put in a CD of Tupac’s greatest hits. I played a particular song from the CD entitled The Last Ones Left and we listened to the words and poured ourselves another drink as we sang alone.

I told Anthony, Hey, man, I ain’t no punk, but what I went through with Meadowbrook took a lot out of me. To be honest, along with all the other things I’ve been through, I didn’t think I was going to make it. After that summer, I went home to get away, and I found out many of the guys I grew up with had died. Guys like Naper, Phillips, Love Lindsey, Smith, and my best friend from high school, Austin. So, like the song says, we da last ones left. I told Ant, Sometimes my soul gets tired, man.

The conversation nearly sobered Anthony up. Wait a minute. Franco don’t get tired, but it seems like you live a life of feast or famine. One minute you are the owner of a child care center, as well as being a school counselor, and you’re going to the Texas Rangers and Dallas Mavericks games and living high on the hog. And the next moment your ass is on administrative leave. I listened while Anthony summed up my life from his prospective. It’s like you get bored in paradise, so you have to do something to screw it up. It’s like you’re some sort of mad genius who gets bored with his life, and he needs some excitement in it.

I laughed and said, You know, you just might be right, and then I changed the subject. For the first time, I had come face to face with my own reflection. Anthony was telling me what many have told me throughout my life. During grad school, I found out that I have a superior IQ, which I’ve spent most of my life hiding from the world. I remember my grandmother telling me that the government would take away real smart black kids from their families, never to be seen or heard from again.

Speaking of paradise, I said to Ant, I’m thinking about leaving Monning to go work in Dallas. I met this principal named Moten who gave me his card and said he was going to call me and offer me a job at his school.

That’s what you need, Franco—to work with your people, like on the Yard. Besides, SOC has the same colors as UAPB. The Yard was the nickname for our college the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff.

But would you give up an easy job like Monning for SOC? he asked me.

After throwing a pillow at Anthony’s head, I said, If he offers me the job, I’m gone. It was now 1:30 a.m., well past my bedtime, so I went to my room and went to bed.

After a long night of drinking, thinking, and solving all the problems of the world, we both felt like crap the next day. Anthony slept late, but, being an early riser, I got up and listened to the radio in my room. After listening to the Ticket, I came out of my room to find Ant still sleeping on the couch. Anthony was like a vampire: he could stay up all night. But, like a little kid, he would often stop down for what he referred to as a Coy nap.

With his six-foot-four frame, he could not keep his feet from hanging over the edge of the sofa. His eyes opened when he heard me say his favorite words: Get your ass up, boy. I gave a big laugh, and he got up.

So what time is it? he asked.

It’s 9:00, dude, and we forgot to close the window, I told him. Hey, did I tell you Yvette’s mother is dying? She’s been in and out of the hospital.

Ant sat up on the sofa and started putting his shoes on. What’s wrong with her? he asked.

She has cancer. They don’t expect her to make it another month, I said.

Out of nowhere, I said to Anthony, I’m thinking about letting Yvette move in with me until she can get on her feet. Even though Anthony knew it was a bad idea for me to allow my ex-wife to move in with me, he understood the