The Grill the Best Left Hand in Mount Misery

By Ronald Lee Fleming

The Grill, The Best Left Hand In Mount Misery, is a story about a boy who grows into manhood while growing up in the Levistor Towers Housing Projects in Mount Vernon, New York. This is not a rags to riches story, it is a story about a boy who use the game of basketball as an escape, a shield, and ultimately a vehicle, to a better life. You will witness the growth of a boy as he avoids drugs, gangs, and teenage sex, as he focuses in on his goal of a college scholarship. You will laugh, cry, and ultimately cheer, for the main character as he strives to be the best he can be. This book will motivate you to be better tomorrow than you are today, enjoy.

Book Review by Monica Fleming wrote on your timeline. Hey Ron!!! The book its remarkable! Every time I have to put it down I cannot wait to pick back up again! Book: Blended A Family Story. November 27, 2010 at 2:28pm
Book Review by Dona B. Shelton-Wiggins Hey Ron, I just finished a blended family. I finished Mount Misery on Tuesday. I loved the trip down memory lane, some of the names and things made me weep, but it was a good weep for they are memories that no one can touch. It was a very good book and I am glad you have become the successful man that you are. Now on to a blended family.. oohhh I wanted to choke the life out of Charles Jr. and his Momma. I loved that novel as well. I couldnt stand Wanda and her momma wanted to beat them as well. I loved Edgar & his family. I especially enjoyed how you paid homage to Papa Wongs as the Chinese restaurant. Keep up the good work. And may God continue to bless you...whew....love ya
Book Review by Dana Doggett wrote on your timeline. Ron, Just finished reading your book Blended A Family Story. I enjoyed reading from page 1 to the last page. Very nice read. Youre an excellent AUTHOR and good story teller. Looking forward to your Autograph of my book in August when you come to Mount Vernon...Its nice I can tell people I know and grew up with the Author RONALD FLEMING! Looking forward to "The Grill" rewrite. May 18, 2011 at 6:53am
Book Review by Dana Doggett
Ron, I enjoyed the Grill! Nice story of your life all the way to the ending. Very well written. Brought back a lot of good memories of people from our childhood and teenage years. Was nice to see names of people that I forgot and that brought back good memories also. If I didnt grow up with you I would have still enjoyed your story. The author tells a wonderful story and I am proud to say I know him! A must read for all you FB friends and for anyone...


Book Review by Alida Rogers wrote on your timeline. Hey Ron, me n Wayne got our books! Wayne is right now perusing the book n looking at some throwbacks saying Wow I remember that, September 13, 2011 at 2:34pm
Book Review by Sherry Frazier
Reading my home boy Ron Fleming book we grew up together in Mt. Vernon same bldg. 70 West the Best :-) A Positive person from Mount Vernon Love the book and he have a few pics of me when I was a child in the book oh how sweet, back then we were all so close like family. Great Book to read and have. September 16 His book is about growning up in Mount Vernon you might like a copy for yourself. September 16 at 1:05pm
Book Review by Darlene Newkirk Alexander Hello Ron, I do not remember you but I am reading your book which I purchased on IBooks... I am reminiscing my child hood ventures on the# 2 train going to 14 th street on Saturday mornings... Thanks for the venture!!!!
Book Review by Jackie Monroe McCray Got the book yesterday - on Pg 83. Will let you know when I finish BTW Pretty Boy was my husbands great uncle! Hey Ron - I, too, enjoyed reading The Grill! It brought back many memories of growing up in Mt. Vernon. Although I didnt live in the projects, I was always in that area a great deal because of friends and had the opportunity to experience the Social Room and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465338839

Ronald Lee Fleming

The Rise of the Ravens- Is a multi-layered work by author Ronald Lee Fleming. he starts off by telling his readers about the small forgotten town of California City, its origin, and its forgotten dream of becoming the next Palm Springs! A resort community in the Mojave Desert! A city who lost its way, until awakened by its new basketball coach and resurgent high school basketball team. In telling the story of the high school team's rise from obscurity; the author takes the time to educate his readers on some of America's history which is not widely known or shared in most history books. He highlights some prominent Americans rarely discussed in classrooms k-12. The author intends to educate and inform his readers, and leave them with a message, you too can rise up and take your rightful place in society.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Ronald Lee Fleming.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011913503

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-3882-2

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-3881-5

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-3883-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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Contents

Chapter 1 Flem

Chapter 2 Nathan Hale

Chapter 3 The Move

Chapter 4 The Fire

Chapter 5 The Annex

Chapter 6 Challengers

Chapter 7 Camp Atterbury

Chapter 8 A College Scholarship

Dedications

The original manuscript for this book was written in 1988. The inspiration for the book came from my experience as a member of an American family.

This story is not unique, yet it had to be told.

Young people everywhere must realize their potential. Young people must understand that it is possible to shoot for the moon, that they can rise above their condition, and become major contributors to society.

There are many people whose interface with the author help to make this book possible, but they are to numerous to name. Below are a few very important mentors who helped me move along life’s highway.

Cliff Lewis—former coach at the Mount Vernon South Side Boys Club.

William Thomas—former Executive Director of the Mount Vernon South Side Boys Club.

Clifford Ransom—former head basketball coach for the Atterbury Job Corps Tigers.

Also, I dedicate this book to the shake and bake artist, sky walking, and rim rattling, slam jam, basketball legends of the playgrounds, whose talents were witnessed in the community, but never got the chance to share them with the world.

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THE GRILL THE BEST LEFT HAND IN MOUNT MISERY

Growing up in the Leister Towers Housing Projects, surviving its pitfalls, to become a productive person was not easy. The Projects was a tough environment that proved to be a difficult place to raise children. During the 1960s and 70s, a boy had to keep his wits about him in order to avoid the crime and drugs that overran the community.

Mount Vernon is a suburban community located thirty minutes from mid-town Manhattan (by car) and fifty-sixty minutes by Subway. If you rode the Subway line known as the Duce, east to the last stop, and walked four blocks you would be in Mount Vernon.

Mount Vernon is a small city which has a commuter train running down the middle of it. The train conveniently separates the city into two halves, the north side and the south side. White people lived on the north side and black people lived on the south side of Mount Vernon.

I remember as if it were yesterday, if you crossed the railroad tracks to the north side you would stick out like a sore thumb. Man, Mount Vernon was a crazy city that got crazier on the weekend. I was raised on stories of people losing a limb or worse during a crazy weekend in Mount Vernon.

Surviving a childhood in an environment such as The Projects was an accomplishment. Becoming a responsible contributing adult was a major achievement. This is a story about an individual who used the game of basketball as a tool, and a shield, to overcome the pitfalls of City and Project life.

You will not find Ronald Fleming’s name on any National Basketball Association Roster; past, present, or future. This story is not about his personal accomplishments on the basketball court. This is a story about a person who used the game of basketball as a vehicle to a better education, and ultimately a better life.

This story will tell you how the game of basketball, along with a few key individuals, helped a boy grow into a man. With basketball proclaimed as the city game, it is not hard to see how a young boy would fall victim to its charms.

Ronald Fleming was no different than most city boys who got consumed by the game of basketball. When problems would arise, and there was no one to talk to or confide in, Ronald would take his ball and go shoot some hoops. This was his way of relieving the tension and frustrations in his life.

What you will witness is a young boy, who was labeled a problem child and troublemaker, change right before your eyes. You will see him develop into the person he is today, productive and prosperous.

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FLEM—I love you and will always love you because you are my hero

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You are now entering Levister Towers Housing Projects

102735-FLEM-layout-low.pdf  Chapter 1

Flem

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Rappers such as (home grown) Heavy D and the Boyz call Mount Vernon, New York, Money Earning Mount Vernon. Why? Simple—Mount Vernon was the launching pad for some very influential people. People such as, but not limited to; Denzel Washington, Gus and Ray Williams, Rudy Hackett, Earl Tatum, Rodney and Scooter McCray, Lowes Moore, and Ben Gordon, just to name a few.

Perry Burgess called Mount Vernon, Mount Misery. It was on the #2 Train heading towards home, East 241st and White Plains Road, Perry and I were locked in conversation. I was on my way back from playing basketball in New York City. I don’t know where Perry was coming from physically or mentally, I needed an explanation from him, why Mount Misery?

After arriving at 241st, the last stop on the #2 train in the Bronx, a person would either catch the bus, a cab, or walk a few blocks before entering Mount Vernon. I had just completed my first semester at Erie Community College in Amherst (near Buffalo), located in upstate New York. I was home for the summer and had a little time before I started my summer job as a Playground Supervisor in Mount Vernon.

Playground Supervisor was a coveted job for sports minded college students home for the summer. You had to be lucky or a sports star to get a Playground Supervisor position. There were only a few playground jobs available and people started jockeying for those spots early, long before the summer. Getting a Playground Supervisor’s job didn’t always boil down to what you knew, but who you knew.

Mr. John Branca was the Commissioner of Recreation in the city of Mount Vernon; he didn’t know me from a hole in the ground. But to his credit, Mr. Branca was kind enough to grant me an interview. And to my surprise, I was offered the job shortly after my interview with Mr. Branca. My getting the Playground Supervisor’s job was a case of preparation meeting opportunity.

My employment had to wait until Mount Vernon schools let out for the summer. Summer months create the need to have eyes in the playground during peak hours. Playground Supervisors and other Mount Vernon Recreation Department staff provided those eyes in the city of Mount Vernon playgrounds.

The opportunities afforded me were not available to Perry. I was a college student home for the summer, therefore held in high regard. Perry spent most of his time in jail; it was a luxury for him to be out riding the Subway. Perry was bitter about his plight and didn’t have a problem expressing that to me.

Even though we both came from #70 Projects, we were wired differently. I learned to take advantage of my opportunities, and Perry squandered every opportunity he got. Perry came from a two parent home with both his mother and father present. I came from a single parent home with only my mother to care for us.

So here we were two former #70 Project boys heading towards 241st and White Plains Road, the final destination of the #2 Train, on our way home to Mount Vernon. I was on my way to Flem’s new apartment in building #230 of the Projects. Perry was headed to Aunt Dot’s house at 54 South 11th Avenue.

Perry Jr. had a relationship with Aunt Dot through Delano. And back in the day, Perry Burgess Sr. was Nathaniel Tillman’s best friend. Nathaniel Tillman is the eldest child, and only son, to June (Dukie) and Anna (Nana) Tillman (my mother’s parents). Perry Jr. was doing well at Aunt Dot’s house and would continue to do well, as long as he followed her rules and regulations.

And now the journey begins. I gave you part of the book title, but you will have to read on to get the rest of it, and its meaning.

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Picture the Con Artist standing in the doorway of an abandon building on a cold winter’s day. He has one side of his coat slightly open beckoning you to come to him so you can check out his wares.

Psst, hey you, come here! Don’t look around, yeah you, come here. Listen, I have a story to tell you, but before I tell you the story, let me ask you a few questions. Did you ever want something so bad you could taste it? Did you ever want something so bad you would do anything to get it? Well that was me; I had to have a pair of Cons.

I was ten years old and starting the fifth grade. My homeroom was the Boys Gym, and Mr. Mastraoni (the gym teacher) doubled as my homeroom teacher. I liked Mr. Mastraoni; he was cool for an Italian dude.

When I first entered Mr. Mastraoni’s class I was filled with hope and anticipation. Finally, I had convinced my mom to buy me a pair of Cons. What are Cons? Cons, aka, Chuck Taylor ® All Star ® shoes, were the most popular basketball shoe in New York.

All the cool guys in the Projects wore Cons. And if you were somebody making a statement, you wore Cons too. I wanted to make a statement. I wanted people to know I was part of the in crowd, and that I owned a pair of Cons.

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Cons

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Legend has it that in 1957, at the age of seven years old a young basketball player named Julius Erving (future ABA & NBA All-Star) pleads with his mom to buy him his first pair of Chuck

Taylor ® All Star ® shoes for $3.95. Julius Erving wore Converse en route to basketball history. Julius Erving, better know as Dr J, creates a whole new style of above-the-rim play, ushering in today’s modern game.

Cons were made out of canvas and rubber. Converse first made a tennis shoe, the tennis shoe was so popular, Converse followed it with a basketball shoe (The All Star).

In 1918 Charles H. Chuck Taylor, an All American high school player, who would later suit up with the original Celtics, Buffalo Germans and Akron Firestones, put on his first pair of All Stars shoes.

Cons were the ultimate basketball shoe of my generation. I was a freshman in college when I was introduced to leather (Run DMC) basketball shoes by Adidas.

Today’s youth do not wear Cons to play basketball. They will tell you in a minute, Cons are ankle busters. Simply put, Cons don’t have enough ankle support. Back in the day Cons were the only shoe for ball players. Fast forward, in today’s world Cons are for chilling (only).

Cons were the reason why I was hanging around my grandparent’s apartment, staring out the window, trying to get a glimpse of my mom coming home from work. As I reflect back to those early years, I realize getting a pair of Cons, in the big scheme of things, was not a big deal. But that is an adult reflecting back on his childhood. Adults take the time to knit pick their childhood. At the time I was trying to get a pair of Cons, Cons was a big deal.

It was a cold winter night and under normal circumstances I would not be in the house before 6:00 pm, unless I was on punishment. I would be outside or at the Boys Club playing. Being home was part of my plan, I had it all figured out. I was going to meet my mom at the door and pour on the charm.

As the plan unfolded I would be dishing out a hearty helping of the Queen Treatment. What is the Queen Treatment? The Queen Treatment is when you play servant, waiting on your mother hand and foot until you get what you want. And while the Queen Treatment is taking place you pump up the volume on begging 110%.

At this time of the evening my mind was clouded with visions of me running around in my new Cons. Man, you don’t know how hard I fought to get to this point. It was a long uphill battle convincing Flem it would be economically sound to buy me a pair of quality sneakers. I was going to get a pair of sneakers that would last longer than those purchased on 14th street in Manhattan.

Man, our family would travel to New York City, downtown to 14th street, to get sneakers and other clothing, from a no frills bargain store. I remember those long Subway rides through the Bronx and Harlem in route to Manhattan. The shopping trip to 14th street would start off exciting and adventurous. And would end with us crawling into bed after a long day of shopping and riding public transportation.

We would get up early Saturday morning and catch a bus to the Subway. The bus was for my mother, walking to the Subway was not a problem for me or my brother. After we paid our fare, got our tokens, put them in the turnstile, Delano and I would race to the train’s lead car.

If I won the race I could pretend to be the Engineer, handling the controls, as I moved the train from station to station. I would be responsible for my passengers, as I picked them up, and dropped them off at their respective stations.

Being the Engineer was hard work. I would eventually tire of riding up front and find a seat to watch the show. This was the early 1960s, and for twenty cents you got to ride on the infamous New York City Subway.

Once you were on the Subway anything could happen, and most of the time something did happen. That is what made the New York City Subway System exciting, it was unpredictable. New Yorkers are natural entertainers. Just checking people out, and seeing how they relate to their environment was amazing to me. I remember one incident in particular; when I laughed so hard it brought tears to my eyes.

We were in the Bronx when the train stopped at Gun Hill Road. By the time the train got to Gun Hill Road it was jammed pack with people. The door of the Subway opened and there was another crowd of people ready to get on the train. A woman was standing inside the train blocking the entrance (and there lies the problem).

A man was trying to enter the train, but the woman was blocking the entrance, and would not give ground. And that is when the fun began. If the woman had been offered a do over, I believed she would have jumped at the opportunity. She would have given ground and created space for the man to get on the train.

What the man did next had me rolling; I laughed my little butt off. The man forced himself onto the train. By the time he finished pushing and shoving, the woman blocking the door looked as if she got dressed in the dark. In the old days we called this maneuver Bogarding. Bogarding, was a term named after movie star Humphrey Bogart, whose claim to fame was gangster movies.

The funny part didn’t stop with the man shoving his way into the train. It continued with the man staring at the lady. He gave her a look that said, lady you must be crazy, trying to stop me from boarding this train. The lady stared back at the man, with a look that said, this man must have lost his mind, pushing and shoving me like that, one more shove and he is going to get cut.

Neither person spoke a word, but if looks could kill the Undertaker would be getting on at the next station.

The roughest looking people got on the train at 135th street, Harlem, USA. Harlemites are intimidating people; they would board the train and stare at you until you gave up your seat. People already seated didn’t want any trouble from the Harlemites.

When the #2 Train got to 96th street it turned from a local to an express train. As an express, the train would skip some stations and stop at others. The next stop, 72nd street and Broadway, then 42nd street and Times Square, in route to 14th street. When we arrived at 14th street there would be a mad rush up the stairs to fresh air.

After two hours of travel, mostly underground, it was time to go outside and shop. My head would be on a swivel as my eyes took in the sights of the big city. I couldn’t help but notice how busy people were. People were everywhere scrambling around non-stop. People were doing their thing, New York City Style, making it happen.

In retrospect, with the exception of the sneakers, the clothes Flem purchased from 14th street were okay. But when it came to those sneakers, they were strictly of the no-name variety. Those no-name sneakers got me in trouble with my peers.

The store we shopped at had most of the clothes laid out on the tables, with very few clothes on racks. Nothing over $5.00 I heard the shop keeper say, over and over again. I think the sneakers cost less than $5.00 a pair, what the sneakers were worth is another story.

The 14th street sneakers had a hard bottom, and they made noise when you walked in them. I felt like a guy ready to perform a dance routine. On a rainy day I could get a running start and slide all the way to school. Wearing the 14th street sneakers became an adventure, especially when I tried to walk in the elements; rain, sleet, snow, and ice.

I was rough on the 14th street sneakers. I wanted to show Flem that the 14th street sneakers couldn’t stand the pressure of day to day wear and tear. But as soon as I would wear one pair out, Flem would go back and buy me another pair. After awhile, Flem realized that she had to go in another direction for sneakers.

After going through countless numbers of 14th street sneakers I had Flem leaning in my direction for an upgrade. After all, Flem couldn’t keep making trips to 14th street just to keep me in sneakers. I thought I was in control, and about to own my first pair of name brand sneakers.

The guys around the Projects would have to find someone else to make fun of, because Flem was going to eliminate my pain. When the door opened and I saw my mom’s face I was overjoyed with happiness. I was all over my mother like a cheap suit, itching and scratching.

I was on my job; mom can I do this for you? Or mom can I do that for you? But Flem was cool, she put up with my crap for a short period of time. And when I asked the question; mom can I have the money for the Cons? That’s when she exploded and hit me with both barrels.

I will never forget her next few sentences as long as I live. Boy, she said, I worked hard all week for this money; leave me alone so I can feel it for awhile!

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Fly girl Sherry Jeter in front of #70 building of Levister Towers

which faces 3rd Street & 8th Avenue, Mount Vernon, New York.

By: Sherry Frazier

I didn’t need a building to fall on me, because I heard Flem’s message loud and clear. My time was up, it was time for me to clear the area. I knew it was time for me to get out of my mom’s face before she got physical. Emotionally, I was in bad shape, my balloon had just busted.

That was the last time I asked Flem for a pair of Cons. I was so hurt by this letdown I went out and stole a pair of Cons from a school locker. At the time of my disappointment I made the decision that I was not going to beg for anything. Either I would do without the item, or I would go out and get it myself.

That was life with Flem, aka mom, never a dull moment. I regard those times and circumstances as learning experiences. Stealing the Cons was wrong, and against the law. By stealing my first pair of Cons I could have developed a habit that would have been hard to break. There is always a first time when it comes to criminal activity. People who get away with a crime the first time may try it again.

I realize now, that money and goods should be obtained honestly. But it was experiences like the Cons that prove to be motivating forces in my life. I learned not to depend on others for what I can do for myself. This was a motto I developed and cultivated along life’s highway.

Flem was something else, a one of a kind mom. She stood 5’7" tall in stocking feet. She had a pretty smile and dancing eyes. It was stated more often than not, in her prime, Flem had the best looking legs in Mount Vernon.

Flem’s good looks fooled a lot of people. But I am here to testify, Flem was as tough as a mother had to be to raise three boys. If you didn’t do the right thing Flem would bust you up.

Flem, unlike her parents, was born and raised in Mount Vernon. Both of her parents were born and raised in the state of South Carolina. Flem didn’t like South Carolina. Her dislike for South Carolina came from an experience she had in that state as a little girl. An experience that left a lasting impression on her, an impression she would never forget.

To this day, Flem will not entertain the thought of traveling to South Carolina. What happened? Flem and her mother traveled to South Carolina to visit family. Being a city girl, who’s only exposure to racism, was from her northern experiences, Flem was in for a rude awakening.

I am sure Nana explained to her daughter what her home state was like. But come on now, how do you properly explain southern racism to a northern girl? How do you explain racism period? How do you explain racism, which is hatred of another person’s skin color? How do you explain another race thinking your race is inferior, just because you don’t look like them?

History teaches us that South Carolina was one of the hotbeds of Slavery in America. During the Slave Trade, ships pulled into South Carolina and unloaded their human cargo at its docks. Many Africans were bought and sold on the docks of South Carolina.

As Flem told her story the expression on her face changed. She was getting excited and angry at the same time. You could tell her South Carolina experience was still vivid in her mind.

The trip to South Carolina took place in 1942, Flem couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time. Not much had changed since Flem’s parents migrated to New York State. Nana and Flem were on the tail end of a shopping spree, they were on their way back to a relative’s home. A young white girl approximately Flem’s age approached her. No conversation took place; the girl reached out and knocked the bags from Flem’s hands.

In the Deep South in 1942 a white person could do disrespectful things to a black person without fear of any consequences that may follow the act. That was the Deep South, Flem was born and raised in Mount Vernon, she was taught to fight back, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. It didn’t matter who Flem busted up when the situation called for it, as far as Flem was concerned, it was time for retribution.

This was 1942, in America’s northern states, race, skin color, and/or religion, didn’t prevent someone from kicking your butt. But the southern states might as well have been another country altogether, rules that applied in the north were foreign to the south. For black people to survive in the south they had to turn the other cheek.

When the incident first occurred Flem was fighting mad, and immediately started for the girl, she was ready to get busy. Nana saw what was about to happen and yelled to her namesake, Anna no, don’t do it! Flem knew her mother’s voice, she picked up on the tone immediately. Flem stopped dead in her tracks, and immediately returned to her mother’s side.

If Flem would have hit the girl I might not be here to tell this story. The Deep South scared Flem. To have to take whatever white people dished out was not to her liking. She vowed never to come south again. She didn’t want to experience that type of racism ever again, once was enough.

Flem was a hard working woman whose main priority was raising her three boys. Delano was the oldest by two years, Ronald was the middle child, while Jonathan was seven years Ronald’s junior, and nine years younger than Delano.

Flem had her hands full with her boys. She experienced difficulties with all three of them while they were young. Illnesses such as birth defects, blood disorders, and retardation touched her children.

Delano was born with a hair lip. The hair lip was a birth defect on Delano’s mouth. The birth defect required immediate surgery at birth. In fact, Delano had multiple surgeries on his lip, leading up to the lip appearing normal. And to a degree, the operations were successful. The lip survived, but not without some noticeable scars.

Delano was also diagnosed with Asthma, an illness prominent among black people. Delano was on medication most of his young life. On the other hand there was no medicine for cruelty.

Delano had to endure cruelty from neighborhood children who talked about his mouth, and called him names. As Delano got older and was able to travel around on his own, Flem became more protective of him. So much so, she instructed Delano not to get into fights. Flem was afraid for Delano; she knew fighting could damage the work that had been done on his mouth.

What Flem didn’t realize, by telling Delano not to fight, she was actually setting him up to be picked on, and singled out, by the neighborhood bullies. The bullies labeled Delano a punk because he wouldn’t fight or defend himself.

I didn’t know until much later in life, that my mother forbade Delano to fight. If I had been older, and/or wiser I may have understood her logic. But all I saw was my older brother not standing up for himself. I understood the environment in which we lived, an environment that said, only the strong survived.

Flem understood the medical cost connected to the multiple operations on Delano’s mouth. Instructions stating no fighting made life difficult for Delano around the Projects. People in our neighborhood fought each other for sport. Guys who didn’t fight back didn’t stand a chance. They were easy prey for guys trying to enhance their reputations through fighting.

Delano’s situation put a lot of physical and mental pressure on me. I was taught to fight by my grandfather (Dukie). Guys who didn’t fight were considered punks. Delano was considered a punk; because he did everything he could to avoid fighting. It was very difficult for me to watch my brother paint himself into a corner.

I wanted to show people my family could hold their own, and we were not punks. I wish my mother had told me what was going on. Would I have done things differently? I don’t know the answer to that question. But if she had confided in me I would have looked at my brother in a different light. And I would have had more respect for my brother.

As it stood I thought my brother was scared of the bullies in the neighborhood. So I became the defender in the family. Anybody who wanted to fight my brother had to go through me. Which reminds me of the time I was on my way home, and I saw my brother marching in a straight line with a bunch of other guys. The look on my brother’s face told me he wasn’t happy. So if my brother wasn’t happy about his situation, then I wasn’t happy about his situation.

I had a quick temper, and it didn’t take long for me to work up a head of steam. Back then I could get angry at the drop of a hat. I approached Delano and asked him what was going on? And before Delano could answer my question, Willie Cheateam told me to get in line, or he was going to beat me up.

I will go on record to say, I was not a very big guy, but I was put together very well. As a small guy I knew my advantages were speed and quickness. And whenever I felt threatened, I relied heavily on the element of surprise. I would sucker punch a guy in a minute if thought I could gain an advantage.

My philosophy on fighting came from fear. Fear of my grandfather kicking my butt, if he found out I lost a fight. Also I had witnessed many fights where people got beat up. I saw people get beat so bad they had to go to the hospital. Shame and humiliation followed some people for a long time after losing a fight. The shame would be so bad that people left the neighborhood and never returned.

I had a deck of cards in my pocket when Willie threatened me. I decided to use the cards as a weapon. I hit Willie as hard as I could with my hand wrapped around the deck of cards. I knew when I threw the punch it would lead to a war. I knew the law of the land around the Projects; you either kicked butt or got your butt kicked.

Back in those days, I was always ready for a fight. I was taught to expect the unexpected. My grandfather made sure I understood the consequences connected with losing a fight. Dukie was my mother’s father, in charge of making his grandsons into men.

Dukie drilled into me the consequences of losing a fight to someone on the outside. Dukie told me I would lose two fights that day, my second fight would be with him. Dukie didn’t play, he would bust your tail wide open. What about child abuse? Ha, ha, please, you’re kidding right? He would kill you before the authorities got the news.

Rumor had it; Dukie hospitalized Flem with one blow, after she talked back to her mother at the dinner table. My family was big on respecting each other, especially the elders. The worst beating I ever got from my mother came after trying to charge Nana money for running an errand. She beat me so bad I thought she had lost her mind.

People in my neighborhood always gathered around to watch a good fight. Very seldom did people break up a fight. Most people were curious as to the outcome of a fight. Willie was a more experienced fighter than me, he had a reputation of being a tough guy. I was the younger brother of Delano, who would you bet on to win the fight?

As the fight approached third street, where Flem was shopping, she was informed her son was in a fight. As Flem approached the area where I was fighting, she called out my name. And me being in a knock down drag out battle, I couldn’t answer my mom right away.

Willie on the other hand started cursing my mom. Up to this point in the fight I had been losing. I used Willie’s verbal assault on my mother as motivation; it gave me the extra fuel I needed to turn the fight in my favor.

I didn’t wait for Willie to finish cursing my mom. While he was busy cursing, I was busy putting my foot in his yams. The crowd had to pull me off Willie. But not before I got in some pretty good licks. Later that day, I had to atone for not stopping the fight when Flem ordered me to do so.

After the fight I got in Delano’s case, I was very upset with him. I wouldn’t have had to fight if Delano had stood up for himself. Man, don’t you have any pride? How can you let a guy like Willie push you around?

Delano didn’t like for me to criticize him, he would fight me just to shut my mouth, and I thought that was strange. Strange, knowing Delano would fight me at the drop of a hat, but would not fight the guys who bullied him.

Delano gave the bullies in the neighborhood the impression that he couldn’t fight. But that was not the case at all. He kicked my butt on a number of occasions. The fact is Delano wouldn’t fight outside of our home. Delano and I fought all the time (like cats and dogs) in the house. It didn’t take much for a fight between us to get started.

Little things that we didn’t agree on would blow up into a full scale war. Our fights would go on for hours, with me on the losing end most of the time. I was thought of as the tough son, but Delano would put me in my place.

Eventually, Delano did fight the bullies, but not with his hands, he used his mind. Delano became a master manipulator, he learned how to talk his way out of tough situations. Most people his age could not think as fast as he could. Delano would be one step ahead of the opposition all the time.

Having a quick wit was a big part of Delano’s personality. I truly believe Delano inherited his quick wit from Grandpa Jim, my father’s father. A very tall man, Grandpa Jim was also skinny and fragile looking. Grandpa Jim’s main claim to fame was his gift of gab;