By All Means

By Dennis Smith

Jeffery Darnell Thomas wanted to be rich and powerful. It was his dream for as
long as he could remember. Growing up in one of the toughest neighborhoods
in America at the time is a test though. But his hatred of poverty, along with
a strong desire to make it better for his people, is the fuel behind his passion.
All he needs is that one big break. He devises a plan that could make or break
everything. In the process he learns a lot about himself and life. This is a story
about hard work and determination that will move your soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514477700

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Dennis Smith.

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 is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/18/2016

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Contents

Introduction

Prologue

Part I: The Beginning…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

A Note From The Author

Introduction

Life in the ghetto is hard. Growing up in this environment, one cannot help being affected by its culture. It is commonly referred to as the concrete jungle or simply the ’hood. And trying to see another day can be a full time job. Here, only the strong survive. Many of its youth don’t live to see the ripe age of twenty-one. Early on most of them realize this as a fact. So they live knowing tomorrow is not promised.

In the ghetto, other than illegal means, there are very few economic opportunities for its inhabitants. Drugs, prostitution, boosting (moving stolen goods), gambling and scheming are just some of the enterprising going on in the streets to generate a dollar. Then there are the gangs. Territory is so valuable one could get killed trying to hustle on the wrong side of the street or block. Violence is always lurking.

One doesn’t have to travel to third world countries to witness this travesty. As a matter of fact, right here in America, the land of the free, one doesn’t have to go very far at all. For some it’s just a trip across the tracks, a visit to the housing project areas or a ride through the wrong part of town. There are ghettos all across this country, even down the street from the White House.

But every now and then a few slip through the cracks of the concrete and make a better life for themselves. These fortunate few have the faith and determination to not just survive, but to succeed. They learn how to utilize their experiences to take the bad and make it good. Some go on to become doctors, lawyers, community activists, business owners or just go to work on a garbage truck. But by all means they make it. This is a story about a few who did just that. It is during a time when it was really tough for black people, not just in the ghetto, but everywhere in America. It’s a throwback to an era of the original OG’s, when hustling moved to another level. So if you’ve never lived it, don’t judge.

To all those caught up in the struggle, enjoy.

It’s like a jungle sometime,

It makes me wonder,

How I keep from going under…

Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five

Prologue

So Bro, you got a job yet?

If you wanna call it that. I’ve been busting my ass off the past few days down at the labor pool working manual jobs for peanuts, Mouse replied disgruntled. "Since I got out, I’ve been applying for good steady work. But nobody wants to hire you when you’re black and an ex-con."

Buck speaks up in his defense. Yeah man, white folks just don’t understand. Most brothas in the hood got a record from just trying to survive or to feed his seed.

While I was doing time, I did more than just sit around and bullshit. I worked on my mind, Mouse adds, placing a finger to his temple. I got my GED and even picked up a couple of trades in the process. But nobody wants to give me a chance.

That’s why we do what we do; hustle and grind. By all means necessary, Diamond interjects.

For real! is all Dirt says.

They all recognize the blatant truth of their predicament and concur. Even Jeff had to agree. Though he didn’t have a criminal record, attended college and had a job, he still felt the grueling effects of racism every day. Throughout college he’d had to work harder than his white peers for academic respect. On the job he had to work extra hard and overcome hurdles all the time as a salesperson and employee just to get recognition. Even with this, he knew to them, he was still a Negro.

Hey Jeff, Mouse says, interrupting his thoughts. Remember when we were young bucks, how we used to dream of making it big and getting paid?

Bro, believe me, I haven’t forgotten, Jeff answers. It’s still my passion. That’s why I work so hard. Not just for myself, but for other brothers like y’all. I want to build an empire of black businesses that puts black folk to work one day.

Jeff, I got no doubt that you’re gonna do that someday. But we need it today, Mouse adds. Besides, I don’t mean to burst your bubble. But to make this thing happen, it’s gonna require a great deal of working capital just to get it started. Know what I mean?

In Jeff’s heart, he knew that his friend’s words were true. The thought had occurred to him many times over the years. To do big things, you needed big money. Thinking about his meager savings, he could only nod his head in agreement. I know.

Right now, the only way we can get our hands on that kinda cash is to do something like rob a bank. You down with that college boy? Mouse asks with a toothy grin, taunting his old friend.

For a long moment, no one speaks. All eyes are on Jeff awaiting his response. Rubbing his chin, Jeff’s mind was onto something Mouse said about acquiring the funds. He had an idea. It might just work with the right planning he thought. He slowly looks each man in the eye.

Yeah, I’m down. And I got a plan.

Part I

THE BEGINNING…

Chapter 1

It was a sweltering summer in New York City. The year is 1968. Rose had just completed a long hard day at Lincoln Hospital where she works as a nurse. With sore feet and an aching back from the previous ten hours, she exits the subway station on Burnside Avenue and sighs, contemplating the several blocks she has to walk to reach her building.

Upon her arrival, she discovers that the elevator is not working again.

Damn, she mutters to herself.

As she reluctantly heads for the stairs, in comes Mrs. Adkins, an elderly widow carrying a bag of groceries. She lives on her floor and sometimes keeps her seven year old son Alex.

Good evening Mrs. Adkins. How are you? Let me take that off your hands, says Rose, as they proceed together towards the stairs.

Fine girl, thank you, she adds, handing her the bag. Child, you look beat. They still working you like a Hebrew slave down at that hospital?

Well, it’s gotta do for now until something better comes along. All that training and experience I got from the military saving our boys’ lives and look at me now; changing soiled linen and bedpans for dirty old men, Rose says with half a smirk.

Yeah girl, I know. These days it’s hard on black folk, especially you single mothers trying to provide and halfway raise your kids. You keep doing whatcha gotta do and pray the good Lord handle da rest.

Hey, speaking of dirty old men, says Rose, handing over the bag at the door of her neighbor’s third floor apartment. That Mr. Dombrowski has promised to fix the elevator for over two months now. The only time I see him is when the rent’s due. And even then, he’s poring over me with them beady eyes of his trying to get in my bed.

Well, baby. You can’t blame a man for that, ’cause men gonna be men. Besides, you still a beautiful woman. Thanks for carrying my bag, replies the older woman.

No, thank you Mrs. Adkins. My pleasure. See you around, OK.

Upon entering her apartment, Rose first calls her babysitter Janice, who lives right around the corner on Davidson. Looking around the modest two bedroom apartment, it’s easy to notice that the dwelling is a far cry from a suite on Park Avenue. Yet, with its secondhand, mix-matched furniture, picture frames of family and other whatnots collected over the years, the place is clean, comfortable and lived in.

After hanging up with Janice, she plods into the small bathroom and turns on the hot water in the tub, anticipating a long, relaxing bath. While sampling the temperature, she pours in a capful of favorite bath oil, savoring the sweet, jasmine aroma. Discarding her work clothes, she slips on her cotton housecoat and returns to the front room.

She switches on the old black and white TV to watch the evening news on Channel 4. While the newscaster was reporting on the situation in Vietnam, she thought about how things were really changing. Moments pass and her attention is interrupted by a knock at the door. She gets up and unlatches it and in rushes little Alex, followed by sixteen year old Janice. He hugs his mother.

Hey, little man. You been good?

Yes Ma’am, he claims vibrantly.

Janice?

No problem at all Ms. Rose. In fact, he actually helped me clean up the house and carried a load of clothes downstairs for me to the washroom.

Oh, really. That was sweet of you Alex.

Well, to be honest Ms. Rose, he usually just watches TV. But once in a while I also keep my ten year old niece Trina, who happened to be over today. I think loverboy here has a crush. Her presence works like a charm.

Rose smiles while looking at her son, who shyly averts her gaze. Ten years old, huh. Boy, you’re just like your daddy… already a lady’s man.

"Well Ms. Rose let me go. Alex has eaten already and I know you’re tired. Besides, I’m expecting an important phone call.

Who’s the lucky guy this time?

I’ll never tell, grins Janice, as she closes the door behind her.

Rose walks in her son’s room and finds him on the floor playing with his toy soldiers. After a moment with him, she returns finally to the bathroom. Letting the housecoat fall down around her shoulders onto the floor, she slips into the tub and lies back. Instantly, the warm water and the sweet aroma of jasmine begin to take effect, soothing her entire body. She whispers a prayer thanking God for her many blessings.

Feeling satisfied her prayer is heard, she recounts the events unfolding daily that were shaping the country. With the recent death of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., black people had suffered a major blow in the civil rights movement. Tensions were high, as chaos spread around the country. It seemed like we were still reeling from JFK’s assassination. As a black citizen, she couldn’t help but feel concerned about the continued momentum of the civil rights movement in America. Promise had been on the horizon for everyone. She hoped these deaths would not be in vain. She reflected on the need for economic, political, legal and social rights that would be equal for all Americans. Not just for black people, even though Lord knows they were catching the most hell, but for women as well.

As the moments passed, realizing the water had lost its warmth, she started to wash herself. Getting out of the tub, she dries and puts on her robe. She goes to check on her son and finds he has fallen asleep.

Alex, sweetie get out of those clothes and let mummy tuck you in.

Helping him with his pajamas, Alex asks, Mommy, when is Daddy coming back?

Having heard this a thousand times already and feeling too tired to explain the complexities surrounding her breakup with the child’s father, Rose simply says, I don’t know sweetie. Now go to sleep. We’ll discuss this later, some other time.

Ok. Good night Mommy.

Good night sweetie, she whispers, closing the door.

Moving down the hall, Rose feels a bit nauseous as a slight pain moves across her stomach area. She dismisses it as gas and returns to her bedroom. Sliding off the robe, she stands in front of the full length mirror behind the door. She removes the barrette and her long, black hair falls across her shoulders. Standing naked, she brushes it while noticing nothing out of the ordinary. At forty-three, having had five children, the curves were still in the right places, just a bit fuller. After giving herself a nod of approval, she reaches into the dresser drawer and slips into the black satin panties and nightgown that James, her present husband, had given her on her birthday.

There was no mistake about her true feelings for James. In fact, no matter how bad things have seemed to have gotten, she stilled missed him. She vividly recalls their big argument nearly two months ago. James had recently become a Black Muslim in the Nation of Islam, a militant religious group that was growing in numbers in the larger cities because of the civil rights movement. With his new beliefs, combined with his usual stubbornness, he had insisted that she not work. Having had to work all of her life and knowing they needed the money, she differed. Hence, their separation. She would try to reason with him once again during his weekly visit to pick of Alex. She could tell he, too, was beginning to soften.

Getting into bed, she turns on the clock radio to her favorite jazz station. For some reason she wasn’t quite ready to fall asleep. She begins to reflect back over her life and the circumstances that had brought her to this point.

Growing up, she had always wanted to be a nurse, but couldn’t afford college. At eighteen she had opted, instead, to go into the military to gain the training. There she’d met her first husband Tony. He was tall, handsome and smooth as butter. Still a virgin and very naïve at the time, he had swept her off her feet. She had gotten pregnant with her oldest, Amanda, and soon after they’d gotten married. Two years later, she had given birth to their first son. She named him Sergio. Everyone simply called him Serge, even to this day.

While in the military, they’d had a picture perfect marriage. Tony was a musician and he and a group of friends had formed a band. They performed regularly at the Officer’s Club on base and a few night spots here and there. Later, after the birth of Serge, they both left the service and moved here to New York City. He joined another local band with hopes of making it big. But without the general restraint of the military and hanging with a different group of people, Tony began experimenting with drugs. At first it was a little pot and then a few pills. It wasn’t long before it had moved up to bigger stuff. When he’d started doing heroine, everything changed. Along came Veronica and soon after she had Jerome. Yet, his habit had progressively gotten worse.

Blindly believing his dreams of success and hoping to keep the family together, she’d done all she could to stick it out. She even took on two jobs to support them. Later, however, the drugs began to take full control of Tony’s life. After repeated and fruitless efforts to stand by her man, enduring only empty promises in the process, she’d been forced to leave him for the sake of the children and her sanity. Following the divorce, for the next six years, she worked and struggled on her own to make ends meet for her and her four children.

At that time looking for a man was the farthest thing from her mind. And then up pops James. Having been on own her on for so long, she hadn’t anticipated a relationship. Thinking back, she had proven to be a tough catch. But James was persistent. He was well mannered and tried his best to be there for her and the kids. He worked long and hard for the Sanitation Department, yet, he always made time for her. They enjoyed talking about everything from politics to a new recipe in the kitchen. In the past, they’d always found a way to work out their differences.

But after becoming a Muslim, James had become obsessed. With his newfound beliefs, he’d changed the way he dressed, spoke and even the way he ate. She told him adamantly that she and the kids had been doing just fine all these years eating pork and wasn’t about to hit the brakes just like that. He had consented only on the condition she’d cut back. She agreed. But when he had insisted on quitting work and sit around raising children, she had balked. That was where she drew the line.

As far as the children, Amanda was twenty-two now and worked secretarial jobs in hopes of becoming an actress. She had performed in a couple of low budget plays around town. And like her mother, Amanda was very independent. She currently shared an apartment with two other girls and paying for her own acting classes. Hopefully, with the change of times for black folk, she’d get her break one day.

Now her oldest