Journey for an Answer: Story Based on Life and Times of One Man’s Search for His Dream and His Answer, Reality.

By Jerome Bruce

This book is dedicated to the people who believe in the journey that is called life, no matter how it begins or where it ends. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.
When I was growing up in Brooklyn there were some people, not many, who feared the journey. They believed that home was their castle. They built moats around their castle that had to be maintained. The moat might have been the staircase. They would sweep the stoop and the grounds that circled the castle and wash the stoop, which may have been their drawbridge.
The most important thing was staying close to their castle. They did not go too far from home.
I, on the other hand, believe that staying close to home would stunt a person’s growth. I believe that in order to grow as a person you have to go farther than the front door.
The kings, as I imagine, would send their general and officers to survey vast different lands to enhance their knowledge and awareness as their people consciously experienced processes that allowed those folks to live vicariously through the path that someone else walked, and in their mind’s eye, it became their reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823000109

Book preview

JOURNEY FOR

AN ANSWER

STORY BASED ON LIFE AND TIMES OF

ONE MAN’S SEARCH FOR HIS DREAM

AND HIS ANSWER, REALITY.

JEROME BRUCE

POEMS BY: ORLANDO ACEVED

LEE

SHRILLY

KEVIN L.

O. GOMEZ, JR.

JEROME BRUCE

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2023 Jerome Bruce. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  02/27/2023

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7798-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7799-1 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0010-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901555

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

This book is dedicated to the people who believe in the journey that is called life, no matter how it begins or where it ends. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.

When I was growing up in Brooklyn there were some people, not many, who feared the journey. They believed that home was their castle. They built moats around their castle that had to be maintained. The moat might have been the staircase. They would sweep the stoop and the grounds that circled the castle and wash the stoop, which may have been their drawbridge.

The most important thing was staying close to their castle. They did not go too far from home.

I, on the other hand, believe that staying close to home would stunt a person’s growth. I believe that in order to grow as a person you have to go farther than the front door.

The kings, as I imagine, would send their general and officers to survey vast different lands to enhance their knowledge and awareness as their people consciously experienced processes that allowed those folks to live vicariously through the path that someone else walked, and in their mind’s eye, it became their reality.

DEDICATION

A lot of people took part in this project. My brother, Lee, was very helpful with the most important part, in keeping the faith in myself, without which I would not gone past Start. We will always have our ups and downs. That’s the structure of successful family life.

I’ve been blessed with good family and good friends. Orlando Acevedo, my coworker and good friend; we worked out together, played basketball all over, in different parks, gyms, beaches, and orchard beachs. I had a thing about that beach in the Bronx. Last but not least, we wrote poetry to O. Gomez, Jr., my other coworker and friend. The three of us always ate lunch together and went to Broadway plays together and we shot pool.

Shrilly is a another good friend that I met in my running days. She is a light in my dark times. Of course she was a beautiful. Nothing ever happened between us sexually; she was a friend for years.

Kevin. L was a part of my recovery process. You know during my time served, we talked of many things that were part of life on life’s terms.

A special dedication to Carolyn Battle, a special person without whom this book would not have been possible. During long days and late nights she gave me great input, details, and vision with good story lines and has been a good friend.

JOURNEY FOR AN ANSWER

WRITTEN BY: JEROME BRUCE

POEMS BY: ORLANDO ACEVED

LEE

SHRILLY

KEVIN L.

O. GOMEZ, JR.

JEROME BRUCE

STORY BASED ON LIFE AND TIMES

OF ONE MAN’S SEARCH FOR HIS

DREAM AND HIS ANSWER, REALITY.

The poems that were wrote are from friends

that were apart of my and life and wrote these

poems to open up new stories in this book

FRENDSHIP

To some its meaning is unclear.

You give a little. You take a little.

When they have a problem, you must listen; no, not only listen, but you must hear.

When you are going through life with its ups and downs and you experience a low, so low it knocks you to the ground, you get words

of encouragement, and when you finally come around,

There he is, this person.

This I call profound.

A friend will try never to hurt you or insult you, especially when someone else is around. Sharing, caring; these are all the same to me.

Hatred, misgivings, and curses should never cross your lips.

So can you understand, know this is what I call friendship?

By Lee 4/15/94

PRELUDE

I was an impressionable child, good in school. Never late, never absent, I got good marks and I enjoyed my schoolwork and the feeling I got from knowing the right answer. It made me feel good to know I had prepared myself the night before, because the other children looked up to me when Miss Atelier’s eyes finally allowed us to raise our hand to bid for the right to answer the question correctly.

Eva sat in front of me in the second grade. She had curly, dark brown hair that looked reddish in the sunlight. Eva didn’t speak good English, but she was a fast learner. Her English improved over time. We became good friends. I felt good whenever she was around me.

One day near the end of our lunch break, Timmy, whom I thought was without compassion, displayed his jealousy toward me. Timmy tried to be Eva’s friend; she had a way of talking to people that was comforting. I didn’t like girls at that time. Eva was more than a girl.

Timmy was too quick to take things to heart. Instead of trying to understand that Eva needed help with her English, he immediately made fun of her speech or got hurt by the way she may have misspoken a sentence. Then he would start defending himself.

The three of us were talking one day, and Timmy got really upset with Eva.

We were in class. The teacher had stepped out of room. I must have missed what happened. He started his tough guy act, parading from side to side, looking Eva up and down, then talking like he was older than he was. I think Timmy really liked Eva more than he let on. I said something, and then he started on me. Timmy started talking about my lack of manhood and how Eva and I were a joke. Then he stared, bulling, menacing, and fussing at us both, all because Eva had said she should walk with us. Jou may have fun; jou don’t know. Timmy got all upset and started telling her how much he knew about being a man and a lot of other bad stuff that he knew nothing about. All she meant was that Timmy could walk home from school with us, and it might be fun. At least that’s how I understood it. It seemed like he was jealous of our friendship.

The very first skill my father insisted on was self-defense. I wasn’t a big boy, and it wasn’t easy to get me to fight. Eva was not shy; in fact, one may say she was a bit naïve, but very nice. On this day during break, Eva did not mind showing Timmy what she had for lunch; her curiosity was as great as Timmy’s. Eva and I would sit down together for lunch almost each day. I was young to know so much about having a good friend.

Almost every day Eva and I would meet before class and she would say, Que pasa? She asked if I’d like some cuchitriteos or some of the good things that made a young person like me feel better.

I would say yes, and ask what else she had.

Eva would say, Si, señor, messing with me. That day, Eva had two big biscuits with bacon in them, a fried banana, and an apple, which we were going to share.

I came out late that day. Usually when I saw Eva, my day would improve, but not this day. Her face was all I wanted to see as a second grader who wanted to see his best friend who had his lunch in her lunch box. But there was no lunch! She told me what Timmy had said and done.

Timmy had come up to her and pointed and said, Breakfast for me, then grabbed her lunch box. Lunch box and books all went flying. Then he ran off eating the apple, with the lunch box under his arm.

This type of behavior was something I knew I would have to deal with one day, even before this happened. Timmy was the bully of the class and he just about had the class sewn up. When Eva explained what happened, I knew that I would not have to look for him. Eva’s scared eyes looked up at me with fear like I had never seen before. She could not talk with the good English that she had learned.

My father had cautioned, You don’t go around looking for any fights. It doesn’t help anybody to get yourself beaten up or to beat up on somebody else for no reason. At the same time, never let anybody walk on you or any of your family. There are some people in this world that love to pick on the helpless and the weak. Then he talked about some people he knew and what happened to them or he’d talk about the old South, how a chicken would go pecking away at some helpless bird that couldn’t run or fly (if the bird would flutter or flap its wing that chicken will haul ass and run away like that bird had A gun) away to defend itself. Don’t never let nobody get the idea that you are weak or afraid, and always look a person square in the eyes.

I saw Timmy when lunch break was ending and we had to go back to class. Eva was like an empty shell, nothing inside but fear. I made her a promise that I would get the lunch box back. Still, she was a wreck.

THE PRICE WE PAY FOR

YOUNG FRIENDSHIP

IS MORE DEVASTATING

THAN THAT OF THE

ORDER!

THIS IS THE DESIGN FOR

LIFE, OF YEARS TO

COME.

SHRILLY

LIFE IS WHAT YOU PUT IN

IT, NOT WHAT YOU

TAKE OUT.

SHRILLY

9/27/98

Miss Alter was annoyed that Eva was so tense and suspected that something was wrong. Timmy went through the day as if nothing happened. Timmy was a bigger boy and mean too. Near the end of class, I told him that I wanted to see him when school was out, and then I saw this sedate smile slowly growing on his face. At that point I clearly understood why he was the class bully. I was tempted to ask him if he would like to forget it.

When class ended each day, we would line up and march out. We were instructed not to run, but after we got out of the class, we ran anyway. I lost sight of Timmy as we all filed out into the hallway. Then Eva, like a magnet, drew right to me. Her girlfriends knew what was happening and darted outside to get good spots, some on cars and some on fences. Eva, afraid, was behind me, her face in my back. If I had stopped, she would have been directly under me. At that time I did not realize she was a foreigner and probably scared to death.

We walked outside. Kids were everywhere, on fences, cars, stairs to school, and on other kids. I was amazed of how this was all happening, and Eva was holding on tighter than before. I turned around as we got to the last step of the stairs outside the school building, and as we walked past the fence, there he was, through a large opening in the crowd like God parting the red sea, that slowly grew.

Timmy just smiled that evil smile and egged me on. "Come on, Jonathan, but leave that ore hay behind, because I owe ya something."

Eva turned her head and placed it dead center ofn my back. I felt her hard baby nails sink deeper into my body. Please don’t fight him. I want you to walk me home, please, Jonathan.

Reggie, with whom I was closest in class, and Don, who stood in the ranks in the crowd, came by my side when they saw the state Eva was in. Reggie was a little taller than I, about an inch or so. Don was shorter than I, but chubby. Reggie knew me to be quiet and maybe a little joker. He had no idea that I wanted to fight Timmy until I whispered, Would you stay with Eva for a minute?

When she let go, instantly I heard, You Black nigger, I’ll—

I closed his mouth with my fist. It must have been two to three punches that I hit him with, because he took off with a bloody nose. I believe the crowd wanted to see more than what happened, but I felt the feeling of grandeur, victory, and that was enough.

Afterward Reggie told me, You fought for a full ten to fifteen minutes. Eva couldn’t be held back. She kicked and scratched and you hit him like someone was shooting a machine gun, good shots to the face. I can’t even count how many times you hit him. It was so fast he couldn’t even block.

Eva was smiling, but still a little shaken up from the ordeal.

We talked as we walked, laughing and joking all the way up the hill. Reggie and Don went home first. Then I walked Eva to her house. Eva still had a smile. She lived at the top of the hill. When we got to her house, there was no one home. Eva knew how to find the key, and she asked me to come in.

I stopped and looked. We were kids. I thought to myself, Wow, she must be a real person, opening doors with keys. Being home alone, having company before her parents meet them. She’s really something.

I went in for a little while, but I couldn’t stay. It was like I saw her, but I didn’t know her. She wanted me to stay, but I had to go home, so I told her I had to go and then I left.

The next day I was a rock star, signing autographs, giving interviews, agreeing to come to different events, and kissing babies (in my head not allowing anyone to know this was how I really felt).

I was known as the guy who could fight. Eva would now carry my books, and sometimes, if I played after school, she would take my books home with her. Walking with her girlfriends, she benefited from the fight as well, because I fought for her and had gotten her a new lunch box.

JOURNEY FOR AN ANSWER

Brought into this world to understand it

Looking up to elders for answers

Becoming a teenager to experience it

Grow up to live it

Closely understanding

Dying and seeing the answer

Orlando Acevedo

4/20/94

CHAPTER ONE

In 1959 the media discovered the Black Muslim. The Vietnam War started heating up and in the early 1960s the Nation of Islam was a religious organization. Members built temples for prayer, schools to educate the children, and stores for followers. Their spiritual leader was Elijah Mohammed.

Jonathan Evert’s story starts in one of the large boroughs of the five political divisions of New York, Brooklyn, Brownsville, and the Do or Die Bed-Sty Community. Mr. Evert and Mrs. Henieretta Hawkins Evert had five children, four girls and one boy. Jonathan Evert was a good child. He never got into real trouble, but this kid had all the wrong ideas about what life was all about.

His views were as confused as his actions. He had such a way of doing things that some people would look, smile, and say, This kid is really funny in some kind way. His confusion stemmed from his wanting to be the serious type, which just seemed to elude him, while his attempts led him right back to being a funny character.

He would see the humor in himself and begin to amuse others. He was a Black kid who came from the South at the young age of three. This was in the late fifties, 1956. He was a very smart-looking child and lovable, like a little ball, a butterball with long hair and legs.

Jonathan’s father would always come in, pick him up, and then throw him into the air and catch the little fellow. Being lifted off his feet and thrown into the air was a feeling of helplessness that Jonathan never liked, but you never know.

He had small eyes and a lovable nature, but it was obvious to a lot of people that this youngster was bound for trouble. Although he had good intentions, the results were almost always not the bestright. He didn’t have to look for trouble; it was always there.

When Jonathan was six years old, he and his best friend, Butch, were playing the old game, Fight. Butch got a hold of Jonathan and started choking him. He choked him tighter and tighter. The object was to make Jonathan say, I give up. He choked him tighter, but Jonathan would not say those few simple words until almost all his air was cut off. His eyes were getting bigger in his head, but still, he would not say those three little words. Darkness filled his head while a feeling of blackness consumed his young, childish mind. Butch released his grip on Jonathan’s neck, and all at once a great big gust of fresh air-filled Jonathan’s lungs and the blood started flooding his head. He knew then that it was his first brush with death. It was not a big deal, but it was a point in foolishness. This was a point that could have been improved. This gave a good view of what was to be expected from this character.

Jonathan’s father, Big Evert, as many people called him, was a hustler. He was also a drinking man. He worked in a slaughterhouse. (he got injured at his worked place and sue) He was a man who had to be understood or else. His idea of the society was, Every man is out to get you; trust no one; keep your money in your pocket; and watch out for your friends, they’ can be your worst enemies. Your partner is the person you dance with, and your shadow is your best friend. These were skills to be mastered. If you did, you could get along anywhere.

Jonathan’s father worked at a slaughterhouse and made $100 a week. A hundred-dollar paycheck was a good deal of money and was considered a better-than-average paycheck for a Black man, but it was still hard to make ends meet with five children. Jonathan’s mother worked as a maid in the 1950s, which was common for Black and Hispanic women who worked. They had jobs and did whatever they could to help feed the family.

On Jonathan’s block a family of five kids was not considered a very big family, seeing that there were families of seven, eight, nine, and ten in one apartment (baby boomers). His siblings were Mary Louis, Sara, Bernice, and Vanessa. During that time, most siblings had the same last name, not like it is today. If someone had a different last name, there was something wrong with that. Kids would talk about your family and especially your mother and father, which in turn would lead to a fight. Playing the dozens was unforgivable; you had to fight or maybe move.

The oldest child was Mary Louis Evert. Her full name was Mary Elouise Evert, but never let her hear anyone say her name. Jonathan felt close to her, and she was the one he ran to when he was in trouble. Although he loved all his sisters, Mary Louis was the power elite to him; she was the one they all came to if they had problem in the family. We never fought each other.

She seemed to be with the hip crowd, and it had always been like that, as far as he could remember. The people she knew could speak the gibberish, the do-wah, pig Latin, zin zany, and all the hip-sounding phraseology.

After Mary Louis came Sara. She was the more studious one, bound for success in whatever goals she set. He could never understand why she did not go to China. She loved to travel. She went to college for engineering and had a scholarship to go to China. He was always proud of his sister Sara.

After her came Bernice, who was the most feminine. She gave the impression that she slid on her feet as she walked, she was so girlie. Bernice was flawless, a real beauty to behold. She gave people the feeling that she did not want to be bothered. One thing that made Jonathan angry was that the guys were always asking him questions about her. She was the beauty of the block.

Vanessa was the tomboy of the lot, and she looked out for Jonathan. She and Jonathan looked so much alike and sounded alike at that time. If they were in a room together and someone else came in, they wouldn’t be able to tell who was who. Also, if they were in the same room together and someone called from another room, that person could not tell who was answering. He could remember her fighting for him on many occasions.

A family down the block from them had kids named Robert, Alicea, Jean, and Lawrence. Robert and Jonathan were somewhat friends, good friends, but Robert knew how to make Jonathan angry, and they would end up fighting all the time. Jean would come out, then Vanessa. By the time Vanessa and Jean started to fight, Robert and Jonathan were friends again.

Vanessa was especially helpful when he didn’t want it. She was the most lovable child in the family. Vanessa had but to ask their parents to get anything. In fact, when the rest of the kids could not get something, they would persuade Vanessa to request it. Jonathan was always grateful for her help, but he’d never admit it to himself or anyone else. I didn’t talk about I being the only boy.

In doing household chores. Lu and Vanessa washed dishes together. Sometimes Bernice and Sara washed dishes together. Their main concern was to have the kitchen cleaned before our father came home. The strange thing was that they began to look alike, Vanessa and Mary Louis. Mary Louis was the firstborn, and Vanessa was the baby girl. With Sara being the second girl and Bernice the third, maybe it was in the dishwater.

Bernice and Vanessa and Jonathan slept in the same room. During this time Sara Jean and Mary Louis had their own rooms. Bernice would get up a little early so she could have the bathroom before Vanessa and Jonathan. Jonathan wasn’t in school yet, but he was forced to wake up the same time as Vanessa and Bernice because his father would yell in the room and wake everybody up. His mother’s routine involved being in the kitchen fixing breakfast