Arrested Potential: Through the Eyes of a Soldier

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

DEDICATION

My first words of thanks go to my wife, Dianne, who gave me her unconditional support and encouragement that brought this book to fruition. To my dad for telling me that if any man could do it, so could I and leading by example. To my mother who instilled the importance and value of an education. To my sister, Cathy, who gave me the courage to think outside the box and to my twin sister, Jeanette, who has Alzheimer, made me realize that I have a civic responsibility that can be realized by mentoring the young black males of my community. To my children, Alonzo, Shawn, and David and their children, who have provided unwavering inspiration and moral support.

More importantly, this book is dedicated to the men and women who proudly served in the United States Armed Services in peace time and in the perils of war. We must never forget the young black soldiers that fought gallantly in Southeast Asia in the face of adversity at home and in a foreign land. While they received no welcome home that would have reinforced their efforts for having fought valiantly, it is time to salute not only their gallantry, but to acknowledge those soldiers who never returned to their homeland again and the soldiers, whose lives would be changed forever.

INTRODUCTION

This book is written to assist young black males in finding constructive ways in which to use their full potential and to succeed in life. Through my own life experiences, I know that our young black males can be their own man and they do not have to become a statistic like a growing number of young blacks who have found violence and self-destruction as a way of life. There is a future for the next generation, in spite of critics, who are naysayers about the continued demise of productive black males in our society. It is important for us to teach them how to enjoy the fruits of one’s labor that comes from hard work and being a productive citizen in our society. While I am not an eternal optimist, I know that the possibilities are endless that we, collectively, can be the change agent that these young black males need.

My life has been replete with many obstacles and this book has allowed me to sojourn in reflection as to how I found out who I was as a black man and how I found a way in which to be at peace with myself from fighting an unpopular war in Vietnam, to tours of duty in the United States Army and to contracted defense work around the world, I learned that I was always black man in the eyes of many, regardless of location in this wide, wide world of ours. No matter what part of the world I found myself in, from various Army posts, different states within the United States, countries such as Germany, Iran, Kuwait, Panama, Saudi Arabia, and South Vietnam, I was always reminded by a glance, a stare, a word, or maybe just by someone’s thought, that I was a black man. I spent countless hours online researching the plight of young black males and the dire statistics that set forth their dismal educational record. I concluded and I want to say this at the top of my lungs, "If you are a young black male, don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t have the aptitude or fortitude to be successful in your chosen career field. You have a long and rich tradition of contributions to the world by your race and you, too, have the potential to make even greater contributions.

A TOUR OF DUTY

Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome while trying to succeed.

—Booker T. Washington

My life was an encumbrance like so many other Black males in our society, who achieved some measure of success. During my childhood, I lived in public housing which was not viewed as out of the ordinary because all my friends lived there, too. I wasn’t cognitive of the negative image of this type of rental property or the associated poverty within this environment. I survived the traditional white educational institution as a result of segregation with teachers who exhibited the propensity to not really concentrate on educating the children of the Black community. More than likely, they did not view us as scholars or a benefit to society. Despite this first obstacle, I graduated from high school unlike the young black males of today, who now contribute to the escalating high dropout rate in our school system. As I entered the Vietnam War era as a soldier, I found that Blacks comprised the largest contingency to ever serve in an American War and the majority of them were assigned to infantry units. Thus, my second obstacle was my experience as a light weapon infantryman; I had to overcome the war by not becoming a combat fatality. After my initial service to my country and upon my return home to the Black community, another unanticipated obstacle manifested itself. Although I had army experience and had mastered leadership skills, while in the army, I realized my opportunities were limited as a civilian and I had to develop a strategy that would afford me more options. If I didn’t change the direction I was going in my fate would surely become being incarcerated or facing an untimely death; therefore, I re-enlisted in the US Army, with its continued race relationship problems, which paled in comparison to private and public sector of our society. My enlistment in the Army helped me to visualize the man I once was and the man I was becoming. It strengthened my conviction of adhering to positive principles and treating people like you wanted to be respected. No doubt, life will show its reward. Overcoming racism in the Army and in the society has helped me to become the person I am today. I did not obtain any influential and prestigious position in my life, but I did overcome many obstacles.

Chapter One

Public Housing Domain

As strange as it may seem to some, I am a product of public housing. In the 1950s, I was raised in an environment where residents viewed public housing as a path to upward mobility. As in most black communities, the housing stock was substandard, during this period of time. Houses were constructed of wood, had tin roofs, and believe it or not, had outhouses. The streets were dirt roads that required the filling of potholes when it rained. It was not unusual to see your parents’ cars stuck in the mud of the pothole when it rained. And while some folks, in today’s society, look at public housing as welfare, during my childhood, the housing project dwellings were representative of an improved and better housing stock. These homes were constructed with bricks, the streets were paved, and there were indoor toilets. The concept of public housing was to create temporary housing for families, for a couple of years, until the head of household could obtain home ownership or improve his/her economic status to move out of low-income housing. It should be noted that during this time, in our community, female-headed households constituted less than 30 percent of the public housing heads of household. Yet, today, most public housing units are headed by a female. Moreover, public housing tenants have created a vicious cycle, wherein their public housing unit is being treated as inherited property for each generation. This, in and of itself, creates a never-ending circle of entrenched poverty. Each generation lives in the same unit or moves into another unit as the extended family unit evolves. The environment does not change from year to year. For some reason, there seems to be no apparent desire for upward mobility.

Lumbee Homes unit where I lived as it appears today

You have to question what happened to people, like my father, who purchased a home after living several years in public housing. And for many of my childhood friends, the same ownership was obtained by their parents. What was different about my father’s belief and his generation that anything is possible with hard work and perseverance? and what seems to be today’s belief that, anything is possible, if you provide entitlements without work being a requirement for achievement? The answer lies within my father’s belief that his entitlement was found within the Constitution of our Founder Fathers. My father realized he had inalienable rights that could not be deterred by Jim Crowism or the prevalent segregation of the South. Life was not easy for my father. He wanted to drive an 18-wheeler truck, but that job was only available to White males during the 50’s. So, my father was forced to take whatever jobs were given to him, no matter how menial. He washed trucks, maybe quite unhappy with this task, but he knew that his family was depending on him. He didn’t choose to just not work. And more depressing for my father’s psyche had to be that his White counterparts, who were doing the same job, were making more money. Yet, you have to admire my father, because in 1960 he sued his trucking company employer for violation of the wage and hour law. He won his lawsuit and the employer was forced to pay him back wages. While he was victorious, his victory was short-lived. The owner of the trucking company told him that he would never work in the trucking industry in our community. He was going to ensure that he was black-balled from being hired again. Unfortunately for my father, the owner was right, because my father could not find suitable employment in the community. Now my father was a stubborn man, who tended to make very wise decisions, not only for his family but in his personal life, too. He took the monetary award from the lawsuit and he purchased a used 18-wheeler. Without a doubt, I am sure he was the first black man, in our community, to operate his own rig. And as a testament to his perseverance and persistence against all odds, his grandson and other neighborhood young black men found a rewarding profession of driving trucks for a living. My father, despite what might have been his flaws, took time through his example to instill the rewards of persistence and hard work. His lessons are reflected in my own accomplishments and achievements, and my continued passing of these lessons to my sons and grandsons.

The house of my parents

My Dad’s semi-tractor and trailer

During the sixties, freedom of choice became an option for black students, who were attending segregated schools. Freedom of choice was a strategy for allowing parents to actually have the freedom to choose the schools their children would attend. While many parents did not choose this option, my parents allowed me to decide whether to continue to stay at the newly built black junior/senior high school or to attend the predominately White school, located in our rural community. I chose the latter, because there were more resources and it was known to be, presumably, a better school. For me, the experience could best be described as awkward and challenging. I remember I was the only black student in my senior English class. We had to give a five-minute presentation of our scariest experience. After each student gave their presentation, the class would critique the speech. When I gave my presentation a white female student said she really couldn’t understand me, because I talked funny. Before I could respond that I couldn’t understand a lot of white students, my football team mate from Boston, Massachusetts said he didn’t have a problem understanding me, but he had a problem with the slow southern drawl of the students in the school. I had to make a concerted effort to focus on my studies as a way to compensate for feeling out of place. Also you had to maintain a certain grade point average to play on the football team and during this time high school football was a passion of mine. I knew that I would not play football at the college level for it didn’t interest me and perhaps I considered myself too small. My senior year we had a record of 8 wins and 2 losses. We were the only team in our conference to beat Sanford, the champion of the conference and the voted-in second place team, Dunn. Dunn (8-2), Rockingham (8-2), and we were all tied for 2nd place in our conference. Sanford beat Pine Forrest 35-0 in the first round of the playoffs, we beat them 25-0 in the regular season. Sanford went on to win the state title for that year. I have often wondered if we had gotten the vote, would we have been able to boast of being the best 3 A football team in our school’s history. The 1962 team and the 1969 team each lost in the state semifinals. They fell short of their goal by one game. If we would have received the votes and perhaps won the title that year, the team would have made history. When the team members’ hair turn silver, they can still talk with expressive pride about how we lost the 1967 North Carolina 3A State Championship based on a vote count. For it was in this school environment, that I came to understand the meaning of the haves and the have nots. In other words, the stark reality of the lack of economic power within my family and my community became crystal clear. Today, society refers to this status as being less fortunate. And as I reflect upon that time in my life, I can say, genuinely, that I had no clue as to just how poor I really was. Now, it is a testament to my elders and other role models in my community; that failing was not an option and as a high school graduate, you were expected to either continue your education or go to work. My father’s example of fortitude and perseverance were not lost on me, for I had survived the first major hurdle of my life; graduating from an integrated school in the Deep South.

Certainly as a 19-year old black male, whose independence was now imminent, the decision to attend college had become moot. At this juncture in my life, working seemed to be the best option, so I was off to New Jersey. While in high school I had worked in Atlantic City, New Jersey, during my summer vacation, to earn money for my school clothes. No doubt, just leaving home as many of my classmates did, gave me a chance to explore my new found independence. Interestingly, in today’s society, most parents would not think of allowing their rising junior in high school to go so far away from home to work. I started working in a restaurant, on the Boardwalk, as a dishwasher and worked my way up to short order cook. Not working was not an option for me, because I realized that I had to support myself. The fond memories of the Steele Pier, seeing the Fifth Dimension in person and traveling across the bridge to Philadelphia to see the Temptations at the Uptown Theater, will always be etched in my mind. This decision seemed to be a good one, although I knew that college enrollment was a well-known and virtually foolproof way to defer and avoid conscription into the Armed Services. Well, the establishment of a work ethic in New Jersey met a quick demise, because I received my greeting letter from Uncle Sam. Maybe I was a little dismayed as to the speed of the Armed Services in locating me in New Jersey, while my domicile was still in North Carolina. And if