INDIANAPOLIS MONTHLY OBSERVATIONS
December 2008

Before reading the following check out the article at: http://indianapolismonthly.com/articleNew.aspx?id=52260

First of all let me say that Tony Rehagan has done an excellent job of writing basically my life’s story in the space allotted. While he was researching for the article, I sensed that he had a sincere heart and an integrity that resided in his very low profile demeanor. These observations are in no way intended as a negative assessment of his work. In fact, his work is of such a high nature that I hope we can collaborate together on a future book. His interview with Bishop Benjamin spawned some revelations that proved to be a centerpiece of the article.Bishop Benjamin revealed to him how important boys’ lives are “defined by our fathers.” Bishop prophetically states “Everything we do in life is either in honor of, or in reaction to them.” It is from this insight that I will use as my point of departure to heighten observations “In the Name of the Father.”

My father was a Baptist preacher who was considered to be the wise man of the neighborhood. While many in the community sought his counsel, as if he were their Pastor, life would end before he obtained that status. My father was a very strict disciplinarian. He “struck fear into many children in the community,” but not me. There is a thin line between fear and respect. My only fear of my father was that I would do something and lose the overwhelming affection that he showed toward me. In our brief time on this earth together I gave him many reasons that he could have used to withdraw his love from me, but he never did. He also did not believe in sparing the rod. He was not quick to get the rod, but when he did, “Katie bar the door.” Still in his chastisement he never hit us out of anger. He would talk to us so much before whipping us that we would pray that his words would stop and the whipping would begin. His words, those words of disappointment wrapped in love, hurt much more than the whipping. Neither I nor my siblings wanted to lose that man’s love. My momma was the one that would pop us at the drop of a hat. She didn’t do a lot of whipping but she did quite a bit of popping. And she was justified I might add. I, and my sister Saundra, were always in to something.

Out of respect for my father, and the fear of losing his love, I excelled academically, because that was what my father expected. My mother expected excellence also, but for me, it was my father I wanted to please. My excellence in the classroom was also tied to my desire to play sports. I earned varsity letters in basketball and tennis. To play these sports I had to earn at least a “C”, or 2.0, grade point average. The school’s requirement was not my father’s requirement. I couldn’t bring a “C” into the house and expect to play sports. He knew I could do better than “C’ work and expected it. Not wanting to lose his love I gave him what he wanted and would have given more if I could have found a way.

To understand my father’s death it has to be put into perspective. In 1962 my grandmother, my daddy’s mother, died. I was close to grandma. Her place was where the family gathered to eat and have merriment. It tickled me tremendously that she could order my daddy to do something and he would do it without any reservation. He could tell us children to do something and grandma could over-ride his instructions. Understanding my father, you know grandma had to be something else. I didn’t understand why people had to die. They had a “wake” for her. I didn’t understand this “wake” thing. Surely it meant she was going to wake up and continue to be with me, with us. After the “wake” she did not walk out them church doors. The very next year, her husband, who was not my daddy’s biological father, but the only granddad I knew, died. Here we go again with this “wake.” He didn’t wake up either. Then the next year my daddy died!! Whew!! How much more of this was I supposed to stand? The old folks were telling me that things normally happen in threes. This should be it for awhile. Lord knows I prayed they were right. In all of this I was a confused teenage boy. People were telling me that I had to step up and replace my father. In my mind, I couldn’t replace my father. No one could replace my father. That was daddy. My father died an early death because he was ordered to clean up a lab at Eli Lilly’s. There had been a bad chemical reaction in the lab that created an environment that was not healthy for human beings. My father was ordered to go into this unsafe environment and clean it up. Him being obedient caused him to have a brain stroke. The stroke took his life. Talking to older people within the neighborhood they informed me that another friend of mine’s father, Milton Garrett, experienced the same demise at Eli Lilly’s. My father regularly took me around his friends. My father’s supervisor, who I knew well because he was considered by my father to be his friend, called me to his death bed. Jeptha Bivens, my father’s supervisor, told me that he did not want to go to his grave with my father’s death on his conscious. He felt that if he confessed to me that he had been ordered to order my father into that lab that God would look more kindly upon him when it came his time to account. It seems that some that were around me felt that I resented my father because of his early death. If there was any resentment it would have been at his employer because of his untimely and unnecessary work related demise. I was confused then. It was too much for me to think about. I escaped by running the streets, drinking alcohol, chasing women, and upon my return from Vietnam smoking as much weed as I could get my hands on. I understand now that any resentment would have had to be directed at God. My father did not leave me. God took him. Whether I understood or not, God’s Will would be done.

I returned from Vietnam in 1970 through Fort Dix, New Jersey. It was at the airport there that I was refused service. I was in uniform, hadn’t been back a good 24 hours from putting my life on the line for this country, traveling in Class “A” uniform, and I couldn’t get service at a restaurant. What a way to treat a soldier just because of my African heritage.

As a father obviously I made some mistakes. Even though my two oldest children were aware that my father was a preacher, when I learned that my oldest daughter revealed in the interview that she did not know that her grandfather was a preacher, for me, it definitely confirmed that I fell short on my duties of being dad. And, even though Jane, who at that time took on the name Kuumia, is accurate when she assesses that I was actually trying to save the world at the expense of helping to raise my family, I never knew her to identify herself as a Black Nationalist. She was very conscious of the Black struggle, but who wasn’t in 1960-1970? When reflecting back on my daddy duties, I realize that I have some catching up to do. Hopefully, I can.

I will end these observations with the life of my most challenging child. Kofi got caught up with some very bad company. I had always taught him to choose your friends, don’t let your friends choose you. He, like so many children, did not listen to his parents. When he was at the Allemenos’ home, tragedy in the form of murder occurred. Before the trial I had asked my son directly if he had taken any life. He impressed upon me that he didn’t and the Indiana Supreme Court subsequently agreed with my son’s position. When I made the statement “if my son is killed for something he didn’t do, then other death sentences would be carried out” I made that statement from the perspective of a father who was Commander In Chief of The Black Panther Militia. I was sharing with the world that I intended to protect my seed. I was giving my son what my father had given me. Even though I had given my father innumerable reasons that he could have used to deny me his love, my father never chose that route. Like my father with me, I was not going to deny my son my love in this unfortunate situation. I had tunnel vision. I was a father concerned about his child. I am in a different place now. I am still a father, but a father that is trying to do the will of the Father. Time has expanded the tunnel in which I was then looking. I am able to see perspectives other than my perspective of father to son. I painfully read Mr. Allemenos’ words “he might be right with God, but he’s not right with the people he hurt.” Now I can see him as his children’s father. His tunnel is different from my tunnel but fathers tend to have tunnel vision when looking at the experiences of our children. We are fathers on different sides of the same experience. I truly want to apologize for anything I said or did that was hurtful to your family. I have talked to my son. Both of us regret that our families’ paths crossed in this way. We both have sought, and believe, we have received God’s forgiveness. However, it is just as important to us that we receive yours. In the name of the Father, we pray for it to be revealed as to how we can receive your forgiveness.