Fire in the Ashes
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AMONG THE POOREST CHILDREN IN AMERICA
Jonathan Kozol
CROWN PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
CHAPTER 1
The Journey Begins
Christmas Eve of 1985 was not a good time for poor women and their children to depend on public kindness or prophetic reenactments of the Christian gospel at the hands of civic and commercial leaders in New York. It was a time when opulence among the city's newly minted rich and super-rich was flaunted with an unaccustomed boldness in the face of New York City's poor and homeless people, thousands of whom were packed into decrepit, drug-infested shelters, most of which were old hotels situated in the middle of Manhattan, some of which in decades past had been places of great elegance.
One of the largest shelters was the Martinique Hotel, across the street from Macy's and one block from Fifth Avenue. In this building, 1,400 children and about 400 of their parents struggled to prevail within a miserable warren of bleak and squalid rooms that offered some, at least, protection from the cold of winter, although many rooms in which
I visited with families in the last week of December were so poorly heated that the children huddled beneath blankets in the middle of the day and some wore mittens when they slept.
I remember placing calls on freezing nights from phone booths on Sixth Avenue or Broadway trying to reach Steven Banks, a Legal Aid attorney who performed innumerable rescue actions for the families in the Martinique that year. The wind that cut across the open space of Herald Square at night was fierce, the sidewalks felt like slabs of ice, and kids and parents from the Martinique who had to venture out for milk or bread or medicines would bundle up as best they could in layers of old clothes and coats, if they did have coats, or sweatshirts with the hoods drawn tight around their chins.
Dozens of kids I knew within the building suffered from chronic colds. Many were also racked by asthma and bronchitis. Infants suffered from diarrhea. Sleepless parents suffered from depression. Mothers wept in front of me.
I had never seen destitution like this in America before. Twenty years earlier, I had taught young children in the black community of Boston and had organized slum tenants there and lived within their neighborhood and had been in many homes where rats cohabited with children in their bedrooms. But sickness, squalor, and immiseration on the scale I was observing now were virtually unknown to me.
Almost every child that I came to know that winter in the Martinique was hungry. On repeated evenings when I went to interview a family I gave up asking questions when a boy or girl would eye the denim shoulder bag I used to carry, in which I often had an apple or some cookies or a box of raisins, and would give them what I had. Sometimes I would ask if I could look into the small refrigerators that the hotel had reluctantly provided to the families. Now and
4
FIRE IN THE ASHES
then I'd find a loaf of bread or several slices of bologna or a slice or two of pizza that had gone uneaten from the day before. Often there was nothing but a shriveled piece of fruit, a couple of jars of apple sauce, a tin of peanut butter, sometimes not even that.
II continued visiting the Martinique throughout the next- two years. During that time, a play about impoverished children of the nineteenth century in Paris, called Les Miserables, opened to acclaim in the theater district of New York. Some of the more enterprising children in the Martinique would walk the twelve or fifteen blocks between the hotel and the theater district in late afternoons or evenings to panhandle in the streets around the theater or in front of restaurants nearby. Homeless women did this too, as well as many of the homeless men, some alcoholics and some mentally unwell, who slept in cardboard boxes on the sidewalks and in doorways of the buildings in the area.
The presence of these homeless people was not welcomed by the theater owners. People were paying a great deal of money to enjoy an entertainment fashioned from the misery of children of another era. The last thing that they wanted was to come out of the theater at the end and be obliged to see real children begging on the sidewalk right in front of them.
The problem was resolved to some degree when police and private guards employed by local businesses developed strategies for cleaning out the homeless-sanitation terms like "cleaning out" were used without embarrassmentfrom the streets around the theaters. Meanwhile, on the East Side of Manhattan, another group of business leaders went a little further by employing people in the homeless population to drive out other homeless people from Grand Central Station, where they had been taking refuge from the cold for several years by sleeping in the station's waiting
room_g
The ultimate solution, which required the removal of these homeless families from the midtown sections of Manhattan altogether, took a few more years to carry out successfully. In the interim, despite the efforts of the theater owners, many of the older children from the Martinique would manage to slip past the hired guards or the police and walk up to theater-goers, who would sometimes hand them a few dollars.
The younger children from the Martinique, however, did their begging for the most part close to home within the blocks surrounding the hotel, where they would run into the streets when drivers slowed their cars as the lights were changing and where a driver whose compassion overcame his irritation might roll down his window far enough to give the kids some money. Those who were inclined to castigate the parents of these children for letting them go out into the streets at night might have relented somewhat if they understood how rapidly the competence of many of these parents had come to be eroded by the harshness of conditions in that building.
Scenarios of broken will and loss of good decisionmaking skills were apparent everywhere. Some of the parents were emotionally ill when they arrived here; but those who weren't would frequently succumb to the pervasive atmosphere of insecurity and high anxiety that suffused the filthy corridors and crowded living spaces of the Martinique. Many who had not used drugs before this time became drug users in a setting in which heroin and crack cocaine were readily available. (The sixteenth floor of the Martinique Hotel-there were seventeen floors in all, but the top two were unoccupied-was operated, with the knowledge and, apparently, cooperation of some of the guards, as an open market for drug users.) A number of people became HIV-infected under these conditions, although in 1985 the
6
FIRE IN THE ASHES
term was not yet widely recognized among some of the residents and many did not understand exactly why it was that they were growing ill.
The conditions under which these people had to live
were not unknown to New York City's social service system or to its political administration. Anybody who was able to get past the guards, as I did repeatedly with the cooperation of two sympathetic social workers who enabled me to get into the upper floors and visit families pretty much at will, could not avoid, unless he closed his eyes, the sight of overflowing garbage piled in the landings and of children who, for lack of other options, played amidst that garbage.
But physical unhealthiness, the prevalence of drug addiction, and the documented presence of widely known carcinogens (open containers of asbestos, for example, and asbestos-coated pipes in the lobby of the building) were not the worst of the destructive forces children and their families had to undergo. The Martinique, as I was forced to recognize when the social workers started talking candidly to me during the months to come, was not merely a despairing place, diseased and dangerous for those who had no choice but to remain there; it also was a place of flagrant and straightforward criminality on the part of management and ownership. A young man with a raw, salacious smile, to whom the social workers made it a special point to introduce me and who, they told me, was a relative of one of the two owners of the building, used the power he was thus afforded to induce young women to provide him with erotic favors in exchange for items that they needed, such as cribs and linens for their children.
"He boasts about it," one of the two social workers told me. "He describes it to us openly, and gleefully. He goes into considerable detail. ... " Some of the guards, the social worker said, took advantage of the younger mothers too, as
one of those mothers, a smart and savvy woman who told me she had had to fight off their advances, reported to me at the time and has repeated since.
There was no need for secrecy, it seemed, because there was a sense that this was "a closed system," where rules of normal law and normal governance did not apply. Complaint or protest would have no effect except to prompt the guards or manager to punish the complaining woman by denying her essential services or else, if the manager so wished, by calling the police and charging her with one of many forms of misbehavior that were common in a building in which almost every person had to break some rule or operate some petty scam in order to survive.
Cooking, for example, was officially prohibited because of fire dangers, but the city's meager allocation of subsistence funds to purchase food made it unthinkable to buy it from a restaurant and forced the mothers in the Martinique to cook their children's meals in secret, then conceal their hot plates when inspectors from the city came around. The management cooperated with the tenants by providing them with garbage bags to cover up the hot plates on inspection days while, at the same time, it pretended not to know that this was going on. When mothers were reluctant to provide the guards who were hired to protect them with the favors they expected, the guards could use the cooking scam or other scams much like it as a way to break down their resistance.
Children, of course, observed the humiliation of their mothers. The little ones, too young to go to school, might perhaps be sent out to the corridors; but most of the mothers would not dare to let them wander too far from the bedroom door. Even the kids who never witnessed these activities first-hand could not fail to be aware of them. I used to wonder what enduring influence all of this would have upon the capability of children in the building to believe in
8
FIRE IN THE ASHES
any kind of elemental decency in people who have power over their existence. Would they later find it hard to trust the teachers in their public schools? Would they develop an endemic wariness about investing faith in any older person of authority? Would they love their mothers all the more for having done the best they could to protect them from this nightmare, or would they harbor a resentment that their mothers were not able to avoid this situation in the
first~ace?
One of the social workers who befriended me that year,
a sensitive man who had studied early childhood development as an undergraduate at Yale, spoke of the Martinique in unsparing language as "New York City's midtown death camp for the spirits of poor children." He knew that I was Jewish and he asked me later if this choice of language had offended me. I told him it did not. I thought it was justifieTI
Two years later, I published a book about the Martinique Hotel. It appeared first in two successive issues of The New Yorker magazine, and this, in turn, attracted interest from the other media. The Nightline television program, moderated at the time by the journalist Ted Koppel, asked me to go back into the Martinique with a camera crew and do a documentary on the families I had known. The social workers and some of the mothers helped to get the camera crew and the producer past the guards and up into the building. The camera itself was hidden in a baby carriage by one of the mothers, who rolled it through the lobby without attracting scrutiny and brought it with her on an elevator to the floor where she was living. She then accompanied us into other bedrooms whose occupants had told me they were not afraid to answer questions.
By the time we had finished with the final interview,
however, a guard on an upper floor had become suspicious, banged at the door, which we 'did not open, then notified the management. The manager, an unpleasant character by the
name of Sal Tuccelli who carried a pistol in an ankle holster, confronted us with several other guards and insisted that the cameramen hand over the material they had just recorded. When they refused, the manager and guards reacted in the same way they routinely did with residents who defied or disobeyed them. I was slammed against a metal wall. One of the cameramen was seriously injured. The TV producer, an unintimidated woman, removed one of her high-heel shoes and used it to defend us. By this point, the police had been alerted. The cameramen got out of the building with the video.
I knew, of course, that journalists were not welcome in the building and that the social workers who had made my visits possible were taking risks in doing so. But until this time I had never witnessed so directly the extremes to which the management would go in the interest of concealment. It reminded me more vividly than ever that the city and the owners of the Martinique, with whom the city had contracted to sequester homeless people at a price tag of $ 8 million yearly for those 400 families, were determined to discourage any troublesome exposure of the social crime in which they were colluding.
It also left me with a visceral reminder of the terror mothers and their children would experience when the guards or, more frequently, the manager would hammer at their doors early in the morning if, for example, the rental check paid by the city, through no fault of their own, had not arrived on time. "Six a.m.," one of the mothers told me. "He bangs on the door. You open up. There he is in the hallway with his gun. 'Where's your rent?'"
This is the way that one of the richest cities in the world treated the most vulnerable children in its midst a quarter century agoillhen these hotels were finally closed in 1988 and 1989, not for reasons of compassion but because of the enormous damage the visibility of so much desperation was doing to the image of the city and its elected leaders, most of the several dozen families I had come to know, all but two of whom were black or Latino, were shipped en masse into several of the most impoverished and profoundly segregated sections of the Bronx, far from the sight of tourists and the media. These were communities that already had the city's highest rates of HIV infection, the greatest concentration of drug-addicted people, of people who had serious psychiatric illnesses, women with diabetes, women with undiagnosed malignancies, and among the highest rates of pediatric asthma in the nation.
The miserables, although they were no longer homeless, would continue nonetheless to live under conditions of physical and psychological adversity that were only incrementally less harmful than the ones they had endured in the preceding years. In one of the neighborhoods in which the largest numbers of the homeless were resettled, the only medical facility was a city-run institution known as Lincoln Hospital, which underwent the loss of its accreditation more than once because of errors by the staff that led to the deaths of at least a dozen patients, two of whom were infants. For the mentally unwell, psychiatriC care of the thoroughgoing kind lavishly available six subway stops away in the costly and exclusive Upper East Side of Manhattan was all but impossible to find. Children, meanwhile, many of whom had had their education interrupted or repeatedly disrupted during their homeless years, found themselves consigned to public schools that, in the absoluteness of their racial isolation, resembled those of Mississippi fifty or one hundred years beforfl
So this is where they sent them. And this is where I
followed them, invited by their parents to visit them on weekend afternoons or in the evenings during a school holiday, to keep alive the friendships we had formed when they were in the shelters. I went to their schools. I got to
know their teachers. I went to their churches. I got to know their pastors. I went to their hospitals, sometimes at their own request when they were ill because they thought that it might win them more attention. So I became acquainted with a number of their doctors, many of whom were selfless and devoted individuals who did everything they could to compensate for scarcities in the basic services that doctors elsewhere know they can depend upon.
I did this, off and on, for more than fifteen years. Then, beginning in 2005, I lost track of some families for a time when my father, who'd been ill for several years, entered an acute phase of his illness, and, within the same two years, both he and my mother passed away. It took another year before I could regain my sense of equilibrium. At that point I began returning to those neighborhoods again and meeting once more with the families I had known. Some of the children were still in their teenage years. Those whom I had met when they were in the Martinique were already in their twenties. We had long talks. We took long walks. Sometimes we would spend an evening having dinner in the neighborhood. When I was home we kept in touch by phone and mail, and bye-mail in the case of those who had computers. In these ways we rebuilt our friendships.
What happened to these children? What happened to their families? Some prevailed, a few triumphantly. Most survived, even at a rather modest level of survival. Others did not. This will be their story.
CHAPTER 2
Eric and His Sister
One of the nicest but most fragile people that I knew who was in the shelter system at the time when I was visiting the Martinique was a shy and gentle woman whose
name was Victoria.
Vicky had been shunted through a number of the shel-
ters from 1984 until the end of 1989. Her longest stay was in a place known as the Prince George Hotel on West 28th Street, four blocks from the Martinique.
When she came into the shelters, Vicky had been
suffering from clinical depression and periodic seizures, for which she had been treated at a hospital on Roosevelt Island, which is in the midst of the East River. Her husband, who was caring for their children at the time, had not been well for .many years, the consequence of a degenerative illness that, as best I understood, he had contracted as a young man growing up in Georgia. He passed away a short time after Vicky came out of the hospital.
At this juncture in her life, with no money in her pocket, and no prospects of a job, and with two young children who had no one else to care for them, she began to make her way into the less-than-friendly channels of the shelter apparatus, moving at first, as was the case with all homeless families, from one so-called "short-term shelter" to the next. The psychological and physical exhaustion families underwent when they were moving constantly tended to have a predictable effect. It undermined whatever capability for good clear-headed thinking might still exist within the spirits of the stronger women while, in the case of those like Vicky who were not strong at all, it simply added to their pre-existent instability.
Vicky, as she told me later, fell into a "zombie-like"
condition-she felt, she said, "like I was walkin' in my sleep"-a condition that continued when she was living on a "permanent placement," as the city termed it, in a room at
the Prince George.
The building, which was owned at the time that Vicky
moved there by one of the two owners of the Martiniqueit was later taken over by another owner with a record of illegal operations who subsequently served a lengthy term in prison for defrauding creditors of $100 million-was less depressing physically, at least on the lobby floor, than was the Martinique, but it made its claim to notoriety for other reasons of its own. Although the manager of the Martinique had some degree of governance over the Prince George as well, the day-to-day administrator was a man who'd been convicted of abusing his own daughter, beating her and leaving her locked up at home, "alone and without food," according to the New York Daily News. His daughter had been taken from him by the city to protect her from additiona I endangerment.
The city, wrote the columnist Bob Herbert, who was
then a writer for the Daily News, "takes one child out of [his] care and then hands him over 1,000 more." There were at least 1,200 children in the Prince George at the time.
Children were endangered in other ways as well.
Fires kept on breaking out-at one point, four or five times in a week. A three-year-old was burned to death while Vicky's family lived there. The fires were alleged to have been caused by arson, but tenants told me some of them resulted from the carelessness of drug abusers who were cooking crack cocaine right there in their bedrooms-a not-uncommon practice in those days when crack was just emerging as a drug of choice among the very poor.
This, then, is the setting in which Vicky and her children found themselves at a time when Vicky was already ill and loaded with anxiety. Her daughter, who was named Lisette and was only seven when all of this began, suffered less than did her brother, Eric, who was four years older. As in the case of many of the other children in the building who were nearing adolescence, he was very much aware of the sordidness of his surroundings, the unscrupulous behavior of the governing officials, the open market for narcotics, as well as the various semi-legal or illegal strategies other children of his age had inventively developed in order to pick up a little money that they sometimes, but not always, used to help their families. It would be another four years from the time that Vicky'S family came into this building
until the day when they got out.
When I met Vicky and her children in the Bronx in 1993, they were living in Mott Haven, which was then, and remains today, the single poorest neighborhood in the poor-
est borough of New York.
Vicky's home, although it was on a street that was a
well-known center for the sale of drugs-heroin, specifically-was two blocks from a church on St. Ann's Avenue,
an Episcopal church called St. Ann's, that was a place of safety for children in the neighborhood. The church, a beautiful old stone building with a tall white spire at the top of its bell tower, had a large expanse of lawn on a pleasant hillside where there were swings and slides and a sprinkler for the younger children, and a court where older kids
played basketball.
I spent a good part of the 1990s visiting St. Ann's
because it ran an excellent and innovative afterschool, in which I was able to talk at length with children and was sometimes asked to help with their tutorials. Naturally, it wasn't long before I also grew acquainted with some of their parents and with other adults who gravitated to the church for the sense of solace that they found in the inviting and informal atmosphere the pastor had created.
The priest of the church, an extraordinary woman whose name is Martha Overall, came to St. Ann's with a deep commitment to the children of the neighborhood. She was also well equipped to help the parents of the children deal with the legal problems and bureaucratic obstacles that people who depended upon welfare inevitably faced. A graduate of Radcliffe College, where she had studied economics, she also drew upon the adversarial and strategic skills she had acquired as a lawyer who had been a protege of a famous litigator by the name of Louis Nizer.
Even while she practiced law, Martha had been work-
ing as a volunteer and advocate for families in Mott Haven, SO when she turned her back upon the law and chose a life of service in the ministry, she already had a thorough understanding of the sense of helplessness that people in the area frequently experienced in dealing with their landlords or with government officials. She was masterful, and she could be very tough, in her confrontations with people in positions of authority. But she was warm and gentle with people in the parish who came to her in need.
Vicky quickly grew attached to Martha, and she and the children soon began to come to church almost every Sunday. On the weekdays, Eric sometimes came there on his own, mostly to play basketball. Now and then, he
brought his sister with him.
Eric struck me as a complicated boy. In spite of all he
had been through, he had an element of likability and even of good humor. But he found it difficult to be transparent in his conversations and relationships with older people at the church who took an interest in him. As I watched him in the next few years, I could not help noticing the frequently evasive-maybe self-protective-way that he would speak to grown-ups when they questioned him. It was a hint, but only that, that he was concealing things that might stir up worries for his mother if she knew of them.
But she worried anyway. She told me she had seen this
tendency-"not always bein' straight with me" is the way she put it-starting in the period when they were still at the Prince George. But she said she'd noticed this more frequently since they'd been resettled in the Bronx. She said she never knew what he was holding back, but she was
watching him uneasily ....
One day in the fall of 1995, Vicky came into the church
while I was helping at the aftersch061. She came right up behind me and leaned down and whispered "Hi!" before I knew that she was there. She seemed in such a pleasant mood that it surprised me when, a moment later, she asked with a slight tremble in her voice if I had the time to go
outside and talk with her.
As soon as we had left the church, she began to cry.
She didn't tell me what was wrong, and I didn't ask. She was wearing sneakers, baggy slacks, a loose-fitting sweater, and a floppy-looking hat. Her clothes were clean but her
appearance was disheveled.
We went out for a walk.
Sometimes when a person that I know appears to be distraught, I have a tendency to think there has to be an explanation that I can discover if I ask exactly the right questions. I feel embarrassed later when I realize that there isn't any simple answer to my questions. Usually I know this in advance but, because of something in my personality or education, I often fall into this trap of thinking that the answer lies in talkative solutions. Walking around without a destination sometimes leaves an open space that isn't filled already with my own predictive suppositions.
Vicky never told me exactly what it was that made her cry that afternoon. I knew, of course, she was concerned about her children. ~ric, who was sixteen now, was not doing well in school. The high school he attended was one of those places, misleadingly referred to as "academies," familiar in the Bronx and other inner-city neighborhoods, where the course of study had been stripped of programs that might stimulate a student academically and instead was geared to practical and terminal instruction. Having lost so many years of education while he had been homeless-most of the children in the shelters, as I've noted, had seen their schooling interrupted frequently-his basic skills were already very low. His attendance was, in
any case, haphazar
@cky couldn't help him much because she'd had so
little education of her ow'!9 Her mother had died when she was five and, for some reason she did not explain, she was taken from her father and given to a guardian who, however, seemed to have abandoned the customary obligations of a guardian. She had had to leave school during junior high, which she said was not unusual in the rural part of Georgia where she had been born, and went to work "clean in' houses, doin' laundry for white people" for most of the next four years. By the time her son was born and she was married and her husband brought her to New York, schooling was no longer in her mind. Although her writing skills were good (she had learned a kind of slanted printing in her grade-school years), she had little understanding of the work that Eric was supposed to do at his alleged "academy."
Lisette was in the seventh grade and was a better stu-
dent but had also been assigned to a bottom-rated school, which was called a "school for medical careers" but did not offer courses that would likely lead to any kind of medical career beyond, perhaps, a low-paid job within a nursing home, and pretty much precluded any opportunity to move on to the kind of high school that would open up the possibilities for college.
The apartment where the city had resettled them con-
sisted of three tiny rooms on the fourth floor of a six-story building where there was no elevator, no bell, and no intercom. To visit with Vicky you had to yell up from the street and she or Eric or Lisette would lean out of their window and throw down the key to the front door.
Vicky and her children were living on a welfare stipend which, including food stamps and some other benefits, amounted to approximately $ 7,000 yearly. (According to Martha, this was even less than the average income for a family in the area, which she pegged at $8,000 for a year's subsistence.) She supplemented this by getting up at 5:00 a.m. two days a week to go to a food pantry at one of the housing projects, where she had to be assigned a ticket with a number to establish her priority but then was forced to wait for an hour and a half, or else go home and then return, before she actually received a bag of groceries.
The only job she'd had since moving to the Bronx was cleaning houses or apartments in Manhattan, which, she said, was something she was glad to do, but was also forced to do as part of her welfare obligation in New York. "One lady, Mrs. Jacobs, lived on Second Avenue. The other one
lived-let me see, on 14th Street, somewhere around Green-
. wich Village." Both were elderly; one was home-bound.
"They were nice to me," she said but for some reason she could not explain, this heavily promoted "work experience program" lasted only six months and did not lead to per-
manent employment.
She was candid with me, and herself, in her recogni-
tion that at least some of the suffering she had undergone had been of her own making. While she had been homeless, she had grown attached to a kindly-seeming man who was good to her at first but who was subject to depressive swings of mood and soon began abusing her. Once she had her own apartment, she took out an order of protection, but her boyfriend kept on coming back, she said, when he was depressed or hungry. Sometimes when he showed up at the door, she told me that she lacked the will to keep him out. On more than one occasion, he had beaten her severely.
I asked her if she prayed.
"I do pray-but not out loud." She said, "I pray inside." Amidst the sadness of the conversation, she kept
reaching out for gaiety. A nervous laugh would precede the revelation of a longing or a memory that brought an evanescent sense of satisfaction to her mind. "I pray," she said, "for something that I haven't done for thirteen years."
I asked her what it was.
"To pick up my knitting needles," she replied.
A soft smile lighted up her eyes. "I used to make a sweater in three weeks if I had no thin' to upset me. I'd start when it was summertime and I'd have six sweaters made for Christmas .... If you ever see me get my needles out again, you'll know I'm feelin' happy."
At the corner of Brook Avenue, she stopped next to
the stairs that led down to the subway station, looking in a vague, distracted way at a woman in a long skirt who was
20
FIRE I~ THE ASHES
selling bunches of chrysanthemums and roses. She reached out her hand in the direction of the roses but it seemed she didn't dare to touch them.
"Would you like them?" "One rose," she replied.
Tiny drops of water sparkled on the petals. She held the flower in her hand against her chest as we were walking back in the direction of St. Ann's. At the corner, she looked left and right. Then, with relief, she told me, "There you go!" and waved across the street.
Lisette was coming up the avenue with a couple of her friends. When she saw her mother she ran into her arms. Taking a bunch of papers from her backpack, she showed her a book report she'd done that day at school. It had been marked A-plus by her teacher. Her mother studied the book report, kissed her on the cheek, then handed her the keys to the apartment and two dollars to buy something at the
store.
"An A-plus on a book report doesn't mean a whole
lot at this school she goes to," Vicky said once Lisette was gone. "Her teachers like her. They do the best they can. But I don't think that they can give her what a girl with her potential ought to have ....
"You see, this is the best that I can get for her right now.
I don't accept it-yet I do, because I don't know any choice I have." But a moment after that her gaiety returned. "See?" she said. "I know she's home. She's safe upstairs and we have food to eat. And so, for now, I'm happy. There you go!"
Her moods were like that. Sometimes sadness. Sometimes gaiety. Sometimes a bright burst of jubilation. Then she would crash down-so fast-into the pit of a depressive darkness. Then she would be fighting back again and searching for her jubilation like a person looking for an object that she'd put away into a drawer somewhere and
temporarily could not be found. She laughed that nervous laugh, it seemed, when she was near the tipping point between exhilaration and surrender.
In November 1996, a doctor called me from his office in a small town in Montana. He said his name was Dr. William Edwards. He told me that a group of people at his church had read my book Amazing Grace, about the children in the Bronx, and had called a meeting of their congregation. The members of the church, he said, decided that it was "appropriate" for them "to find a place in our community" for any family that believed they'd have a better chance in life in a setting very different from New York.
I did not know how I should react to this idea at first.
I'd never received a call like that from a total stranger and, although I knew almost nothing of Montana, I found it hard to picture any family that I knew beginning life all over in a place so far away, and so unlike New York.
But the doctor's explanations were so plain and simple-it was a nice town, he said, the schools were good, the congregation was prepared to find a house and fix it up and pay the rent at first and help out with the food expenses for a while, and he was a family doctor and had children and grandchildren of his own-that I told him I'd pass all this information on to Reverend Overall and that she would likely call him back if there was ever any interest from a family at St. Ann's.
I pass on a number of more modest offers and suggestions every year to ministers and teachers and other people working in poor neighborhoods and never know for sure if they'll materialize. Some of them do. Churches and synagogues routinely ask me for the names of schools or churches in the Bronx and frequently they follow through
22
FIRE IN THE ASHES
with shipments of computers, books, and other educational materials. Religious congregations from as far away as Maine and Pennsylvania have invited groups of children from St. Ann's to visit them for extended periods of time. But moving an entire family some 2,000 miles to a small town in Montana that I'd never heard of was in a different
ballerk altogether.
J.!.here's another reason why I hesitated to respond to
Dr. Edwards's invitation. There is an intimidating rhetoric of cultural defensiveness in many inner-city neighborhoods like those of the South Bronx, which sometimes has the power to inhibit any actions that might tend to break down racial borders and to stigmatize the people who propose them as "invasive" or "paternalistic." There is a kind of mantra that one often hears from local power brokers in neighborhoods like these that the way to "fix" a ghettoized community is, first of all, never to describe it in such terms and, second, to remain there and do everything you can to improve it and promote its reputation. Those who choose to leave are seen as vaguely traitorous, and those who help them leave are often seen as traitorous as weI!]
Sometimes ideology and rhetoric like this can introduce an element of complicated and neurotic inhibition into issues that should be decided by the people they will actually affect. I wasted a few days debating whether to dismiss the whole idea and, at one point, I nearly threw away the name and number of the doctor. Then, to end my indecision, I sent the information he had given me to Martha and more or less forgot about it for a while ....
A month later, in the middle of December, Vicky came into St. Ann's in a state of desolation: beaten again, eyes purple, worried sick about her son, who was not attending
school, worried about welfare, worried about clinic visits, worried about rent and food.
The telephone in the office rang while she was sitting there talking to the pastor. "It was the doctor from Montana," Martha told me later. I didn't know if she had called him earlier that day or if the timing of his phone call was a sheer coincidence.
"We had another meeting," Dr. Edwards said. "The invitation is still there."
Martha told him, "Wait a minute," and, looking at Victoria, she told her there was someone on the phone that she might like to talk with.
"I had to leave the office then and go downstairs into the afterschool," she said. "When I came back, Vicky and the doctor were still talking. When she put the phone down, I asked her what she thought. She reached out for my hands. It must have seemed unreal to her. I told her that she ought to give herself a lot of time to think about it and discuss it with the children. I gave her Dr. Edwards's number and told her she could call him anytime she wanted, and I suggested that she ought to question him some more.
"That was only about two weeks ago. Lisette came in today and said, 'Guess what? We're moving to Montana!'"
About a week later, I went to Vicky's home. I didn't want to spoil her excitement, or that of the children, but I thought I ought to tell her some of the reservations I had had ever since the first call I'd received. My concerns, 1 quickly realized, were not hers. When I told her, for example, that there wasn't likely to be more than a small number of black people in the town where she was going, she said that she already realized that.
"You're not concerned at leaving all your friends here, leaving everything you're used to?"
"I want to leave," she said.
The living room in which she slept was already filled
with shipping boxes she had gotten from the church.
"You're sure that you can handle it?"
"I won't know unless I try," she answered.
Another week went by ....
"In about two hours," Martha told me on the phone,
"Vicky and Eric and Lisette will reach their new home in Montana. Dr. Edwards had tears in his voice on the phone today when he called to check on the arrangements. The whole community seems to have gotten together to rent a house for them, and put in some furniture, and work out all the other details so that they'll feel welcome when they get there. I think that everybody knows it isn't going to be
easy ....
"Vicky was up all last night. I brought her a scale so she
could weigh the packages for UPS. She told me she wanted to get her hair done but there wasn't time because the kids were so excited that they were no help to her at all.
"I think that she was happy with a kind of totally 'free' happiness I have never seen in her before. She spoke of taking up her knitting once again, and letter-writing, and she said she'd like to have a garden. She'll be forty-eight in
March.
"A neighbor of Dr. Edwards used his frequent-flier
miles to pay for the tickets, but there was some kind of glitch and we only got two tickets so I bought the third one-for Lisette. The woman at the desk gave her an upgrade to first
class!
"We had lunch at the airport. They were off at two p.m.
I think they had to change planes in Chicago."
One month later, on my answering machine: 'jonathan, this is me, Vicky. Oh yes! I'm tellin' you! I'm really here! I'm in Montana."
She left her number. I called her back as soon as I got
home.
'jonathan!" It was the first time I had ever talked with
her when she didn't need to struggle to sound cheerful.
"Have you ever eaten elk?"
"No," I said. "Are you eating elk?" "Yes!" she said.
"Where do you get it?"
''At the store."
"What's it like?"
"It tastes like steak. You broil it. Delicious!" "How are the kids?"
"They're in schoo1."
"Any problems?"
"No," she said. "Not yet."
"Any black kids in the school?" "N 0," she said, "except for them." "Does that bother them?"
"I don't think so," she replied, "because they know it
doesn't bother me."
The only thing that bothered her, she said, was walking to the store. "People here? They drive real fast. And there isn't any stoplights on this street at al1. None on the next street either, come to think of it. None on the next street after that. In fact, there isn't any stoplights anywhere in town.
"And, oh! The girl next door-Diane?-she drives me from the IGA if I got too much to carry in my arms.
26
FIRE IN THE ASHES
"I'm tellin' you! There's a lot of friendly people here! "One lady came to bring me milk and asked me, 'I don't mean no harm, but are you prejudiced?' I told her no, because I'm not. She looked at me and then the two of us began to laugh! Because-you know?-you'd think the question would have been the other way around ....
"It's like everybody wants to know: How did I ever get here? Well, I want to know that too! The only thing Dr. Edwards told me is that they was goin' to choose someone. It was something they made up their minds about."
"What's the church like?" "Made of logs."
"What's it called?" "Trinity Church."
"What denomination is it?" "Christian."
"What can you see looking out your windows?" "Mountains!" she replied. "They're on almost every
side."
"Is it snowing?"
"Only in the mountains." "What's it look like?" "Beautiful! "
"The day you got there, when you were coming off the
plane-what was it like? Was Dr. Edwards waiting?"
"Yes, he was there. Not only him. It seemed like everyone in town was there. They had their cars pulled up: twenty people, maybe more. Then Dr. Edwards took us to this house. He said, 'This will be your home.' Then he took us to the church. He said, 'This will be your church.' Then the stores began to send us food. Four stores. Each one gave us groceries: a hundred dollars from each store.
"Oh, Jonathan! It's cold here in the winter, but the
hearts of people in this town are warm."
In the first days after she arrived, she said, she had to
struggle to convince herself that she was really there. "The first night, after Dr. Edwards and his wife were gone? I told the children, 'Leave me be. I need to sit here in this chair.' I told them not to turn on no TV. It's just as well, because they only got three stations here and one of them goes off at six o'clock."
"What's the house like?"
"Oh yeah! Well, I'm in the livin' room right now. It would make up two of them that I used to have. I got two sofas. One of them's a sofa-bed. Over at the other end, there's a dining room and kitchen, which is kind of small, but they're both connected, and I got a washer and a dryer, and I got a microwave which is up above the stove. Three bedrooms. One of them is mine. Other two is down the hall. Seems like it's got everything I need."
"Where do kids there go for fun?"
"To school. McDonald's. Burger King. The IGA. To
ranches. To the church .... " "They go to ranches?"
"Me and Lisette, we went three days ago." "How did you get there?"
"Chrissy picked us up."
"Who's Chrissy?"
"One of my friends."
"Have you made many friends?" "Oh yes!"
I heard shouting in the background. "Wait a minute .... "
Then Lisette picked up the phone.
I asked her whether everything was going good at
school.
"My school is fine!" "How big is it? "Fifteen students." "In the school?"
"No! In my class."
"Are the students nice to yOU?" "Yes," she said.
"You feel okay? You're happy there?"
"I don't want to live in any other place."
In April, Vicky sent me a big envelope of pictures of the mountains, and the ranch-like house in which (hey were living, and the one-story wooden church, which looked like a log cabin. In one of the photographs there were six or seven wooden houses, very tiny, at the bottom of the photo. Above the houses, filling nine-tenths of the picture, there was a spectacular blue sky, with white and gray clouds rolling in from the distant mountains. A single tree, its slender branches reaching high. A small white pick-up truck beneath it. "Looking down the street," she'd written on the
back, "the sky goes on forever."
When I phoned her the next night, she told me she was
spending more time at the church.
"Sunday," she said, "I put my name down on the list for
Hospitality Committee."
"What does that mean?"
"You see, after the service here, we all go in and eat
our meal together. Members of the church, we take turns cookin' for each other. I wanted to make lemon cakes, because I'm good at bakin'. So I put my name down for
next Sunday."
"How's Lisette?"
"Doin' okay. Gettin' B's-but could get Ns, her teacher
says. Needs to get her papers done. Do her homework every night. They give them a lot to do. This is something new to
her."
When I asked the same thing about Eric, though, she sounded more uncertain.
"He's havin' a harder time. Missed too much back in
New York. No one here can figure out what they was doin' with him at his school. Principal says they're tryin' hard to catch him up. Dr. Edwards's talkin' with him now."
"You sound good."
"I'm feelin' good," she said, "but I still have times when
I get scared that something's goin' to go wrong .... " A few months later, at the start of June:
"I got a job."
"What are you doing?"
"Bakin' cookies, fryin' donuts-at the IGA."
"What does it pay?"
"Six dollars twenty-five." She'd started with a part-time
job at Burger King, she said, "but IGA pays better."
She said that Dr. Edwards gave the kids some spending money for a while after they arrived, "so they could do things with their friends." But they didn't need it now. Eric was working at the IGA-"couple of hours, after school." Lisette, meanwhile, was baby-sitting for their neighbors. "She put up these little cards at the IGA. People call her. Mostly weekends. Mothers say she's really good. Feeds the children. Washes them. Tells them stories. Gets them into bed. Sings them songs. If it's late they drive her home."
InJuly, we talked again. She said she still was working at the IGA. "Doin' thirty hours now. Rent here is four-fifty. Church covers two-fifty and I pay the rest. Next month I'll be payin' fifty more. Long as I get thirty hours I think I can
handle it."
She told me she had joined a group of women who
were having problems like the ones that she'd been through, some of them with alcohol, but most of them related to abusive treatment at the hands of men. "I go to meetings at the church. Tuesday nights. Fifteen women. Some are single mothers, same as me. I was scared to talk at first. I'm talkin' now. It's hard for them to make me stop."
30
FIRE IN THE ASHES
When we spoke the next time she told me that Lisette had done "something she shouldn't do" and "got herself in trouble" -not bad trouble, it turned out, but enough to worry Vicky for a time. One of the girls she knew from school had been teaching her to drive. "Kids out here," Vicky said, "they start to drive when they can reach the pedals!"
"What's the legal age?" I asked.
"I think you have to be sixteen. But this is ... something
different here! They do it anyway."
The girl who had been driving, Vicky said, banged
into another person's car. Both the girls had to go to court. "The judge gave them a scolding and he made them pay a fine. They also have to pay the owner of the car for what they did. She's been payin' from her baby-sitting money. I think she owes him fifteen dollars more."
I asked if Dr. Edwards was still visiting a lot.
"Oh yes! He's here a couple times a week. Last week all of us had the flu. He came and gave us medicine and shots."
She said that he'd been taking them on long rides out into the wilderness to see the cattle ranges and the wild animal preserves. "He's forever doing that. He loves his car. We went out with the kids this week to look at one of the
abandoned mines."
"What kind of mines?" "Gold mines!"
"How old is Dr. Edwards?"
"Seventy? Sixty? I'd say maybe sixty-five .... He's got
grandchildren who are Lisette's age. Two of them are girls."
"What does he look like?"
"He's a tall man, healthy-looking. Loves to do things
with the kids outdoors. He's got gray hair."
"Is he a religious man?"
"Oh yes. I'd say he must be a religious man. He don't
talk religion but I know that he's religious."
"How do you know?"
"You know it by the way somebody acts."
At the start of August, Martha sent me a reminder that I'd said I'd transfer money to Vicky, which we promised we would do to help her out with buying school clothes for the fall. I had a small private fund that I'd established for this purpose and for other relatively minor needs that families faced. Sometimes only a couple hundred dollars, at the moment it was needed, could help a family catch up with their rent before they got an order of eviction. For most of the families I knew in the Bronx, few of whom had bank accounts, I had grown accustomed to making wire transfers. I asked Vicky whether she would like the money sent by Western Union or if she'd prefer I send a check to Dr. Edwards, who would cash it for her.
She said I didn't need to send her money but, when I said it was a promise we had made, she said I could send the check directly to her home.
"How will you cash it?"
"I don't need to cash it yet. I'll put it in the bank." "You opened up a bank account?"
"Checking," she replied.
"How long is it since you had a bank account?"
"I never had a bank account in my entire life before.
Jonathan, I'm tellin' you! This is the first time .... "
End of summer: Vicky called to tell me that Lisette had had an accident.
"She was with her girlfriend out at someone's ranch that Dr. Edwards knows. They was runnin' with the horses and she wasn't lookin' and she ran into a hole or something that was full of water. Hurt her ankle. She's on crutches. Hoppin' around from room to room. I'll be relieved when she goes back to school.
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FIRE IN THE ASHES
"Oh, did I tell you? Eric's got a girlfriend. Actually, he's had a lot of different girlfriends since we got here to this town. He doesn't stick with them too long. He goes through them awful fast. We came here eight months ago? I think he's had a different girl for every month since we
arrived ....
"Oh yes! Dr. Edwards had us to his house for dinner
Sunday night. He invited a friend of his, a high school principal from another town. A black school principal. There you go! He says he wants to talk with Eric more. He says that Eric needs to do a lot of work if he wants to keep up
with his class."
Her voice was strong and energized. She said that she
was working hard-"doin' forty hours now." Between her job, her meetings at the church, getting the children set for school, and keeping on top of them to clean their rooms ("Eric's room is an embarrassment," she said. "He throws his things all over the floor"), it sounded as if she didn't have a lot of time to dwell upon the past.
"Do you ever miss New York?"
"N 0," she said. "I do not. But I miss some people there.
"I was thinkin' -once I feel more settled here, I might
go back to St. Ann's. Maybe I won't tell them. Just walk in the door one day and say, 'Well, here I am!' HI do, I'd like to go by bus this time, and not by plane, because I'd like to see what's down there on the ground.
"Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you that I found my knitting
needles. My friend Diane? She took me to the mall in Bozeman and I got some beautiful blue yarn. I'm using a pattern
that my other girlfriend gave me."
"What are you making?"
"Makin' a sweater-for Lisette. Finished with one
sleeve. Workin' on the other now. This pattern's not too hard. H I have the time, I'm goin' to make a couple more of
them by Christmas."
Shy voice: 'jonathan?" "Yes," I said.
"If I made one for you, would you wear it?" "Are you kidding?"
"There you go!"
- 111-
Christmas Eve.
Vicky called to tell me that she had another job. "It's in a home for the elderly. I'm a dietary aide. It's my third job, and I hope the last one.
"I started Monday. I had to learn about the job. Then, on Tuesday, I did a double shift. Started at six-thirty, went to two o'clock. Then went back at four and worked until ten-thirty. I like old people! Some are disabled. Some have lost their memories. When I have a break, I like to sit and talk with them ....
"Lisette?" she said. "She's at the skating rink. They call it 'The Skating Palace' here. My friend Diane? She likes Lisette. She gave her ice skates as a present.
"The church gave us a Christmas tree. Members of the church came over and they helped me decorate it. Oh yeah! It's for Lisette. Not for me. I'm forty-nine years old!"
She said they still were taking rides with Dr. Edwards.
"There's a town here in Montana which is called Big Timber. Smoky skies. It's by an Indian reserve .... I love to go on rides with him. Lisette too. I told him that he takes the place of my father for me. I never seen my Daddy since I was in junior high.
"I think he's up in Billings now to see one of his
patients. He has patients all over Montana ....
34
FIRE IN THE ASHES
"Did I tell you that we have a woodstove in the living room? Oh yes! When it's cold, we heat with wood, because the gas bill gets so high. Now my friend Yolanda, who lives down the street, has been bringin' wood to us, because her mother's got a truck. It's piled out there in the porch so we
can keep it dry."
Lisette was fourteen by now and continued to do well
in school. Dr. Edwards's granddaughters were her closest friends. In the spring, however, Dr. Edwards told me that the three of them had gotten into trouble. "They were apprehended at the mall in Bozeman. Shoplifting," he reported. "In fairness, I do not condemn Lisette as harshly as the others." It had been his granddaughter, the oldest of the two, who had been "the instigator," he believed. "They were given public service to perform. Lisette will do her service at an animal reserve.
"I'm confident that she'll come out of this okay. She's a
loving girl, so boisterous and warm! And she accepts affection easily. My wife and I take her out to dinner when we can. We took her out a week ago after the court hearing. My wife is very fond of her. She hugs us both a lot."
Eric, on the other hand, was a source of more and more concern to him. "When I told him what had happened to Lisette, his response was awful cold. To quote him: 'I don't see why I should care.' I've spent more time with him than with Lisette. His grades at school are really bad. I'm taking him to Bozeman with me once a week for a tutorial in reading that a friend of mine arranged. So we have a chance to talk, to the degree that he will open up to me at all.
"I told him that I have to make a trip out to Seattle in the summer and I said that I'd enjoy it very much if he'd like to come with me. We could camp out on the way, on the Columbia River. I told him we could do some rafting.
But he was not responsive."
During the summer, Lisette managed to get into minor troubles once again, "nothing bad," Dr. Edwards said, "but I talked about this with her principal and we struck on an
idea."
There was, he said, "an excellent program" for students
of her age-"takes place in Yellowstone .... Three months long. Counseling and leadership, and learning to mark trails. Learning about conservation right there in the wild. They don't indulge them. There's a firmness that is always ready to exert itself if a student pushes things too far."
His hope, he said, was to "catch" Lisette before the minor troubles she'd been getting into grew into much bigger ones. He said he believed, as did her principal and teachers, that she was a gifted child and could do honors work in high school and go on to college, but only if she gained a stronger sense of self-control-and, he added, "of self-understanding." He said that she did not object to his suggestion. "In fact," he added, "she became excited at the thought of going out there in the wilderness."
It proved to be a good idea, as I gathered from a letter Lisette wrote to me from Yellowstone, maybe six weeks
later.
"DearJonathan,
"Hi! Hello! It's Lisette here. I am in the woods right
now. I'm here for three months. Clearing trails .... Cool,
huh?"
It was a short note. She didn't give me many details. "I
hope that everything is going good for you," she ended in her neat and curly schoolgirl printing. "Please write back.
Love, Lisette."
Two weeks later, I got another optimistic note from Dr.
Edwards. "The big news: Lisette has been doing extremely well at Yellowstone." He and Vicky and his wife, he said, had had "the great experience" of going out to see her when
36
FIRE I;.J THE ASHES
the students' parents were allowed to visit after they had been there in the wilderness two months. "I'd have given a hundred bucks for you to be there with us."
At the end of the day, he said, "we all sat in a circle.
Lisette and the other kids talked about the parts of the experience that mattered most to them. Lots of tears and hugs among the kids and counselors. She comes home in one more month. Here's some pictures of her that I know
you'll like."
In one of the pictures, Lisette was running with a
bunch of other kids across a grove of trees. The branches, covered with thick foliage, were hanging almost to the ground. In another, a close-up, she was wearing something like an army jacket and a woolen hat that was pulled down to her forehead and was smiling brightly, with a look of mischief, right into the camera. On the back of the picture Dr. Edwards wrote, "When they came back from the woods, Lisette told us, 'I feel like one dirty bird.' They wash themselves and their clothes in cold lakes and streams-no soap!
But she's a happy camper."
The news continued to be good after she returned to
school. "She's really blossoming," Dr. Edwards told me. "Doing honors, getting Ns, and the school by reputation is one of the best ones in the area. She's popular among the other students, does cheerleading, sings in the choir. But
she's careful about boys .... "
The news about her brother was less cheerful. "I'm sad
to tell you he dropped out of school last week because the school will not allow a student to continue to play sports if he has failing grades, and that was just about the only thing he really seemed to care about. The school was willing to work with him and give him extra help. His teachers didn't want him to drop out. The truth is that he never gave it a
real try.
"He's repeated once already. Now he's over eighteen and has no degree and no longer has a job. He doesn't stay at home a lot. He seems to stay with different girls, until they've had enough of him. Then he crashes with Victoria. Then he's gone again.
"When I try to talk with him, he turns away his eyes.
He tells me that he'd like to join the military. But they won't accept him. They insist on a diploma. My friend, who is a principal in another district"-this was the black principal that Vicky had described-"has talked with Eric several times. He tells me that he 'closes down' and gives him almost no replies.
"So Vicky has her hands full. When Eric's home, the house becomes a hangout for a whole group of his friends and, to be quite blunt about it, not the kinds of friends I'd like to see him with. Vicky works 'til late at night, so she can't control this. And, when she's there, the boys are pretty rude to her."
The news continued to be worrisome through the fall and winter of the year. By the beginning of their third year in Montana, Vicky started falling into the depressive moods from which she used to suffer in New York. "She's deeply troubled about Eric," Dr. Edwards said. "I've put her on some mild medication and it seems to make a difference. She's been successful in her job. She tells me that she loves it. I hope that she'll keep on .... "
He wrote me six months later, in June of 1999, with another mixed report: "Lisette remains a spot of brightness in a zone of growing darkness. Eric's a loose cannon. His most recent girlfriend, with whom he's been living now for nearly half a year-the very attractive daughter of a very white truck-driver who happens to be a Christian fundamentalist-is now very pregnant." Her father, he said, "is in a frantic state and is known here as a man that you don't
38
FIRE IN THE ASHES
want to mess with. So Eric's in some danger, which I've cautioned him about. I've also spoken with the father."
Two months later: "The police have put a warrant out for Eric. It seems he's been involved in robberies with one of his problematic friends. I gather they've been doing this repeatedly. Amazingly, his girlfriend sticks it out with him, although it's been real stormy. 'Hurricane force' is how I would describe it. I'm surprised her father hasn't
popped him."
The racial factor, he surmised, was always in the back-
ground and, with Eric out of school, out of work, living off a girl he had made pregnant, Dr. Edwards speculated that her father "may well look at Eric as a prime example of the racial nightmare- 'irresponsible and dangerous young black man' -appearing in real life." Still, no father, he observed, even one without the slightest bit of bigotry, could be expected to be empathetic and forgiving toward a boy who put his daughter in this situation. All the father knew was that his daughter, who was Eric's age but was a student at the university by now, was living with a man who had given ample evidence that he was unprepared to be a husband that his daughter could rely upon. When he heard that Eric was arrested, he had yet another reason for
concern.
Throughout this time, Vicky and I remained in con-
tact with each other, but her letters and her phone calls had become less candid and informative than they'd been before. On a few occasions she confirmed what Dr. Edwards had been telling me, but not in full and, most often, long
after the fact.
"Eric?" she said. "He's with his girlfriend quite a lot,
but he keeps on comin' back. I cannot put him out." She said that she could not forget how hard it was for Eric when they had been homeless and before they even got into the
shelters. "We were sleeping in a friend's house. If we got there and the door was locked, we slept out in the hallway. Lisette was just a baby then. He was the one that went and asked for food at the White Castle. So I sometimes ask myself: Am I the one to blame for all the troubles that he's had? But he makes it very hard .... "
She didn't tell me yet that he'd dropped out of school.
She didn't speak about his girlfriend's pregnancy. She didn't say he'd been arrested. She didn't speak about the medication Dr. Edwards gave her. She did say, "I been prayin' for my son. I'm askin' God to help me."
When we spoke the next time, she said that she had finally made a trip back to New York but had somehow lost the will to go back to St. Ann's and had come back quickly. While she was gone, Lisette had been staying with Dr. Edwards and his wife. Eric, meanwhile, had been fighting with his girlfriend so, in Vicky'S absence, he went back into her house and, because he had no key-"I told him that I didn't want him goin' there while I was in New York"-he'd broken in with several of his friends, "messed up the place, rang up a huge bill on my phone, and robbed me of some money I had left there."
"Where is he now?"
"He's back with his girlfriend, but he comes here when he wants. If I'm at work he pries the window open."
She said that Eric's girlfriend had come to the house alone after Eric robbed her. "Yeah! She knew. She found out that he done it. So she came and told me she was sorry, and she stayed and talked with me while he was gone off somewhere with his friends. She's a sweet girl and I know she likes me and I found out quite a lot. She told me Eric isn't treatin' her the way he should. He yells at her. She says he's raised his hand to her."
This information, Vicky said, had saddened her tremendously. The thought that he had been abusive to this
40
FIRE IN THE ASHES
girl, who trusted him and was in love with him, "made me disappointed in my son."
It was a while after that before I heard from her again.
Her telephone was disconnected for a time because she never caught up with the bills that Eric left her. She wrote me a few letters, and in one of them she opened up more fully than before about the troubles Eric had been going through. "Got three weeks for stealing gas. It was for his girlfriend's car. He uses it whenever he likes. He goes out riding with his friends." His girlfriend was afraid of saying
no to him, she said.
She also told me that the break-ins Eric made into her
house and the wildness of the friends he brought with him were causing problems with her neighbors, and she said her landlord spoke with her about this. I was glad she was confiding in me once again, but I was worried by the growing time-lag between the news that I received from Dr. Edwards and the news that Vicky felt prepared to share with me.
The letter ended on a slightly upbeat note. "Lisette still goes to church with me. Church members taking turns to pick us up on Sundays. I'm trying to think positive.
"I'm ending this letter now. "God bless you.
"Victoria."
-IV-
Vicky had said that she was trying to "think positive."
But positive thinking, as highly recommended as it is, can be overrated as a salutary and sufficient answer to calamitous conditions that are far beyond the power of an individual to alter or control in more than small degrees. For all the efforts she had made, for all the help her neighbors gav.e
her, for all the love and loyalty Dr. Edwards never ceased to demonstrate to her and to her children, Vicky found herself unable to escape the shadow of her history.
It was Eric's uncontrollable behavior that finally brought her down. In April of 2000, after Eric once again had broken into Vicky's house with a number of his friends while she was at her job and Lisette was working late at school, the police were called by people in the neighborhood-"music blasting and loud voices," Dr. Edwards said-and Vicky was at last evicted from her home.
Although the members of the church helped her get resettled, she fell into a state of bad depression once again and, having earlier been careful about overuse of alcohola couple of beers late at night when she came home from work, maybe something stronger on the weekends when she was relaxing with a friend-she now began to drink much sooner in the day in order to subdue the feelings of foreboding that had overtaken her.
"After doing a good job at the nursing home," Dr.
Edwards wrote to me, "and having recently been given a nice raise in pay, she abruptly quit. She simply was unable to get up and out into the world and face the pressures of the day. Alcohol and antidepressant medications, as you know, can be a deadly brew. I'm going to start all over, if she'll let me, with another intervention."
In a follow-up note in May, he was more hopeful, but cautiously so. "Vicky has joined a twelve-step program. It was begun by a young physician here in Bozeman, an excellent man who, unhappily, developed an addictionto Demerol, I think-while he was in training, and is very good and sensitive with people in her situation. He's been successful with a number of my patients but in Vicky's case I have to say I've got my fingers crossed. She's fallen deep into her drinking. I don't know if she can stop." When I asked what she was living on, he said she was on welfare
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and, he thought, she might be doing part-time work when she was well enough to handle it.
It was more than seven months after that before I
heard from Vicky. Her phone had been cut off again after her eviction, but she said, "I got a new phone now." To my surprise, and a bit to my confusion, she sounded upbeat
and excited when she called.
"Oh yes! You know what I did? I took the bus to Geor-
gia and I saw my Daddy! He's seventy-four. I hadn't seen him since I was fourteen. His birthday was on Christmas Day. I made him a sweater. Same as yours, except in green.
"Did I tell you that my father's a musician? Yes! He's in a gospel choir. They were having a rehearsal on the day before I left. I said, 'Daddy, you're going to rehearsal. Would you let me come with you?' My father was so happy!"
She didn't say a word about the latest difficulties Dr.
Edwards had described. Not a mention of the job she'd given up, the twelve-step program she'd begun, the struggle she'd been going through to fight off her depression. And she said nothing this time in reference to her son. The same sense of disconnect I'd noted in our conversations from the year before left me with a great deal of uneasiness again.
In his letters, Dr. Edwards's references to Eric had become increasingly disheartening. "I've tried again and again to sit him down and talk with him, but he isn't interested, doesn't want to listen, doesn't want to tell me anything at all." He said that Eric's girlfriend had ended their relationship. He also said he had some reason to believe that Eric and his friends were "gravitating into drugs or stolen pharmaceuticals." He noted, too, that Eric was now living in his own apartment and, by all appearances, paying his own rent. So he said he had to wonder where the money
came from.
In the summer of that year-it was now 200l-he told me Vicky was no longer showing up for meetings at her twelve-step program. He also said she'd moved again, and more than once, as I discovered later. "I stopped by to visit with her just a week ago. She'd been drinking heavily. It was hard to get straight answers from her. It's as if she's sitting there just waiting for the bad news she's expecting."
Six weeks went by.
'Jonathan," Vicky said in a message on my phone.
"I have something terrible to tell you. I lost my son two days ago. Eric was shot-shot with a shotgun to his head. He would have been twenty-two this Sunday." She left me her phone number. When I called her back, her voice was blurred and breaking. "I don't know how to say this," she began. "My son has taken his own life ....
"Day he died, I'd called him in the mornin'. He said that he was with his friends, playin' cards and havin' fun." Then, all of a sudden, she reported, Eric sounded very scared. "'Mummy, I don't feel no good. I need your help.' I said, 'Okay. Come over here right now.'
"A few minutes later, he was at the door. He came in by his self, and then his friends came in. I didn't know why he let them come with him, but I was thinkin' they'll be gone and then he'll be alone with me. They went into another room and it was quiet for a while. Then I heard it, right behind the wall, and I went in and saw the shotgun lay in' there across the floor. There was blood all over him. It was comin' from his head ....
"N ext thing, the police was there. Police was comin' up the stairs. Then they was tryin' to revive him. Then they put him on a stretcher and they carried him downstairs and took him to the hospital, but they said I shouldn't come. But fifteen minutes after that another man from the police, he took me with him in his car and said that he would stay
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FIRE IN THE ASHES
with me. Then a doctor came out from the door and he got up and spoke to him, and then he sat down next to me and held my hands and told me that my son was dead.
"He asked me was there anyone I would want to contact and I told him Dr. Edwards. But Dr. Edwards, he'd already heard. And he came in and he was there and he took me to my house. And then his wife. And other people from the church. They wouldn't let me be alone. And, after that, Lisette was there. And Dr. Edwards's wife went out-
side to talk with her."
I asked her whether anybody close to him, anyone who
cared for him, had told her that he was depressed before
she spoke with him that day.
"No one. No one knew. He just kept it in. I told Lisette
I pray from this she'll always tell me what she's feelin' when she's feelin' bad. 'Never hold it in,' I said, 'because I been there and I love you and I couldn't bear it if I lost
' "
you 00 ....
Dr. Edwards mourned for Eric like the father he had
tried to be for him. He condemned himself for never having found a way to penetrate those walls of isolation in which Eric had enclosed himself. "Starting months ago," he said, "I had my struggles about being the prime mover, asking whether everything that he was going through was somehow of my doing. I've tried to come to peace with this, but I haven't given up my questioning. It's going to be a long time, I'm afraid, before I do.
"There are some who are convinced it was a homicide.
Several of his friends, as I believe you know, had followed him into that room, and no one has explained what they were doing when that shot rang out. But the police have interviewed the boys and studied the case carefully, and all the evidence seems to confirm it was a suicide."
Again and again, he came back to the question of
t
his own responsibility. "I realized there were going to be problems from the first time Vicky opened up to me. And after she had been here for a while she confided in me more and she told me quite a lot of what the kids had undergone when they were in New York. But I overestimated the potential of a different place and different opportunities to overcome what I had hoped they'd left behind."
Weeks after Eric's death, I found that I kept coming back to what Vicky said he'd told her on the phone. "Mummy, I don't feel no good. I need your help"-and her reply, "Come over here right now." For all of the defensive toughness and aloofness others saw in him, he had spoken to his mother in that moment in the way that frightened children do. If he had only come alone and told her what he feared, might she have held him in her arms and given him the sense of safety he was asking for? Could she have been for him, in the hour when he needed it, the mother she herself had never had?
From that time on, Dr. Edwards and those members of the church who were Vicky's closest friends did everything they could to help her and Lisette to reconstruct at least some semblance of stability. Lisette regained her footing rather quickly. She was now a senior and continued getting honors grades and was making plans to go to college. She was, Dr. Edwards said, "a mature and capable young woman" and "happily in love" with an only slightly older man, a student at the university- "a serious and decent guy by the name of Thomas who is very much in love with her as well." He said that she'd been living with him for a time, but it seemed important to him to explain that they were "married under common law" which, he wanted me to know, "is binding in Montana."
A short time later, he told me she was pregnant but he was confident that this would not prevent her graduat-
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ing high school and proceeding with her plans for higher education. "We had dinner with them, and Lisette made clear that she has no intention of returning to New York. She's looking at some colleges around Atlanta now. She and Thomas seem to have a good perspective on the choices they'll be making. As a couple, they seem very solid, very
strong."
Vicky, on the other hand, continued to be almostincon-
solable. "I went over there to visit her the other night. She told me she was drinking. But she didn't need to tell me. I could see that she was pickled when she came to the front door. I'd been told she was starting a new job, but there's no way she could have gone to work in the condition that
I saw."
I spoke with Vicky very seldom after that. Usually her
voice was faint and her words were often slurred and the little information that she chose to share with me was never very clear. Before long, there were no more messages from Vicky on my phone. I didn't know if she had moved again. The most recent number she had given me appeared to be
cut off.
In one of the final letters that he sent me, Dr. Edwards
said, "I don't see Vicky anymore, which saddens me, but she no longer seeks my company. I've tried my best to keep in touch. My wife and I drive over there from time to time, but we never find her home and the messages I leave for her
are not returned."
Eight months after Eric died, I received a very grown-up
and reflective letter from Lisette. "Since my brother was laid down to rest, my mother has been struggling. Dr. Edwards says he told you she's been drinking. She was broken by my brother's death. I love her, but I have to use my strength to
save myself.
"Thomas and I are doing our best to pay our bills and
taking good care of our daughter. We were married in a church on May 15. I graduate next week. Then we're going to move south so I can enter college in September."
She said that they had changed their plans and were looking at a town near Myrtle Beach because her husband's relatives were living in that area. Her husband had applied for transfer to a college there, which she would be attending too.
They must have moved soon after that. I wasn't sure if she received the letter I had sent her in reply. Dr. Edwards, who was well into his seventies by now, was no longer able to maintain the pace he used to keep, and he soon retired. Within another year or so, he told me he had lost all contact with Lisette and Vicky. Many years went by before I got word of them again.
It came in a phone call from South Carolina in 2009.
Lisette still had a little of that buoyant schoolgirl voice that had endeared her to so many people in her teenage years, but she was twenty-six by now, the mother of four children. With time taken off to raise the children, she was heading toward completion of her studies to become a paralegal. Her husband was completing a degree in dentistry.
Her mother, she said, had suffered greatly in her final years from pancreatic cancer. "Her social worker called me from Montana and told me she would probably not live for very long. We brought her here to stay with us. She started chemotherapy. We took her to a hospital in Charleston to receive her treatments and we thought that she was doing well, until she just stopped eating. She had lived eleven months. She died at home with our kids around her. She's buried at the cemetery with my husband's family."
In her final words she said, "I'm going to give a good life to my children. I have to do it. I'm the one who made it through. I'm a stronger person now. I guess that I was always stronger than I knew.
"Please give my love to Martha when you speak to her.
And if you're ever here near Myrtle Beach we would love to have you come and visit us. We have room for you to stay. If you like, I'll take you out to see my mother's grave. I know
how much she meant to you.
"Okay? I have to go! Say a prayer for me!"
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I’m choosing to make this comment here, but it could be applied to many parts throughout this chapter. The largest message I got from reading this is that escaping an environment is very challenging, and children suffer the greatest consequences of their environments. They’re sick, they don’t have enough parental supervision or the means to escape. Even though Lisette makes it out and has a relatively normal life in the end, she is still a product of her environment, as evidenced by her tragic family story. In a lot of ways, these people’s lives are hopeless. And that’s why The Wire is so important here, because it justifies the character’s poor decisions because it knows that it’s their best chance at survival.
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As you mentioned, the environment in which these poor families live almost single-handedly determines their lives. When reading your comment I thought about how we place so much emphasis on the institutions in The Wire. Especially in regard to the drug institution, the characters affected by it seemingly have no choice but to become a product of it. Whether it means doing time, murdering people that cross them the wrong way, or even getting themselves killed, the rules of this institution almost inevitably come to dictate their lives as well.
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Economic stability is another grey area that I think affects these topics. There a plenty of families living below the poverty line whose standard of living could be reliant on illegal activity. Now, not saying illegality in any form is alright, but like in Baltimore during this time, drugs kept a lot of people afloat.
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This sentence reminds me of the scene in season 1 where Wallace feeds his younger siblings before sending them off to school. For most “decent” standards, using the meaning from Anderson’s reading, this would constitute an unhealthy diet and a shameful way of parenting. However the reality is that Wallace is the closest thing to a parent that these young children have and they are lucky to have food at all. For me, this is something shocking and a fact that I believe is not addressed enough. For example, when you hear of world hunger you typically don’t imagine the population of a first world country. Nevertheless this state exists and I admire the way The Wire addresses the issue.
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Off of Catherine’s comment, hungry was also addressed when Michael and Bug’s mother stole the family’s food stamps for drug money. It was appealing to see drugs valued over the nutrition of her family, and I believe Kozol’s chapter further illuminates this issue of children’s hunger and poor nourishment in our own country that often is ignored.
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That story line completely broke my heart. I think it potentially has less to do with ethics, though, and more to do with addiction. The fact that she was knowingly able to leave her children hungry to get high shows just how much power her addiction had over her judgment.
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Wallace was really an important intersection of Anderson’s “decent” and “street” values. He seemed to be fully cognizant of both sets of values, but the combination of his position in society and his responsible conscience never allowed him to fully embrace or engage either set of values. This is part of what makes his fate so tragic. He knows what he needs to do to succeed in both worlds, as a citizen or as a player, but he simply does not have the help to be either.
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Kozol’s presentation here of theatergoers paying Broadway prices to watch children suffer is surely devastating and biting, but then what do we make of The Wire? HBO is a premium cable channel, a luxury that only the solidly middle to upper classes were enjoying at the time of the show’s airing. It is a show that, while groundbreaking and eyeopening in so many ways, was made largely by and for white people of a certain socioeconomic class. So I have a hard time separating myself from the theatergoers and David Simon from the director of Les Mis at the time. We are all voyeurs.
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We haven’t explicitly discussed gentrification and its role intermingled with race and class. But, being from Miami, an extremely urban city that went through many of the same struggles that cities such as Baltimore, Chicago, New York and L.A., I have a first-hand account of the challenges that gentrification pose toward the poor and marginalized members of society. Many times, a group of wealthy, typically white, members of a city decide that the real-estate value of a certain sector of a city is worth more without African American and poor members of society. South Beach in Miami, for instance, was deserted in the 1970s because of drugs and the type of people living there. Today, South Beach is one of the world’s most popular beaches because it was “cleaned out.” Homes were lost. Jobs became more difficult to find. And, the people who once lived on the beach, are being pushed further and further into smaller and smaller neighborhoods in the heart of Miami. Gentrification simultaneously creates ghettos, while “sanitizing” other parts of the city.
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I was really intrigued by the word “irritation” in this sentence because I think its important to discuss what exactly the cab driver and/ or the theater goers are irritated with. Put simply, it’s possible that these people don’t want to be interrupted or bombarded by strangers. However, I think this issue is deeper than that. I think these people use irritation to cover up the guilt and awkwardness they feel when approached by a begging child because they simply don’t know what to do. It’s likely that 1. they feel bad or guilty because they have money to offer the child and are reminded of their privilege, 2. feel further guilt by not offering the child any money, and 3. are likely to blame the child’s parents for not providing for their child properly, even though they have no idea what circumstances the parents are facing. Regardless, I find it sad that we choose irritation to mask our discomfort when faced in these situations, instead of analyzing why we feel this way and what we can do about it. This act of irritation further supports the assumption that many people believe that it is often an individual’s fault for their status in society, instead of considering the effects of institutional and other societal influences.
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This sentence automatically made me think of Miachel’s mom. She clearly was emotionally unstable and an active drug addict all of which combined to her being incapable of taking care of Michael and his younger brother. Clearly, living beyond the means and having a mother be so unstable placed Michael in the role of authority- making decisions for his brother and even giving his mother an allowance to feed her drug habit. Though Michael’s mom is clearly not a fit parent my question is can you blame her? Can you blame her because she cannot get the help she clearly needs to get sober in the conditions she lives in? Can you blame her that she too most likely grow up in this environment and it was all she new?How can you stop this cycle if there is no help for the parents to break it?
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NYC’s social service system could not ignore the situation these individuals were living in, unless they literally averted their eyes. Yet, they continued to work and do so because even though they didn’t know what to do, they continued to attempt and try.
This sense of futility is similar to that of the teaching staff in the Wire. It was not unknown to them that these kids were dealing with issues much larger than multiplication, and that having them pay attention in class, not incite violence, etc, would be close to impossible, due to the social structure.
Like the social workers, breaking out of the structure is incredibly difficult and takes working from the bottom up. So for those who care, all they can do is watch helplessly and try their best to better what seem to be impossible situations.
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I think your comparison to the public school system in The Wire is a really great thought. When watching Prez and Colvin’s efforts in the classroom we are torn because 1. we admire their patience, innovation and determination to teach and better these students. Yet 2. we understand that even they know their teachings will not lift these kids out of the streets and into a college or a job. And often their efforts do not go contested. Prez is advised to stop teaching math altogether and Colvin was gaining negative feedback from the board for his ‘socializing’ of the students rather than ‘teaching’ the test.
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This paragraph emphasizes the sheer number of seemingly insurmountable obstacles that people living in the conditions the author described face. Malnutrition, drug addiction, and so many other issues faced by the poor all have lobbyists advocating for funds, as though money is the cure-all for these deep-seeded problems. The first issue that arises is that with so many tragic realities, where should money be alocated? The Wire shows us such tragedies – Bubbs’ drug addiction, hunger, homelessness, etc. and makes you want to fix all of them. With so many tragic realities and limited resources (money), where do we advocate funds? Backing that up even further, what do we do if money is not the answer? How can we stop these issues at the roots?
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I think you bring up some really important questions, although I definitely don’t know the answer to where we should allocate money and how to stop these issues. I do think that the first step is simply raising awareness of these issues and “tragic realities”, which is what Kozol seems to do a decent job of. After all, he does attract the attention of the church in Montana who send their aid to Vicky and her family. Although Kozol suggests that this aid did not necessarily benefit Vicky and Eric overall, I think you could easily make the case that Lisette was able to achieve a better life in Montana than she would have if she stayed in NYC.
However, I think you could also argue that you need to raise awareness internally as well. I’m sure many people living in the Martinique never questioned the way it was run because they didn’t know they could.
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I think this may be one of the more realistic images that The Wire brought to me. I grew up in the suburbs of Texas, so my view on inner city issues especially up north were limited. I think that in this way the wire does a great job of showing the everyday lives of people who grow up in these devastating environments. How can one hope for a better future when all there is or all you know is negative. When forces work against you, it’s no surprise that most of these children end up the way that they do. They simply can’t help it their environment calls for it. So in addition to the environment being dangerous both criminally and moralistically; it also is dangerous to ones health, what more can you expect from the people who live in these conditions it’s truly impossible to see the hope in such an environment.
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I agree. We can relate this back to when Professor Williams paused the episode at a scene in Nikki’s neighborhood—an almost panoramic shot of the vicinity with beat down industrial buildings in the background. It is clear that Simon wants us to see the level of poverty the individuals in The Wire are in. The imagery in the intro to The Wire gives us a run down of the town as well—drugs, violence, crime, and poverty.
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As I started reading about the Martinique, I made a connection to Hamsterdam from Season 3 of The Wire. Kozol describes how normal law and normal governance did not apply in the Martinique. He details the physical unhealthiness and drug addiction in the building, and how the two upper floors of the hotel essentially operated as an open market for drug users. So far, Hamsterdam and the Martinique sound very similar. As I continued reading, however, it disturbed me to learn that the guards, managers, and owners at the Martinique were extremely corrupt and would punish people for making complaints and even induce women into giving them sexual favors. This is where I believe Hamsterdam differs from the Martinique. While Major Colvin does essentially legalize drugs in Hamsterdam, and the drug activity continues, the police are still in charge of monitoring and preventing violence. In theory, the Martinique should be a benefit to the homeless as it provides them with shelter, but from what Kozol describes, it became a constant struggle to survive in the building. The question still remains (in both situations), how did no one intervene?
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Initially I also thought the Martinique was similar in structure and function to Hamsterdam. However, I think you make a good point about police monitoring and prevention. Hamsterdam was only ‘successful’ in the show because it was exactly what the police wanted it to be. They sought a lower crime rate in the city so they manipulated the area and what they thought the root of crime was. However, the Martinique is different because it isn’t run for any particular parties’ benefit (except arguably it was for the homeless’ benefit as a shelter). When there is no external benefit (for police, or politics or any other institution) it appears to be left up to the corrupt guards and owner who will take advantage in any way possible.
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As some of my colleagues have mentioned, the Martinique can be compared to Season 3’s Hamsterdam. Colvin envisioned and implemented “a closed system,” and at first, the place was a disaster. Addicts were getting sicker than before, dealers were still finding ways to rob and exploit each other, and fights broke out. It wasn’t until social workers and the slight hand of certain officers entered the closed system that the experiment began to function as planned. Clearly, a more open system is necessary to actually serve and protect. Leaving the dealers and the addicts to fend for themselves within the confined space, much like leaving the homeless families and guards to have at each other in the hotel, is detrimental to the wellbeing of the constituents. A little help from the larger structures that be is needed to make these lives even incrementally better.
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As The Wire has thoroughly shown, the image of perceived normal law rules and actual rules are not always equal. Here, the author argues that just like in The Wire, injustice is often acknowledged but not necessarily addressed because of situation within context of the broader institutions. For example, police brutality is often used on gang members but is never reprimanded by superiors even though it is against the law.
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This ‘closed system’ reminds me of Hamsterdam in season 3. I believe Hamsterdam can be viewed as a closed system of corruption. Though it was not intended to be corrupt, but intended to help stop the spread of drugs it was still a perfect example of how a police force can abuse their power, even if they believe it is for the greater good. Though the police did not punish people for making complaints they did make it fairly clear that they need to stay in the boundaries of Hamsterdam or there would be consequences. Hamsterdam became a place where these drug users and dealers could survive in their own bubble. Though the techniques are different from the Martinique I believe the central theme is the same. In both cases, who and how are suppose to protect these people?
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The lines that state, “many forms of misbehavior that were common in a building in which almost every person ahd to break some rule rule or operate some petty scam in order to survive,” to me, resonate with some of the situations in the Wire. As we and other authors have discussed, often times there is no choice but to enter the game. In regard to this quote, the “broken” rule of the Wire is breaking the expectations inherent in Elijah Anderson’s decent code and being forced to comply with the street code. Much like the situation of the impoverished people in New York City that Kozol is describing, certain characters, like Michael, feel as though they have no other choice but to enter the game in order to stay alive and protect themselves and the people for whom the care.
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To continue Meg’s thought and Tuesday’s class discussion I would like to add that this sentence is another depiction of the complexity of Anderson’s question of decent vs. street values. In this scenario, most outsiders would view the manager as a decent employer, while the tenant would appear as an indecent guest. The most tragic element is that there is no evidence to support the under guard, but rather a “closed system” that traps the innocent within the power of the enforcers. Of course this is not always the case, however it is a good way to illustrate that behavior is not always what it seems.
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Though I agree that some kids in the wire have no other choice but to enter the game I don’t want to say that michael had no other choice, maybe because I am still bitter about how he did not get out. In the beginning of season 4, Michael was the only character who rejected marlo’s money and seemed to not want to take part in the game, but dire circumstances call for drastic measures and when his father returns he just wants to get ride of him. He didn’t explicitly tell them to kill him, but maybe he knew that was the only outcome. I still think Michael could have still gotten out after that event happened, but after he saw the power of the game he didn’t want to.
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This paragraph was tough to read because it illuminated one of the problems that is shown throughout The Wire, which is the distrust of the system by those in poverty. As Kozol details, although the children are young, they are not oblivious to the horror and humiliation that their mothers must go through in order to help the family survive. In season four, after Colvin takes Namond, Zenobia, and Darnell to dinner, he notes their clear discomfort humiliation during the experience, commenting: “These kids are no fools.” Similarly, the kids in the shelters are no fools and they are taught at a young age to believe that they are second class when they see the figure of authority in their life do humiliating things in front of them.
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I definitely agree with this point and there are two examples of this in The Wire. On one hand, you have the kid who works deals on the street even though he is only about 5 and ends up killing Omar in the end. He is one extreme of awareness of what is happening. On the other hand, we have Bug. He goes to school, he presents himself nicely, he plays harmless games and does his homework, but he definitely knows that his brother is involved, particularly when Duke turns into his nanny and Michael is less and less present.
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This sentence reminded me of the stoop vs corner kids. For example, Randy’s foster mom implemented rules and when he was told to come into the house from the stoop he would listen, categorizing him as a stoop kid. Whereas, Namond was encouraged to be a corner kid.
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To me the distinction between corner and stoop kids is more nuanced. Corner kids were almost pre-destined to be corner kids. They come from unstable backgrounds — drug use, abuse, and murder run rampant. So, while at the beginning of Season 4, Michael seems like he is more of a “stoop kid,” we are not surprised when he turns — getting into fights and finally, murder at the end of the Season. His mother is an addict, his father-figure is mostly absent and beats his mother. The only thing he knows is maleficent behavior. Whereas Randy has a more stable support group — in his foster mother. He is the definition of a stoop kid. He is not part of the drug game and is extensively “good.” The kids that Kozol describes here all have a rough background and will inevitably end up on the street.
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Paragraph 37 asks the questions that I think we should ask ourselves about the children in Season 4 of The Wire. Do the children at Edward Tilghman Middle School act out in class because find it hard to trust their teachers or older persons of authority? Do these children have a good concept of what is decent behavior and what is not? After reading Anderson’s piece, and contemplating the series as a whole, I have concluded that every character in The Wire is at least somewhat decent in their own way. In many cases, the environment and family in which these children have grown up has shaped their concept of decent or moral behavior. It’s tough for me to decide whether the children in Season 4 harbor resentment for their parents. In many cases, the parents of these children are or have been involved with the drug trade, are drug users, or are single parents. These children have had extremely difficult upbringings, but in some ways I think the children realize that their parents didn’t have the option to make better decisions along the way. Many of the children, such as Michael, are frustrated by their parents at the beginning of the season, but by the end of the season, they end up resorting to similar behaviors in order to make ends meet. It is interesting that we as viewers we grow to resent Naymond’s mother, but end up admiring Wee-Bey for his behavior as a father.
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I thought you’re questions you ask are very interesting. I don’t know the exact answer I don’t think its because they do not trust the teachers, because some of the kids do behave in class and even the corner kids behave when certain teachers of authority walk in. I think their behavior more has to do with the fact that they know they are not going to get out of the game. They know their fate is destined by who their parents are and where they have grown up. I think it has to do with structure something all these kids have lacked.
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Caroline highlights an extremely important and valuable question – do the children at Edward Tilghman Middle School misbehave in class because they find it difficult to trust their teachers or persons of authority? Growing up in a fairly racially and economically diverse public middle and high school, I always got really upset (internally) when students would blatantly disrespect teachers or other persons of authority. I just assumed they had not been raised well and their parents had not taught them basic manners and how to treat people. I never even thought of the idea that maybe kids were acting out because they did not trust the teachers. Maybe they were acting disrespectful because they felt they needed to guard themselves in some way. I agree with Caroline, I do believe many of the children in The Wire are somewhat decent, however they act out because they do not trust those involved of the powerful institutions that are constantly pushing them and their families down.
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This section makes me think particularly of Michael. I think it’s a question we could ask about all of the kids in season four, but I think Michael’s home experience is closest to the situation Kozol describes here. I would say Michael’s situation is even more damaging to his trust in adults, because he is the one who is sexually abused and his mother is the one who is around while it happens. We see in his interactions with Cutty, especially, his struggle to believe that authority figures have his best interests at heart. He says the social workers are “too friendly.” Even as part of Marlo’s crew, though a different type of authority, he has trouble accepting their way as the right or best way – he’s always asking why, and pushing back against their authority.
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Do you think that the news media today would cover an investigative piece like this- where journalists went into the hotel against management’s permission? I ask, because in many of our MDST courses we are learning about the downfalls of (especially) broadcast journalism, and how major news outlets fail to use their money to create investigatory pieces that could implement policy change.
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Within this extremely disheartening piece by Kozol, I found this tidbit to be one of the only places in which an institution actually does the right thing. I have a lot of respect for the journalists that accompanied Kozol to Martinique, seeking to expose the corruption occurring within the walls of that horrific place. These journalists, although took a beating, remind me of David Simon – ex reporter for Baltimore Sun, left because he was dissatisfied with how the paper was operating. These journalists and Simon highlight the idea of the news media working as the Fourth Estate. I believe this is an amazing example of good journalism because they are checking those in powerful positions and holding them accountable. I would love to see if Nightline was able to put together a piece on this or not.
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Austin, I looked into this, couldn’t find anything from Nightline, but found a 1986 documentary entitled DOWN AND OUT IN AMERICA about the effects of Reaganomics on poverty in American cities. One segment highlights The Martinique where the only footage came from hidden cameras because the documentarians were not allowed to enter the premises with cameras. There is an interview with a woman who lost her home in a fire and has been forced into the situation with her young pre-daycare aged son. She is a fully capable woman, admittedly someone who wants and loves to work and has work experience, but because of the unfortunate loss of her home, the complete lack of assistance from the government, and the age of her son, she is not yet able to go out for a job for fear of leaving her boy with people she cannot trust. Her options are so limited and not at all because of anything she’s done wrong.
Here’s the segment: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sb29hNdvJLc
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I think this school relates in many ways to the inner city schools like Tilghman Middle in The Wire, just based on the fact that both are pretending to prep but not actually prepping students for a future. The No Child Left Behind Act leaves the school prepping them for tests rather than teaching them valuable information in ways they can understand.
I think this paragraph also suggests that it is not the intellect of the children that can keep them from a successful academic career path but the actual institution itself. The school itself can bar kids from moving on up, so to speak, and I think that’s true for Tilghman. Most of the children shown in Prez’s class are struggling to learn basics in math and language arts, but at the same time the school isn’t accommodating their needs but focusing on the school’s stats and standardized testing. Their priorities are not necessarily where they should be, although I do understand what a complicated situation it is (low stats could mean no more school). I think its important to note, then, the similarities between these two schools, fictional and real, and how this issue is not just plaguing inner city areas.
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I think it is also important to acknowledge that the type of individuals we are addressing, children and not adults, are dependent on their parents. So not only are they restrained by resources and education, children are only as free as their parents. For example, although Dukie is smart and kind, he is devoid of social mobility, or even the charity of others, because his parents prevent any opportunity.
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It only seems strange that a city is worried about upholding a certain appearance and not the well being of their citizens. We don’t really see the appearance of Baltimore really being a big issue, but in The Wire we do see how the paper, police, and political departments neglect the concerns and safety of citizens in the roughest parts of the city, it’s as if they don’t matter. But even as a larger issue we see this happening in more cities with the rise of gentrification. We see a hint of it occur in season 2 when Nick Sobatka and his girlfriend are looking in a neighborhood that used to be affordable, but now has been renovated and marketed to those who would pay top dollar for the property. So even the places that were somewhat accessible to locals has now been changed in a way that kicks locals out.
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I agree with a lot of what you say here, especially with the issue of gentrification. Kozol talks about a similar issue, as the families were moved from Manhattan to the Bronx. However, with regards to The Wire, there is some discussion of Baltimore’s appearance and status, particularly through Tommy Carcetti. Carcetti is worried about the education stats and debt, as well as the crime stats, because he feels it is a reflection of his work as the mayor. I agree,though, that this mindset does ignore to a great extent the hardships faced by the citizens of Baltimore.
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In the final season of The Wire the issue of homelessness does become more apparent because of McNulty’s “serial killer”. Carcetti is seen preaching for the safety of these vulnerable citizens. Is Carcetti’s motives for protecting these citizens also due to the media attention and need to maintain his reputation/appearance?
In regards to Carcetti’s priority on stats (along with all other politicians), is there another, more telling way for politicians to measure there success? It seems that they all succumb to the same pressures of their predecessors despite their intentions entering office. This is the same as the teachers who want to teach their students something of substance but are forced to teach to the test in order to achieve stats as well as the police officers.
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This statement goes hand in hand with Dukie’s character in Season 4 of The Wire. He is an intelligent student under Prez and promoted to the 9th grade (although he is not quite socially ready). Yet, with lack of support from a family and friends, he can’t get himself to class and eventually drops out of school. His living conditions with drug addicts (and lack of running water) basically constitute him as homeless. A goal in The Wire is to show that kids in this predicament go in the direction they do not from personal choice, but from doors shutting all around them. With support from a real family, do you think Dukie would have still given into peer pressure and quit school?
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And we see this trend continued at the end of the 5th season when Dukie ultimately realizes he has nowhere to go, and ends up living with the dope fiends. I believe he really wanted to go to school but the lack of a support system can make it nearly impossible. Especially when the “social promotion” or whatever occurred and bumped Dukie up to high school. He dropped out because he knew no one would care or give him the attention and support he needed like Prezbo. In the end Dukie, promises Prezbo he will get his GED, but it’s apparent that he has slipped into the drug addict lifestyle.
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In answer to your question, yes. I think that inevitably Dukie still would have succumbed to peer pressure and joined the game. Even with a “proper” support system, I think external forces would have pushed him to quit school eventually. As we have seen over the seasons of The Wire, the boys of all ages continually turn to the game.
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In The Wire, religion seems largely sidelined to other institutions. Yet, religious figures are noticeable. Aside from the priest we are introduced to in Season 2, which is a relatively false-application of religion (as Valchek and Sobotka seem to care about the money rather than attending mass), the Reverend who helps Cutty start the gym seems to fill a similar position as Martha Overall. Significantly, the Reverend also uses his own connections to other institutions to help Cutty get through the permit process to start the gym. How else does religion as an institution play a role in The Wire?
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It’s interesting because the other main “religious” figure I think of in the Wire is Brother Mouzone. Though I think that he talks the talk of religion (like when he was about to be shot by Omar and made peace before his imminent death), but uses it kind of as a justifier for his actions. He also uses it, seemingly, as a fear tactic. He stands apart—the way he dresses and talks, and he is dangerous. He portrays himself also as an avenging angel, but it’s all for the sake of his reputation as muscle rather than real religion.
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The question of the role of religion in The Wire is also raised in comments in the Code of the Streets article. Religion is somewhat sidelined as a narrative but I could see religion playing a larger role then depicted in the show. Many people turn to religion in times of need and in impoverished areas. Religion may act as an alternative for some who would have otherwise joined the drug game and being involved may provide opportunities off of the streets because there is a network of different people.
As far as religions role in The Wire, we see the influence from a group of Reverends at a political level when they express their anger at Herc for assaulting a member of the Church.
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Although we don’t see a lot from the religious institutions, especially in providing alternatives to hanging on the street, we do see this after school innovation with Cutty. When he opens his gym, he not only provides the kids (and their caretakers) with a space and activity to do after school but he also acts as a trustworthy mentor. He actively pursues his students and cares for them in an attempt to get them in the gym and off the streets.
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This description of Eric reminded me so much of Michael and his relationship with Cutty. Cutty took an interest in Michael and really wanted him to succeed, both in the ring and in life, but like Eric, Michael never rally responded to serious questions about his life that Cutty asked. And Michael was the saddest character to me because he had so much going for him, and so many to help him but he keeps turning down the wrong roads because he is the one who built up the walls of isolation himself and he went down and got himself into a life, amidst a group of other men that probably wanted him to uphold the respect that in the Anderson article was so much talked about.
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I think Shanelle is spot on in her comparison of Eric to Michael. Michael, just like Eric, seemed to be a talented individual with the potential to do something meaningful with his life, but as Shanelle points out, the trauma that Michael underwent as a child has resulted in his distrust of almost everyone around him. Cutty tried to help, and even Marlo was able to recognize and somewhat utilize Michael’s talent, but in the end Michael became the next Omar, and Eric’s life ended much too soon.
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I think of Michael too, not only in the way he tried to escape Cutty’s well-intentioned attempts at helping him, but also in the way he interacted with Marlo’s boys. He won’t accept help from anyone, even the big important guys. He won’t take their money and he wants to do everything for himself; he doesn’t hardly speak when they speak with him. This obviously translates to Cutty as well. Michael has a strong wall of self-defense as described here with Eric.
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Though Kozol paints the “academies” in a rather negative light here, the description of these programs reminded me a lot of the corner classes that Colvin started at the middle school. The classes weren’t geared toward “typical” education because Colvin realized that “normative” teaching would never reach the corner kids. They are street-smart — they still have intelligence; it just needed to be interacted with in a different way. If these kids aren’t going to learn algebra or language arts in a normal classroom setting, you might as well provide them with practical life-skills that will translate to a longer survival.
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I agree with Chris here. I was a little surprised that Kozol seemed to take a negative tone here regarding vocational practices in schools. Although they do take away from more conventional academics, at least in the way the public school system is described in The Wire, these efforts are largely fruitless. Sure, Prez’s attempts are largely unsustainable in an administrative light, but at least there was effort there to try to instill some meaningful academics. Strange that Kozol doesn’t seem crazy about that idea.
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I thought this section was really interesting, particularly in the context of season 4 of The Wire. When Naymond decides to “leave” the street world and live with Bunny and his wife, we never really see the reaction of his peers. Michael becomes a corner boy and Randy moves back to a group home but Naymond gets out. His mother sees this as a failure for him to live up to his father’s greatness, etc. so we see how she feels like he is traitorous to the lifestyle, but it was hard to see how the other kids felt about him escaping because it was eliminated from the narrative.
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This paragraph also reminded me of Naymond and how he is able to escape from the “game.” As Margaret said, we never see his peers reactions, but I imagine many of them are confused or frustrated by the fact that Naymond gets to live a “new” life and many of them probably consider him a traitor. However, many of the children in Season 4, may not even realize that their “ghettoized” community needs fixing—it’s where they have grown up and is all they know— so they don’t make any efforts to improve their community’s situation. Cutty, however, is an example of a character who pushes himself to leave the game behind, but doesn’t abandon his community. He opens up the boxing gym and works to improve the community by coaching and mentoring the kids on the street. We can tell that Cutty values education and doesn’t want the kids that he knows to end up selling drugs or getting violent on the streets. If we listen to what the power brokers say, then we can determine that Cutty would not be considered a traitor.
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Though we don’t see the reactions of Michael, Randy and Duke, we do get a glimpse into the street life he left when, Donut drives by in the stolen Mercedes and smiles. Donut, although not entirely wrapped up in the game, represents the life that Namond left. Namond stares off in the distance, “contemplating” the life he gives up. But, there is no sign of regret from him or a sense of disdain from Donut. The bonds that they had before the street took over, might be stronger than their ties to the game.
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It is clear throughout this article that Eric is struggling to adjust to the new environment. He was constantly behind in school, had multiple dating partners, and was disengaged. The school system has offered him help and opportunities yet he refuses to take advantage of this.
Could it be argued that even if the schools in Baltimore had more resources and offered more opportunities to students that it would keep kids from ending up on the streets? To what degree does the blame for student’s failure rest on the students vs. the system? Why did Eric and his sister have such different outcomes when they arrived in Montana?
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I think that these are thoughtful questions and I would try to answer some of them by pointing out that I do not think it would be fair to completely blame the school system for the fate of a student, although its very easy to see (at least based on The Wire’s depiction of the school system) that there are several flaws in the institution. I think there are multiple factors that lead a student astray from being successful in school, perhaps some resting on the individual but there are major social and cultural issues at play that cannot be ignored. After all, according to Anderson’s code and reinforced by The Wire’s depiction of an inner-city school environment, being a good student is not necessarily respected within the community. What is valued is being street smart, therefore there is a lacking incentive to be a good student to begin with.
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I think Aislyn highlights many important points. I agree, I do not think it is fair to place blame entirely on a school system for the fate of a student. However, I do believe individual teachers do heavily influence the potential of their students. I believe that there are teachers out there who have completed turned students’ lives around and have made unsurpassed efforts to reach out to those struggling and to relate to them. I also believe there are teachers out there who let students fall behind and who do not take the time to fully invest in struggling students. There are so many factors that play into a student’s ability to perform well in school – their parents, friends, family, environment, the list goes on and on. Although these factors play major roles in a student’s outcome, I do believe that teachers have a lot of pull in determining the potential success, or failure, of struggling students.
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This seems to depict the downward spiral that many of the characters that are high school drop-outs go through in The Wire. Eric only cared about his sports, and when he couldn’t keep the grades to play sports, he had no care for school. He was unable to get a job and unable to join the military because of his grades, so where else would he turn? His teacher’s tried to offer help, but ultimately it was his decision that school was not for him. Unfortunately, and predictably (with what we have learned in class), Eric is bound to end up going through the same cycle in adulthood and wind up completely homeless, or dead. Did Eric have the potential to stick through with school like his sister did? Was this really a case of doors closing all around him?
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I think it’s important to channel our class discussion about what constitutes a “successful” education system. In a similar way, how can one define the “success” of life? I don’t think it’s fair to say “did Eric have the potential to stick through with school like his sister did?” because his experience with homelessness is much different than hers.
I would argue that even for people in the same family, the circumstances are much different. Kozol implies that Eric struggles mentally, so for him, perhaps it did seem like the “doors closing all around him.” It kind of seems like there is an underlying “American Dream” sentiment, that if you can work hard enough, or reach out for help, you can be “successful.” However, this idea is deeply flawed, as American institutions repeatedly fail those that need the most assistance.
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After reading about Vicky’s relationship with her two kids, it is evident that she only wants the best for them and her efforts to give them a better life demonstrate how she encourages him to do the same for himself. This type of encouragement and urge to do the best for himself stands in direct opposition to the way Namond’s mother, DaLonda, acts. Rather than encourage him to do well in school and stay on the straightened path, she informs him that it is time to follow in his father’s footsteps and join the Barksdale organization. When he fails to succeed in the game, she is angered with him. I find it interesting that the Wire chooses to portray this type of situation rather than the one Kozol is describing here.
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I agree but I think at the same time, De’londa is just trying to equip Namond with her understanding of their world and to be successful but in terms of the street. I think her reasons behind reinforcing what Anderson describes as the “street code” is selfish in many ways, but she is not necessarily trying to keep him from being his best. I just think she honestly does not know her son and thinks whats best for him (and her) is if he moves up in the drug trade. As mentioned in class, at least on the street, adopting “decent values” is not necessarily the best thing for a kid, and De’Londa’s encouragement may actually be whats best for his situation at that time.
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In today’s class lecture (3/1) we discussed who the “better” parent was in the case of Namond- Weebay or Dalonda? Weebay is notoriously known as a murderer, however wants a better life off the streets for Namond, while Dalonda encourages the street life game for her son. It goes without saying one’s parents have tremendous influence on their child, however with this great influence may come the concept of failure when his or her child does go through hard times. Weebay knows he would be to blame if Namond ended his life young or was sent to prison, and instead of risking that blame asks for DaLonda to let go of her son.
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I have to say that this scene with Weebay really surprised me. I really didn’t expect him to have just given up that easily. However, I think we may be underestimating the power of Bunny in this scene. Bunny was not only present, which showed Weebay that Naymond had someone looking after him, but he made an extremely convincing argument to Weebay. Weebay knew that Bunny was police and probably took what he was saying more seriously because of that. Therefore, while Weebay did show responsible parenting skills in his decision, I would be wary about overglorifying him as a perfect parent. I really think that he wouldn’t have let Naymond go if Bunny hadn’t been so convincing and reassuring.
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I think this scene is interesting, but unrealistic. I find it hard to believe that a hardened murderer would let his son be adopted by anyone formerly associated with the police. I understand how the Wire humanizes Weebay with his fish, I think this helps haze our judgement. Already, we see Weebay as a human being, and can therefore believe he would let his child live with the former police chief. Bunny made a compelling case, but I think this is a product of the narrative of the Wire.
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Vicky’s concerns here are understandable. As a parent, she feels the obligation for introspection because of her son’s rash behavior. While living in New York, she raised her son in a situation of intense poverty, and he was forced to fend for his own and in some cases, provide food for the family at a young age. However, the circumstances of his life changed dramatically upon his move to Montana. He had a stable home, he was being provided a decent education. However, this begs the question of how long it takes for the structural influences which reside in the inner-cities of urban areas take effect on the predispositions of its subjects? Was Eric too far behind in school to ever be able to really catch up and attain a conventional education? Was he too inoculated with poverty and fighting for survival with whatever means necessary, even as a child, to live a simple life in the remote state of Montana?
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Generally speaking I think more accountability must reside with the parents to take an active role in raising there children properly. And that doesn’t mean setting a curfew and making sure they’re home on time, god knows what they did from morning till dawn. Active parenting is a duty. If you’re unsure of your child’s whereabouts, or whether or not he’d been arrested, you’re failing. And to think these children can succeed in the classroom with no discipline or work ethic puts to much pressure on the teachers. It’s their job to instruct, not to babysit.
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While this situation is not exactly the same as Bubbs and his sister, it certainly reminds me of their relationship. I felt that the show unfairly demonized Bubbs’ sister for never opening the door for him and for being cold toward him. Seeing Bubbs’ sadness made the audience feel that the sister was not giving the newly sober Bubbs a chance. However, I would make a case to stick up for her. What we see on the show of their relaitonship doesn’t at all allow us to see the probably tumultuous relationship that the brother and sister probably had as Bubbs spiraled into addiction. With the potential for countless unshown lies, attempts to get sober, and more that could have happened over the years, the sister may have more than enough good reason to be wary that Bubbs had truly changed. It must be hard for her to trust him if he put her through a similar situation that the author describes that the woman went through. I think my favorite shot of the entire series was at the end when we see Bubbs sitting at the dinner table with his sister and niece – I teared up!
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This quote reinforces how, for struggling individuals and families, often not only the blame for one’s social situation, but also blame for not having a solution to the problem is placed on the individual. The structural and institutional forces are often masked. For example, in The Wire, it would be easy for someone to say that the children should go to school and use school as a way to get them off the streets and give them a “resource” to become “upwardly mobile.” This, too, places too much emphasis on the individual, rather than looking at the broader issues that these individuals face. Eric’s story in this reading seems to emphasize that going to school, especially after being homeless, is not the solution. Even if he tried to have “positive thinking,” at certain points, poverty and homelessness have their roots in larger issues than the self.
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And if we look at the examples from the last season we see how Randy and Namond turned out differently. In the beginning Randy was positive and quick to find a way to avoid conflict and violence. He seems to have a more positive outlook on life because of his foster mom who pays attention to him and his well being. Whereas in the case of Namond his father is in jail and his mother enforces him to engage in drug dealing as a means to provide for the family. Interestingly enough we see how Namond has since moved from west Baltimore and became more interested in education, and performing at a higher level with his new guardians. Whereas in Randy’s case as a child in the system in a group home he’s had to harden himself and became a lot more resilient because he stayed in a negative environment. All the positive thinking in the world can only do so much if you’re surroundings don’t support you.
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I like your last statement. Definitely true about Namond and Randy. The Wire illustrates that institutional forces do limit individual’s means of upward mobility and general “success.” “Positive thinking” and one’s definition of “success” are based upon the individual. Therefore, it is hard to say that “positive thinking is recommended” because as we see throughout The Wire, it is not a solution.
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I’m still not quite sure how to process this line: “Vicky found herself unable to escape the shadow of her history.” It seems that Kozol is suggesting that regardless of where Vicky would end up, she was bound to reach the same demise. I think I’m struggling to understand whether Kozol is suggesting that Vicky is simply a victim of her upbringing and fate, or that she failed to adopt the personal initiative to overcome her past. Although I’m sure this is not a black and white issue and involves a combination of situational fate and lack of personal initiative, it still seems that Kozol is making a blanketed assertion that one can never escape their past— yet disproves this assertion through Lisette’s story. Overall, I think the general point Kozol tries to make is that one cannot escape their past experiences, as they shape the person one grows into and future actions, which seems true to me. I was just bothered by the seemingly blanketed and underlying message this sentence portrays. Also, it seems to put Vicky in the role of the victim. Kozol is essentially saying, “no matter how hard she tried, or how much help she got, Vicky was never going to be able to succeed.” Although she did have a lot of things working against her, Kozol earlier in the chapter said that Vicky did admit that some of her actions led to poor circumstances. So she can’t be a complete victim because some of the actions she made led her to this point.
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The sad end to this story shows that it is not only the people who are directly involved in “the game” that are affected. There are many people who resist street life but are ultimately negatively impacted because of family members.
Eric reminds me a bit of Bodie. In one scene where Herc and Carver break in to his grandmother’s house it is revealed that she has been raising him after his mother died of addiction and was homeless. She says that even though he was only four, “she knew he was angry”. Similarly, Eric was exposed to rough conditions at a young age and it affected him for the rest of his life.
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As Alissa points out in her comparison of Bodie and Eric, the family members of these children are often a strong influence on what they grow up to be. Michael had a drug-addicted mother and no father, and he was similarly “angry” the way Eric and Bodie were. Michael always preferred to settle altercations with violence, as he did when Kenard stole the stash from Namond, and the level of violence he perpetrated only escalated as he continued to be involved in “the game.”
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Eric’s tragic story speaks to the question of one’s environment and how it can influence the behaviors of an individual. Eric grew up in poverty in Manhattan and Brooklyn, bouncing from shelter to shelter, his situation getting worse every step of the way. All of sudden, it appears he has been given a chance at a better life with the relocation to Montana, a place that should be safer and have less opportunities for Eric to get mixed up with crime. As we discover, Eric’s life does not improve by much, and before the age of twenty-two he is dead. It begs the question, how much does the environment really make a difference in the lives of children like Eric? At first glance it appears he won the lottery, but clearly moving away from New York wasn’t the answer to his problems.
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I agree with this comment, that as we can see with Eric’s situation moving to Montana did not resolve all of his problems while the move from NYC looked promising at first. This situation does instigate the question of what kind of role an environment plays in one’s life, demonstrating how it is not a matter of urban vs. rural living either.
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To follow up on the above comment, while I believe that environment is a factor, it is also clear that mental health is largely a factor. I found it really striking when Victoria said she was “unable to escape the shadow of her history.” Victoria’s situation may have occurred anywhere, but what did happen shaped her feelings, personality, and mental state. It is noted from the beginning of the ethnography that Eric was a complicated boy that had trouble being transparent in conversations and relationships. Eric was older and more aware than Lisette when his family experienced their hardest times. Victoria struggled off and on with depression even after the relocation to Montana, and so did Eric.
In The Wire we see Bubbles’ personality change after his friend dies from the poison meant for someone else. While Bubbles seems to be recovering from his drug addiction in Season 5, it is clear that there are some things he is still unable to talk about or face that will stick with him forever. Even if Bubbles was moved to a home of his own with all expenses paid, he would not ever be able to escape his past.
Once again, I wish The Wire had focused in more on women, because it would have been interesting to compare how environment and mental health effects gender. Are women more likely to push through a situation like Victoria, Lisette, and Eric experienced?
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I wonder also what the effect (if any) being the only male in the family had upon Eric. Already being in a difficult place as a teenager, surrounded by temptations, I’m sure the move and transition was touch for him (as it would be for any adolescent boy). I am curious if he ever felt the weight of being the leader of his family, with his mother being ill and unable to often raise himself and his sister. Perhaps feeling like he could not “live up” to the standard of a father figure, this could have perhaps led to rebellion and overall depression.
His situation could have been a bit like Michael’s, in the sense that he needed to raise the family because at times his mother couldn’t. Like other’s have said, it would have been nice if The Wire examined this more, especially because Vicky (Eric’s mom) did demonstrate love and care for her children, while the mothers’ of Michael or Namond arguably did not.
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Dealing with depression is difficult enough. But within certain communities there is a heavy stigma around getting treatment for your problems. The issue is complicated when a families financial situation won’t provide enough money to cover treatment. Cases that go untreated, end poorly.
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I think this line accurately highlighting Dr. Edward’s ignorance in thinking that uprooting Vicky and her family from their environment is the solution to essentially solving all their problems. Their environment has impacted them to such a powerful degree that transcends space and cannot be solved with a mere change in scenery. In a way, I’m reminded of Stringer Bell, because he is a character who is able to move back and forth between the different “worlds” of Baltimore marked by class and race. He is able to go to business school, manage his business in real estate, while also handle the Barksdale drug business. However, when he isn’t in the poor areas of Baltimore, he can’t seem to shake off his street knowledge and the way he has learned to cope with issues. The street has impacted him to such a degree that I don’t think he ever really could be a straight-edge businessman. The physical space of one’s environment is not a sole influence on a person, but the culture, social values, and in this case, horrors within and surrounding that environment can create a lasting impact on a person that one cannot escape by moving.
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Lisette shares she will begin college in Myrtle Beach following her high school graduation along with her husband. Higher education is something simply not covered or discussed in The Wire because it seems so unattainable or unrealistic for the street kids. I was curious to learn Lisette wanted to attend college, even though she was a new mother, and would have liked more information from Kozol regarding her decision to pursue her education, and the challenges she would soon face. Unlike her brother, Lisette, was able to escape the cycle her family once lived in before Montana, now moving on with her own family and prioritizes the betterment of her life through education.
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Lisette’s story reminds me a bit of Namond and his interaction with the Colvin family. If Lisette was not taken under the wing of Dr. Edwards and his wife, there is no knowing if she would have gone on to be as successful, or driven as she proved herself to be. This sort of intervention by a trustworthy outsider seems to be one of the only ways to help break these children of the cycle they face within their families and communities.
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I was also surprised to discover that Lisette wanted to attend college, despite expecting a child. Also, I found it interesting that Lisette’s teen pregnancy was described as very positive, and not a tragedy or set back on her life (the way Eric’s girlfriend’s pregnancy was described). Do you think that maybe Kozol sugarcoated Lisette’s story a little bit to emphasize the idea that she “made it”? I was also confused that Kozol did not go into the struggles that Lisette would face as an expecting mother and a university student.
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Wow – this reading is extremely heavy. I am struggling to grapple with Vicky’s roller coaster of a life. I am left feeling proud that Lisette “made it,” against all odds, even with multiple societal institutions against her. While I am proud of Lisette, I am extremely sad that Eric was pushed so far as to kill himself. This reading is extremely frustrating because it demonstrates and illuminates racial injustice and how many African Americans are repeatedly knocked down over and over again by powerful institutions within society. Even with Dr. Edwards and the Church by their side, Vicky and her family still could not make it out. From living in the Martinique hotel, Prince Georges, and then experiencing constant ups and downs in Montana, Vicky and her family’s story is extremely unsettling… and that is why is important that we read stories like these and share them. The Wire captures audiences the same way this story does, making it nearly impossible to not see the racial injustice that is occurring. Stories like this, although difficult to hear, are significantly important to hear.
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