Full text of "Drum"
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black literary experience
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Copyright DRUM 1980
Printing: Hamilton I. Newell, Inc. Amherst Massachusetts
DRUM— the Black Literary Experience at ttie University at Massachusetts is a Recognized Student Organization,
it receives its funding soleiy from the Student Government of the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. We
wish to make it know/n that we weicome submissions from the entire community which we serve.
editors note ... 1
The National Historic Landmark Dedication to W.E.B. DuBois . . . 7 . . . Marlene Duncan
I slammed the car door . . . 12 . . . Karen Marie Thomas
Childhood Education in Cuba . . . 15 . . . Marcia Hospedales
For the Love of Grandma . . . 19 . . . Tracey Gillens
The Fruits of a Gift . . . 23 . . . Charles Gulp
'Splanation . . . 29 . . . Regina Williams
Charlene . . . 31 . . . Keitha Hassell
how to peep ah bucknak'd bogieman . . . 37 . . . ibn Kenyatta
Carl E. Yates-Editor
Marlene Duncan-Co Editor
Russell D. Jordan
Barry T. Wright en
John Hill Jr.
Green Haven Correctional Facility
Stormvill New York 12582
Dear Brothers and Sisters
Hello let me state first who ever reads this letter please
bear with me, I am a very uneducated person and very
slow thinking confuse. I am doing IVz to 15
yearsbecause because, I am trying to write this letter
because I have read the book Drum. My life is America
has no skills, no trades and my english no tone. I enjoy
the book of Drum and was hopeing I could get involve
with nothing to offer. I have been searching for
something to do in life but have not talent. I couldn't
learn english. I couldn't work at no trades, nothing
seemed to have fit me and its not because I didn't try, I
have try each subject at least 3 or 4 times but I just
couldn't comprehend maybe because it was nothing
BJack.I always felt that doing something the america
way was taking something from me it just didn't coor-
dinate with the rhythm inside me as a person. Please
don't think that I am crying the blues, I have been doing
time since I was 14 years of age but I would like for so-
meone to help me find something in life. I love my peo-
ple and I don't want to be separated from them any
longer. I will be 31 in February and there no telling how
old I will be when I get out I would like to join the
University of Massachusetts some one will help me
maybe someone from the University can send me some
literature to read and study and after a certain length
of time maybe some one could send me a test to take to
see if I have progress any or what ever can be done. I
may never amount up to any thing but I swear to the
University of Massachusetts and to the Black Brothers
and Sisters that I will try with some help. I am not very
good writer and in the enlgish language all may soimd
phony. I don't want my letter to sound phone because I
am a person looking for directions there nothing to tell
about myself born in america but from africa and I
would like togo home.
I am fighting my case in court I have my papers in the
federal district court which has been there over 10
months now but we know how the system treats us
black people like we don't even existence like if we
don't have a life to live.
As I have said I am not looking for anyone to write me
but if some one could just answer this letter even if its
to tell me that I have my information wrong, just to tell
me something so I won't be left at a standstill I would
be very greatful. Thank you.
Robert L. Taylor
77a 0215 g3 342
A warrior does not abandon himself to anything, not
even to this death. A warrior is not a walling partner; a
warrior is not available, and if he involves himself with
seomthing, you can be sure that he is aware of what he
- don Juan
Dear Brothers & Sisters
I am writing ta ya cause i would lank ta share some
thoughts and ideas vdd ya dat i have runnin through my
mind. De thangs dat i wish ta say ta ya are indicative 'a
my own thankin and de results'a what i feel all Black
folks should and must be about. Someone handed me ah
copy'a ya magazine THE DRUM' Spring 1976. Vol. 7 No.
2. i foimd it very informative and really strong, i lahked
it. i really thank ya Brothers and "Sisters" dere have
been workin hard ta lay ah good foundation fur our
i have worked on dis idea 'a sumthin i call "Exporting-
hnporting The Struggle." Dis has ta do wid our relyin
on our own means 'a COMMUNICATIONS in relaying
and findin out bout what is heppenin ta Black-Us in dis
society. Dis is basically done through de various means
dat we utilize every day in dealin wid 1 another. In
other words, we begin ta use The Grapevine politically-
-rather den lahk before where where we may only use
it fur mostly "gossip" and "bullshit." Dis is where we
begin to utilize and relie on our own source'a COM-
MUNICATIONS... passin de Struggle on... instead 'a
dependin on de MEDIA! Cause we already know from
harsh and sad experiences dat de Media LIE! De Media
will either tell us a LIE bout our-selves and our struggle
OR it will IGNOR us altogether. Dis has been both our
objective and subjective experiences in dis kountry.
My idea is dat we not depend on de Media no longer fur
interpretation'a our-selves or de world. Dis is how i've
come ta our Responsibility and Duty fur "passin on De
Struggle" ta 1 another.
My thoughts in dealing wid dis also centers roimd de
aspects'a our predominately Black colleges AND Black
college students. Dis same sharin'a De Struggle kin be
done on de college campuses.. .dealin wid campus life
(as it relates ta de peculiar struggles'a Black students
and each Black student is made aware'a de struggle in-
volvement on each campus.
Dis would be carried out by having all predominately
Black college students contactin 1 another and begin
sharing: ideas' thoughts, informational matters, crises
on campus, etcs. Dis wo'Jd 1 e done at all predominate-
turn to page 69
and on a deeper level...
we have been here... forever-yesterday
. existing back through time and space from
this continent to the middle passage to the
shores of the Land of the Blacks...
Our bloodline flows to the Great Pyramids and
non-stop... back to the hands of our First
and on a deeper level. . .
we have been here... forever-yesterday
and if we are to be here forever-tomorrow
we have to take care of those who are the
Keepers of that time which is forward of us. . .the
carl e yates
Apartheid and the International Year of the Child
heed, O, heed, O, somber list'ner,
heed these plaintive sounds I hear,
on this international year of the child—
this year, nineteen seventy-nine...
hear the voices of anxious black soweto kids-
doleful, sonorous, spine-chiling moans
from the bubbling mouths of youngsters,
murmuring in their own puerile manner,
about the international year of the child,
universally proclaimed by the united nations,
to be celebrated and extolled in eulogy
by all of mankind the wide world over...
hear these hear-rending utterances:
"Too late! Too late! Too late!
we've been gunned down already;
already hundreds of us have perished,
for protesting 'gainst inferior education...
international year of the child!
international year of the child!
O, O, what a year, O, 0, ! --
our own, our own, our own, own year!
but, here in apartheidland, here,
who will ever welcome you,
international year of the child?
here, a black child's for gunning down,
by hefty, hefty, ferocious policemen,
for craving and demanding a good education...
and our people are non-people -
non-citizens, voiceless, voteless,
and only temporary sojourners
in their god-given land of origin,
land of life, work, birth and death...
for ever, we are trampled down
dehumanized, subjugated, oppressed,
impoverished and humiliated...
what are we, what are we?
we're vulnerable "tsotsis":
urchins, beggars, scroungers;
offspring of migratory laborers;
progeny of hardcore jailbirds;
descendants of farm squatters,
of underpaid parents
and under-privileged folks,
themselves victims of penury...
ten times less than white kids
in state educational estimation...
what have we to look up to
in this international year of the child?
we're simply helpless recipients
of immorality and miscegenation;
hunger, thirst and rags our daily fare;
we're on the receiving end of apartheid -
bitter laws, ghastly jails,
tortuous detentions, merciless bannings,
"passes", immobility, homelessness...
how, indeed, will this year be viewed ~
this proclaimed year of the child,
that was intended for youngsters like me,
in an apartheid-obsessed south africa,
clutched in a diabolical mania
and weird, hating political system
obnoxious and a virulent anathema
to all of mankind worldwide -
an ugly and monstrous bogey?
we've known no-one all round the globe
loving, admiring or adoring apartheid ~
brutal, repressive, discriminatory,
rigid and for "whites only",
where everything's compartmentalized
into a systematised segregation pattern...,
in everything of significance to man -
education, art, science, sport, economy,
social amenities, health facilities,
citizenship, human rights and dignity...
O, O, you who christened this year of the child,
and ushered her in pomp and majesty,
to a country sick with this canker
of apartheid and bitter racial animosity:
what plans have you for us, black kids,
to satisfy our ambitions and aspirations?
is this south africa of racial fury and tyranny -
this notorious cradle of apartheid -
ready to receive the year of the child?
international year of the child,
how we wish you were really for black kids!
What? What, what have you brought us,
eager and anxious black kids, like me?
we are perpetually and inexorably deprived
CLASS OF 1980
In May 1980. the ninth class of the CCEBS program
will be graduating. Members of the class will be among
the more than a million young men and women who will
receive college degrees and embark upon their respec-
tive career paths.
You are also the first class of the new decade - the
1980s. Most likely you don't remember the 1950s civil
rights era or the turbulent 1960s; but you certainly were
the young people who benefitted from those struggles.
The "baton of the future" is passed on to you. Carry it
well for you are the future!
The 80s are part of a new work era - technology, and
you will confront different challenges which will be an
integral part of that social and economic phenomenon.
However, your short-lived and well-rewarded educa-
tional experience at the University, hopefully, will af-
ford you the courage to face the future optimistically.
On behalf of the CCEBS Board of Directors, the Staff,
and I; we conunend you on a job well done!
When the Spring '79 Drum was published, I omitted two
students from the list. Please accept my most sincere
Donna Saimders Jackson
Carol J. Carter
Paul F. Ainsley
Chung Ha Lee
Waim Ming Wong
THE NATIONAL HISTORIC
LANDMARK DEDICATION TO
DR. W. E. B. DUBOIS
Marlene E. Duncan
The contributions of the distinguished W. E.B.
DuBois were finally given official United States
federal recognition in Great Harrington,
Massachusetts, on Saturday, October 20, 1979. His
boyhood homesite - called by Dr. DuBois as the
"House of the Black Burghardts" - was designated
as a National Historical Landmark. (The homesite
was originally dedicated as a memorial park on Oc-
tober 18, 1969.) After ten long years of confronta-
tions and deliberations, the struggles of Herbert Ap-
theker, members of the DviBois Memorial Committee,
and other dedicated individuals have resulted in the
U. S. accepting and honoring the DuBois legacy.
The Berkshire Hills environment was conducive to
the nature of the ceremonies. The sim glimmered as
1 100 people met in the Tanglewood Concert Theatre,
Lenox, Massachusetts, to give personal expression
of esteem and honor to this great African-American
patriot. The program commenced with recorded
selections of the late Paul Robeson which instilled
within the audience "a sense.of power and reflec-
tion." Performers from the Elma Lewis NCAA (Na-
tional Center of Afro-American Artists) inspired us
with selections of Black prose. Immediately follow-
ing the NCAA presentation, David Jackson con-
ducted the "Voices of New Africa House Choir"
which consists largely of members from the Black
Student body from the University of
Massachusetts/Amherst. They sang exultations of
praise to honor the spirit of Dr. DoBois.
The Master of Ceremonies, Homer Meade, a Pro-
fessor in the DuBois Department of Afro-American
Studies at the University of Massachusetts, briefly
remarked on the life of DuBois. He spoke of Dr.
DuBois' perseverance and relentlessness in the
struggle for Black social, political and economic
equality. Professor Meade stressed that Dr. DuBois
lived his years completely for the progress of his
people. From a recorded interview of Dr. DuBois
done for Folkways Records, Dr. DuBois expressed
his sentiments on his experiences at Fisk University
and its positive attributes. The zeal that DuBois por-
trayed throughout his 95 years is a model of ex-
cellence for all who search after truth.
The heir to the DuBois legacy, David Graham
DuBois, was among the Hst of guests. Traveling from
his home in Cairo, Egypt, he voiced his recognition of
his responsibilities bequeathed to him in accepting
the name DuBois and in the keeping with the respect
and honor due to Dr. DuBois. "It is a charge to carry
forward the legacy with dignity, with commitment,
and with militancy. I pledge to you that I will do my
utmost to carry forward the true legacy in all of its
aspects as a contribution to the struggles that are
ahead.. .for all oppressed himianity."
Walter Wilson, the co-foimder and executive
secretary of the W. E. B. DuBois Memorial Commit-
tee, gave a lengthy and detailed description of his in-
volvement with DuBois. He referred to him as a
"prophet who sought to make real the statutes of the
Declaration of Independence. He fought for human
rights, civil rights, he made many friends and the
proper enemies." Mr. Wilson had purchased the
homesite and collaborated with the committee to
assure its designation. He presently sits on a board
which is aiming to construct a theatrical shell in
DuBois' honor - featuring DuBois' literature.
Two distinguished foreign guests who were pre-
sent were His Excellency Dr. Quaison-Sackey, Am-
bassador to the U.S. from Ghana and Counsellor Mr.
Xie Qimei from the Washington Embassy of the Peo-
ple's Republic of China. Dr. Quaison-Sackey
presented DuBois as "a man of vision, and faith, an
African and a humanitarian. He spent his whole life
fighting for humanity. He inspired many Africans-
many of whom are today the leaders of Africa." He
proclaimed that "at last, America has received its
own." Mr. Xie Qimei read a letter which was written
by His Excellency Chai Zemin, Ambassador of the
I to r Dr. Jonathan Oaube • President ■ Berkshire Community College
Dr. Randolph Bromery • former Chancellor, University of Massachusetts. Amherst
Professor Michael Thelwell ■ W.E.B. DuBois Department of African/American Studies, University of Massachusetts, Amherst
Elma Lewis ■ Director Elma Lewis National Center of Afro-American Artists
Jean Carey Bond • Contributing Editor, Freedomways
David Graham DuBois - Essayist. Political Activist
Pete Seeger - Folk Singer
Dr. Herbert Aptheker - Literary Executor of the WEB. DuBois papers
Dr. Edmund Gordon Professor, Yale University and Co-founder of the W.E.B. DuBois Memorial Committee
People's Republic of China. Within the context of the
correspondence, DuBois was referred to as "a great
man of all times. Not just for his struggling for Black
people, but mankind." He said, "the memory of his
outstanding academic achievements and friendship
will live forever in the lives of Chinese people." It
was remarked that they have instituted his
teachings into their country's history.
Margaret Bush Wilson, Chair of the Board of
Directors of the NAACP expressed our indebtedness
to Dr. DuBois. She voiced that the NAACP holds with
the high standards of Dr. DuBois and the NAACP's
recognition of the universality of his character.
"DuBois was, she said, "truly a global man - a citizen
of the world." His vocational and literary pieces
have served as an inspiration - and exemplifies a
mode in which all oppressed people should pattern
their lives. The reluctance of the U.S. to acknow-
ledge his contributions to the total history of the
world is another reflection of the failure of
American democracy. In the words of Mrs. Wilson,
"The ceremonial-dedication was "fitting, ap-
propriate and long overdue. ..for too long he has been
a prophet without honor in his own country."
Greetings were given from the following organiza-
tions: Freedomways, National Education Associa-
tion, NCAA, Massachusetts State Legislature; and
representatives of the University of Massachusetts,
the W. E. B. DuBois Department of Afro-American
Studies, University of Massachusetts/Amherst,
Berkshire Community College, gave their tributes to
the life and work of Dr. DuBois. Former University of
Massachusetts Chancellor, Randolph Bromery,
spoke of the importance of the DuBois Papers which
number more than a quarter of a million pages. This
is the largest single collection in America. He
recapitulated the notion of "the talented tenth"
which was conceived by Dr. DuBois during his in-
volvement with Alexander Crummell. "Every group
is measured by their talented tenth and we must
strive for intellectual achievement." turn to page 44
Mrs. Margaret G. Bush Wilson •
Chairwoman of the Board of Directors NAACP
Take my heart
Teach it to sing like yours
the echos of energy
repeat the very
nerve upon nerve fiber
squeeze out the balled up tensions
flex me down into
hear the colors of my sound
aggravate my screaming
be my dream in a material
dip your palm print in
this invisible ink
listen to my chart-knowledge
think that God put us here
feel me care
delay the sensual portion
betray the lust
serenade the quietude
teach my veins why
adore my love
be my God/my altar
my prayer & my prayer's
look beyond my face
see my left eye —
it's the same as
the one they use
i need you with the
passion of a billion
people in a billion
worlds/i run a—
head of time to save
you from exhaustion
I am squeeze
You talk that talk when you're doing the blow
Walk that walk when you perceive the show
The ignorance you deploris your
I got better things to do than listen to your serious
R. D. Jordan
we dream, we touch, we taste
the forbidden fruit,
we agree to close our minds to
of things that must occur,
we open to each other,
touch, and tell our truths,
our questions a delicate caress;
the response within a breath,
and growing on the vine,
new leaves unfold and tremble,
old ones are removed
with the kiss of wind,
fallen in a pile on the cold wooden floor
i kick your jeans under the bed.
you pick me up and put me down.
i pull you over and swing up around,
and finding that I love its taste,
indulge upon your sweetness,
your strength stirs mine.
I accept all that you have to offer
and tease you that it is not enough,
and, slowly, we drain each other,
the rain beats on the windows now;
harder, harder the storm rages,
the glass panes shudder against the compelling wind,
the lightning convulses until it
hears its deafening thunder,
and that the storm now passes
new leaves will soon unfold,
the old ones hang bitterly in wait
for the kiss of death.
your hair stirs lightly when I flick it with my breath.
Karen Marie Thomas
I slammed the car
door and drew my
coat tightly around
me. A sudden gust
of wind blew, sting-
ing my face . Jesus , it
was cold. On days
like this, I never
seem to remember
my hat and gloves.
I walked quickly to the
corner looking to the left
and the right. Damn it, it
was already 10 o'clock.
Sherry would wonder why
I wasn't there yet. I need-
ed to hurry.
I turned the corner and bumped
into a man.
"Oh excuse me... Oh, here's your hat." I
hurried past him, burying my head in my
collar. I didn't look back, but I could tell
that he was staring at me.
I walked faster and faster, rubbing my hands
together. The cold was really bothering me. My
hands were red and chapped and my nose kept run-
ning. Christ, I forgot tissues too.
"Remember the day in December, Richard, when
we hurried home to make love and sip cocoa?"
Sherry said as she snuggled close to me.
I smiled at her and brushed a wisp of hair out of
"Well, today seems just as cold. I think we have
some cocoa. What do you say?" she said looking up
"Honey, I think we better finish shopping first,"
Damn Sherry. Things always have to be her way.
That day was no different. She began crying in the
middle of the street, as busy as it was downtown.
I turned the another corner. Bouck Avenue. This
is the street. I pulled a worn piece of paper out of my
pocket. 1235, where the hell is 1235? Oh wait a
minute, 1202, 1200. Christ, its the other way.
Johnny gave me the wrong directions. I started walk-
ing the other way. What the hell is that old man
looking at? People make mistakes.
"Richard, I wish that we could just stay here
forever. I mean, its peaceful here. We don't have to
worry about what people will say," Sherry said.
"I know Sherry, but the world is still going on
outside. We've got to join it sooner or later," I said.
"Oh I suppose we do. But let's not discuss that
now, let's just enjoy our time together."
We hugged each other and I gave her a long kiss. I
rose from the courch and put on an old Tempta-
tions' record. I grabbed Sherry to her feet and pulled
her tight to me.
"I got sunshine on a cloudy day,
You may ask what can make a guy feel this way,
Oh my girl, my girl."
Yeah, I dig those old Temptations records.
Oh shit Sherry. I hate your goddam face. Who
ever heard of a white girl getting off to the Tempta-
tions? I hate your flat ass. I hate your perfect com-
plexion and your goddam straight teeth. My mother
couldn't afford to send me to a orthodonist, as you
call it. There's no daddy there with big bucks for
me. I hate you. I hate you. I wish you would die and
leave me alone.
1235. This is the house. Damn it looks as bad as
"Richard, I don't want to hear it. Just get
home before I lock you out for good. Lord knows
I don't have strength for this."
"I can't Mama."
"You can't what?"
"I can't come home. You have to come here.
The poHce, they locked me and Johnny up,
Mama, we was..."
"Oh Jesus, oh help me, oh God. My baby
done robbed somebody," Mama wailed.
"I could picture her. She had on that raggedy
housecoat and her fluffy slippers and she sat on
her favorite cracked vinyl chair. Yeah, Mama's
throne, rocking to and fro, holding her head and
pulling her hair, while her feet pounded the
floor. Oh Mama, I'm sorry. I wanted you to have
that pretty coat in the window. We threw the
ball through like an accident. I grabbed the coat
and ran. A pretty warm coat for my mama. They
caught me, oh. Mama, pretty warm coat that
you've never had.
The cops cruised past where I had turned. I
took the tin foil package out and put it in a gar-
bage pail. Let the rats flip out on that shit. I'm a
man, I don't need it.
On, I'm cold and my feet are tired. I want to
go home and sip cocoa and let Sherry rub my
cold, ashy feet. God, I know its late. I got to get
I met her at this racial mixer my roommate
talked me into. She was so fine for a white girl.
Long flowing hair.
"Want to dance?" I asked her.
She smiled such a pretty smile. We danced. I
didn't notice at first. God knows I didn't notice.
The party got quiet, it was too quiet. I looked
up. Everyone stared. I looked at Sherry. She
didn't care. She just kept on smiling and danc-
"Hey, didn't you teach that nigger how to
act?" I heard someone ask my roommate.
The blacks stood on the other side of the
room. I heard George say, "Shit, I ain't gonna
stand up for him. Nigger lost his mind asking
that girl to dance. He knows the rules. We stay
over here, they over there. Yeah, a real racial
I was jumped going home that night. They
beat me so bad. I could hear my roommate yell-
ing, "Don't kill him. Let him live with scars."
I remember Sherry coming to the hospital,
teary-eyed. She smiled at me and held my hand.
Said she was sorry.
My Mama came. She prayed. On her hands
and knees she asked Jesus to show me the way.
Said I knew too much, asked the Lord to help
What block did I leave the car on? I wanted to
leave now. I had enough of this. I lived in an
apartment on the other side of town, without a
single roach. Where's the car? I headed back
towards the lighted streets.
"Baby, I care for you. It's impossible. We
gonna hurt each other. You go ahead and find
yourself a nice Jewish doctor," I said.
"No Richard. That's what my parents want. I
need someone that cares for me for what I am. "
"What are you Sherry?"
"I'm a person with feelings. Race and color
"Sherry, cut the shit. You think you're some
type of saint or something?"
"No. Damn it Richard. I would for just once,
like to be able to do things not because they're
right, but because of how I feel. My parents can
take their racist attitudes and shove it."
I laughed. "Jesus, another little innocent
white girl, out to make the world a place of
democracy for all nice Nigras. Forget it. Sherry. I
don't need to be your personal playtoy. Find
yourself another boy."
I left and slammed the door.
The next week I packed my bags. My mama
stood at the doorway looking old and tired.
"Mama, I can't live home forever. I got to
leave sometime... Mama..." I grabbed her
hand. It felt warm and moist, but it slid away
"Mama, say something."
She said nothing. She stood there in her fluffy
slippers and her arms dangling at her sides.
Mama just stood there, looking so tired. She
turn to page 47
(reflections of a fourteen year old "mother")
mis-carried away by unshed tears...
mis-conceived by those who will
never know —
can i swing on the swings?
CHILDHOOD EDUCATION IN CUBA
"Children are the maJJeabJe clay
from which the new man can he
shaped without any of the old faults."
The ultimate goal of the Cuban revolution has been
the development of a new society, based on the concept
of the "new man". This new society has been envision-
ed by revolutionary leaders to be one in which all
members of society are free to develop themselves to
their fullest individual potential, free from discrimina-
tion and opporession. Children are given a special
place in this society. They represent hope for the future
and are seen as having an important role to play in the
development of the revolution. As is often said in Cuba
today, children are the revolution.
Consistent with these views, the Cuban government
sees education as a top priority. This is reflected in the
fact that about 1/5 of the coimtry's entire gross na-
tional product was allocated for schooling inl 1968-9.1
By 1972, the national expenditure on education marked
a 523% increase over the education budget the year
prior to the Revolution. In fact' education rivals sugar
as one of Cuba's largest investments. 2
With the "new man" in mind, efforts have been
channeled into the development of a well established
day care system, as well as other aspects of childhood
education. According to Clementine Serra, National
Director of the Circulos (circles or day care centers),
the main goal of the circulos is to "create an integral
child, a healthy child, strong, well developed, cultural-
ly prepared, politically clear, with a sense of justice. "3
The Cubans believe that all education has a bias.
Education minister, Jose Ramon, explained that
"societies will not support schools which do not serve
its ends. "4 Education is not merely "technical instruc-
tion," it is the training of the himian character, "its
essence and its soul", he said.
Because of the great responsibility placed on the cir-
culos, they are very careful in their selection of child
care workers, the training of these workers and in the
creation of curriculiun. In order to select the best
teachers, a test is given which helps to identify those
who have the necessary qualities for working with
children. Some of these qualities include the ability to
establish loving relationships with children and the
ability to stimulate independence, autonomy and
curiosity. Other aspects personal character are also
stressed. Cubans believe that they "cannot have
anyone without Revolutionary convictions to be involv-
ed in the formation of the next generation. "5
All circle workers are instructed in feeding, hygeine,
language and motor development. Sophisticated
psychological theories are taught in simple language
and by example. Workers are constantly reminded of
the child's need for love and attention. They are urged
to speak with the child as much as possible to develop
language abilities. They are also required to set aside a
few minutes in the morning and afternoon without
failure, to play vdth each child individually.
Cubans have also developed innovations for foster-
ing such qualities in their children as sharing, respect
for work, responsibility, self-discipline and coopera-
tion. Responsibility is fostered by having children feed,
dress and clean up after themselves as soon as they are
able. The child is also reminded constantly that
whatever task they choose, must be worked to the
Those who show a special aptitude in some area are
singled out for praise. These exemplary children are
then put with children who are not progressing as fast
in that particular area and are expected to help them
along. Excessive egoism is discouraged and greater
praise if given to helping and sharing than in excelling.
In the circulos, children are taught about concepts
such as revolution, imperialism and socialist solidarity.
This often takes the form of discussions, songs or pup-
pet plays focusing on martyrs of the Revolution.
Children are also taught to appreciate workers and the
tmeme of work is depicted in many of their games and
other activities. Work duty is awarded on a prize for
exceptional behavior, thus encouraging a positive at-
titude towards work. Opportunities are also provided
for children to come in contact with workers in their
center and in the community. Because child care is
aimed at the total development of the child, respon-
sibility is placed on the entire society. Parents and the
community are actively involved with the circulos.
Each circulo, for example is "adopted" by a local work
group - a factory or collective. The group provides
resources and labor to the circulo. In addition to pro-
viding contact with workers, this plan aids in the ex-
tablishment of a large scale day care system.
Parents are encouraged to participate in the lives of
their children in a number of ways. In the circulos and
public schools, there are formal meetings each month
which parents are expected to attend. They are en-
couraged to offer suggestions to the school and to
critize or question schedule and curriculum. These
meetings are also used as a means for increasing
parent understanding of child development patterns,
parenting techniques and the latest developments
in child psychology.
While the day care centers are designed to lay the
foundation for the creation of the new human being,
the Schools in the Coimtryside are designed to build on
that foundation. Schools in the Countryside form the
ba.ckbone of Cuba's new educational system - one
which integrates work and study. The concept of the
schools in the countryside grew out of over a decade of
educational experimentation after the Revolution. By
far, one of the most important influences was the
Literacy Campaign of 1961' which sent thousands of
Cuba's youth to the countryside to work and live with
the peasants they were teaching to read. In addition,
one must not overlook the influence of Cuban
philosopher and nationalist, Jose Marti, who long
before the Revolution said:
In the school one must learn how to deal
with the forces with which one must struggle
in life. We should say workshops, not
schools. In the afternoons, the pen; but in
the mornings, the hoe. 6
Schools in the Coimtryside are live-in educational
quarters for students in the seventh through tenth
grades. The schools are all located in rural areas
where agricultural a*Land is available for students to
do productive work as an integral part of their educa-
tional program. The Cuban society places great value
on the worker and through the educational system, it
aims at dissolving the dichotomy between mental and
The agricultural work on the students is not just a
token gesture, but is part of the economic development
plan for the region. Cuba, with over 41/ of her nine
million people imder the age of 16, is required to spend
enormous amoimts to meet educational needs. Present
services could not have been provided without the in-
corporation of the coimtry's youth into the economy.
Each school is held responsible for 500 hectares of land
and is expected to eventually become self-financing.
Students therefore take this aspect of their work
seriously, understanding it to be important not only to
their school but their coimtry.
The students take to the fields in groups of 40 where
they fertilize, weed, plant and harvest. These groups
are coeducational, since both boys and girls take the
same classes, includ ing driving tractors and planting
trees. Likewise, boys learn to take part in "service
tasks" or what was previously considered domestic or
"women's work," before the Revolution.
The presence of the schools also helps to strengthen
the communities in which they are located. Students
provide the commimities with cultural activities by
musical and theatrical groups. Many of the school's
personnel come from surroimding areas and in this
way a healthy and supportive atmosphere is created
for the children.
The family is made to play the important part in the
child's educational development. After each exam
period, meetings are organized in which parents,
students and faculty analyze the student's grades.
Parents also sit with students and teachers on the
School Covuicils, the admministrative bodies of the
schools. Families are also given the opportunity during
school vacations, to spend a week living at their
By far, one of the most intriguing aspects of
childhood education and development in Cuba is the
Union of Pioneers - the mass organization through whic
children play a major role in rimning schools. Pioneers
are asked to analyze their school work and activities,
set goals and standards and to organize themselves in
reaching them. This is done with the help of teachers
and Pioneer guides. This organization is consistent
with the willingness of the Revolution to let the children
take on major responsibilities.
The Union of Pioneers is a well structured organiza-
tion. Pioneers in the same classroom are divided into
units of five or ten children. These units form a detach-
ment, which acts as the main body through which
children relate to the school and extracurricular ac-
tivities. Each imit has a chief and together they elect a
chief of the detachment. Detachment chiefs form a
Council of Pioneers, headed by a chief of Pioneers of
the school. The Council is responsible for basic deci-
sion making, and can be vetoed by the Collective of
Pioneers (i.e.' meeting of the entire Pioneer member-
One of the driving forces which keep the Pioneers in
motion is the practice of "emulations." Emulation, the
socialist form of competition, is not based on producing
winners but on striving to equal or excel. To win an
emulation, the student or his group must complete a
series of tasks in academics, productive work or extra-
curricular activity. The winner is considered to have
set a standard that every other student can and
hopefully will meet. In this way' everyone is advanced.
turn to page 46
She'll be weeping tears of womanhood
profuse like the waters of the Nile
stretching between the Sahara and the Kiliman-
Of womanhood. Raindrop tears
a good domestic -
She, II hold the candle up
Lil<e shipwrecked sailors,
Her palm a poor lampshare to shield the flicker.
She will limp down the wooden stair
I overheard her whimper once
After a day's toil at our pen:
And slowly diminished into a dot
Into the shanty-town.
If her son could see her now
Crawling on the floor;
Oh! If her daughter'd watch her for a while
removing the stains from underwear...
If she should wrongly chide her child tonight
Or let her tongue slip loud public obscenities
Please forgive her.
She'll wear a smile thru surging tears
From Nandi to Mrs Mahlangu
STretching thru steep crevices
And the desert wasteland of womanhood.
i like to see you move.
your sweet body should make the news;
pecan-colored and silky smooth.
yes, my love, you've got the groove.
just look into my eyes.
lord, you have me hypnotized.
black, like rare pearls, and tellin no lies.
bumin' flame that never dies.
longing for your touch,
mister, I need you, oh, so much,
strong and hard, yet soft; don't rush,
your lovin' makes my body blush.
deborah k. griffith
Her smile is the windfall
Of the cold weather's caprice.
a poem for humanity
my soul is oh so restless
it hurts me to my heart
i want to do something, i know
i know not, where to start
so restless is my soul
from what, i am not sure
restless, restless is my soul
my motives solely pure?
i can't begin to say.
this burning lust, craving desire
just will not go away.
i've tried through meditation to
understand this need
i've sought through reading, sleep and prayer for
which there has been no head
i just might die. without relief.
i'm frightened when this i see
but if i don't begin my start
i know that this could he.
but . . . of the all uncertainty
rest a soul, i see
that anything that i beseech
must begin with me.
in what time and day will afro-americans
be able to walk this country side, as
free as the white man?
when will the white man be able to
understand and respect afro-americans
as people, with a culture that is beautiful
and so divine? a culture that is made up of
the african people.
when will the white man realize, africans
taught him mathematics, to read and build?
though in return he put my african brothers
and sisters into a system called "slavery, "
until this country was built, and gave them
so called freedom with "emancipation proclamation.
colorless and silent
a translucent pearl
dare i touch?
deeper still, entering into
our minds joined within this beam,
a ray, brighter than a glowing star
engulfs us/ together in thought
this time forever,
as we descend in thoughts
till time indefinite/
i reach out
and wipe away his tears.
by carol toles 79
FOR THE LOVE
Louise turned over
sleepishly to shut her
alarm off, and turned
back over to continue to
sleep when her mother
yelled from down stairs.
"Louise, get up honey its 7:00,
you don't want to be late on the
first day of school, now do ya?"
"O.K. mom, I'm gettin up." Louise roll-
ed out of bed as if she might break if she
moved any faster. While stretching and
yawning, her arms swinged loosely and
helplessly in the air almost long enough to
reach the drop light hanging from the ceil-
ing, she noticed that her sister wasn't in the
bed next to hers. Kathy, Louise's older
sister, usually gets up early, but this morn-
ing the bed looked like she hadn't slept in it
Tiie aroma of fried bacon and biscuits baking
encouraged Louise to get dressed quickly because
she wanted to go to her new school with a full
stomach. She pulled out her new green dress that
she received from her grandmother as a "back to
school" present. Standing in front of the mirror
Louise admired the dress and the way it fitted
snuggly around her waist. With long sleeves and a
high collar, it's an appropriate style and texture for
the cool fall morning. "I can see me now, walking
in the class room, all of the girls would come to me
after school to ask where I'd get such a b'aad
dress". "Louise it's 7:30, do you want breakfast or
not, it's getting cold." "Be right down mom, I'm
combing my hair." By the tone of her mother's
voice Louise noticed that she wasn't in a good
mood for some strange reason. "Maybe I should
have a new hair-do to go along with my new
dress," Louise thinks aloud to herself. At thirteen
years old, Louise is still rearing her hair in two
pony tails. She brushed her hair down and comb-
ed it loose. One last glance in the mirror she states
"No more pony tails for me," and ran down the
"Wow mom, breakfast sure smells good, I'm
"I thought you would be honey, so I made your
favorite... french toast with apple jelly, bacon,
eggs, and biscuits... turn around let me see how
the dress fits."
Louise turned around slowly running her fingers
through her long black hair, with that
sophisticated look: head up high, hands on her
small developing hips, with a slight grin across her
face. While setting the table Louise's mother wat-
ched her young teenage daughter flounder
around the kitchen as if she was walking down the
runway of the Miss Black America pageant.
"How ya like it?"
"It's very becoming, but..."
"Oh, there goes that but, but what?"
"But I think you're gettin' carried away.
Especially with the new hair style."
"Oh mom, why..."
"Wait a minute young lady, I'm not through.
You're only going to the eighth grade, why such a
big change? Yesterday you had two nice long
pony tails with ribbons."
"Mom the girls in the eighth grade don't wear
pony tails anymore. I'm not a kid, I'm a teenager
Her mother finished setting the table, trying to
believe that her daughter is growing up faster than
she had realized.
"Well Miss Teenager, why don't you add a cou-
ple of barretts or a ribbon to keep your hair from
fallin' in ya eyes, because with your hair down you
look at least three years older. . . You're still a child
so act like it."
"Shoot, next year I'll be in high school then
whatsha gonna say. . . I'm just startin, to look older
early. I ain't no kid ya know."
"Here eat your breakfast and get outta here."
They both ate in silence for a while. Each feeling
guilty of the unnecessary argument.
"Where's everybody at?... Did daddy leave for
you know what, Kathy didn't sleep in her..."
She stopped suddenly realizing that maybe she
was talking too much again. The last time Kathy
stayed out all night and didn't come home she
made Louise promise her not to tell their parents.
Louise continued to chew her food without look-
"Oh honey, there's some bad news..."
"What? what happened?" she asked in a sur-
prised tone of voice, "did Kathy run away from
home with Thomas?"
"No, it's nothing like that."
"Then where's Kathy? Why didn't she sleep
here last night? do ya know why she left?"
"Calm down Louise, maybe I should explain it
to you when you get back from school. I don't
want you worrying about this on your first day at
the new school."
"Is Kathy in jail? did she get kidnapped or
somethih'? Come on you can tell me. Pleeaase, I
won't worry about it, it would only bug me more if
I don't find out."
"Louise, it's your grandmother, she-.."
"What does grandma have to do with Kathy
running away from home?"
"Will ya listen to me," her mother shouts. She is
now angry with Louise's jumping to her own con-
clusion and not trying to understand her.
"Your sister didn't run away from home with
Thomas, and no, she isn't in jail... She's over
grandma's house taking care of her and helping
her out around the house. Last night she had a
mild heart attack. Your father and I took her to the
hospital, but she's o.k. now."
Louise dropped the fork, raising her eyebrows
"Oh no... is she gonna be alright? shouldn't she
be in the hospital?"
"Her doctor sent her home. . .she's to stay in bed
and rest, it was only a slight attack," her mother
"Well I gonna go over to see her, she might
"You can't, you have to go to school. I told
Kathy to call me if she needed anything. . .she'll be
alright, I'm sure."
Louise is very fond of her grandmother. Her
grandmother is the one person who she admires
so much and will actually go out of her way to
please, which she seldom does for others.
Whenever Louise got sick her grandmother was
there to help her fever go down, or just there to
comfort her when she wasn't allowed out of bed.
"Why didn't ya wake me when all this happen-
ed? 1 woulda went to the hospital with yall."
"Honey, I told you I didn't want you worrying
about this. I know how much you love your
grandmother, but... I wanted you to get your rest
for this big day. Now 1 want you to go to school
and not worry, because grandma is gonna be
fine... I'll drive you to school if you'd like."
"No, that's o.k. I'll walk."
"Hurry up now, and finish your milk."
Louise tilted the glass of milk to her mouth lifeless-
ly, drinking slowly as if the milk were hot.
It was a nice fall morning, the leaves were
changing its color, the birds were chirping away in
the trees, and all of the kids were off to a new
Louise took her time walking to school, kicking
leaves as she walked, with her head down. As she
reached closer to the school heard the bell ranged
and all of the kids ran to the front door waiting
anxiously to start the school year off.
Louise is sitting in her chair not paying attention
to what's going on around her. All she can think of
right now is her grandmother, and the good times
they had spent together. The girl sitting next to
Louise shoved her on the arm.
"Hey... didn't you say your name was Louise?"
"Unh,...oh yeah, that's me."
"Didn't you hear the teacher call your
name?... why don't you answer?"
"Is Louise Russell here today?"
"Yes, teacher I'm here."
Louise could see already that this first day back
at school wasn't going to be like what she ex-
pected. "I wonder how grandma's feelin' now. As
long as I knew grandma she never got sick, it was
always me or Kathy. I remember a couple of years
ago when the whole family caught the flu except
her. She'll get over this. . .1 just know she will." She
thought of the good times that she had with her
grandmother. Like the time she went to Myrtle
Beach with her. Grandma did some really
outrageous things so that we had a good time.
Walking around the amusement center, we heard
the magician on the loud speaker looking for a
volunteer for his disappearing act. "OoooKkkk-
kaaa, I need one person to get into this
trunk... Comeon, come on, no harm will be
done... who shall it be... it's lots of fun."
Without hesitation grandma told Louise to hold
her pocketbook, and she volunteered to be in the
act. At five feet two inches tall, and weighing nine-
ty eight pounds grandma had no problem of get-
ting into the small trunk. Wearing her new outift, a
navy blue polyester pant suit with a matching blue
and white polka dot blouse, that she received on
Mother's Day, grandma didn't mind or even
thought about ruining it. On this day grandma
didn't look a day over forty, she also didn't feel a
day over forty. All the while Louise is standing in
the crowd frightened to death and worrying if this
crazy magician would bring grandma back. The
crowd was getting large and everyone was looking
amused. Someone standing near Louise made an
unpleasant comment. "Look at that ole lady, I
wonder what she think she's doin?" The crowd
was shocked to see grandma volunteer. Finally
the act was over. Running to grandma hugging
her, Louise felt so good knowing that she was
alright. "Scared ya there didn't I," her grand-
mother said smiling down at her with a witty smile.
A very energetic person at fifty five years old, it
just didn't seem right for her to have a heart at-
tack. I just know grandma will be alright, because
she's a happy person and bad things only happen
to sad old people.
" and leave your registration card on my
desk on the way out."
It was all Louise heard as she came back to
reality. Everyone was leaving, school was out and
Louise didn't hear what the teacher had to say.
On the way out she received her card telling her
what rooms her classes were in, she also explain-
ed to the teacher that she wasn't feeling well and
she'd bring her registration card in on the next
The first day at school was a bad one for
Louise, and she hoped that things would soon
change when her grandmother got better.
"Mom I'm home."
Louise went into the kitchen and made a
peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured
herself a glass of chocolate milk.
"Hi honey, how was the first day back at
Expecting to hear a long story of how
everything went, with the new teacher, and kids;
instead her mother's questions was answered
casually and unconcerningly.
"Oh, it was o.k., I guess... How's grandma?... I
think I'll give her a call."
"Wait a minute, Kathy just called and said she's
on her way home, and grandma is fine. Now tell
me how'd ya like the new kids and the school."
"Mom she can't leave grandma alone all by
herself, she might get another heart attack."
"Really Louise, she'll be alright... I'm going over
later to take her some dinner you can go with
"Good, but I still wanna call her."
Her grandmother's voice was low and amiable.
It was easy to see that her grandmother didn't ap-
preciate being in bed. She sounded tired but yet
there was a tone of happiness.
"Hello, hello grandma, how are ya, this is
turn to page 49
i would die in f
i would die in f
i would die in f
i would die in f
i would die in f
i would die in f
i would die in f
i would die in f
i would die in f
light of choice
light of freedom
light of justice/just us
light of respect
light of human decency
light of creativity/arts
light of struggling folks
light of revenge
light of peace
for i could not hold my head up without shame
for i could not hold my head up without fear
for i could not hold my head up without doubt
for i would not be a person,
and i am . . . somebody ... a man.
The Fruits Of A
The gift of an old farm on Lake Lashaway in East
Brookfield, Massachusetts was a signal of excep-
tional good fortune that came to St. John's Church in
Through the recreational program, the gift was to
spread the fame of St. John's Church farther across
the nation than any other single feature or activity of
its work. This farm was to later become the famous
David Fisher Atwater, for whom the camp was
named, was a Springfield physician of prominence
and means. Dr. DeBerry met Dr. Atwater through a
mutual friend, the Reverend D.J.L. Trask, who was
pastor of Memorial Church of Springfield. Dr. At-
water, on hearing the story and work of St. John's
Church and its proposed plans, made a modest con-
tribution as an expression of friendly interest. After
a prolonged illness and passing. Dr. Atwater's
daughter. Miss Mary Atwater, expressed a desire to
continue her father's interest in the work, indicating
that if at any time she might do something to further
that interest, she would be very pleased.
For several years, Dr. DeBerry had in mind the
idea of a summer camp for Negro boys and girls. To
realize this dream, two obstacles had to be over-
come: (1) Finding a suitable location for such an in-
stitution, and (2) Financing such a project.
Even though the first obstacle had been
eliminated, the second obstacle appeared insur-
moimtable. A real estate dealer handling property in
East Brookfield was contacted, an appointment was
arranged and property was shown to Dr. DeBerry.
After seeing the property and lakefront. Dr. DeBerry
realized this site was ideal for fulfilling his dream of
a camp. The property was composed of fifty-four (54)
acres of land, with a stately old ten (10] room farm
home and a barn. On the approval of his wife, Aman-
da DeBerry, Dr. DeBerry made a deposit, with the
imderstanding that time would be alloted to confer
with other interested parties.
Dr. DeBerry, reflecting on the promise made by
Miss Mary Atwater, contacted her and asked her to
contribute the sum of $2,000 to give the church equi-
ty on the property and permit the church taking
possession. The balance was to be obtained by other
means. However, instead of Miss Atwater con-
tributing the sum of $2,000, she gave the entire pur-
chase price of $4,800 so that the camp would be
July 1, 1921 was the first year the camp opened,
with an enrollment of forty (40) boys. After the end
of the first season, in August, there was a deficit of
$1,200. Miss Atwater was informed of the deficit
and offered to meet the annual deficit during her
lifetime, provided the deficit did not exceed $1,200,
with the stipulation that she was to remain
On January 2, 1927, Miss Atwater's will was of-
fered for probate and it was revealed that she had
made the camp beneficiary of an instrument to the
extent of $25,000, with the stipulation that this sum
was deposited in a trust fund at the local bank and
its interest was to be used annually for camp ex-
For twenty-seven  years. Miss Atwater had
followed the work of St. John's Church with interest
and munificent aid. The camp was an anonymous
gift to the church in 1920 and thereafter, in accor-
dance with her wishes, was known as Camp Atwater
in memory of her father. Dr. David Fisher Atwater.
This established an interesting institution as a per-
manent memorial to a friend and patron.'
For many years. Camp Atwater existed and was
owned and operated by Blacks. This was long before
Blacks were freely able to attend camps in this coun-
try, the impediments being racial segregation and
The History of St. John's CongregalionoJ Church, 1844-1962. Pp. 69, 70, 1962
The manner in which I have approached this
thesis, by beginning with the historical background,
has been to acquaint readers as well as myself with
a greater perspective of the concept of this institu-
tion. In doing so. I have equipped myself to address
DUNBAR COMMUNITY LEAGUE, INC.
George W. Lamb
Rev. H. M. Hulchings
Mrs. Columbio Johnion
J, Tober Bolden
Is/ Vice PreiidenI
Miss Rebecca Johnson
Milton J. Donovan
Mrs. Paul M, Umberl
2nd '/.ce PrcfdenI
Wotson B. Loughlon
Dr Moeeo McGoodwi
T, K. McAlliiter
James J. Curlis
Mrs. H. L. Moore
Eofle H, Poine
Mrs, Chester B. Bulkley
Mrs, Ernestine Pyle
Miii Olive Roiney*
Mrs. Rulh J, Reid
Mrs. G. L. Schadt
Henry A. Field
Robbi Hermon Snyder
Or, O. L. K, Froser
Dr. J. Gordon Gilkey
Miss MirJom Whillemo
Dr. William B. Hall
Rev. Donald 0. Wilion
3ry life Memberi
Rev. Donold O. Wilson, Chairman
Mrs. George L. SchadI Earl V. Gaontt
Miss eiiiobelh Chase Chorlcs F. Weckwerth
A. B. Mapp, £jiceu/ive Direclor
R. Turner Dickerson, Program Direcfor
Ramono Delworth, Office Manager
Anne BdCOlc, DiclJcian
J. H. Gilliam, Direclor Woler front
Miss Rjimoiin Da
Boys- St.';isoii Sum Mmina
Boys' Si.';i.son 0|X'ns
Boys' ScM.s.m Cl.ws
Alumni 1- It inu'n lining
22 liilv 2S
Girls' Slms-.u St.iirMiviiii[i
Cirls' S«.';is.in 0|x,'ns
Cirls" SiMS'in Clusis
any question which may be required of me to resolve
for perspective funding sources. In addition to this
particular aspect of my research, it has enabled us
to identify and re-establish old financial resources
and, at the same time, ascertain what new resources
are now available which may not have been ap-
plicable when an institution of this nature was being
As a further result of this research, a proposal
was developed and submitted to the Massachusetts
Historical Commission for acceptance on the Na-
tional Register of Historic Places so as to enhance
our eligibility as recipients of state funding of parks
and recreational places. This would be based on two
important aspects — (1] having a structure which
dates back as far as 1721; and (2) the vast number of
prominent, influential black leaders who attended
the camp and who have elevated themselves into
high places within the American social structure.
In considering that this institution once operated
as an effective and efficient deiverer of services for
a long period of time, for it to suddenly cease to func-
tion, warranted research in the area of problem
identification to ascertain reasons for failure, with
the purpose of re-establishing a stable and viable in-
stitution. For these kinds of determinations being
made, it was necessary to obtain an understanding
of fiscal and management problems. In interviews
relating to this phase of research, an abundance of
information was given which clearly indicated a
need for strong fiscal constraints and managerial
and staff development programs. With the im-
plementation of fiscal constraints and establishing a
need for bilateral, upper managerial positions, we
have isolated the problem of one person having too
many responsibilities and enhanced the probability
of offering more substance in program management
and program operation.
In considering the high rate of vandalism and the
high, increased rate of inflation, we felt there was a
need to develop staffing to reduce the rising cost of
rehabilitation. Receiving needed funding from the
Department of Labor, we were able to stay in line
with the very concepts by which this institution was
built — giving workable skills to the imemployed and
By this institution being closed for a period of
years, in considering its reopening, it was necessary
that we focus a great deal of attention on needed
resources. Our research led us to feel staffing would
be our main thrust and we systematically began our
search for a program director to develop a realistic
operational program for newly acquired and old
camperships, in conjunction with cultivation of
EQUIPMENT AND FACILITIES
Camp Atvvater was organized in
1420 by Dr. William N. DeBerry. then
Em'cuiivc Secretary of the Dunbar
Community League of Sprrngrteld.
Massachusetts. The site, a farm of
,Jifiy acres on the north shore of Lake
Lashaway at East Brookfieid, Mnssa-
cliusctts. was given for the purpose by
the late Mary M. Atwater of Spring-
hfld as a memorial to her father. Dr.
Diwid Fisher Atwater.
East Brookfield is a typical New
England village, located thirty-four
- _ miles east of Springfield. It is a regular
.''•-.-?-»,"■ ^ '"-''.""i""- -^ji--, station of the Boston and Albany
-- ' ' "- -^"'■.^' • '<* ~-'- railroad.
The Lod>!o The Camp is one mile from the
railway and bus stations at the village.
I c is supported by fees of campers, the contributions of organiiations and indi-
viduals, and the income of the Camp Atwater Endowment Fund.
The Camp's facilities for housing and feeding do not enable it to accom-
modate, without overcrowding, a quota of more than 220 campers at the same
time. Our experience at Atwater ha^ demonstrated clearly that to exceed this
q.iota, with our present physical equipment, is to reduce the qu.-jlity and effcc-
livcness of the work which the Camp is seeking to accomplish.
The camp grounds comprise 50 acres, much of which is woodland. Sheep's
Island, which is one acre in area and the only island in Lake Lashaway. is a part
of the camp property. The buildings include Beebe Recreation Hal!, Amity
with its East and West Annexes, the Whitcomb House, the Shelter, the Manual
Arts Shop, and ten dormitory huts.
The White Cottngf
The equipment of the buildings is
modern including running water, lights,
shower baths and indoor toilets.
Lake Lashaway offers admirable
facilities for all forms of water sports.
It is one of the most attractive ol New
England's smaller lakes. In area it is
approximately one mile in length and
a half mile in width.
The Camp maintains an ample
fleet of boats and canoes for the use of
the campers under supervision.
Atwater Infirmary was built and equipped in 1945, and opened for general
use during the season of 1946. The building is an attractive frame structure
(bungalow type) with a wide veranda on the cast and south sides. It contains
a ward, a dispensary, a storeroom, shower and tub bathrooms and private
quarters for the camp nurse. No extra charge is required of campers for infirmary
Atwater is especially fortunate in the possession of Sheep's Island, the only
island in Lake Lashaway. It is located about a quarter of a mile from the camp
beach. It is one acre in area and well shaded by maple, pine and other trees.
A limited number of older campers who have attained certain merits and
honors are permitted to reside on the Island. They live in the " Island Cabin"
which is built and equipped after the general plan of other Atwater huts. It
will accommodate from twenty-four to thirty residents.
The islanders and their counsellors rake their meals in the camp dining
hall and participate in the genera! program of the camp. S|X-cial bo.ils are
allocated to the islanders for their transixirlation to and from the mainland.
To reside on the Island is regarded bv all eamiXTs ;is .i ciuviid, .-iivcial
The well coa-^tructed s;md be:
crele retaining wall. An cx|x'rt swu
guard, suix-rvises all instruction an
No i.amix;r who i,-; unable lo
tended or (o use a boat nr e;in(K'.
turn to page 51
Leve dit, quod bene fertur, onus.
He condemns me who condemns truth.
A Lazarus of sterile page is poor unguent
For the wounds of modern whips which cut
But do not draw blood.
Did he tell? or did he forsee his foretelling
Would be futile! Death's other self
Enfolds all, or one, who suffers not just for one but for
The Word is given, from vaulted coffers
Of dynastic power, to the humbled.
Rhythm of all thoughts
Draws a reticulate dream of pain -
Which is more than pain: excruciating;
Given to the one who has not sinned.
Excruciating!! It is felt into the marrow.
All eyes of inner vision watch the burden
Bestow its death weight upon the shoulders
Of him who loves them
More dearly than
The ear is placed next to the bell jar
Holding secrets of life which expand
From the outer reaches of the cosmos:
While afferent truth beams; and the mind, cephalic
Measures the echo and re-echo ad infinitum; judging-
Judging the essence of, the quality of, the purity of all.
Of all whose inner vision watch him dancing, with
The death canter.
Atoning for their sins, for his sin is not having sinned.
Their pains are now his pain; etched in every junction of
scored deeply in all muscle, tissue' and sinew.
His pain is all pain. It is deep and complete.
He is filled by the emptiness, the hollowness of those
And he screams to them to give him all.
He will endure all.
He screams in ecstatic awareness that the supreme
measure of goodness
is given freely.
Bones and structure physical collapse.
Into Death by Death,
With Death for Death...
Time? and, indeed, there is no time.
and all Flesh shall see it together
Thou shall love the Lord your God
with all your heart
with all you soul
He is King of Kings
How soon they forget.
Or could it be that they do not forget rather his salva-
His redemption for their sins is solely - is uniquely his
And the lust is a part of the whole
And the glory he witnessed he could not share.
He calls silent response.
He beckons the breezes pass him by.
Man turns his head to the answer of his flesh's
make me your garden
turn my earth of confusion into a thing of joy.
happiness is mine
carefully plant seeds of direction and encouragement,
show and strengthen me.
sprinkle me with cool waters of gently kindness
i'm fragile still.
fertilize my soul with compliments and charm.
make me feel beautiful.
allow the sun of pleasure to always be mine,
deprive me not.
protect me from the crawling moments of loneliness
always be near.
watch me bloom
they tell me to open my heart
to their hemophilic thirsts as
memories drip of unborn babies/bloody/
slashed from the wombs of widows
charred in the burning laughter of . . .
they, who tell me to open my mind
so they can wash my brain of its black/brown
beauty with the acid of integration
eating away at the ethnic pride like a
malnourished man-skeleton gnaws at ghetto
garbage-meals while . . .
they softly say, "we'll be kind"
while their history screams blood-
curdling epithets and vicious examples of evil
and my brother's back will never be the same
after a carload of them nearly killed him, yet . . .
they tell me to abandon my pride,
to be like, and thus to be liked by
a people who respect money more than manhood
they say, "share your beauty"
with imitating merchants who tell me
to sell and all will go well . . .
i say to hell!
Emma and Sissy, both middle-aged
thick, separated themselves from the
other mourners leaving the church.
Arm-in-arm they walked to the waiting
automobiles in the churchyard.
"I ain't never hearda such a thing! A
funeral where the deceased ain't in at-
tendance. It ain't like he died at sea. He
died right at home, in his own bed with
all his kin lookin on!"
"Heard tell he already been buried,"
volunteered Sissy, the older of the
sisters. Emma's beady eyes bulged.
"You know that cain't be true Sissy.
Why you choose a time like this to exer-
cise yo humor is beyon me. You bein
"Well, do you see a hearst? 'Sides the
Reveren kept callin the service a 'mem-
brance' or some such thing. That means
the burying already been done."
Having seated and arranged herself in
the automobile. Sissy folded her arms in
front of her ample bosom and addressed
her sister in a tense voice.
"And, if you hadn'ta been so long get-
tin dressed, we just mightta got there in
time to sit up front and hear 'cisely what
was going on 'stead a being out here
"Never yo mind," Emma tried to
soothe her sister, "things will 'splain
theyself when we get to the Weems'
"You bes believe Hattie Weems gon
have to do a good bit a 'splainin to satisfy
At the Weems' house, Hattie Weems
rocked slowly in the swing on the back
porch, listening more to the rhythm of
the conversations going on inside than to
"Yes, Billy Weem^ was a righteous
man. Gon really miss him. I 'member
when he got me my job ovah ta the mill.
Way back then you either farmed or
worked the mill. Either way he was
always jus one step heada hunger."
"Well, Reveren," bantered Sissy, "the
way I heard that story, Billy was forced ta
gettin you that job. He coulda either
listened to yo constant preachin or get
you somethin new to talk 'bout."
Before the reverend could reply.
Spider Jesse sauntered in holding a plate
of Hoppin John and neck bones in one
hand and a cup of white lightnin in the
other. Slowing his pace between the
Reverend and Sissy, he loudly proclaim-
"Well, Billy musta growed inta sain-
thood whilst I was in D.C." Continuing
across the room, Spider eased his tall,
pot-bellied body into a comfortable
chair. "The Billy I knew had a good cor-
ner on some genuine hell raisin. I
'member clear as day how we usta buy
our corn ovah to Sadie's and then head
straight to Jackson's Juke. Shoot, many
a night we hadda fight our way outta
there - 'specially if that big-legged
Keeley gal was 'round."
"Man, what you talkin was 'fore he
and Mae got married," cut in the
Reverend. "And you could sho some
respec for the occasion which brings us
But Spider was just getting warmed up.
"Oouwe! I 'member one evenin I was
sittin out on Billy's porch waitin for him
ta get home. He come down the road
bobbin, weavin and singin at the toppa
his lungs. When he reached the gate, he
commenced to shout, 'Woman, I'se
home. My food ready?'
"Not bein a pure fool, I figures I'd bes
be gettin on home. Lawd, I wasn't home
five minutes 'fore little Sara comma run-
nin, yellin for me to come quick. When
we gets there, Billy Jr. was doin all he
could t^ separate them two. Why Mae
had Billy by the collar with one han and
was poundin the livin daylights outta him
with t'other. An she wasn't sayin a word
min you. It was him keepin up the
ruckus! It took three us menfolk ta get
her offin him. If memory serves me right,
that was the las time Billy let his liquor do
any talkin for him round that house."
Emma chuckled. Sissy waited for the
memory to mellow before she spoke.
"I'se sure we all got a few stories we
could conjure 'bout Billy's life, but what I
don't understan is why we ain't been part
a his buryin. Didn't we take part in his
livin? Can any a y'all 'splain why we
wasn't at the buryin and why Billy
Weems wasn't at his own funeral? Any
body ax Hattie 'bout that?"
In the ensuing silence, all eyes riveted
to the Reverend.
"That's what we doin right now Sissy.
Ain't we gathered here in Billy Weems'
house sharing with each other the Billy
that we know'd bes? An didn't we jus
come from the church that baptized Bil-
ly, Mae and all they chi'ren?"
"You is missin my point Reveren, but I
means to find an answer."
Soothed by the rattle of dishes and the
hum of conversation, Hattie
remembered an earlier gathering.
Lawd, it's been a long time since this
many of my folks been together in one
place. Las time was Cousin Modelle's
weddin. Modelle married a soldier and
went to live overseas. I 'member that first
letter she sent. Sho was sumthin. Said
them Europeans was long on culture,
but was sho'nuff short on common
sense. The butcher always gave her
chitlins and pig feet free cause he
thought it was fo the family dog.
"Sho woulda liked to have looked on
Brother Weems one mo time 'fore he
Hattie hadn't heard anyone come out
to the porch. Miss Sissy's body stood
rigid with arms folded across her chest,
taking up the entire doorway.
"Grandaddy was ailin for some time.
The Reveren made the 'nouncement in
church. Elder Pugh and Loretha Jones
come ta call that very day. Why didn't
you come then? Yo was mo than
"That ain't xactly what I was talkin
'bout. It's just that some of yo grandad-
dy's friends feel cheated. We come to
the funeral 'spectin ta say our last good-
byes and finds out that he already been
buried. It jus ain't our way. It ain't right.
"When yo Grandmomma died y'all
had a right decent funeral. I 'member it
good cause Mr. Burton had just got a
new fleet a limosines -- powder blue they
were -- such a pretty sight. Was leas thir-
ty cars in that procession. Folks still talks
'bout that funeral and how gran it was.
turn to page 55
for andrea's daugfiter,
as I face the sun
are full of waves
in the red clay tracks
echoing for lil<eness
"no, mummy, they can't be africans
they look like
know !. . ."
faces, faces . . .
Charlene burst out of the house, and the large heavy oaken door
began to shut slowly and surely behind her. Before the tall dark gap
between the green door and the house got very narrow the words,
"Charlene Miller!?!" were loudly and clearly issued forth. She
pouted and sighed, but a direct about-face mid-stride: so smooth in
fact it looked as though she had anticipated it. Brushing by the
door, she lifted her voice to the head of the narrow stairwell.
"Down here, Mom."
"Where a you?" Her mother's head and craning neck came into
view through the doorway.
"And where do you think you goin'?" Without tellin' me - I
didn't hear how you made out on them chores - and you leavin'
behind my back?"
"I told you I was going to the playground but you were busy
"Well, I don't know how many times I have to tell you to just
make sure I know where you at. You gettin' big now - almost ten
- you better learn...." She wouldn't let Charlene get a single word
"Go 'head, girl. To the playground, and be back for dinner, you
"Yes." Charlene had already reached for the door and was
esiting. She bounded down the steep stairs two at a time, which
was quite a feat - even for her and her long legged self. She
jumped from the bottom stair across the sidewalk and into the gut-
ter. With a quick glance up the street, she shot across it - long limbs
and red woolen cardigan flying.
She slowed down to a trot as she neared the other side, survey-
ing the scene to see who was at the playground and what they
The playground was a quarter-block sized corner lot. It had layers of woodchips spread across the
surface of the general play areas so that thick planks were needed to contain it and prevent it from
spilling over onto the sidewalk.
Charlene hopped onto one of the planks to get a better view. Looking to the left, she noticed her
classmate and neighbot Kimberly swaying on a swing. There were other children, of all ages, playing
in each ocrner and upon every) piece of playground equipment.) Breaking through the hedge of an
adjacent backyard was a clique of young junior high school girls from the general neighborhood;
they were talking intently. Perhaps they had come from the corner store or maybe just from
soneone's house. Either way, Charlene was envious of the older children who had the freedom to
roam about the neighborhood as they pleased. She had never left a two block radius from her house
without being accompanied by someone a bit older than she.
Charlene's walnut brown face and eyes seemed to be calm for a moment as she stared wistfully
after the older girls. But for them, the world ended at the boundary of their circle. Charlene became
preoccupied with kicking a loose woodship, soccerstyle, across the worn tar path. One suddenly
forceful kick bounced the woodchip off the trunk of a young maple tree, whose branches the girls
had stopped to chat under. Going to retrieve it, she raised her gaze from the tree trunk and turned to
cautiously peek from fact to face. She looked without really seeing, sort of casually and blase, you
know, until she spied a familiar face.
"Hi Diane", she murmured awkardly through a slight smile. Judging by Diane's noncommital,
almost non-existant response, it was not evident that the two had known each other and live on the s
e block ever since they could both remember.
"uhu," Diana managed to get out while her long winded Gina took a breath. Her eyes barely turn-
ed Charlene's way, and they certainly didn't lose their focus on her . gossppy friend.
". . .An' she ain' even got no right ta talk 'bout Francine like that - she don' even know what Charles
is doin'", Gina said with her flair for dramatic emphasis. Her friends chimed in on cue, gesticulating
and dramatizing whenever possible.
"Right? He got a playin' the fool!" Gracie was tickled.
"mmm-runnin' after his behin'", said Diane, shaking her head with pity.
"...ole tired Charles..." muttered Gina.
"Aw, but I think Charles is so fine...", Gracie said.
"So do he", said Diane under her breath.
"Charles?!?, exclaimed Gina, her eyes and mouth gaping wide at Gracie.
"What you mean, 'Charles?'"?"
"Charles too much a playah fa me", she said off handedly.
"He look good though."
"Yeah, she conceeded with a light shrug. ?May be. But ah'll stick wid ma man Rad though."
Their conversation continued in this vein. Meanwhile Charlene was attempting to appear as ab-
sorbed in shuffling through a small pile of leaves as any child could possible be. However, the more
perceptive observer could see that her actions were a little less than whole hearted, and that this may
have been related to her not being welcomed to join the groups of children around her. Kicking de-
jectedly amongst the crunchy golden leaves, she looked towards the swingset. Kimberly was still sit-
ting there with her arms entwined about the metal-link ropes and with her well polished shoes
planted neatly on the woodhips to move her ever so slightly to and fro. She was humming - probably
one of the tunes she had heard on the top-forth radio staton - and absent-mindedly admiring the
shoes and stockings on her feet.
Under the maple tree, Diane was just then expanding her consciousness to accept those signals
emi nating from outside of her immediate environment. The mixed smells of automobile exhaust, ci-
ty streets, and the lingering aroma of assorted hot lunches from neighboring houses drifted about
her, fused by the occasional pulse of the brisker cleaner clearer air which seemed to pull away from
that direction in which she knew the ocean lay.
As she moved out from the sketchily patterned shadows of the young tree, the strong slanted rays
of an early fall afternoon reflected off her igh protruding cheekbones, causing her to squint her eyes
in adjustment to the brightness. The slender partially bare branches swayed in the crisp breeze, their
shadows playing an active design across her form. Her temple, browbone, cheek and most of her
right side became warmer and the inescapable glare then caused her to lower he lids for some relief.
Her gaze fell upon the shadow of the slim tree trunk and traced it out towards the middle of the
Her attention darted from one corner to another; from each of the many activities going on there.
The entire lot was set off by the lively and energetic outbursts of young children enjoying their first
week-end liberation from the new school year.
One could tell by the great number of children outdoors that it was not so far into the school year
that parents were not still anxious to get the little ones out of the way. Especially on such a nice dry,
sunny Saturday afternoon?
With another rapid scan across the area. Diane noticed one familiar bouncy skip walk in particular.
The sight of th' the unmistakeable bumpy-knit crimson sweater left her without a doubt.
"Kimmmm-bieeeee!", she heard Charlene call out in a sing-song fashion.
"Don't call me that", was the retort.
"That's your name!"
"That's not my name", Chalene mimicked with a sarcastic infantile voice, a teasing smile, and a
cocky hand on her waist.
"Stop mimickin' me 'lena."
Kimberly's suggestion went unheeded: Charlebe mocked her anyway.
"Ch", said Kimberly as she rolled her eyes very daintily and yet very effectively. Charlene danced
circles around Kimberly's swing, distracting her and distrupting the steady rhythm she had fallen into.
As Charlene disappeared behind Kimberly's back, the bright fancy ribbons whish were one of
Kimberly's standard adornments must have caught her eye, for she gleefully tapped her on the head
between her two plumb braids.
"Stop Charlene", she demanded, ducking her head in delayed defensive reflex.
"Baby!" Charlene Scooted over towards the tall silver tower of the slide, where little Kareem and
Toya were carefully and cautiously climbing up the rungs, one by one by one.
"Oh Lord, There she goes again", said Diane.
"Oh, that't tha' girl Charlene, ain't it?" said her friend, Grace.
"She's such a pain!", groaned the other.
"Aw, she's not bad, she jus-"
"Oh yeah -- check her shit..."
"Ah - Get Up There!", Charlene said as she ran and hopped up to pop Kareem in the behind,
"Heyy-y!" he whined. Toya turned around to see Charlene running around to the other side. "My
momma say no one better bother me an' Toy" at the swings", the sturdy little boy told Charlene.
"Well you ain't at the swings'", she retorted sassily.
"At the slides", he reasserted.
"Yeah 'lena", Toya piped in. "I'm tellin' my momma too. Her and Kareem's momma gon' tell
i;our momma", she said with wide eyes and nodding head.
"Yeah?" Charlene grinned with amusement sparkling in her eyes. She stormed up the ladder
behind them, causing them to work their chubby little legs and hurriedly bounced down the slide.
"Well, she's somethin', if you ask me" declared one of the girls.
"For real though - she's not bad, except she ain't got no brothaz a sistaz an' she think she bad
sometime with the li'l kids", explained Diane.
"I'l smack ha upside ha haid", proclaimed Gina.
"tch. That's why she don't mess wi'chyou an'she mess w\-them. She ain't no dummy."
As they were looking over at Charlene, she seemed to have put aside some of the playfulness that
she had exhibited earlier. She said something to Kiberly, but Kimberly turned away as though she
had not heard. Charlene spoke again; they knew not exactly what was said, but she seemed to be
posing a question. Kimberly just looked at her out of the corner of her eye, with raised brown and a
smug smile slowly tugging at the corners of her lips.
"You such a baby' girl!" Charlene undauntedly shook her head and snickered in mock disgust.
She was apparently disappointed by Kimberly's lack of appreciation for her kind of fun. She headed
directly towards the girls, her skip walk augmenting how the flapping breeze bounced the front cor-
ners of her sweater with every stride.
"You all?", she asked pertlv.
"What?"' Diane asked, obviously not knowing what the younger girl was asking.
"You all wan' jump some rope?"
"Who?, someone hooted, "Us??"
Another of the chuckled under her breath and looked away.
"Noo, that's okay 'lena. You go ahead.", said Diane with a little smile.
"Hey!", exclaimed Gina. Her robing glance had been rivited by the sight of a slightly older group of
boys. "There go Jamie 'n Pogo 'n Rad 'n 'em. Ain't that them'?", she asked, squinting her eyes.
"if you'd wear them glasses like you was suppozed to...."
"Hush child. Let's go!"
Following Gina, the girls slowly sauntered towards the street to meet up with the boys, one of
whom was Kimberly's brother.
Charlene walked slowly to her house. She lingered by the door, leaning on it to keep it open while
she flicked off a rather large chip of peeling paint that she had noticed earlier. Then she sashayed on
past the heavy old door and disappeared within. Soon she reappeared with a colorful playground
ball tucked under her red- wool-covered arm. She bounced it off the wooden planks of the porch
floor a few times, loudly and preciesly. She was very adept in handling the ball. But no wonder, as it
was often her lone source of entertainment.
It had become a customary sight on the street to see her in front of her house, bouncing a ball off of
every available surface; tossing it and catching it; or inadvertently developing elaborate dribbing
skills. She descended the stairs, and made her way back towards the lot. The taut, high-toned 'ping'
of inflated plastic smacking off concrete resounded up and down the street behind her.
At the playground, Kimberly was busy helping Toya and Kareem get up onto the swings. She set-
tled them into their seats and gave them each an occasional push to keep them in motion.
"You want some help, Kareem?"
"Yeah"' he said shyly while squirming on the molder plastic seat that had become nearly mo-
"Push me Kimb'ly?"
"Okay Toya. Just a minute."
"OOOOoo-here come 'lena 'gain. Look", Toya said.
turn to page 59
for kelvin, who lives with Warsaw
they's flowers growin
right next to the
barbed wire fence, now falling,
the one that used to encircle
they's flowers growin
by the fence
on the street where
fine folks flocked
—strolling and pimpin
where life bubbled
—before the bombs
the bricks and boards.
Now, in the midst of
the decaying remains
budding and bloomin
purple, black, brown, yellow flowers
stark, strong new life
bursting with beauty.
that rebud and bloom
and those that die
in the bright, hot, violent
burning in Warsaw.
spread on to new jungles
and those that grow old and barren
—that reap no fruit.
sprouting tots that dot
the edge of rusted silver
holding them captive
behind steel bars
between concrete erections
born to cement and sorrow.
grow stagnant and
New England Winter
roots turned inward
on frozen spacial
visions of newness
cyclic stagnation subsides
on spring's dawn
coursing life warmed
by the heat of
a fire is kindled
IN THE NAME OF ALLAH, MOST GRACIOUS, MOST MERCIFUL
On the future of Zimbabwe
Inhumane Beast make prey upon the Earth
the wealth of the land, while children are stricken with starvation
and die on Bantu Stans.
Is it sickness or ignorance that makes one commit atrocities such as
genocide-the world has seen your sins and you have no place to hide.
The natives of South Africa must be free to inherit their God-given land on
truth I plead my cause and make my moral stand.
Brother Lewis X.
we shall not struggle much longer
we shall not struggle much longer
the terrifying whips
which once intimidated our ancestors
to work day long
down the mile long
are gone, demoralized
are our principles
justice and equality ungranted
still, but we
from our heritage.
alan dale thornton
how to peep ah
ya on't really wanna win
I know ya don't
ya lost ya faith in
got so used to Dyin
dri'd up ya soul from Cryin
(HAVIN SOMEBODY ELSE EXPERIENCIN YA LIFE FUR YA)
ya done furgot how to LIVE!!
iJrothers & "Sisters"— See, Y'all done furgot dat it ain't just being able to do readin', 'ritin
'n 'rithmetic that will make us baaddd: it's really according to for whom we're using it for that deter-
mines how much SENSE we got.
I'm a Story Teller. A griot. There was a time when we used to be able to tell our entire history in
stories. It wasn't nothing so unusual then; but I wonder have we gotten TOO "grown Up" to really
appreciate a gooddd story?
Dats strange ain't it?
I'm going to tell it to you dis way. Perhaps it would be better if we all took our aching shoes off our
tired feet . . . got to be a little man/woman-child-like to really appreciate and catch dis. I'm serious.
(This is a modern day Afrikan-amerikkkan story.)
. . . When he was goin back and forth ta kourt most'a de prisoners thought dat he was mad.
Crazy. Dis was cause he wore only his "shorts or ah pair 'a "hospital pajamas" inside de kour-
troom 'a de Bronx supreme kourt each time he appeared. But "dey" knowed better. (And y'all
know who "dey" is!)
. . . Anyway; one evenin— late as usual— he was being taken back downstairs from de kour-
troom (where he'd been shackled, both hands and feet, ta his chair all day/ dis was his refusal ta
"participate" in de so called trial proceedin's) — he was on his way back ta jail. (When ya on so
called trial ya usually be de last person/s ta leave de buildin.) He had ta walk down dis corridor,
passin many 'a de mini-bullpens dat is used ta keep de prisoners in till dey is called out ta go inta
de kourtroom. Most 'a de lights was off now. Dis gave ah eerie atmosphere bout de shadows dat
lay pressed 'gainst de walls lahk wallpaper. As he passed 1 kage, Lumumba's vision followed de
light strikin de bars where dey casted dull and separate shadows on de floor 'a de cell.
Dere . . . de shadows mingled wid de light, each in its own separate space, dat fell upon an ob-
ject perched in ah corner 'a de kage. It was wid 'drawn inta itself: lahk ah scared rat or rabbit.
Lumumba's gaze followed . . . de light and shadows revealed de face ah Black man.
"Hey, I know dis dude." Lumumba thought ta his-self. (. . . Dis was de same Brother who had
said dat de Black folks outside de kourtroom where he was being tried— protestin de so called
trial 'a Lumumba Senghor— was messin up his chances 'a NOT being konvicted . . .) Lumumba
looked at 'im and said, "Hey, Blood, ya all right?" His squeaky 'n scared voice trembled out,
"My jury is out, man." Lumumba said ta 'im, "Damn, don't let it do ya dat bad Brother!"— and
de guard hustled 'im toward de elevator.
... As he walked away, Lumumba knowed dat wid 'in his-self/and made ah solemn vow dat
night— "Whether dey konvict me or cut me loose; dey will NEVER break me dat way/make me
coward, cringin up inside, stuck in ah dark corner 'a ah kage lahk ah scared animal: runnin
away from my own manHood— howlin lahk ah scalded dog.
. . . De next time he saw de Brother again— he was completely different/or his ole self again.
He was smilin now and at ease. He had also got konvicted.
Dey couldn't konvict Lumumba wid dey 1st attempt/dat is, wid de 1st so called trial. Ah Black
Woman/dis 1 "Sister" saved him. She refused ta go long wid de BULLSHIT!! De LIES!
Treachery! Hypocrisy! 1 outta 12— had saved 'im. Even though dere had been 3 "knee-grow"
males on de jury wid her. He didn't even know her name so he could thank her. So Lumumba
wrote ah poem fur her called: "Beautiful Sister." But her real name musta been— "BLACK."
(. . . de judge, his honour— got so mad at dis/he was furious at dis "Beautiful Sister." She'd
spoiled everythang. She tole 'im dat she only wonted ta do "right." He tole de whole jury ta git
outta his kourtroom! Ole judge dollinger. De "Beautiful Sister" stated ta cry cause she could/n't
Who know de morals 'a dis story?"
When 1 was young and growin up ... I used to always hear my folks (and everybody else— Black)
talkin' bout "we gonna git ours by 'n by." At first I didn't realize what they meant by this saying. But
through Experiences — I learned that they were speaking about our "rights" as a Black-people. This
was the "God-given" rights that was being denied to us— by white people. This puzzled me. Even at
that young age 1 could see our bad and worsening conditions: the discrimination, attacks, murders
and lynchings . . . but 1 couldn't understand why it had to be "us" that it was happening to. There
seemed to always be that "in-Equality" thang facing us everywhere we went in this society. Always
Then . . . sumthin happened to me. 1 found out something about white people that startled me
and my world so profoundly that it turnt me right around. Somehow the "MIStake" was made and I
found out that white people were "born" into this world— like us, and that they could "die" — like us.
This, in itself, was a shock to my young mind because this alone meant EVERYTHING. But to learn
that they had a "mind" and could "think," that we also had a "mind" and could "think"— and that
"thought" (through thinking) created "things" . . . that's when it really hit me: I HAD PEEPED THE
BUCKNAKED BOGIEMAN! ... 1 have NEVER been the same since. I was thrown out of the old or-
biting thought patterns that our people thought-think in/and out of ... I was like a runaway planet
being hurtled into an unknown Void by a faceless force with No-name.
turn to page 62
I Love You Beautiful Black Woman
a poem to t.i.y.
I fall into sleep
and wake up in your fantasy
charging into open doors
and find you laying there
I slip into pockets
like the mignight
hanging over the forest
and settle there
curling up in your warmness
I Love You Beautiful Black Woman
fire, ice, yellow, red, blue, green
and crystals of multi-color
like the tide loves the sand
water's motion massage my memory
your brown/black eyes are tunnels
through which understanding flows
piercing into the untravelled depths
of my consciousness
where realness resides
1 Love You Beautiful Black Woman,
wrapping me in a fifth of birthblood
leaving stains on our memory
imbedded in spite of time
you exist with me like air
I want you like a man need ground
to walk on
I want you like a fish needs water
to weave through currents its existence
guardian of the peace of my soul
on still sweaty nights
when thoughts hang and vanish
like cigar smoke
You climbed into what you thought was a cave
and stood shocked... frozen by wonder
as you gazed off into the skies
of my mind
If we rub together long enough
the unity and struggle of opposites
will burst forth
with roaring fire
as it forever warms us
charles ezra ferrell
an insight into ignorance
the first of everything
.is the last of nothing
the fruit of fulfillment
so precious, so divine
leaving nothing but emptiness
seeming so correct
yet knowing nothing
for only an empty mind
can accept knowledge
if the mind is cluttered
it has but so little room for acceptance
enabling you to accept everything
image an empty glass
it has the ability to be filled
yet a full glass
has no room for acceptance
the mind is based upon the same thing
all of knowledge has yet to be understood
a perfect example of this
yet knowing nothing
the ignorance seen here
is of bad nature
you first must realize
not to try to answer the question
but to understand the question asked you
in all reality
the mind is mad, a muck mechanism
you as an individual
as your formost goal in life
one must discipline ones self
mind and body
to control each and every situation
such as the mind vs. emotion
the center of ones self (mentally speaking)
and a subconscious self
trying to rule the other
true knowledge will help to guide
"you" through this mental conflict
for true wisdom
is gained through the experiences
with the knowledge taught to you
thus now you have wisdom
yet still there is room for understanding
for you know not how to use this wisdom
bringing about confusion
which again you do not understand
just a mind at wander again
hoping to relate a certain amount
of knowledge gained through ignorance . . .
carl Jerome monson
for linda jean caldwell
poem of affection
what kind of substance moves us
when our hearts silently touch
and we speak and walk without
making a sound?
when we hear each other cry for
love and understanding in this
silence, just watching time
move into time,
joy into sorrow and into joy again?
the world's bickering hate
and concrete walls are missing out.
oh, the power of these sacred moments,
the godlike visions that stamp beauty everywhere;
there is hope
how similar they are to old-time dreams of
moving waters under the pitch black star-filled night.
what kind of power can fill us
with gratitude for love and understanding?
the kind that all too clearly
touch the heart, and replenish the lack.
the dear beauty of breath and life, the magnitude visions
vistas lead to real people
and to GOD
GOD is love and love beautifies all things as source of
so linda, you've filled me with
your loving grace, you have reached my heart
and will remain a divine example of purity, goodness.
this is what i've gained from you.
friday 4 august 1978
when i die
when i die, i'm going to heaven,
for i've been living in hell all
i do hope when I get there things
will he all right, especially employment.
for one needs a job to exist in hell.
and for those who do not know
where hell is, look it up in
the yellow pages under u.s.a.
For My Prince
Don't you see?
We're on the outside looking in.
Give me the delicate rose
I wish for so longingly
Sweet as ripe wine now flowing through our hair,
but be careful of the thorns
Lest it resist your anxious plucking.
Shine black Prince
As you so assuredly proclaim yourself...
patiently, dearly to those who sleep. . .
Shine majestically. Shower the night
spangle it with beads of light.
You glow like soft embers gazing out at me saying:
Won't you share with me
a glass of suppleness dark and pure
beneath the ivory and the gold.
You eminate a ripple of sheer love.
As it swells so does it overflow.
So warm so rich so mellow
Only the worthiest deserve to taste
such renowned acclaim,
A challenge to the noblest of kings.
As homage to your royal name
I whisper a celebration of our being. ,
Amherst, August, 1978
children feel out of place
watching energy go to waste
children's eyes blinking fast
horizons of dope in their grasp
witness crime of modern time
a child's cry isn't hard to find
from see spot run
get stoned; have fun
children are dying
one by one
let's change a sad state
activity not far behind
fears glow, tears flow
no peace of mind
only nineteen years of life
too high a price?
from see spot run
death of many sons
children are dying
one by one
it's not too late
Where's your faith?
paul e. Zimmerman, jr.
The Honorable Julian Bond - Keynote speaker and Georgia Slate Senator
Elma Lewis, founder of NCAA, stated that, "We
must make the youth knowledgeable of his contribu-
tion to cause them to understand the legacy left by
Dr. DuBois. Our duty lies in extending the knowledge
to be used by providing a glorified history which will
enhance our children's pride and dignity." In keep-
ing with this sentiment, Mrs. Wilson said, "Our
children need inspiration. Until DuBois' name
becomes a household word within our culture, our
work is not finished." The necessity to increase
Black awareness is important to our existence as a
distinct and prideful race. Professor Michael
Thelwell, of the DuBois Department of Afro-
American Studies, UMass, eloquently stated that,
"DuBois was speaking to our generation," and "The
government and the people of the United Stated have
a historical, if not revolutionary responsibility, to
support the work and legacy of Dr. DuBois." He voic-
ed his opinion that it was truly an honor to be em-
braced by DuBois' "spirit and example" and that the
dedication, itself, was an honor to Berkshire County.
Dr. Herbert Aptheker, author and literary Ex-
ecutor of the DuBois Papers, was also among the
platform guests and a speaker. Aptheker described
his involvement and voiced his aspirations and per-
sonal fulfillment in becoming an associate of Dr.
DuBois. He observed that the dedication served as
"an affirmation of the federal government's recogni-
tion that the birthplace of this Black man is a place
of wonder and glory." The National Historic Land-
mark Dedication represents a notable achievement
for the men and women who strove for so long to
gain it. Aptheker proudly suggested that if this coun-
try is to have a prosperous and fruitful destiny, "It
will be marked by schools and roads, streets and in-
fants, named for him in every corner of the land and
for unending generations."
The keynote address was presented by Georgia
State Senator, Julian Bond. Bond reiterated a
number of profound experiences of Dr. DuBois in his
quest for justice for mankind. "If ever a man spoke
for and to his people - it was Dr. DuBois." In his ad-
dress Bond reminded us that Blacks have become
"slack" in the pursuits of the goals for which Dr.
DuBois fought. Using excerpts from DuBois, he cited
some of the duties required to insure equality,
justice and peace. From DuBois he read, "The only
possible death is cynicism. And that confident per-
sistence in the struggle was the only stance conso-
nant with a good life." Bond said that DuBois would
be "surprised at how small the gains we have made
since his death. He would be shaken to discover that
American Black people are in relatively worse
shape today than when he died." DuBois left a pro-
gram and "his teaching serve to lead us yet." We
must continue of strive for the perfection and im-
plementation to those goals if we are to honestly en-
joy the fruits of our labor.
Following Bond, the audience was enlightened
with the music of Peter Seeger. His inspirational
song expressed the jubilant spirit of the ceremony.
This historical event has left a lasting impression
upon the minds of all those present. This historical
event has dedicated in the name of DuBois an eter-
nal marker to forever be a beacon for truth and
freedom in American society. The hfe and teachings
of Dr. DuBois, "the activist, the prophet, the Black
man" still lives.
shades of spades
i just realized that black is never just black.
there are just too many different shades and types.
this i realized not too long back.
now that i'm in paris i'm seeing them all.
they are short, skinny, fat or tall,
and some of them are not black t'all!
they're beige!!, or sometimes almost pink or
bllllaaacck like unlit nights.
that's not the only way to share a race.
it goes farther
much farther than distinctions of face.
but even there i've realized that black is never
it's sad. we've been colonized.
colonized by everyone from way, way back.
first we were colonized as a continent,
then as separate "countries?",
and now as a people.
but black is never just black.
question; what are tunisians, algerians, ethiopians,
are they not all africans?
but only some of them are black.
where does that leave the rest?
ah. it's just as i have realized,
black is never just black.
victoria e. hicks
Originally, Pioneer activities were entirely extra-
curricular but since 1968 its structure has become
more directly linked to the classroom. Their camps now
serve as centers for vocational training. Students from
the fourth to ninth grades are divided into "interest
circles." They study for part of the day before going off
to the Pioneer Palaces for training in their specialty
areas. The Central Pioneer Palace in Havana, for ex-
ample, accommodates 168 different interest circles
and a total of 11,040 Pioneers daily.
On a recent visit to Cuba, I had the opportunity of
visiting this palace. On the sprawling complex were
children working at video production, taping shows in
small television studios, vdth ultra modern equipment
from Japan. The equipment in the television room alone
costs fome $60,000 and was donated by the Commimist
Party to the children as a gift for the International
Year of the Child.
Elsewhere, children were working in miniature
imderground mines, oil refineries, with sophisticated
machinery in workshops, in sports, language labs and
in various other circles across the comples. As I con-
tinued through the compoimds, I stopped to watch as a
group of students (boys and girls) formed a huddle
around an electric pole in the courtyard. I learnt from
their instructor that they were a science group, receiv-
ing practical lessons in outdoor electrical wiring. Of
the interest sections I visited, what amazed me most
was the sugar factory in which students were produc-
ing some 500 pounds of sugar daily. Production from all
larger sections such as this, is used to supplement the
It is no surprise then, that Cuba spends such a large
percentage of her national wealth on education and
childhood development. It's a feature that has lead
many observers to remark that Cuba still has but one
privileged class - the children.
Notes and Bibliography
IDonna Katzin, "Education and Revolution are the
same thing" (Center for Cuban Studies, p. 3.
2 Ibid, p. 3.
3Margaret Randall, Cuban Women now (Canada: The
Women's Press, 1974), p. 130.
4. Jonathan Kozol, Children of the fievoJution, (New
York: Delacorte Press, 1978), 0. 147.
5 Marvin Leiner, Children are the Revolution, (New
York: Viking Press, 1974), p. 39.
6 Katzin, p. 11
Wald, Karen. Children of Che: Child Care and Educa-
tion in Cuba. California: Ramparts Press, 1978.
Poems written collectively by Katherine, 10
The grass is pink with red pokadots.
The red pokadots are like little berries in the grass.
All of this is going on inside my right ear
with yellow gold sticking out of it.
This is as funny as an orange elephant.
My foot is like a sick frog
with a piece of baloney in its mouth.
The frog is jumping up & down
& swimming in the water.
DAVID WALKER. BLACK REBEL (1785-1830)
He was as wise as a snake, not eating dead rats in the
He was also a stone plant, a sort of flower.
When it rains, the flower grows more powerful.
The people's blood evaporates into the air
& floats to the slave master's house & falls on the floor.
The slave master is terrified of the snake with the colors of
all the African tribes on its back.
The snake talks & says
"If the slaves are not freed, there will be war. "
Then it's poisoned & thrown in front of an old clothing
shop in Boston.
At night when Vm home going to sleep
I think of my color.
At night when Ym going to sleep
I hear the dogs barking all around.
the old neighborhood, missing step and all. Where
the hell is the doorbell?
"Shit, come on man, it's cold out here."
"Hey bro'. What's up! Come on in."
"Naw man. I don't really have time. I'm running
late already. Here's the shit from your mama," I
said as I pulled an envelope out of my pocket.
"Yeah, I hear you." Johnny opened his jacket
and put the envelope in the inside pocket. He hand-
ed me a tin foiled package.
"Somethin' for your troubles. Sure you don't
want to come inside? It's been too long, man."
"Naw, got to keep moving man. Thanks a lot.
Talk to you later," I said.
"Yeah, awright. Come by the crib sometimes,
now that you know where it is. Ain't seen you in a
while," Johnny said, sniffing while his index finger
thumbed his nose.
"Yeah, I'll do that. Later," I said, jumping
over the missing stair. I heard the door close and
all the locks click in place. Damn what a life, liv-
ing behind a bolted door.
"Hey Richard' your mama stinks like dead
fish," Johnny yelled at recess in the playground
at P.S. 197.
"Richard you gonna let Johnny talk about
your mama?" Gene asked.
"If you do, you're a faggot. Richard's a fag-
got. Richard's a faggot." The rest of the kids
I was so scared. I kept blinking my eyes hard to
keep the tears from dropping.
"Take it back Johnny." From somewhere in-
side, my voice spoke out. Oh God, I don't want
to fight Johnny.
"Now, whatcha gonna do about it, punk?"
Johnny said, pushing me.
I punched him. I punched him dead in the
mouth. His lip began to bleed. First he looked at
me. I just kept watching the blood spurt from his
lip. I punched him. I punched Johnny dead in
Next thing I knew we were a tangled ball on
the playground cement.
"Get him Johnny, get him' ' ' Johnny's friends
"Damn Richard, kick him or something."
Finally we fell apart exhausted. My nose was
bleeding and my lip and eye felt swollen. I look-
ed at Johnny. His lip was still bleeding, right
where I punched him. He smiled at me.
"You all right Richard? You all right.," he
said. He patted me hard on my back and we
both began to laugh. From then on Johnny and I
were tight. Our mothers smiled at us and called
us their inseparable twins.
Yeah but Johnny lives behind a bolted door,
selling the same shit he shoots in his veins. I
hadn't seen him in a while. Johnny, I wish I
could talk to you now.
Naw, I don't need anyone to talk to. Shit, I'm
a grown man. Talking to people don't do anyone
any good. Shit, I tried to talk to Sherry. I tried to
tell her to leave me the hell alone. I told her after
the first time we made love to fuck off. I said
"Fuck off Sherry."
"Oh Richard. Let go. I love you, but you walk
around with the world on your shoulders. Let go
and love me. You're so mean. It's not wrong.
It's only wrong to those damn racist bastards."
I laughed. I laughed hard. Sherry was trying to
curse. Old Ivy League Sherry was trying to curse.
She didn't know how to. She didn't hate
I looked up at the street sign. Damn Laconia
Avenue. I had better pay attention to where I'm
going. It's getting late. It's so late. I gotta go
home. I pulled my collar around my ears and
picked up my pace. A patrol car slowed down, as
it came down the block. I could see the cops
looking at me. Oh shit, maybe they saw me at
Johnny's. Damn. I tried to keep my eyes ahead
and keep moving.
I turned down a dimly lit street, hoping that
they wouldn't follow. Damn, what would I say
to my mama. My dead mama. What would I say
to my dead mama.
"Hey Mama. This is Richard."
"Where you at? I told you to be in the house
before twelve. Staying out like some alley cat."
"Mama, Johnny and I... we, well we was fool-
ing around playing some stick ball. Mama..."
didn't move. I know she just stood there. She
just stood there.
It looked Hke it was going to snow. The sky
was so dark. I walked on. In the next block was a
neighborhood grocery store. I could hear the bell
tinkle as people entered. I crossed the street and
pulled my collar up again. It kept falling down.
"Sherry you crazy," I said laughing and tickl-
"Richard, stop that now." she laughed back.
"When are you going to let me meet your
"Shit, why do you always have to do that?" I
smacked Sherry... She looked stunned, her eyes
filled with tears.
"Richard, I just want to meet your mother. I
know she'll understand. Richard please. She
could live here and..." "Shut up," I yelled
I punched her. I punched Sherry in the
mouth. Jesus, her lip bled. Oh God. Her blood
dripped on the rug. Oh goddam.
It's too cold here. I hear it stays warm some
places all year. Fly me to Jamaica. Yeah, me and
Sherry on a beach on the sand...
"I want to meet your mother."
No Sherry no. My mama, my mama's dead.
She's dead. Leave her the hell alone. She's dead,
let's leave her buried. God, let's leave her
Sherry's face was all black and blue. I kept do-
ing it. I couldn't stop.
"Richard, let's meet your mother, she'll
understand, Richard your mother, your mother,
SHERRY. I hate your goddam guts. I didn't
mean to hurt you, but my mama's dead and you
won't let her die. You don't understand nothing
and I hate you. I hate your fucking innocence. I
hate it. You want to help, but you don't know
what the hell the problem is. I hate you cause
you don't understand.
I hated your guts in the hospital, laying there
black and blue with tubes sticking out of
everywhere. I hated your guts. You couldn't
even see out of your goddam eyes, but you smil-
ed at me. You smiled at me and your teeth were
all crooked. I hate you, oh God, I hate your god-
I turned in an alley and backed against a wall,
trembling. Come on, I got to get a hold of
myself. I got to go home. Sherry was waiting.
She's waiting for her ass kicking. She won't go
away. She won't hate. She's waiting.
No. No. I grabbed my knife. I just looked at
it. No more Sherry. This is the real world. My
mama's dead, no more. Mama, no more prayers.
No more prayers. I can't. I can't. I drew the
knife across my wrists and sank against the pave-
ment and watched the blood drip to the ground
as anubis weighs the heart;
while clouds fluff by
carrying on wings of wind
the chant of chains
breaking and leaves turning into colors of free,
and nofretiti smiles at the way
the sun rises to give life
"Oh hi sweetnin,, how's my favorite grand
baby... I'm doin pretty good... just resting now."
"Grandma, I just want you to know that when
mom told me about what had happened I wanted
to some see you, but I had to go to school."
She felt good expressing this to her grand
mother, now grandma knew how she felt.
"We're comin' over to bring you some food,
what kind ya want?'
"Sweetnin, I'm not hungry, tell your mother not
"But grandma aren't you hungry...."
"What's wrong, she doesn't want any dinner?,
said Louise's mother, "let me speak to
her." "Hello Mrs. Russell, how ya doin
today? Are you taking your
medication? Good. Louise and I will be over
around five to bring you your dinner. Is there any
thing special you want?, there was no
answer. "Hello Mrs. Russell?"
"Oh, I was just dozing off again.... some soup
will be fine."
"O.K. then, we'll see ya at five.
Hearing grandma's voice again reminded Louise
of the times she used to tell her stories when she
was a child. "I'll tell ya chile, growing up in them
days sho ain't like it tis now." Grandma's southern
drawl always made Louise laugh with glee.
"Unha, ha ha, ha ha."
"Mama useta make me wash clothes, scrub the
floor, and take care of the 'lil ones. Yeah, ya know
being the oldest of twelve kids....
I sho nugh had it hard. But them days sho was
fun. I guess you can't magine living without that
there t.v. unh? Louise shook her head, her eyes
were wide, bright and clear listening and trying to
imagine living without a t.v. "Well back in my days
we didn't have no t.v T.V.? we ain't even
heard of such a thing. We all usta sit around the
radio box listenin to the music or a comedy
show... yeah we'll laugh just like you laugh at the
t.v. But we had to visualize and imagine what was
goin' on... Shucks, I did some thinking back
then... Don't get me wrong now chile, I'm not
dumb, just because I didn't make it pass the fifth
grade like the younger ones... I knows enough to
get by... Yes sir'ee, I ain't dumb.
Grandma would go on and on talking about her
childhood days, and Louise would never get
bored with listening like Kathy would. Telling
these stories is what brought Louise and her
grandmother closer together. They had that bin-
ding relationship that no other grandmother and
granddaughter could ever have.
"The house we lived in was what people now-
adays wouldn't call a 'house' that house was as
big as two of this room". The room in which they
were in, was grandma's living room, wasn't too
large. "I ain't complaining now cause when it got
cold, yeah it cold in Georg'ga, everybody would
get closer together and sunggle like this here."
Grandma then squeezed Louise tight, pinching
her arms as she always did to make her laugh.
" yall young people are lucky and ya don't
even 'preciate it." Louise never understood what
her grandmother meant by 'being lucky'. She
didn't think that she was lucky. Things for Louise
was worst than she ever thought they would get,
because now at this stage in life she was very self-
conscious, and worrying how her peers accepted
The next couple of days at school Louise was
able to adjust to her classes, talked to a few of the
girls who came from her old school, but her mind
was still on her grandmother.
On her way home from school one day she
thought of how the new girls at school tried to be
friendly and she didn't pay much attention to
them. Her grandmother was fine now, and she
knew that she shouldn't still be worrying. She
hoped that the grils didn't think that she was stuck
up or being snobbish. Boy, this is a lousy way to
start off the year, she thought. Just then three girls
came running behind her.
"Hey, Louise, wait up."
She turned around to see who it was. She
recognized Sandy, one of the girls from last year,
but didn't know who the other two were.
"Hi Louise, you on your way home?"
As the other two girls got closer, she knew that
one was in her history class.
"Oh hi Sandy," said Louise, "yeah I'm goin
"Louise, this is Dianne, and Cheryl," said San-
dy, "yall this is Louise." They both said hi and
"Aren't you in my history class?"
"Yeah that's right.... what you think of that
mean teacher, I think she's a real ass bucket.
Already she assigned two whole chapters to read
"I dunno, its only the first week I can't tell if
she's mean yet," said Louise... "where yall goin'?"
"We're just going to the pizza shop. I heard
Kevin and his friends say they were goin there.
You wanna come?"
Louise wanted to get home so she could go
over over her grandmother's house again. Going
to grandma's house became a daily activity for her
"unh, well. . . .1 gotta. . . ." Louise tried desparetc-
ly to think of another excuse.
"Ah come on Louise. I want ya to meet Kevin's
friends, they're cool as shit," said Sandy.
"Yeah, you know the boy who sits in front of
me in our history class?", said Dianne "that's Billy,
"Really" said Louise. She knew who Dianne
was talking about and she thought he was kinda
cute. "O.K.", finally making up her mind, "which
pizza shop you goin to?"
They all went to the pizza shop and Louise lost
all track of time. It was four o'clock and Louise
thought that her mother should be on her way to
see her grandmother, so she wanted to hurry
home. When they got to the intersection, they
split up. Louise was going in her separate direc-
"Well, I gotta go. . .see ya tomorrow at school."
"Tomorrow?" said one of the boys,
"Yeah you can go to school if ya want," said
Dianne. They all started laughing.
"Don't forget to meet in front of the drug store
at eleven," Sandy said.
She crossed the street and hurried home.
Things seemed to be going better for Louise now.
She was happy that she went to the pizza shop.
She had new boys and girls, and tomorrow she
was going roller skating with the gang.
It was almost five o'clock when Louise reached
home, and no one was home. "Mom probably
went to grandma's house without me" she
thought. On the kitchen counter she noticed a
note of which she could make no meaning. It said
Bridgeport General Hospital
Dr. Donahue Call after 3:00
258-5594 ext. 25
"What is this? she thought. What happened that
she didn't know about? Where was everybody?
Did something happen to grandma? OH NO She
tried hard not to think of something bad happen-
ing to her grandmother. No, nothing could have
happened, I just saw grandma last night and she
was happy, laughing and being her old self
again." She kept convincing herself that her
grandmother was alright. Still she knew that this
note meant something. But WHAT? She thought
of calling her grandmother's house but dreaded
the thought of not getting an answer. Instead she
decided to call the hospital.
A high squeaky voice came through the other
end of the phone. The woman speaking sounded
as if she was holding her nose.
"Hello, Bridgeport General Hospital, may I
Louise didnt't know exactly what to say or who
to ask for. She grabbed the note off of the counter
to see the doctor, s name.
"Hello, what extension please."
"Is Dr. Donahue there?"
"Just a minute... who shall I say is calling?"
"I'm Louise Russell, and I wanna talk to him
about my grandmother. I think she's in this
"Well young lady. Dr. Donahue is a very busy
man .... what is the problem, maybe I can be of
"Miss I just wanna talk to Dr. Donahue to see
how my grand mother is. . .unh well, at least I think
turn to page 70
alumni and keeping them informed of developments.
Our strategy has been the most difficult part of the
reconstruction process. Regarding alumni, back in
1976, I experienced the non-conformity which was
confirmed in Mr. Thomas' interview. One glaring
weakness was that many of us brought nothing more
than genuine interest in the redevelopment of At-
water. Editorializing and testifying is a normal oc-
currence in the beginning stages of informal
organizational development. There were many
mistakes made during the organizational develop-
ment process. Our first attempt to solicit financial
support from organizations and agencies was done
outside of our local area. There is a strong possibili-
ty this occurred because of the participants' inex-
perience in large-scale fund raising in addition to
fully realizing they themselves did not have the need-
It was not until the reorganization of a camp com-
mittee, comprised of alimmi and Urban League
board members, that any significant change began
to take place. However, the reorganization had some
inherent restrictions which had to be worked out.
The Urban League's affiliation with United Way and
United Way having all responsibility for fund raising
drives throughout industry limited our efforts to
raise capital improvement revenue. Therefore, the
camp committee was compelled to work within its
own in-house resources. The convincing fact was
that the idleness of the camp put a financial burden
on the Urban League General Fimd. As our strategy
was being implemented, the committee had to re-
main flexible for change; however, it was not always
possible for the flexibility to exist. The members of
the board who were representatives of the in-
dustrial mind had different motivating factors to in-
stitute change as opposed to those who were alumni
and related to their concept of what their Atwater
experience was. The alumni were, therefore, resis-
tent to changes the industrial minds felt were need-
ed to insure long-range stability.
Several studies have been developed to ascertain
the marketability of this project. Even through a
study by the Community Funds Advisory Council in-
dicated unfavorable results, what should be con-
sidered is that this study was not developed uniquely
for Camp Atwater. The focus of this study was on
camping in general. The uniqueness of this situation
was that this camp had existed for many years and
had developed a large constituency. With the help of
the National Urban League, through a survey of
PARENTS ATTENTION . . .
Registration fee (Not Refundable} $5.00
Insurance-Maintenance and the privileges (per week! $22.50
Campers, whose bills remain unpaid for more than one week after payment
is due, will be excluded from the privileges of the Camp unless satisfactory
arrangements for credit are made with the camp office in advance.
Former campers, owing unpaid balances, will not be readmitted until such
obligations have been met.
Campers who withdraw before the end of the'perrod for which they regiscer
will be required to pay for the full period, unless withdrawal is compelled by
some emergency or other unavoidable cause.
Remittances should be made either by bank draft or post office money
All remittances should be made payable to Camp Atwater.
Please do not make checks or money orders payable to auy individual officer
o/ the Camt).
The Camp will refuse to accept personal checks which are not duly certified
unless otherwise assured of the financial responsibility of the signers of such
We suggest the use of post office money orders as preferable to other forms
ALL BILLS ARE PAYABLE IN ADVANCE
Division of Season of 1950
The camp will be open to boys from Saturday, June 24, to Saturday. July 22,
and to girls from Friday. July 28, to Friday, September I.
The immediate shift from the boy's to the girl's season makes necessary
the complete removal of all boy campers the day boy's season ends. Our
inability to accommodate boys and girls at the same time makes it necessary
to enforce this regulation.
In approving applications for the 1950 camp season, preference will be
given first to last year's campers and secondly to new applicants. A quota of
220 for each group has been set for 1950, and selections will be made on the
following dates; Boys, May 20. Girls. June 3. Please return your application
blank as soon as possible with registration fee. The age limit is from ten to
We urge parents and guardians to make every effort to give campers the
advantage of the longest possible stay at the Camp.
No applicant will be admitted for periods of less than two weeks.
A special list of suggested clothing has been prepared for the camper's
benefit elsewhere in this catalogue. It is our hope that campers will not come
to camp overloaded with clothing.
While the Camp will aid, as far as possible, in the Recovery of lost clothing
and other belongings, it will not be responsible for the loss by theft, fire or thp
carelessness of the camper.
It is suggested that each article of clothing should be plainly marked with
the owner's name and a list be pasted on tiie inside of the camper's trunk as a
guide to the counsellor at the start and close of the season.
For the convenience of campers and workers, the Camp engages the service
of a commercial laundry in a neighboring town. The Camp work is transported
to and from the laundry weekly and is done at special, reduced rates. If campers
do not wish to use this service we suggest they come provided with enough
clothing to last their entire period of camping, or come equipped with mailing
case so that soiled laundry may be shipped home for servicing.
We suggest that campers provide and bring with them laundry bags for
The train and bus service available at East Brookfield is frequent and
The Boston Post Road passes through the village, making it easily acces-
sible by automobile.
A conveyance from the Camp will meet canijiers and visitors at either the
railway or bus station, provided notice of arrival is given in advance. A charge
of 50 cents per |ierson will be made for this service-
Campers traveling by railw;iy from the West or South should not have their
tickets routed via Boston. This means a cnnsiderable loss of time and possible
additional expense. The tickets of such campers should be purchased to East
Brookfield by way of Springfield. Round triji tickets .-ire advisable and recom-
If this, for any reason, should be impracticable, such tickets sl-,<niKl he
purchased to Sjiringlield and additional passage purchascti there to East
The Camp aitempis to roKuLiie iIk' sjx'nJinji mumx m ilu- <,iiii|'i
sum of $1.50 per week should W siilliLJnu fnr ice-cream, iiuulv . i>.ilvi .
and staiiiinery. I Inwevcr. an ad.liii.in;il aminiiii sliould be esiimai,\l I
purchase o( C:iinp pictures, jerseys, craft m.iterial. liiir-;ebaek ridiiifi ;nul
sjieeial privileges ilie e;im|vr may wish in eniiiy.
their 114 affiliates, we were able to make our point
of our potential marketability. There was also a
study completed by the University of Massachusetts
Economic Development Department which attested
to the marketability of Camp Atwater to the public
andjirivate sectors (industrial). To further attest to
our marketability, we were able to obtain the
assistance of the Hampden County Manpower Con-
sortium, Monsanto, Massachusetts Mutual Life In-
surance Company and Digital who all contributed
substantially to the restoration. The restoring of this
institution will stand as proof of what the joint ef-
forts of the private and public sectors can ac-
complish in answering some of the social needs of
our society. The cooperation of the private and
public sectors will always be the cornerstone of all
good things happening within the area of human
In developing our action plan, we first had to ob-
jectively consider our goal, based on the history of
the institution's demise and our further projected
long-range goal of establishing longevity and finan-
cial stability, while keeping in mind the very history
which was amassed in building this institution.
Through this type of approach, we were able to
determine what elements of organizational
variables were instrumental in bringing what had
developed to a national level to an mifavorable end.
Our research projects in this area also indicated
other important things to be considered, such as
poor management, changes in directors and failure
to keep abreast of constituency changes, which were
directly related to the demise of Camp Atwater.
Our conclusion was that efficient management
had to be the base of our rebuilding and it has been
the basis of any effectively run institution. The reac-
tivation of Camp Atwater alimwii had to be coor-
dinated, for through this body of people would come
many management personnel and campership
patrons, as well as the development of other feeder
sources for camperships, state and federal, and our
own network of the Urban League's 114 affiliates.
Resource development really relates to the Hamp-
den Coimty Manpower Consortium (CETA crew). Ob-
taining a labor grant was one aspect; the second
phase was developing a crew and motivating them
enough to be willing to achieve the higher skills
needed to do the actual physical restoration process.
What we attempted to do in this section was to
describe what kind of motivational approaches were
attempted. This particular group of employees was
given oral presentations on the history of this institu-
Camp Atwater Alumni Association
AN ORGANIZATION COMPOSED OF FORMER CAMPERS,
WORKERS AND PARENTS OF CAMPERS AT ATWATER.
The first ennupl paCherlnp of the Caop Atwater aIumiI was
held on the canp ;rour.d3 on July ?5 - 28. The sost Irportant
developr.ent of the fiotherltiff war, the orennlialion of an Alumni
AEBOclatlcn. Dr. UlysEec T. Carter, Jr. of Pr vldencc, Rhode
Islrnd was elected President end Its. Jean Vebb ocwell of Phila-
delphia, Pennsylvpnla was elected Sccrettry.Trepsirer,
According to the constitution of the asaoclption, the prcat-
dent will hove .he power to apoolnt roglnpl Vice-Presidents,
These Vlce-Presidenta trill oervo as contact agents for the aseo-
There wore opproxlmetely seventy people at the organlii
oeeilng. At thlo meeting Hr, Matthew Buiiock was asked to i
B3 advlpor to the newly formed association.
■ small parties at
Highlights of the occasion were the v
Islanit, the dally swims end cpnoc rides, t
night and the renewlmr of old friendships.
In 19S0 It In the plan of the casa administration to arraneo
the cemperF detes so thst the Alumni will have and Included weelt-
end. The definite dates will be announced later. All our Aluenl
should start planning now to attend the 19^0 reunion.
wording to the
;e that they reg-
1 help ue to
If you know of anyone who Is eligible, a
Btalement of oembershlp In the constitution,
later now. Sand In your ra-mbsrshlp fee KO'.' a
reach our goal.
Inclosed you will find a capy of the conrtllutlon which
wao unnnlmoualy voted upon by the siombero ;,t the Orgnnlrptlonal
Lel'e get In the owlsi and ulaa 1950 a banner year In tho
hlftory of Caop AtwoUr. ^ JOO oembera.
In keeping with the desires of those present at the first "Homecoming"
the administration has set aside a four day period for the second Annual "Camp-
oree " of the Atwater Alumni. The entire camp and its facilities will be at the
disposal of the Alumni from one o'clock July 22 thru the mid-day meal on the
25th. The program will be arranged by the members of the executive committee,
so if you have any suggestions see thai they reach the President or Secretary
before the first of July.
For the benefit of those who have not received any material regarding the
Association the following is an excerpt from the Constitution:
1. To perpetuate the life work of Dr. William N. DeBerry founder of the
2. To encourage members to return to the Camp for recreational purposes.
3. To devise ways and means for promoting the Atwater Spirit.
4. To aid in the support of Camp Atwater and to offer constructive assist-
ance in an effort to continue to serve youth.
The membership of this organization shall ;onsist of former campers who
have reached the age of twenty-one, former members of the staff, the
parents of any camper who desires to become an active member and friends
of Camp Atwater.
If you should qualify for membership to the Association unicr any of the
above eligibility requirements, it is our suggestion that you contact any of the
following Regional Vice-presidents, or Officers.
OM Columbus Ave.
Dr. William Hall
89 Quincy Street
Charles H. Chew. Ill
2127 Christian St,
l625'S-StreeI. N. W.
Washington. D. C.
Dr. Julian W. Anderson
159 West 1 16th Street
New York. City
Detroit 26. Michigan
Dr. Martin Walton Dr. Ulysses T.Girter.Jr. Jean Webb Se well
Meharry Medical College 357 Westminster St. 16 N. 50th Street^
Nashville 8. Tenn,
.vidence 3. R. I.
tion. In addition, they made many of the decisions as
to what work assignments would have priority in
completion; they were often asked their feelings as
to what type of resources they felt were needed with
the kinds of investments being made by them. This
was done so they could feel they were a part of it all.
As far as the actual physical tasks, the crew started
out with minimal tasks and they demonstrated skills
in those tasks. They were given other more com-
pHcated tasks to complete. Had these crew members
not been able to achieve higher skill, this entire pro-
ject would have been destined for failure. Identifica-
tion of other needed resources was accomplished by
private contractors and bid out to those contractors.
FoJJow-up — the type of follow-up needed here should
concentrate first on the administrative phase of pro-
During the earlier existing years, people from large
urban cities along the eastern seaboard patronized the
camp. However, in the last successful ten (10) year
span previous to the closing of the camp. Black
children from all corners of the United States were in
attendance at Camp Atwater. In the successful years
of operation, 1924-1968, the camp could serve an
average of seven hundred (700) youngsters per sum-
mer. There are over 20,000 alumni of Camp Atwater
spread across the United States.
Many of these alumni have become distinguished
members of our society. Among these, the names are as
follows: Adele Addison, Eleanor Holly, actress; Ronald
Lee, former Postmaster General and currently Xerox
Senior Vice President; Wade McCree, United States
Solicitor General; Cliff VV^arton, former President of
Michigan State University; J. Tabor Bolden, NCB Vice
President; Gilroy Griffin, Vice President of CBS; Bobby
Thompson, Offensive Back for the Detroit Lions;
Michael Gale, Guard for the San Antonio Spurs of the
N.B.A.; Alexander J. Allen, Vice President of National
Urban League; Elma Lewis, Director, National Center
of Afro American Artists; Wayne A. Budd, President of
the Massachusetts Bar Association; Coleman Young,
Mayor of Detroit, Michigan; the lat Four Star General,
Daniel "Chappie" James, highest ranking Black in the
history of the United States Air Force; Henry M.
Thomas, III, President of the Urban League of Spr-
ingfield. ^ Needless to say, there are countless other in-
fluential Blacks within our social strata who feel that
Camp Atwater has had a great amount of influence on
their emotional development, as well as their intellec-
tual development and outlook. This Isit should not be in-
terpreted to mean that females are not among the af-
ACTIVITIES CAMPERS ATTENTION
Track and Field
Arts and Crafts
irst Aid Instructions
Smoking by campers is positively forbidden.
The penalty for this offense will be either rem
sion from the privileges of this Oimp.
Camp Atwater extends a cordial welcome to the parents and friends of
all campers, however visiting on the camp grounds must be restricted by the
demands of the daily program and other important considerations. We there-
fore set aside Sundays from 10 A.M. until 6 P.M, for patrons and visitors to
inspect and observe the program. However should your parents come from a
distant city and transient accommodations are necessary, they should make
reservations in advance with the camp business office.
Transient accommodations are available for periods of not longer than
three days, for parents who must accompany their children cither to or from
the Camp. They will be lodged, as far as possible, in the adult quarters and
served meals along with the campers with no difference in dining room service.
Except by special permission of the Director, visiting hy youn^ men u-ill mt
be permitted during the girls' season.
Honors and Awards
As an incentive to excellence in achievement and conduct, the Camp has
for several years, awarded annually gold medals to the three boys and three
girls making the most outstanding records as the "best all-round." the "bc'Sl
mannered" and the "most papular" campers of the season.
Other more widely distributed awards are also made.
1^49 Cold Medalist
Non-sectarian religious services for campers and workers are held in Beebe
Hall on Sundays, under the leadership of the camp chaplain.
Catholic communicants afe permitted lo attend Mass at the Oithulic
Church in East Brookfield. to which they are transported in camp convevimces.
fluent alumni. The lack of females being mentioned
among the historical affluent is not because they never
existed. They were not listed due to two
aspects — society's failure to substantiate the female
population and its upward mobility and the custom of
changing last names, which makes the recording of
developments virtually impossible.
"Sprintiliplii Crhfin Iipuyiip Oimp Alwatpr Prnpsotil ]'l7it
YEARS OF CONFUSION AND TURBULENCE
In 1924, Springfield, Massachusetts was growing in
its white and black populations and the impact of Dr.
DeBerry's envisioned program for St. John's Church
was felt by both. Through the leadership of Dr.
DeBerry, St. John's Institutional Activities had expand-
ed their scope of services to meet the needs and in-
terests of the community being served.
During this time period, the decision to separate the
institutional activities from the parent church was
made. The decision to separate was conceived and
negotiated by Dr. DeBerry. It was Dr. DeBerry's later
successors who led to stress and turbulence that even-
tually errupted into a bitter law suit regarding the
separation. At a church meeting on January 10, 1924,
the vote for separation was passed with two dissenting
votes and the name changed to "St. John's Institutional
Activities" from the name "Institutional Activities of
St. John's". All property acquired by Institutional Ac-
tivities of St. John's was transferred to St. John's In-
stitutional Activities, Inc., by an action referred to as
"conveyance", while the organization maintained its
own active agency board.
It was on May 18, 1924, Dr. DeBerry's twenty-fifth
(25) anniversary celebration as minister of St. John's
Congregational Church, that Dr. DeBerry burned the
mortgage valued at $28,000 on the property owned by
St. John's Institutional Activities, thus freeing the pro-
perty of mortgage indebtedness. Two years later, St.
John's Institutional Activities developed a publication
entitled The Record and in its first issue, it carried an
article on Camp Atwater regarding a newly created
Recreation Hall (Beebe Hall], with stage and assembly
hall facilities. In the year 1931, St. John's Institutional
Activities, Inc., underwent further changes which
renamed it as "Dunbar Community League, Inc." In ad-
dition. The Recorder changed its name to The Dunbar
Record. In another article of the same February issue.
The Dunbar Record article read:
L Shirrs and shorts
2. Slacks or overalls
). Extru pair of low-heeled shoes or
4. Rubbers or galoshes
5. Raincoat or poncho
b. Warm sweater, jacket or coat
7. Several pairs of socks and under-
9. Three Blankets
10. Sheets and pillow cases
11. Bathing suit (without capi
12. Towels and wash cloth
I J. Toilet articles
Camera and lilms
Flashlight and extra battery
Testament or Prayer book
For camping purposes, we suggest
(he use of steamer and camp packing
As a health and sanitary measure,
the use of bed linen Is required of all
Each camper is expected to bring
lor personal use four cot sheets and
three pillow cases in addition to the
twn blankets which havt always been
Camper's Application Blank
Date of Birth
Date School Closes Date Opens
Date of Arrival at Camp
Length of Stay From Until
Have you ever camped before? If so. when and where? If at Atwater, indicate
the last year
Signature of Parent or Guardian
Between September 10 and June I5. mail all communications to Camp
Atwater, 33 Oak Street, Springfield 9, Mass.
Between June 15 and September 10, mail toCamp Atwater, East Brookfield,
Remittances should be made either by bank draft, post office money order
or ccrtifiett personal check, payable to Camp Atwater.
Each camper is required to present on arrival a health certificate from ii
physician and to submit also to a physical examination by the camp physician
after arrival. Admission will be conditioned on the report of the camp physician.
The following testimonial regarding applicants who have not before been
registered as campers at Atwater is to be signed either by a minister or the
principal of the school attended by the applicant.
I have known the above named applicant for.
and believe to be amenable to discipline and addicted to
no vicious or immoral habits.
SiCNATURE - .
A registration fee of ?5.00must.accompany this application. Not Refunded.
If the above application is approved, ! hereby promise to observe the rules
and regulations for parents and guardians as stated in the camp catalogue and
thus cooperate with the Camp in accomplishing its purposes.
Parent or Guardian of
turn to page 65
Yo grandmomma was put away in style.
Seem like to me yo grandaddy deserve
at leas as much respec."
Hattie rolled these words around bet-
ween her thick plaits and her thin fingers.
In the dimming evening light, her deep-
set eyes took on a bright light.
"Uh huh, you right. It sho was sum-
thin. But that was diff'rent. We was so
stunned when Grandmomma died. Mr.
Burton jus sorta took ovah and planned
out everythin for us. Grandaddy and I
talked a lot 'bout that since. Matta fac,
Grandaddy talked a lot 'bout a time
when folks took care of they own birthin
and buryin an everythin inbetween.
Seem to me folks then wasn't scared ta
touch they own life an those 'round 'em.
Me and Grandaddy tried for the longest
to figure out why we embalm our kinfolk
and then stare at the body tryin to
measure how close a likeness they come
to they real self.
"Grandaddy was put away in style
Miss Sissy and we all said our goodbyes
too. Matta fac, it couldn'ta been more
The night absorbed these words as the
two women sat side-by-side in silence.
Miss Sissy sat gingerly on the edge of this
new perception; Hattie sat back, deep in
the folds of reflection. When Sissy spoke
again, her voice was deep with under-
"We all know'd you and yo grandaddy
was real close. Seem like to me he don
lef you somethin special -yeah,
somethin real special."
If asked what color I am
here's what I'll say.
I'm the beauty of Night,
and the beauty of Day
You look up in books,
They say our Ancestors are gone.
Is heredity in everyone's life but our Own?
Each culture we have,
Each drop in our veins
Indian, African, Spanish, it's plain
We're the most beautiful colors that
follow the rain.
arco iris, the colors of the rainbows
the bone tree
by k. j. lamkin
little boy, I wish you could know your father again
i saw him washed down the gutter
with trash, street signs and ravaged umbrellas
between highrises and oblong valleys
crushed like a cigar butt
stripped of his shoes and his face
i sucked out his cancer with my eyes
promised his remains i would give you his seed
there was a woman, a cavewoman who came out of her glass
country with caution, advice for the dead
she wore shawls and earthcolors, tassles of fall
came incognito, without sulfur or cream press, as herself
in need; her eyes were a sud
swollen from a bottlemouth, threatening to break
she could have sucked his soul out with her
she sucked his cancer out with her heart
and was last seen on a sheet of shattered glass, splinters of blood
there was a boat, a little southern boat
but i swear to god it was the steel valleys
that capsized, the wind
swooped down from mausoleums and penthouses
lambasted his hull, and the pretties -- the clouds
fingers of a rancid invisible hand
revved up their broken glass rain
spit a million splinters til his boat shred
into slats and zeros
coughed up a perverse pussy explosion a sawedge
vacuum that sucked heat out of harlem with silk
beggars feeding off their own faces
rowed his boat this way and his arms moved like strides
of young kings, forgotten kings
moving with an overture of wind
but the storm, ubiquitous and eternal as a swarm
of rats or false gods
wore his boat to plank cross ash
cut his shoes from his body as sleet chiseled him to bone
he grimaced -- i swear he grimaced, though it looked
like a jagged grin
pain cut into the corners of his mouth
split his face in half
so that he wore his eyes brain and hair
as a cowl
flapping in the sharp breeze around his sl<ull
storm cut deeper, chiseled away
his flesh and sinew till only bone was left
and that was pummeled to silt and a whirr of scream
that last i saw of your father was the silt of his bones
i gathered him up in this vial: Ltell you to be a l<nower of wood
tell you to feel the secret of seed
build your boat with the best grain
in spite of the storm coming, i tell you
the secret of seed: root in the core of the earth
reach for the brilliance of sun
when you're gone
when you're not there; it seems so cold and lonely
the day is like the night; and the stars never seem to shine
suddenly my body begins to feel as though it is taken over
by a solar eclipse
and I long to see your bright and shining face
just to hear your voice as it sends vibrations throughout
my deadened corpse
if i could touch the very softness of your silky
smooth skin or feel the moistness of your lips
as i kiss you so tenderly
and when you return
we'd laugh and live and love as before
please come back i miss you
i want you
i need you
i love you
"Don't pay that girl any 'tention. Here you go - how's that?"
Kimberly gave Toya's swing a little nudge.
"Wheee-e-e!", she squealed delightfully.
?M"Hold on tight now." She got the two youngsters laughing and smiling. Next thing that Kimberly
knew, she was tripping over a plastic ball which seemed to have been rolled towards her feet with
deliberate force and an accurate aim.
"CHARLENE!!!", Kimberly exclaimed, with a bit too much exasperation as could be expected
from such a young child. She shot her eyes at Charlene disdainfully and continued her chastisement.
, 'Can't you see I'm playing with these little kids? I have to watch 'em.
"So what's new? They ain' goin' no where. Don'tcha wanna play?"
Charlene squatted down to scoop the ball up into her arms.
"I am playing'", she answered haughtily.
There was a pause. "C'mon, coaxed Charlene with a frown on her face. She stood with the ball
tucked between her elbow and her side.
Kimberly returned to playing with the little ones.
"fo-git choo, /nyway", Charlene said, more to herself than to Kimberly.
She walked over towards some kids who had just gathered at the far end of the playgrounds, lightly
tossing and spining the ball in her hands. "Hey! You all wan' play some kick ball a sumthin'?", she
asked eagerly. There were about five boys and girls there who were in need of some thing to
do. So they all agreed; went to the street; commenced to choosing teams, and started the game.
Soon after thay had been playing a while, Kimberly sidled over and meekly asked if she could play
Charlene could not resist the opportunity to antagonize Kimberly. "What about Kareem an' Toy?"
You better go watch 'em", she said in a snide manner, facing Kimberly with raised brows.
"Oh... they're alright."
"Yeah, sure. You wanna play now, with everybody else--now that we got the game all set up. But
you wouldn't play before, huh?"
"I didn't feel like playing then."
You never come in to a game on time anyway-"
"--No sir .!-"
"...an' you caint play anyeeway-"
"Who you sayin's lyin?"
You, fool", she said with an edge in her voice.
"Girl you know you can't play nothin'."
"You're a lie."
"Who's a lie?"
"You!", Kimberly said boldly.
"Yeah-I'm a lie just like you can play some kick-ball! HA!" The others had to laugh along. At that
point, they heard a window swiftly sliding open and the sound of metal kitchenware being dropped
into a drawer. Charlene's mother poked her head our of her second-story window.
"Hey, What's all that carrying on out there?" She was not exactly shouting' but her voice was clear
and distinct. "Chariene, is that pou I hear? I just know that's not your voice I hear all the way up here
on the second floor!" She then lowered her voice a bit and leaned out further on the sill. "Y'all quit
that arguing now-and play right!", she warned.
"But — , pleaded Charlene. Too late, her mom had already shut thi window and disappeared
"Shee - -Nobody calls me a liar!-Give me that ball' Carl" Charlene scooped up the ball and flung it
at the other girl with vigor. Kimberly ducked out of its path as some of the young teens arrived on the
spot. Diane and Kim's brother Jamie had been vaguely listening to them since Charlene's mother
"Ay! Are you hard-headed or hard of hearing?", Diane wanted to know. She bustled over towards
the spunky little girl. "Didn't you momma jus"
"Sheee'Y'all makin' so much dam noise, we cain't even heah each othah!", exclaimed Gina, with
her hand up to her temple.
"Yeah," continued Diane with a shake of her head,' "you tow're causin' a commotion that's
holdin' up the game for the others, see? When you gonna be cool, Charlene?"
"She was callin' me a liar!", Charlene burst out in emotional disbelief.
Diane remained unperturbed. Didn't your mother just speak to you."
"Y'Yeah, but', nuthin...You always teasin' somebody, -you gotta 'spect that someone's gonnta
come down on you once in a while too. But there ain't no use in getting loud -- especially fighting -
over what you know is true. If you know you're not a liar, idn't 'at enough? Eh?"
"Besides", said Rad, "if you whup 'er, it don' necessarily follow that you' shit is true, anyway."
"Right?", someone added quickly.
Kimberly was receiving a more private lecture from her brother Jamie on the sidewalk up the
street. He stook in the gutter with his back to the street, one leather-clad foot rested upon the curb.
He had one hand in his pocket, and he raised his free arm so that the stylish frined scarf draped upon
his chest fluttered up as he poked his finger at his sister's shoulder.
"You know good and well Mom doesn't want you arguin' our on the street - especially getting
loud with that busy Charlene."
She just looked at the ground and scowled.
"Well, she's been throwin that ball at me-and-an botherin' me-all day!"
"Yeah, right, Kim", interjected Pogo, speaking out of the corner of his mouth in a low toned
voice. He strolled by the two siblings. "Hey y'all, let's head for the cou't."
Jamie looked at Pogo and then continued. "You should, ve called fa me if there was trouble. Don't
bother with tha'girl." And with that, he turned around on his heel and headed off behind his other
There was a frown upon Kimberly, s pretty little face as she walked up the path to the playground.
She looked up and caught Kareem and Toya staring at her from atop the jungle gym, and then she
sat down to mope on her favorite swing.
Down on the street, the game of kickball had resumed with all the priginal players. A few of them
had invited Kimberly into the game - not without a dirty look from Charlene. But no, Kimberly had
lost enthusiasm for the idea by now. Besides' she had to be sure Kareem and Toya 'played nice'!
Meanwhile, the older children had all vacated the playground in search of some fun and as eager
as always to see what was going on in other areas of the neighborhood. They were heading for the
basketball courts down at Washington Park.
"Yeah, so you waz sayin'?... about Danette 'm Charles?", asked Rad.
"mm hmm", said Gina, staring into Rad's handsome young face. "Ph, yeah", she started, with a
blush. "Dannette still don' know 'bout Charles an how he do. She still all happy an thinkin she spoz-
ed ta be go/nwi'the nigga a sumthin."
For Real?!", asked Jamie, looking askance at Gina. Being the level-headed young man that he
was, he couldn't see how people expecially these young girls!- seemed to get so hung up on these il-
lusions of their relationships with others. He could related to Charles in his situation.
"Shoot, man. Me and Charles were talkin', an he amthinkm bout no Dinette."
Yeah... she'll learn", said Gracie.
They all shook their heads about it while Pogo dribbled his basketball all around them. With his
favorite, worn and faded blue cotton cap twisted about so that the bent visor stuck out at a crazy
angle over his back' he bobbed and weaved in and out. They were making their way in a loose
grouping: Jamie leading them with his cooled out city stride, his new white leather Nike basketball
shoes peeking our from below the neatly rolled cuff of his garbadine trousers. Diane and Gracie were
talking on both sides of him and Gina and Rad were walking alittle behind them and to the side.
Gracie said, "I gotta stop at the store."
"Alright, said Jamie.
They turned up the walk to the Washington Park Mall, entered, and made their way to Archer
Kent's, where they tarried awhile.
Gina was looking over the new magazines in stock. Pogo craned his neck over her shoulder to
look at the covers.
"Check this out?", he yelled over his own shoulder. "You see this sucker oh the cova a Right On,
man?" He picked it up and flipped through its pages.
"Who's that? Hay-wood?, asked Rad. He came over for a closer look.
"Yeah. That dude's such a chump."
"Ooooh... Hay wood Nelson?... He's so cute though"m crooned Gracie as she came over to join
"Ohw, ma-yan!", hooted the guys.
They cracked up laughing.
"Oh, but hey, man...", Rad said..
"Ha ha. What?"
"Check it. There go Charles."
"Yeah. The man a the hour."
"Hey Charles!", called out Jamie amiably.
"Well hey! What's hap'nin man?" Charles turned his broad shoulders sideways in passing a
woman who was intent on choosing a card. "'Scuze me... Well! 1 see all a y'all a here huh. Hello
Gracie." He acknowledged all of his friends in the store.
"Charles man", Jamie said quietly. "I heard you were havin' a hard time with that girl Danette."
"Yeah man. She goin aroun' talkin' all about me, givin' folks the idea as we wuz goin' out a sum-
thin. Jus' cause ah took er out a few times, you know? She follows me every where."
"Mm", he affirmed. "In fact, ah jus' came from up the park"
Pogo bounced into the conversation. "Oh you did?", he said.
"Yeah. I came from the park and "
"Who's up dere?"
"Oh - man, iss Raul 'n 'em. Franco and the boys from South Street."
I went to go shoot me some hoop, right, but they said ain'tnobody playin whilst tfiey had the cou't."
"Sheet man", said Pogo.
"Serious. The some evil som"
"They still up there?"
turn to page 72
You may think this silly and naive. Because you probably feel that all of us/human beings is so ob-
vious and already known and understood by all of us. Ah "child" knows this. It's COMMON
But this only goes to show you how much you already "thank" you know about ya-self and life.
And COMMON knowledge.
Don't you see; in that moment/ at that point in time in my life — I had found de Key. See, from
hearing my people "talk dat talk" about what we were suppose to have and what white folks had— I
thought there were some big difference between us. All in their favour.
EQUALITY: is the birth and death of all men. That is, NObody can control his own birth or his
death/ his NOT dying. If "whites" had NO control over their birth into this world nor any over their
NOT dying out of it— this made both of us "Equal." Don't you understand? But what gave them the
right to hold their foot on our necks, to abuse and degrade our Existence and our Humanity? They
used the "in-between-ness" of birth and death. The Mind. Our Minds. It is the use they have put to
their minds that have made the difference. Those whites who are the Ruling Klass Oppressors "stole"
our Minds from us. Made us "think" of ourselves (with "them") in "their" own image. Because, you
see, the determining factors in the way people "think" is the "in-Equality" factor. It's what we do with
this life after being born into this world— NObody thinks or does quite the same thing.
Birth and Death is the Ultimate Equality for men on the common ground of earth. By pressing
both palms of your hands together right now and you got what I mean. This is how close they is
together. But what is even more important to us and to life; sandwiched between both birth/and
death is the "in-between-ness" of our minds and our thinking. What we do with our mental powers,
how we use this life— through thinking/and acting— will determine how much meaningful purpose
and distance we git between these two Immortal Hands. It always deternnir^es what kind of life we
live. And you know what kinda lifetime we have been FORCED to live since being brought over here
to these shores— don't you?? Whatkinda sho nuff fur real "thinking" have wananaged to realize for
Do you know even the Nomads of the desert gets moe Respect than us?! They feel/"think" that
they (have a right to) "own" the desert. (Or at least make use of it for themselves!) The desert is a
place most people would never "think" of claiming for themselves, right? But these nomadic
people— down to the last— are willing to "fight" and "die" for their right to live some place on the
face of this dusty planet; even de desert. But look at us— we suppose to be more "hip" and intellec-
tually sophisticated than they ... yet we don't even "own" the poor rundown houses and apartment
buildings in our own communities. The Ruling Klass Oppressors have even taken this much right out
of our nature. "A man's home is his castle"; they used to say— well, the Nomads Believe this (. . .
cause they ain't scared to die) . I truly wonder where is our Beliefs??
. . . We don't even know how to die yet! This is the truth. We are one of the "dying-est" people on
the planet— and yet we've never truly thought about how we wanna leave this Existence. Our death.
This is a very necessary prerequisite to any person's/ or people's approach to life. This forms y/our
Why should we think about something that's going to happen anyway; that's inevitable? All ques-
tions such as this is generally based in a Western concept, this type of mentality; it's our futile attempt
to flee death. It's ah sorta kinda dreaded fear of dying. Don't think or talk about it and it won't be so
bad to live here— knowing that we must die ani^wai; some day;. To think about it is to make it hap-
pen— SOONER! (. . . This is; Aww, look— "thinking" about it or not "thinking" about it you can and
are going to DIE. So what's the big deal?! Either way you're just as DEAD.)
Our reason for thinking about death is that once we "decide" on what we willing to "die" for (since
we're going to die/are dying every day— because ANYTHING can kill you) we have some definite
idea of what we should be doing, it gives us a purpose in life. It also helps us understand what we're
willing to "kill" for. Determining this crucial issue of death/or dying releases all of the pent-up energy
that we have accumulated over the years through this Western way of living; that was disguised as
something else but actually is this basic "fear" of death/and dying stalking the chambers of our
minds. It frees us to set our marks, to set out upon a definite course of action: whether it be "positive"
or "negative." It stops our minds/thoughts from wavering back and forth undecided— on what we
know we should be about. And once we realize that what we're doing can kill us/ or git us killed, we
take it/this way of living more seriously, we take it to the point; wherthe fateful Day does come and
Death appear before us— we wanna make sho that we is doing the things that we "think" and feel are
worthy of our dying for. And dig this, once you come to terms with your own death/and dying— you
cease to "think" about it any more. It stops troubling you.
We're ALL poor, peasants. When you poor and ain't got nothing— all you truly got to deal with, to
throw against your enemy is: "Your Life!" This is ALL we have: OUR LIVES. The Ruling Klass Op-
pressors got planes and bombs, tanks and ships and big guns . . . the Army, Navy, Air Force,
Marines, c.i.a., f.b.i., d.i.a., sheriffs, state troopers, deputies, po-lices, undercover piggs, "snitches,"
judges & d.a.'s, posses, klansmen, white citizens councils, prison guards, etcs etcs— who are mostly
"other" MIS-guided poor, peasants— to go out and do their killing and cl\;ing for them. We only have
our Life! And this must become our battle gear. We tell him to bring on his awesome arsenal of
weaponry, his World Po-lice Force and his petty Fears— BUT WE AIN'T RUNNIN NO MOEI!
And believe this, when an\; man knows that ani; time he messes with you that you're willing to give
up \;our "life" in defense of your freedom/or to take his "life" in the process— that man is gonna be
very "thoughtful" before he comes to deal with you concerning anything! Why? Because he knows
that you're willing to give up the ultimate: Life 'n Death/and he knows also that you're demanding
this same "Equality" from him (and whoever else he may send)! And death cannot win out over
life— in NO universe; otherwise, what would become of death?
But look at how the uniformed authorities, sent by City Hall, will come into our communities, put
a Black family out of their house or apartment, throw them and their belongings right out on the
sidewalk (even in winter) — and the rest of us stand at our windows looking out, or on the stoop/or
porch laughing at this. How foolish of us! They do it to them today and come back and do it to me or
you on the morrow! See how far we've fallen as a People??
It's INSANITY for us to "live" in any building and yet NOT "know" all of the people living there.
It's definitely unsociable. Inhuman. And detrimental to all of us. Or, in other words, amerikkkan. We
ought to go out of our houses and apartments right now and make it our Duty and Responsibility to
git to KNOW everybody in the houses next door to us/and the buildings we live in . . . (and from
there we take it to the street) .
And stop! talkin' bout "your privacy"— there's NO such thing in the ghetto (if in amerikkka). This
man got us underneath a microscope. He taps our phones, eavesdrops on us with the most advanc-
ed "listening" equipment, watches to see how much water we use, even peeps to see how often we
go to the "toilet" ; and with the New zip-code system that is to be brought out in 1980 (the adding of 4
more digits to the regular 5 numbers) they're sho nuff going to be able to pin points where we at then.
We gotta have some strong Umoja (Unity) amongst ourselves/and Imani (Faith) in ourselves and
our struggle in order for us to combat all of these thing; Y'all.
In other words, all I'm saying is that NObody owns this planet. Unless it's PEOPLE. All People.
But some few some-bodies are attempting to lay claim to all of it for dem-selves. This is NOT a right!
And I know what I'm saying sounds crazy, but this is a crazy world: when we let "them" git away with
puttin ah stake in the ground — and "claiming" it for themselves! We got to become crazy also. We
godda become T-totally MAD! Pulling out all stops— in order to deal with this thing. We actually got
to start "thinking" and "acting" like madmen and madwomen— um telling ya!!
We don't even know how to "sacrifice" for our freedom and Human Dignity yet. Think about this.
We're too busy caught up in the false glamour, the surface level of this society to "sacrifice" for
something that's way deeper and more real. Our-selves.
By them making us "think" that we have NO PLACE on this planet to STAND on/. . . LAND
. . ./it cuts off our identity with and sep a rates us from the earth. We're left suspended/hanging in
midair ... ah people at the mercy of any and everybody and thing. Just like dust— to be trampled
underfoot and blown hither-thither by the wind. We're a people who've LOST our identity with the
earth, nature and the Universe; and our conceptions of where we belong in this world is as far off,
naive and mythical— as the old man in the moon. "We set hea waitin fur de Miracle, when we our-
selves is dat very Miracle."
Brothers & "Sisters": Only by the proper use of our Minds can we determine our own Destiny. WE
ARE A RATIONAL PEOPLE-"GIFTED" WITH INTELLECT AND REASON. Let those of us stan-
ding here now facing this NEW HORIZON take one last glance over our shoulder, at the "Old" world
of "thought" and "dehumanization" that we're leaving behind— and say: "Never Again!" "What else
can a man have, except his life and his death?" Walk On!
Let's each ask ourselves: Why should I be scared to die? What do I truly feel is worth "Sacrificing"
my entire Existence for? What do I truly WANT for my Beautiful Black Life and for the Beautiful
Black Lives of my People? And all HUMANITY??
(. . . Where we are Honest and Truthful with ourselves, with persistent and dedicated
"thinking"/and Action on these things— the answer will reveal itself. BUT WE MUST NOT
SEEK/NOR SET A TIME FOR IT TO HAPPEN; for it will come when least expected.)
Though de sun shines its light upon us all
Each man must be held responsible fur his own shadow.
Umoja/ . . . and Imani
"In view of the recent reorganization of St. John's In-
stitutional Activities as an independent, non-sectarian
social agency, the changing of its name and its separa-
tion from St. John's Church, in connection with which it
has functioned since its organization in 1911; owing to
a convergence of circumstances, the separation
became necessary in order that the work of the ac-
tivities might continue.' The History of St. John's Con-
gregationai Church (p. 83, 84 and 85)
The initial birth of the Urban League of Springfield,
conceived by Dr. DeBerry. started in 1913. It was Dr.
DeBerry's feeling that there should be a place for
young Negro women to live, learn and work together in
a wholesome and productive atmosphere within the
As the St. John's Parish Home for Working Girls, this
was the site for the Urban League of Springfield. On
March 28, 1914, Dr. DeBerry was unanimously elected
to serve as the first President, Alexander Highes was
elected Vice President. Edward A. Treadwell.
Treasurer, and Walter W. Samples, Clerk.
In 1918, the corporate name of the agency was
changed to St. John's Institutional Activities so as to in-
clude in its scope the work of the Boy's Club and a pro-
posed home for aged people in the community. By vote
of the corporators, On January 11, 1919, the agency
became affiliated with the National Urban League for
Social Services Among Negroes, with much the same
objectives as those stated by Dr. DeBerry in speaking
for St. John's Institutional Activities.
Mrs. Elizabeth R. Whiting was elected in February,
1923, to succeed Dr. DeBerry as President of the local
organization. Dr. DeBerry became the appointed Ex-
ecutive Secretary. Approximately eight years later, the
next major change occurred which changed the
organization's name to the Dunbar Community League
and its President to Edward Kronvall.
An inttpppnitrnt Snrin} Af^nnrv" Thf Diinlmr lU^rnril. Knhru;ir\, 19.')l p I
Dr. DeBerry announced his retirement as Executive
Secretary at the Annual Meeting on November 15,
1946. At this time, he was given the honorary title of
Director Emeritus and Alexander B. Mapp was elected
to succeed him. Mr. Mapp came to Springfield from
Columbus, Ohio, where he had served the Urban
League as Director of its Youth Division.
In order for the organization to continue in its social
services, it had been required of the organization to
make the following changes:
(l)The decision of the Springfield Community Chest
to designate the St. John's Institutional Activities
Weight on arrival Weigh: at departure
The whole program of Ciimp Atwater is related definitely
to the grea[ objective of teaching youngsters to hve more
completely. We feel that it makes a lot of difference in the
life of a child if he or she can spend a summer at camp. The
experience helps them to develop those intangibles - moral,
emotional and psychological characteristics- for which
there are no yardsticks to measure. We further feel that
the happiness and pleasures which a child derives from his
experience at Atwater are only incidental in the over-all
purpose for which we continue to serve.
The months which we live together sharing each others
problems whether they be in sports, in craft classes or per-
sonnel, we are able to establish dtep and lasting friendships.
The spirit which thru the years has been responsible for
building these friendships has been ably expressed as the
■ATWATER SPIRIT" This spirit of which wc speak, has
been the guiding light for many campers as they leave
Atwater for the last time, to take their places in a society
where understanding and cooperation are essential attributes.
As we come together each year at Camp Atwater. we
continue to build the traditional philosophy for which we
stand "Creating belter human relations through learning
to live together in health, in good fun and with good spirit."
tions holding vested interest in market field; and
(9)Survey other camps in the area, e.g., Y.M.C.A.,
Boy's Club, Girl's Club, 4H, to identify overhead
expenses and to talk about current experience
they are having.
In 1980, Camp Atwater will reopen its gates,
primarily to inner city black and Hispanic youth. In the
first three years of operation, the number of campers
will be limited to between sixty (60) and one hundred
(100). To insure the success of operations, after six
years, camperships will be allowed to increase to one
hundred-fifty (150) campers and will stabiHze to two
hundred-fifty (250) by 1986. Greater Springfield will
supply the bulk of campers — about 60%. However,
since there is such a significant demand for access to
Camp Atwater from alumni and friends across the
country, we will continue servicing regional and na-
tional requests. It is important to add that Camp At-
water has never and will not begin closing its doors to
any nationality who would like to share m the "At-
Activities Planned Include:
—Arts & Crafts
—Traditional and non-traditional sports
— Reading and discussion groups
— Leadership training
— Vocational and career exploration
— Wildhfe appreciation/Nature study
— Music/Performing Arts
— Debating teams
There has been a National Advisory Committee
established to help in solicitation efforts. Serving as Co-
Chairmen on the committee are R. Turner Dickerson,
Senator Edward Kennedy and National Urban League
President, Vernon Jordan. In addition, many other
distinguished alumni will serve on the committee.
The Economic Development Department of the
University of Massachusetts has been engaged to com-
pile a market study to determine Camp Atwater's
usage as a conference/retreat facility. A preliminary
study has already been conducted, finding that Camp
Atwater can easily become a retreat site for non-profit
organizations who cannot afford large retreat sites.
As a result of a proposal submitted to the Depart-
ment of the Interior, there has been favorable indica-
tion from them that Camp Atwater will be designated
as a national historic site, due to its significant history
CAMP ATWATER FEMANQAL PICTURE
The financial decline of Camp Atwater appears to
have started in 1970. The income was down by approx-
imately $6,000 as compared to 1969.
In the 60' s, the administrative overhead for the camp
was greater than in the 70's and this appears to be bas-
ed on the fact that more children were serviced during
the 60' s era. Again, due to the large numbers of
campers in the 60' s, line items such as insurance, food,
light, heat, etc., were higher in the 60's, yet the camp
still functioned on a breakeven basis during these
years. In 1969, expenditures appeared to have
decreased from prior years. Although in 1970, ad-
ministrative overhead costs such as insurance, food,
heat, lights, etc., had decreased due to the lower
numbers of campers, line items such as salaries,
maintenance, upkeep, repairs, and replacements in-
In 1971, staff salaries increased, however, expen-
ditures in line items such as repairs, maintenance, sup-
plies and equipment decreased. This appears to have
contributed to the physical decline of the camp. These
line items that were decreased were the lifeline of the
The income for 1970 was $34,000, the expenses were
$46,000, which left a deficit of $11,000. As a note, with
the increase in staff salaries, there would also have
been an increase in salary taxes.
In 1971, the income was $41,000 and the expenses
were $38,000. This $3,000 surplus was applied to the
No records were available for the 1972 year.
In 1973, the income as $42,485 and expenses were
$68,874. This deficit of approximately $26,389 was off-
set by bringing in outside projects. Inadequate finan-
cial records were maintained during this period,
therefore a full and complete financial picture was not
available. Due to the decline in the camp's constituen-
cy, it was felt at this time that it was necessary to seek
outside programs. During the 70 era, as well as in the
60 era, there were never any great expenses in the line
items for publicity and advertising so as to maintain
the camp's constituency level. The constituency level in
years prior to the 60's was based on long-standing con-
stituency ties. The constituency level began to
decrease at the same time as the line item expenses
decreased in the areas of maintenance, repair, equip-
ment, upkeep, etc.; therefore, one can assimie that
these line item decreases had an effect on the program
level, which had an adverse effect on the continuation
of constituency participation.
The camp was not in operation in 1974. There were
as the nucleus of the recognized Social Service
Agency among the colored people of Springfield;
(2)The resignation of Dr. DeBerry as pastor of St.
John's Church in order to devote his full time to
this Social Service Agency;
(3)The change of the name of the St. John's Institu-
tional Activities, Inc., to a name which would con-
form to its non-sectarian character; and
(4]The enlargement of its Board of Directors by the
addition of such new names as would make it
more representative of the various groups and
classes to be served.
On November 5, 1930, at an Annual Meeting of the
corporation, the name was changed to the Dunbar
Community League, Inc.
An Independent Social Agency "The Dunbar Record.
February, 1931" (p. 1]
In 1947, St. John's Church Standing Committee was
considering the purchase of properties that the Dimbar
Community League was putting up for sale and con-
sidering data concerning the transaction of church
properties in the past. As a result of the Dimbar
League putting these properties up for sale, the second
crisis developed. St. John's Church Standing Committee
decided to take legal action. St. John's position against
the Dunbar Commimity League was that the property
was given to the church for religious purposes and that
its conveyance to the League predecessor, St. John's In-
stitutional Activities, in 1924, was in fact in violation of
those purposes. Other properties were later added
within the equity bill. These properties were located at
Orleans Street, Quincy Street, Hancock Street and
Finally by February, 1948, the case was settled by
the church and the League. Involved in the settlement
was the payment of $ 1 1 ,500 to the Dunbar League for a
deed of property (Quincy Street and corner lot on Han-
cock and Quincy Streets).
To carry on constructive and preventative social
work among Negroes (blacks] for improving their social
workers and to make such studies in cities as may be
required for carrying out the objectives of the League,
on January 22, 1951, the name was changed to the Ur-
ban League of Springfield, Inc., in accordance with
Chapter 155 of the General Laws.
IDENTIFICATION OF PROBLEMS
Camp Atwater was taken for granted for many
years. It had always been a self-sustaining camp.
Private camper fees more than met the camp's
operating costs and equipment needs. However, during
the late 1960's and early 70's, poor management per-
mitted fees to lag behind the escalating cost of living.
The camp's operational costs kept increasing and
the budget became increasingly tight. In spite of the
camp's financial picture, it was still breaking even
through most of the 60's, but there was a limited
amoimt of money available for capital improvements.
Changes in camp directors, continued poor manage-
ment, failure to secure a caretaker, thieves and van-
dals all crippled Atwater and in 1973, the camp was
forced to close. Lacking the estimated cost to restore
and purchase what had been damaged or stolen, the
Urban League was left without an alternative.
Presently, the capital improvement and operating ex-
penses estimated necessary have been projected at
$262,000. However, we have reduced our need to
$116,500 through various solicitation efforts.
Problem Solving Activities
The Board of Directors of the Urban League of Spr-
ingfield decided that the revitalization and restoration
of Camp Atwater would be a priority for the Urban
League. It was the utnanimous decision of staff and
board members that the type of programming that
disadvantaged, minority youth could experience and
use was too important to delay the camp's opening any
longer. The following plans were made:
(l)Formulate a well diversified camp committee,
with people who could bring various talents and
capabilities to oversee the revitalization and
(2) Identify and hire a full time caretaker to live on
the property year-round;
(3)Take inventories of all rehabilitation needs of the
camp, through the use of professional estimators;
(4) Conduct an items and material inventory on all
property owned by Camp Atwater;
(5)Maintain a dialogue with the townspeople to in-
form them of the camp's plans, so as to protect the
positive relationship previously established with
North Brookfield and East Brookfield for so many
(6] Apply for Department of Labor monies for a labor
intensive program whereby there could be CETA
employees working during the spring and summer
to reduce the cost of rehabilitation and labor ef-
(7) Cultivate alumni, keeping them informed of
developments pertaining to restoration and as a
basis for future solicitations;
(8) Solicit materials and funds from local corpora-
no separate financial records. All assets and liabilities
were included within the Urban League's General Fund
In summary of the 70 era, there was the decline in
the constituency participation, the changing of
priorities for camp expenditures, poor financial record
keeping along with poor management administratively
and programmatically. All of these elements added to
the deterioriating effects which brought about today's
In 1975, some of the outstanding bills for the camp
were paid by the UL General Fund and sound and ap-
proved financial bookkeeping procedures were put into
effect in preparation for the revitalization of Camp At-
Financial systems needed to insure the successful
and stable operation of the camp consist of proper in-
come and expense records, proper purchasing
mechanisms, accurate financial projections based
upon adequate income and expense records, strong
financial controls over monies being raised and insur-
ing that restricted income is used for the specified pur-
poses, clearly defined financial goals and objectives
and mechanisms to assess abihty to meet these goals
and objectives and ongoing marketability studies for
There are many areas where follow-up would
have an impact that would prove beneficial to the
outcome of this project. There should exist a commit-
tee of people comprised of board members and other
pertinent individuals, i.e.. Camp Director, alumni
association and parents. Their responsibilities
would be to assist in the development of employee
selection criteria and to insure adherence to hiring
Within our action plan, there is mention of a
gradual increase in camperships over a six year
plan. Here is another area where some follow-up
could be very beneficial, focusing on the delivery of
services. There should be an active recruitment of
older campers to have input into the types of ser-
vices being offered to campers — whether or not ser-
vices are of academic or recreational nature.
Where there are educational services being of-
fered to campers, there should be some type of pro-
gram to measure achievement ability after campers
have returned to their own familiar surroundings. In
establishing this type of mechanism, it would
enhance the program and perhaps insure camper
participation on a much larger scale than an-
ticipated. The other advantage would be the promo-
tional aspect — our campers would be the most
reliable salesmen/women of camping at Camp At-
Another area of follow-up interest would be in the
types of training programs implemented to further
develop staff in camping and related areas pertain-
ing to operating an institution of this type. The ideal
situation would be having an intern training pro-
gram for each major position; positions such as Ad-
ministration, Program Director, Health Services,
Food Services and Maintenance. With such a train-
ing program, campers would gain a tremendous
amount of learning experience.
At a surface glance, one might assume that in just
opening Camp Atwater as projected is enough to
claim success with this program. However, my feel-
ing is somewhat different than would perhaps be ex-
pressed by a casual observer. I feel success here
must be based on how innovative the director will be
allowed to be! Can he/she implement the kinds of
changes mentioned. What better way is there to pro-
duce a well-roimded staff and personnel resource
pool. The type of training programs suggested for
campers and the soliciting of their involvement in
the planning can only enrich the services to be of-
fered. With these types of programs, we assure
ourselves of establishing the institution with a built
in means of generating long-range stability. The
more creative we are, the better we carve our ex-
istence into the future generations of children.
Let's save the child!
when i die
when i die, i'm going to heaven,
for i've been living in hell all
i do hope when I get there things
will be all right, especially employment,
for one needs a job to exist in hell.
and for those who do not know
where hell is, look it up in
the yellow pages under u.s.a.
ly Black colleges -1st... den, once it's been established
at dese Black colleges, it should be extended ta all
predominately white colleges where Black students are
- and have some type'a Black student organizations set
up. Dis would allow all'ata git moe involved viid 1
another' ta bring about moe awareness and Carin fur
each other. By dis methodology - we will be able ta
know what is happenin ta all Black college students
throughout dis Racist society.
i hope dat y'all will be able ta derive some frutiful
benefits or ideas from de thoughts dat i've arranged
and presented ta ta. Please feel dat i am always in ya
Corner AND willin ta big as much 'a my efforts as
possible ta assist all'a ya in dis endeavour. Write ta me
at will, i will be keeping in touch, (um also sendin dis
messageta other Black colleges and Black students...]
.as always, De Struggle
Feb. 4 79
Suntime 8:36 P.M.
74 A 3701
Stormville, N.Y. 12582
Angola, Louisiana 70712
18, March 1980-time 10:55AM
Drum-Publication 115 New Africa House Amherst,
Salamu Nduguada-Of Drum ! !
Just received your latest issue of the Drum
(1979-1969) edition and i must say that you are still put-
ting out one of the most informative and beautiful black
publication around, and i want to extends my sincere
thanks to you and all there who makes it possible for
me to received this beautiful publication.
I am still struggling vdth this mad house (Louisiana
State Pen) at Angola, and this is my 1 1th year, with 8 of
those years presently housed in the maximum security
section-CCR for 23 hours each day lock-down, but this
condition has not slowed my drive for mental growrth
one bit and i wdll continue to strive for the up-most in
black development, and consicousness, and my sincere
thanks once again goes to you for thinking of me here at
this out-post in the Louisiana Swampland, keep doing
what you are doing and i will be awaiting your next
issue when you are able to forward one to me again,
also if possible would you place my name on your stu-
dent bulletin Board- so that i would be able to open up a
line of commimication with anyone there that wouldn't
mind extending a few words of thoughts to a Black Man
held in this slave kamp.
I have enjoyed all the past publications that you have
sent me over the years and i will alway share those
with fellow brothers here with me, condition here at
this slave kamp is very bad, and there isn't a week that
some of our papers and magazines that we have receiv-
ed over the years are being return for all kind of crazy-
and unfoimded reason as the publication advocate
violence, and promotes prison dis-order etc, so it was
good that i was able to received this latest issue of
Drvun,.. So keep up the beautiful job that you are doing
there and i will look forward to hearing from you in the
Pamoja Tutashinda Bila Shaka'
Angola, La 70712
she's in there."
By now Louise was getting upset with this nasal
voiced woman. She started crying and raising her
"Calm down now... Is Dr. Donahue your family
"Yes, I think so."
"Little girl I can't help you if you don't know ex-
actly who your family physician is, and also if
you're not sure where your grandfather is."
(Grandfather, this lady's not even paying atten-
"But if you let me speak to the doctor he can tell
me what's happening with my grandMOTHER."
"Im sorry, but I have to disconnect you.... I'm
very busy also."
The next thing she heard was the dial tone buzz-
ing in her ear.
"Hey, wait a minute, I have to...."
Tears were filling Louise's eyes now. These
dumb receptionist don't give a damn about
anybody, she thought. What now? She was still
holding on to the note with her trembling hands.
She read it over again. Bridgeport General
Hospital Dr. Donahue Call after three
o'clock ext. 25. Why didn't I ask for the exten-
sion number?, that was stupid of me she thought.
She heard a key in the front door and ran to help
"Mom, what's goin on round here."
Her mother saw that Louise had found the note
that she left for herself as a reminder. She could
also see that Louise had been crying. She didn't
know how to explain what had happened.
"Let me in the house first, will ya."
They went into the kitchen and sat down. Louise
noticed tears in her mother's eyes now.
"Louise, your grandmother had a second heart
attack," She looked into Louise's wide and bright
unblinking watery eyes staring at her unbelieving-
ly. "Honey, your grandmother died this
morning." She then took her into her arms to
comfort her. Louise held on tight, embracing her
mother as if someone was pulling her away. They
both were crying, but her mother tried to stay
"Sssssshhhhh. . . .take it easy now I know it's
a shock... these things do happen."
Louise felt as if she couldn't breathe and talk at
the same time. It seemed like the whole world just
tilted onto her head. She kept on crying, sniffling
trying to catch her breath as she talked.
"Wwwwwwwhhhhyyy mom. . . .why'd it ha -ave
to haaaa pppen to to grandma?" Her mother tried
desperately to think of the best way to explain life
and death to her teenage daughter. A way in
which it would be easy for her to accept and
understand. As an adult it was hard for her to ac-
cept some of life's blows and surprises. She hoped
that Louise would be able to understand, and not
take it too hard. She lifted Louise's head, and talk-
ed to her directly face to face.
"Dear, you have to accept death as a natural
thing ...you must realize that God thought it was
time for grandma to leave us...."
"But wwhhyyy now... she didn't want to die."
"Listen to me, you can't argue with the Lord.
He works in mysterious ways. That's what makes
Him so powerful, unique, and
Almighty Remember you said that you're not a
little girl anymore? Well learning to accept a
tragedy as this is all a part of growing up. . . .1 know
it's gonna be hard at first, but it's all a part of
life.... Just hold on to your memories of your
grandmother honey, and you'll get by."
Wiping her eyes, Louise listened to what her
mother had to say.
Mom, I know that people... die... but, ...I
didn't think that some... body who I know
will... die... I see it takes a lot to be grown-up."
"Yeah, it does come as a shock when death hits
home. I was over at the house just before she past
away. I'm glad you weren't there when it happen-
ed," opening her purse, "here, your grandmother
sent this for you." It was a gold chain with a yellow
stone at the end. "It's her birthstone... she said
she wanted you to have it."
Louise took the chain and latched it around her
neck. "She really sent this for ME. . . .I'll never take
it off for as long... as long as I live."
After the funeral, life around the Russell's home
went fairly the same. Realizing that growing up
was more than she thought it was, Louise had her
hair back into two pony tails within a week. "I'm
gonna enjoy being a kid now," she told her older
As Louise grew older, she held on to the
memories of her grandmother. Whenever ever
things got tough and life just seemed difficult.
Louise would stop and think of how her grand-
mother would help her out of the situation. Ac-
cepting death at this early age, she seemed a lot
more mature and able to deal with many problems
that girls her age come into contact with.
AS THE BLACK MAN THAT I AM
Please acknowledge me AS THE BLACK MAN THAT I
AM, and I in turn will acknowledge \;ou as the person that
[;ou are. I am proud of mii blackness and any attempt to
overlook, hide or b\^ pass this fact is an insult and a threat to
m\^ being. For I have nothing to be ashamed of for mi;
/ii'sfory IS that of glori; and achievements that even toda^) are
not understood, for m^/ histori; is that of empires still to be
matched in size, richness or glor\;. For when i^our parents
were learning to speak mine ahead]; knew how to write. So
please acknowledge and respect me AS THE BLACK MAN
THAT I AM, For m^/ past is proud and mi; future
M. J. SIERRA
"Man! They coulda played a half court."
Well you know they figure since they're gonna be on the teann - first string - (hah) and help keep
that Division One title we got, they gotta hustle."
"Yeah, they gotta hustle alright. Man, last year we all used ta bitch togetha about that shit the
dudes from Madison use ta play on us. An' now they doin' the same dam thing. Ain't that
"hm. What I wanna know is how they so sure they both gonna make the team. I mean, they only
"I tol' you man. Coach to' 'em they wuz good an'could prob'ly pull. Anyway, they got the court."
"Man!!", Pogo exclaimed once more. He defiantly bounced the ball on out the door, and went to
mett up with Gina, Diane, and Rad, in the halls of the mall.
Charles turned back to Jamie. "So I was talkin' ta some a the brothas, you know? Then who do I
see comin up the street? With her eyes dead on me, and her friends all crowdin' around 'er."
Charles nodded his head. "They all talkin' and laughin' an watchin' everything. Talkin about
everybody you ever knew, you know'?"
"Yeah. Reminds me of Gina." They both laughed quietly, lest she hear. She was good at that.
"So man, here's Danette - 'proachin me an puttin her arm in my arm, an talkin' all kinds a shit I
ain't heva heard of... 'bout how she's missed me sooo much"
"How she's missed you? James eyed his friend incredulously.
"Yeah!" Charles answered with an equal amount of astonishment. "She ran down the rap on all
the parties that's happenin in what must be the whole city man, the whole Eastern seaboard. Yeah.
Ha ha, that's what you call the hintin' action, eh?"
"The serious, serious Hinting action man. Like with a capital "H"!"
"Yeah, that's it man! Shoot- I jus' looked at her."
"That's all you can do Charles, man", he offered with a flourish of his hand. "You just got ta be
cool and wait for her to cool on out a little bit." He paused for a single moment. If it was me I might
want ta just ice her shit. She's kinds", he tapped his head and looked at Charles in a knowing kind of
"I know. I do wanna do dat, now. I didn't know she was all like that."
"Look, Just give 'er the cole shoulda, man. I mean, you know / know the story, man. He shook
his wooly head in commiseration.
They talked for a while longer. Then Charles expressed a desire to speak to Grace. He and she
talked, Gracie smiling shyly and looking very coy. She had chosen her items to purchase and so they
headed for the check-out counter.
"A dolla ninety-eight please."
"I'll get dat", Charles offered.
"Oh, okay" she replied with just a touch of a shrug. "Thank you" she said with a beaming smile.
He said all the right things, smiled with her and walked with out the door.
I thought you'd never ever come out," said Gina to Gracie, eyeing Charles with suspicion. He met
her gaze with a hard cold look.
"Oh man, why don't you look somewhere else'?", said Gina. She turned her back to Charles and
faced Rad, who shurgged his shoulders towards the speechless young man.
"Well", said Jamie, "seein' as f/iey're usin the courts, we might as well go back down my way."
Much to all of their surprise. Miss Danette herself and her good buddies arrived at the part on
Jamie's street not long after they did. Of course no one was more shocked than Charles, the player,
who had easily managed to indulge in a lengthy conversation with Gracie. The two were rapping
near the maple tree; Gracie leaning back on its trunk' and Charles facing her, standing in a wide legg-
ed, cross-armed stance. Danette walked up to behind Charles and pinched him hard.
"Wha-a-a...???", Charles cried in bewilderment. "When he saw who it was, he appeared angry
and confused. "What do you want?", he demanded.
She started complaining about him 'leaving her' and 'ignoring her' and 'who was this girl over
here?' Her usually soft voice took on an annoying and biting edge. After the initial shock had reced-
ed, the other friends of Charles and Gracie began to laugh a little to themselves. It was truly a comical
"What \;ou laughin at?", the unnerved girl asked Gracie.
"You." Gracie laughed. After such a blunt statement, everyone cracked up. Pogo was hooting a
mile a minute.
"Ooo- this bitch! -Aww, tell'er Gracie! M, m, m. You gonner take that' Charlie man? Sheet, I
wouldn't take no shit!"
Charles said seriously, "Wait a minute now. Hold on. I've had enough."
"Yeah babe, cool out," said Jamie, shaking his head in disapproval and smiling his sweet smooth
"Don't you go holdin me down!" the girl screamed, while kicking and swinging at Charles and
Jamie. "Let me go!' She struggled to grab Grade's gorearm. She started cussing Gracie out in a
Gracie stopped chucklin. "Who i;ou talkin' ta honey?"
"I'm talking to YOU!"
"Yeah?", Gina dared her. "Well you betta watch who you talkin to like that!", she warned.
"Get OFF ME!"
"You best cool that shit right out, cause you ain't goin no wheres, baby", Gina sneered.
"Yeah, I'ma git you too, Gina."
"U huh," she said nodding her head. "You gon'git me good. Ha ha ha ha." She busted out. "I'd
like ta see that."
The boys were ready to give up holding this silly girl and Danette sensed this. So with a little extra
energy she managed to pop Gina one good one up side her head. It didn't phase Gina a bit, for she
proceeded to shaking the girl by her neck until it seemed she had shaken her spine right out of her
body. Charles and Jamie had stepped back, and were enjoying the whole scene.
All of the kids within earshot had gathered around this arena of action, and there they all stood, to
gape and goggle, gasp, gawk and giggle. But one somebody snickering as she observed the actions
of her elder neighbors. Charlene had been one of the first of the ringisde audience, and since she had
run over there with the game ball tucked under her arm, the entire kickball crew soon followed suit.
Kimberly, the little kids - everyone was crowded around the fight.
"Oooo", said Toya, blinking her eyes and peeking from behind her pal Kareem.
"Check them out Kim", said Charlene.
"I know it. Remember what they wa saying to us?"
"M, hm", she nodded her head assuredly. "Hey Diane, look how all a y'all just goin off down here
- - Gettin everybuddy all distracted 'n"
"Please Charlene!", Diane threw back.
"But shy don' they be coool?" She elbowed Kimberly in the ribs as she stood looking after Diane,
with her weight on one hip and her hand on the other.
Some of the other kids started mimicking Danette, Charles, amd Jamie' one screaming 'let me go,
let me go, let me go" in a high silly voice and a melodramatic manner' while two feigned holding him
"Jamie," Kimberly said, almost softly. She tugged on a loose end of his scarf that had blown over
his shoulder during all the confusion. "Jamie, don't you think you better get away from this fight -for
in case if Momma see you over here?"
Jamie gave Kimberly a real dirty look and turned back around to laugh and comment with
"Man!", she pouted and signed. "Hey Po-go," she said melodiacally, why don't you tell Gina what
you all tol' me?"
Pogo looked over at her. "What?? Oh. Yeah." He cleared his thfoat and caught Jamie's eye.
"Yeah. Ahem. Okay." He whistled. "Come on y'all." And then, "will you come on woman?'
Charles took the badly shaken (literally!) Danette from out of Gina's grip and led her up the street
by her shoulders, her senseless campanions trailing along with sad and discomforted expressions on
The group dispersed, but Charlene and Kimberly stayed to ;ean their backs on the tree trunk.
"Don't you hate it when you mother or your big brotha or somebody tells you not to do
something- and then they do it themselves?"
"Seems like they ought to at least tr\; not to do that. Huh."
They were both peering out of the corners of their eyes at Dian,e Jamie, and the other teen-agers.
The two young girls realized that they had an ear open to their conversation, and they could also
sense that they felt a little awkwardly remorseful.
Charlene jumped up away from the tree and took the remaining few paces towards Diane.
"Diane, what were they fightin about?"
"Huh? On, the weren't fighting for real."
"Oh you mean"
"-that crazy girl an' ole Gina."
"You're too young to understand."
Charlene rolled her eyes over to Kimberly. "Yeah, I guess so! How come you all tol' us ta 'be cool'
and you all ain' even"
Gina strutted over to Diane and Charlene. "Listen gid, will you shut up and go play tiddly winks or
whatever!?" she yelled.
Charlene turned around and started talking with Kimberly. "See that? And Jamie'll do the same
thing. I betcha."
Kimberly started to voice disagreement, butthen said, "I know." She turned to face her brother,
who was also hangin aroun the tree. "Jamieee, that's not fair!"
Jamie just looked up at his sister.
"Fair??", quipped Pogo. "what's not fair? I mean, who's tryin ta be fair, man?" He laughed and did
a quick chest pass to Jamie. "Who's tryin ta be fair man? You?"
Jamie smiled at his buddy, the comic.
"Aw, man...", Rad said slowly, as if to say 'leave the girl along'.
Pogo took heed though. "Check man." With one final joking,"! ain' heeared nobody say nothin
bout bein fair", he quieted down and becamse more serious. "Sheee-et Kids right?"
"Always in yz biz!"
africa, my africa
africa of proud warriors
in ancestral savannahs,
africa of whom my grandmother sings
on the banks of the distant river
I have never known you.
hut your blood flows in my veins
your beautiful black blood
that irrigates the fields
the blood of your sweat
the work of your slavery
the slavery of your children
africa tell me africa
is this you, this back that is bent
this back that breaks
under the weight of humiliation
this back trembling with red scars
saying yes to the whip under the midday sun?
a grave voice answers me
impetuous son this tree young and strong
this tree there in splendid isolation
amidst white and faded flowers
that is africa, your africa
that grows again patiently obstinately
as its fruit gradually acquires
the bitter taste of liberty
for the children
is for the children
whose minds are wasted
like black mudholes under bantustans.
whose bloated bellies are malnourished,
like a mother eight months pregnant
forced to abortion
whose feces are bloody
like an aborted fetus (and)
never given a chance to develop
whose only growth is growing
is for the children
of the boers
deceived to make believe
that "the natives are happy" and
all is well when all is hell
of the west
whose stingy reality is fantasy,
whose star wars are fought in ethereal oblivion,
whose angelic lives are the opportunity costs
of south afrikan youth
whose truths are lies
squealed by white swine
whose fire-breath of hatred
burns holes through innocent
eyes of black skeletons
buried with their truths— in dimbaza.
is for the children
whose sticks and stones
could not break the helmets of racism
enclosing the narrow minds
of praetorian police
who cannot understand for freedom
is too broad a concept
to fit in minds as narrow
as the bullet holes
bleeding the backs
of school children.
is for the children
who will not negotiate
in his final decision
for south afrika!
i^f^-^l U f