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Full text of "Drum"

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Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2010 with funding from 

Boston Library Consortium IVIember Libraries 



http://www.archive.org/details/drum1980univ 



DRUM 



black literary experience 



Address all contributions to: Editorial, Circulation, and Advertising Offices; 
115 New Africa House; University of Massachusetts; Amherst, Massachu- 
setts 01003; Telephone: 413-545-0768. 

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. 



Contents 



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 



staff 



Carl E. Yates-Editor 

Marlene Duncan-Co Editor 

Barron Roland 

Jennifer Segre 

Stacey Allen 

Valerie Hamilton 

June Anderson 

Russell D. Jordan 

Donna Davis 

Velma Thomas 

Vukani Magubane 

Billy Morrison 

Debbie Stead 

Yvette Parker 

Bobby Davis 

Barry T. Wright en 

John Hill Jr. 



letters 



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. 
Yours truly 
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 
is doing. 

- 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 
Future. 



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 



editor's note 



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... 
AL-KE-BU-LAN... 
BILADES SUDAN... 
AFRICA. 

Our bloodline flows to the Great Pyramids and 
beyonder... 

non-stop... back to the hands of our First 
Fathers. 

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 
CHILDREN. 



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 



daniel marolen 



CONGRATULATIONS 
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 
apologies. 

Donna Saimders Jackson 

Charisse Williams 

Carol J. Carter 
Director. CCEBS 



Ismael Abdussamad 
Paul F. Ainsley 
Joyce Allen 
Marcia Allen 
Paul Amoroso 
Kathy Anderson 
Lewis Anderson 
Rafael Aquino 
Dave Armour 
Michael Baugh 
Todd Bell 

Richard Bissonnette 
Steven Bouy 
Dorothy Brown 
Glenn Brown 
Bessie Bryant 
Albert Bull 
Robert Burton 
Deborah Carter 
Albert Chin 
Chunchi Chin 
EECho 

Desiree Church 
Wayne Clark 
Alpha Cooke 
Kieran Cooper 
Anita Davis 
Derek Davis 
Dana Debarros 
Anthony Dicaprio 
Cynthia Dukes 
Jean Dumay 
Glen Erikson 
Terrell Evans 
Anthony Florence 
Stanley Fitch 
Perry Fong 
Kenneth Fulgham 
Sandra Garrigan 



Frederick Gibbs 
Julie Hall 
Lynette Hall 
Marilyn Harris 
David Harrison 
Richard Herbert 
Dorrance Hill 
Melinda Hilson 
Henry Homayounja 
Marcia Hospedales 
Annmarie Huntley 
Anderson Hurley 
Phillip Jackson 
Perry Jenkins 
Angela Jones 
Aubre Jones 
Marlene Jreaswec 
Joseph Kalinowski 
Kenneth Kelly 
Danielle Kenel-Pierre 
Mai Lam 
Benedict Land 
Michelle Laney 
Shawn Lans 
Irene Lee 
Chung Ha Lee 
Catherine Leung 
James Lewis 
Kimo Look 
Takkin Low 
James Lycurgus 
Tsitsi Madzongwe 
Vukani Magubane 
Wayne Malcolm 
Lorraine McCoUin 
Peter McCree 
Charles McKinney 
Renee Mobley 
Wayne Moliere 



Ralph Moore 
Carlos Maro 
William Morrison 
Phillip NG 
Bari Njiiri 
Jocelyn Payne 
Clifford Pedrow 
Marcelina Pina 
Gerard Portier 
Clovis Rainford 
Diane Randolph 
Steven Rizzo 
Michael Roderick 
Ellen Ryner 
John Schleer 
Ferdinand Singleton 
Carol Smith 
Joyce Soucier 
Deborah Stead 
Francis Thomas 
Leon Thomas 
Rosalind Tsai 
Eric Turner 
Herbert Tyson 
Cheryl Watkins 
Aloysius Webley 
Carol Williams 
Debra Williams 
Oswsld Williams 
Porter Williams 
Gwendolyn Willis 
Waim Ming Wong 
Brenda Yellock 
Raymond Young 




W.E.B. DuBois 



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 




Barron Roland 



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 



Barron Roland 



(untitled) 

Take my heart 

Teach it to sing like yours 

Skip 

Heat 

Test 

Formalize 

the echos of energy 

repeat the very 

nerve upon nerve fiber 

ease me 

squeeze out the balled up tensions 

flex me down into 

wild laughter 

hear the colors of my sound 

aggravate my screaming 

be my dream in a material 

stage 

dip your palm print in 

this invisible ink 

listen to my chart-knowledge 

think that God put us here 

feel me care 

trust 

delay the sensual portion 

betray the lust 

lay easy 

serenade the quietude 

teach my veins why 



they quiver 

permit me 

make time 

adore my love 

be my God/my altar 

my prayer & my prayer's 

answer 

allow me 

look beyond my face 

see my left eye — 

it's the same as 

the one they use 

in heaven 



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 
approaching your 
rhythm begging 
you outloud 
don't move! 
don't move! 
don't move! 



fatisha 



SERIOUS PHRASING 

You talk that talk when you're doing the blow 
Walk that walk when you perceive the show 
The ignorance you deploris your 

Oppressed? 
I got better things to do than listen to your serious 
Phrasing. 



R. D. Jordan 



we dream, we touch, we taste 
the forbidden fruit, 
we agree to close our minds to 
thoughts 

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. 
Jean Morrier 



12 
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 
eyes. 

"Well, today seems just as cold. I think we have 
some cocoa. What do you say?" she said looking up 
at me. 

"Honey, I think we better finish shopping first," 
I said. 

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. 
Damn her. 

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 
home. 

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- 
ing. 

"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 



13 
mixer." 

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 
me. 

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 
doesn't matter." 

"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 
from mine. 

"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 




Two Badd 



Carl Yates 



Vicissitudes 
(reflections of a fourteen year old "mother") 

dreams aborted 

mis-carried away by unshed tears... 
mis-conceived by those who will 
never understand/ 
never know — 



can i swing on the swings? 



Kharmia Dejemos 



15 



CHILDHOOD EDUCATION IN CUBA 



Marcia Hospedales 

"Children are the maJJeabJe clay 

from which the new man can he 

shaped without any of the old faults." 

(Che Guevara.] 



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 
finish. 

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. 



16 

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. 

II 

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 
manual labor. 

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 
children's schools. 

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- 
ship]. 

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 



HOMECOMING 

Tonight 

She'll be weeping tears of womanhood 
Long 

profuse like the waters of the Nile 
stretching between the Sahara and the Kiliman- 
jaro 

Of womanhood. Raindrop tears 
dribbling 
dribbling 
dribbling 



Tonight - 

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: 

"Oh life" 

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. 

Tonight 

She'll wear a smile thru surging tears 

From Nandi to Mrs Mahlangu 

Long 

profuse, 

STretching thru steep crevices 

And the desert wasteland of womanhood. 



body blush 

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. 



Bheki Langa 



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. 

andre caple 



rhonda williams. 



final moments 
shimmering rays 

appear 
colorless and silent 
a translucent pearl 

whose beauty 
dare i touch? 
deeper still, entering into 
his eyes 

i transform 
our minds joined within this beam, 
a ray, brighter than a glowing star 

engulfs us/ together in thought 

i dare 
this time forever, 
as we descend in thoughts 

till time indefinite/ 

i reach out 
and wipe away his tears. 



by carol toles 79 



44 



FOR THE LOVE 
OF GRANDMA" 



Tracey Gillens 

"Brrriiinnngg" 

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 
at all. 

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 



19 

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 
stairs. 

"Wow mom, breakfast sure smells good, I'm 
starving." 

"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 
now." 

Her mother finished setting the table, trying to 
believe that her daughter is growing up faster than 
she had realized. 



20 

"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 
work already?... 

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- 
ing up. 

"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 
concerning ly. 

"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 
said. 

"Well I gonna go over to see her, she might 
need me." 

"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 
school year. 

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. 

"Steven Fitzgerald?" 

"Here." 

"Dianne McDonald?" 

"Here." 

"Louise Russell?" 

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 



21 

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 
day. 

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 
school?" 

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 
me. 

"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 




Edward Cohen 



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. 



barry wrightei 



23 



The Fruits Of A 
Gift 



Charles Ciilp 



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 
1920. 

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 
Camp Atwater. 

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 



W 



^ 




24 



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 
mortgage free. 

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 
anonymous. 

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- 
penses. 

For twenty-seven [27] 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 
discrimination. 

The History of St. John's CongregalionoJ Church, 1844-1962. Pp. 69, 70, 1962 



ASSESSMENT 

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. 

Camp Atwater 



Executive Staff 



OFFICERS 




AND 


BOARD 


OF DIRECTORS 


George W. Lamb 


Rev. H. M. Hulchings 


Prendenl 


Mrs. Columbio Johnion 


J, Tober Bolden 
Is/ Vice PreiidenI 


Miss Rebecca Johnson 
Edward Kronvoll" 
Abrohom Kamberg 


Milton J. Donovan 


Mrs. Paul M, Umberl 


2nd '/.ce PrcfdenI 


Wotson B. Loughlon 


Ffonklin Sanders 


Dr Moeeo McGoodwi 


Treosorer 


T, K. McAlliiter 


James J. Curlis 
AisI Treoiurer 


Mrs. H. L. Moore 
Eofle H, Poine 
Demetrius Filolos 


Mrs, Chester B. Bulkley 


Mrs, Ernestine Pyle 


Poul Croig 


Miii Olive Roiney* 


Williom DuBose 


Mrs. Rulh J, Reid 


Paul Delwofth 


Mrs. G. L. Schadt 


Henry A. Field 


Robbi Hermon Snyder 


Or, O. L. K, Froser 


John Sutclifte 


Dr. J. Gordon Gilkey 


Miss MirJom Whillemo 


Dr. William B. Hall 


Rev. Donald 0. Wilion 


Honor 


3ry life Memberi 


CAMP 


COMMITTEE 




Rev. Donold O. Wilson, Chairman 
Mrs. George L. SchadI Earl V. Gaontt 

Miss eiiiobelh Chase Chorlcs F. Weckwerth 

ADMINISTRATIVE STAFF 

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 


worth 




oincc 


Mil mi/; 


>■ 




CALENDAR 


OF 


EVENTS 




Boys- St.';isoii Sum Mmina 






liinL' ■'2 


Boys' Si.';i.son 0|X'ns 






iunc 2-t 


Swimming Moct 






j.ilv 1<> 


Boys' ScM.s.m Cl.ws 






Itilv 22 


Alumni 1- It inu'n lining 




.luU 


22 liilv 2S 


Girls' Slms-.u St.iirMiviiii[i 






liilv 27 


Cirls' S«.';is.in 0|x,'ns 






julv 2S 


Miirdi Criis 






Aiinii.-;! Ic 


FiiundiT's Day 






Aiiyiisi 20 


Cliristriiiis P;iriy 






Auj-usi 21 


Swimming Mwi 






Aiitiii.il 27 


Cirls" SiMS'in Clusis 






S^'IMoiiKt I 



25 



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 
developed. 

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 
disadvantaged populus. 

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 




The Camp 

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. 



The Infirmary 

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 
privileges. 

Sheep's Island 

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 
privilege. 

Aquatics 



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'. 



isiul !■ 



; biiui 



-id In 



■HI life- 



turn to page 51 



AGNUS DEI 



I 



Leve dit, quod bene fertur, onus. 

Ovid 



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 

all. 

He dares! 

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 

He loves 

Himself. 

II 
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 
wonder. 

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 
weighted shoulders, 
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 
flesh cells; 



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 
about him. 

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. 

Ill 
Into Death by Death, 
With Death for Death... 
Silence 

Universal silence 
Fullness 

Sanctum Sanctorum 

Shantih 
Time? and, indeed, there is no time. 

Elanstasis, 
systole 

and all Flesh shall see it together 
diastole 

Thou shall love the Lord your God 

with all your heart 
systole 

with all you soul 
diastole 

He is King of Kings 
systole 

How soon they forget. 

Or could it be that they do not forget rather his salva- 
tion. 

His redemption for their sins is solely - is uniquely his 
salvation. 

IV 

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 

starvation-satiation . 



Carnal knowledge! 
H. Meade 



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 



rachael yates 



integration?' 

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! 

h.g. mbutey 



28 

'SPLANATION . 

Regina Williams 

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 
very un-Christian." 

"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 
supposin." 

"Never yo mind," Emma tried to 
soothe her sister, "things will 'splain 
theyself when we get to the Weems' 
house." 

"You bes believe Hattie Weems gon 
have to do a good bit a 'splainin to satisfy 



me. 

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 
the content. 

"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- 
ed: 

"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 
here." 



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 



29 

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 
crossed ovah." 

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 
welcome." 

"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 




faces 
for andrea's daugfiter, 

as I face the sun 

my eyes 

are full of waves 

so many 

ruts 

in the red clay tracks 

of my 

voice 

echoing for lil<eness 

on remote 



Edward Cohen 

seashores. 

"no, mummy, they can't be africans 

they look like 

people 

i 

know !. . ." 

faces 

remote yet 
present. 

faces, faces . . . 



michel N'KODIA-BOMBA 



31 

Keitha Hassell 

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. 

"Right here." 

"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 
writing." 

"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 
in. 

"Yes ma'am." 

"Go 'head, girl. To the playground, and be back for dinner, you 
know." 

"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 
were doing. 



32 



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. 



33 



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 
playground. 

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 



34 



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- 
tionless. 

"Push me Kimb'ly?" 

"Okay Toya. Just a minute." 

"OOOOoo-here come 'lena 'gain. Look", Toya said. 



turn to page 59 



Battleflowers 
for kelvin, who lives with Warsaw 



they's flowers growin 

in Warsaw 

right next to the 

barbed wire fence, now falling, 
the one that used to encircle 

the pifly-ground 

they's flowers growin 

in Warsaw 

by the fence 

on the street where 

fine folks flocked 

and flaunted 
—strolling and pimpin 
where life bubbled 
—before the bombs 

and ditches 
the bricks and boards. 

Now, in the midst of 

the decaying remains 
they's flowers 

budding and bloomin 

in Warsaw 
purple, black, brown, yellow flowers 

stark, strong new life 

bursting with beauty. 

they's flowers 

that rebud and bloom 
and those that die 
in the bright, hot, violent 
intense fire 
burning in Warsaw. 

they's flowers 
whose seeds 



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 

enclosures 

holding them captive 

behind steel bars 

between concrete erections 

born to cement and sorrow. 

those flowers 

grow stagnant and 
despondent in 
New England Winter 
roots turned inward 
on frozen spacial 
dreams 

time-logged memories 
disjoined from 
visions of newness 
of future. 

cyclic stagnation subsides 

and 

rebirth throngs 

on spring's dawn 

coursing life warmed 

by the heat of 

unsuporessed colours 
a fire is kindled 

in hearts/minds/souls 

growth imminent 
seeds 
spread 

on battlefield. 



amma 



IN THE NAME OF ALLAH, MOST GRACIOUS, MOST MERCIFUL 

On the future of Zimbabwe 
"South Africa" 

Inhumane Beast make prey upon the Earth 
to colonize 

monopolize 
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 

field 

are gone, demoralized 

are our principles 

justice and equality ungranted 

still, but we 

are strengthened 

from our heritage. 

alan dale thornton 



37 



how to peep ah 
bucknak'd bogieman 

ibn Kenyatta 

ya on't really wanna win 
I know ya don't 
ya lost ya faith in 

Tryin 

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 



38 

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 
understand. 

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 
dat Racism. 

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 

of blueness 

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 

loving me 

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 

My queen 

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 

our friction... 

the unity and struggle of opposites 

will burst forth 

with roaring fire 

demanding respect 

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 
once devoured 

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 
know nothing 

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 
understanding everything 
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 

one constantly 

trying to rule the other 

true knowledge will help to guide 

"you" through this mental conflict 

through experiences 

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 




J^ 



top rankin' 



Kakuna Kerina 



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 

and 

vistas lead to real people 

and to GOD 

GOD is love and love beautifies all things as source of 

true person. 

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. 

James lewis 

friday 4 august 1978 



when i die 

when i die, i'm going to heaven, 
for i've been living in hell all 
my life. 

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. 

andre caple 



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. , 

Jennifer Bayne 
Amherst, August, 1978 




Three Sweet 



Carl Yates 



possible 



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 
wartime, wartime 



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. 




Barron Roland 
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 

just black. 

it's sad. we've been colonized. 



Edward Cohen 



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, 

and moroccans? 

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 



46 

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 
national economy. 

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 

Alicia, 10 
Adriana, 10 
Lisa, 8 



CRAZY STUFF 

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 

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 

street. 

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 
joined in. 

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 
the mouth. 

Next thing I knew we were a tangled ball on 
the playground cement. 

"Get him Johnny, get him' ' ' Johnny's friends 
yelled. 



47 

"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 
enough. 

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..." 



48 

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- 
ing her. 

"Richard, stop that now." she laughed back. 

"Rich" 

"Umm baby" 

"When are you going to let me meet your 
mother?" 

"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 
"Shut up!" 

"Richard listen." 
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 



buried. 

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, 
Richard." 

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- 
dam ass. 

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 
running free. 



osiris watches 

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 



carl yates 



49 



Louise." 

"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 
to bother." 

"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 
her. 

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 



50 

home." 

"Louise, this is Dianne, and Cheryl," said San- 
dy, "yall this is Louise." They both said hi and 
smiled. 

"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 
by Monday." 

"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 

now. 

"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, 
Kevin's buddy. 

"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- 
tion. 

"Well, I gotta go. . .see ya tomorrow at school." 
"Tomorrow?" said one of the boys, 
"tomorrow's Saturday." 

"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. 
"Yeah, alright." 

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 
help you." 

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. 

"unh, " 

"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 
hospital." 

"Well young lady. Dr. Donahue is a very busy 
man .... what is the problem, maybe I can be of 
some help." 

"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- 
ed resources. 

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 



51 
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 
order. 

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 
checks. 

We suggest the use of post office money orders as preferable to other forms 
of remittance. 

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. 

Applications 

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 
sixteen, 

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. 



Clothing 

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 
personal use. 

Transportation 

The train and bus service available at East Brookfield is frequent and 
convenient. 

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- 
mended. 

If this, for any reason, should be impracticable, such tickets sl-,<niKl he 
purchased to Sjiringlield and additional passage purchascti there to East 
Bronk field. 



Spendin^i Money 



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. 



52 

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 
development. 

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. 



Deal 



^rlend; 



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 
feeling. 

Lel'e get In the owlsi and ulaa 1950 a banner year In tho 
hlftory of Caop AtwoUr. ^ JOO oembera. 



Sincerely youro. 



Alumni Attention 

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: 

Purpose 

1. To perpetuate the life work of Dr. William N. DeBerry founder of the 
Camp. 

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. 

Membership. 

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. 



Vera Branker 

OM Columbus Ave. 

Boston, Mass. 



SrRiN(;riELD 
Dr. William Hall 
89 Quincy Street 

Springfield, Mass. 



Pi-dLADCuriirA-BALTiMORr. Washington 
Charles H. Chew. Ill 



2127 Christian St, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 



Patsv Piirrot 
l625'S-StreeI. N. W. 
Washington. D. C. 



President 



New York 
Dr. Julian W. Anderson 
159 West 1 16th Street 
New York. City 

Western Region 
Wade McCree 
1308 Broadway 
Detroit 26. Michigan 

Secretarv-TreaSI'RER 



Southern Region 
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. 



Phil;.Jelphi;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- 
gram development. 

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- 



53 

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 



Swi,M,MrNf; iNSTRUCrtONS 

LiFGSAViNC Tests 



CANoriNf. 

Hiking 

SorxB.^LU 

B,\DMlNTON 
VoLLEyB.\LL 

Cmait.u 



Boating 

Baseball 

Tennis 

Horseshoes 

Fishing 

Camp Paper 



Track and Field 

Group Games 

Arts and Crafts 

irst Aid Instructions 



Niiuire Study 
HorsL-b:ick Riding 
Rillfry 
Basketball 
GIl-c Club 
Swimming Meets 

Overnight Hikes 
Dancing 



Archery 
Diving 
Dramatics 
Camp Crafi 

Movies 
Boxing 



Smoking 

Smoking by campers is positively forbidden. 
The penalty for this offense will be either rem 
sion from the privileges of this Oimp. 



Visiting 

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. 




Boys 
Warren Williams 
Herbert Scurlock 
Donald Dickerson 



1^49 Cold Medalist 

Most Popular 
Best M;innered 
Best All-Round 



Cariile C.iiiw 

BaurakaS.hiw,-:i,i 



Religious Services 

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. 



54 

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: 



BRING 

CLOTHING 
L Shirrs and shorts 
2. Slacks or overalls 
). Extru pair of low-heeled shoes or 
sneakers. 

4. Rubbers or galoshes 

5. Raincoat or poncho 

b. Warm sweater, jacket or coat 

7. Several pairs of socks and under- 
wear 

8. Pajamas 

9. Three Blankets 

10. Sheets and pillow cases 

11. Bathing suit (without capi 

12. Towels and wash cloth 
I J. Toilet articles 

EQUIPMENT 
Camera and lilms 
Flashlight and extra battery 
Notebook 

Testament or Prayer book 
Cooking kit 
Jack knife. 

For camping purposes, we suggest 
(he use of steamer and camp packing 
trunks only. 

As a health and sanitary measure, 
the use of bed linen Is required of all 
tampers. 

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 
required. 






CAMP ATWATER 
Camper's Application Blank 

Date 
Name 
Street 

City State 

Date of Birth 
School 

Date School Closes Date Opens 

Church 

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 

Address 

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, 
Mass. 

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 - . 

Address 

Official Position 

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. 
Signed 
Parent or Guardian of 

11 



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 



55 
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 
right." 

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- 
standing. 

"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." 



Arco Iris 

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 

mikal muwwakkil 

(miguel negron) 




Charles Burkett 



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 

pity 

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 

your papa 
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 



litch 



59 



"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 
also. 

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-" 

"You lyin'now." 

"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 



60 

from view. 

"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 
had spoken. 

"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." 

"Yeah, bu" 

"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 
friends. 

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 



61 



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 
them. 

"Ohw, ma-yan!", hooted the guys. 

"Really." 

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." 

"Yeah?" 

"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 



62 

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 
knowledge. 

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 

ourselves?? 

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 
"Attitude." 

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 



63 



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. 



64 



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 
community. 

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 



65 
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 





PERSONAL RECORD 


,. 


Physical — 


Height 


Weight on arrival Weigh: at departure 


Hi-alth .Memo: 







'^CTIVIT 


lES 










WEEK 
Archery 


1 


2 


3 


4 


5 




Crafts 














Dramatics 






Dancing 














.Music 














N.uurc Study 














Rilk-ry 














Swimming 














Tennis 














Work 














Dcportmirnt 















Additi()n;il Rcm.irks 



Awards: 
Hut 



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." 



66 

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. 

Action PJanning 

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- 
water Experience" 

Activities Planned Include: 
—Arts & Crafts 

—Traditional and non-traditional sports 
— Reading and discussion groups 
— Leadership training 
— Vocational and career exploration 
— Photography 

— 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 
and purpose. 



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- 
creased. 

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 
camp. 

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 
1970 deficit. 

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 
Union Street. 

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 

General Overview 

Camp Atwater was taken for granted for many 
years. It had always been a self-sustaining camp. 



67 

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 
restoration project; 
(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 
years; 

(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- 
forts; 

(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- 



68 

no separate financial records. All assets and liabilities 
were included within the Urban League's General Fund 
audit report. 

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 
reconstruction. 

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- 
water. 

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 
camp. 

FOLLOW-UP PROCEDURE 

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 
procedures. 

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- 
water. 

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. 

CONCLUSION 

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 
my life. 

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. 
andre caple 



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. 

ibn Kanyatta 

74 A 3701 

Drawer B 

Stormville, N.Y. 12582 



Nyati Bolt 
72821-CCT-B-15 
Angola, Louisiana 70712 



18, March 1980-time 10:55AM 



Drum-Publication 115 New Africa House Amherst, 
Massachusetts 01003 



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 



69 

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 
near future 

Pamoja Tutashinda Bila Shaka' 

Hyati Bolt 

72821-CCR-B15 

Angola, La 70712 



70 

she's in there." 

By now Louise was getting upset with this nasal 
voiced woman. She started crying and raising her 
voice . 

"Calm down now... Is Dr. Donahue your family 
physician?" 

"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- 
tion) 

"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 
open it. 

"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 
calm. 

"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 
sister. 

As Louise grew older, she held on to the 
memories of her grandmother. Whenever ever 
things got tough and life just seemed difficult. 



71 

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 
GLORIOUS. 



M. J. SIERRA 



72 

"Yeah." 

"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 
somethin?" 

"hm. What I wanna know is how they so sure they both gonna make the team. I mean, they only 
freshmen!" 

"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." 

"Danette." 

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 
way. 

"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 



73 



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 
situation. 

"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 
smile. 

"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 
grand fashion. 

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. 



74 

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 
down. 

"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 
Charles. 

"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 
their faces. 

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?" 

"Yeah." 

"Seems like they ought to at least tr\; not to do that. Huh." 

"Uh 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." 

"Come on." 

"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 



75 



bout bein fair", he quieted down and becamse more serious. "Sheee-et Kids right?" 
"Mm humm." 
"Always in yz biz!" 

Kids indeed. 



africa 

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 

david diop 




for the children 

this poem- 
is for the children 

of oppression 
whose minds are wasted 
like black mudholes under bantustans. 
-the children- 

whose bloated bellies are malnourished, 
internally bleeding 
like a mother eight months pregnant 
forced to abortion 
-the children- 
whose feces are bloody 
like an aborted fetus (and) 
never given a chance to develop 

in Azania 
whose only growth is growing 
weaker, growing 
hungry, growing 
tired. 

this poem- 
is for the children 
of the boers 

deceived to make believe 

that "the natives are happy" and 

all is well when all is hell 
-the children- 
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. 

this poem- 
is for the children 
of soweto 

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. 



this poem- 
is for the children 
of GOD 
who will not negotiate 
in his final decision 
for south afrika! 



harold 



i^f^-^l U f 



:p MASS. 



h. S 



}e'2