Vybrate

A Call to Relevance

2007-07-20T09:25:00.001-07:00

Young Atticus
Exclusive to the St. Louis American and
www.cleanandarticulate.com

Last week I watched the opening of the 98th annual NAACP Conference in Detroit, as our most venerable organization continued to prove itself a farcical shell of its former self.In front of a huge crowd, the brass of the NAACP staged a funeral - casket, eulogy, dirges and all - for the N-word. The organization conducted the ceremony in an attempt to lay to rest what the Rev. Otis Moss Jr. called “the greatest child that racism ever birthed.” Amid cheers and cliché-filled speeches by the important and the self-important, participants dug a hole and laid a tombstone for the N-Word.Wow.

A few years ago when I joined my local African-American bar association, I wondered aloud if such organizations were still relevant. The question of relevance is not to be confused with necessity; I continue to believe that specific affinity and support groups are abundantly necessary in a variety of aspects of American life, where minorities remain underrepresented and unprotected, even exploited.But an honest and critical critique of our most recognizable organizations must lead one to wonder if our institutions are still relevant. Does anyone care what the groups have to say anymore? Does anyone care what they do? And if, as I fear, these questions are properly answered in the negative, then why are they no longer relevant and in turn respected, and most importantly, no longer effective in reaching their stated objectives?

To be blunt, on a national and local level the NAACP's leadership is old, and consequently, its methods are antiquated. It is outfitted with Civil Rights Movement leadership for a post-civil rights America. This is the only way to explain the total lack of substance we saw at this year's opening ceremony. What does a funeral for the N-word prove? What did it accomplish?Realistically, the cause of purely race-based civil rights in the African-American context has progressed as far as the law can take us. Save for reparations, there is very little room for argument that pervasive and ongoing discrimination exists that is per se discriminatory toward African Americans. This has stripped some purpose from one of the NAACP’s most prolific and effective departments, the Legal Defense Fund. Nevertheless, the organization as a whole has failed to develop current means of evolving and addressing current, more subtle ills, such as the digital divide, environmental racism and predatory lending.

It's not just the NAACP. Our local vanguards are irrelevant as well. I can be as black, as proud, and as militant as they come in my personal deliberations; but I can no longer subscribe to the local modules of thought and organizations that have my people shouting "no justice, no peace" when there has been neither an injustice, nor a reason for thoughtless breach of peace. I can't stand with a people who use the word "cracker" and deride Jews with impunity simply because their ethnicity provides a presumption of enemyhood.

If the methods of the movement are outdated, then what is potentially effective? Negotiation. Cooperation. Well researched and well prepared litigation where necessary. Properly timed and expertly placed advocacy. Building friendships across the proverbial aisle, rather than alienating the ostensibly different before any true examination takes place, is paramount.

Similarly, if worn out methods have rendered our institutions irrelevant and ineffective, who or what remains relevant and effective?Donna Brazille is relevant because she thinks and evaluates before she advises and acts. Matthews Dickey Boys and Girls Club of St. Louis is relevant because it has consistently sought aid and friends from all over the demographic spectrum. Jim Clingman and the Black Million Dollar Club are relevant because they recruited thousands of donors nationwide via e mail to give $5 every month to a different chosen charity. The elder on the street who pulls a young buck to the side and talks with him instead of preaching at him is relevant.

We can no longer afford to cede our most vaunted institutions to the same leaders, the same methods, and the same ideas that we have employed for the last 60 years. To do so will inevitably result in the continued stranglehold of the faceless demagogues who can shout the loudest and rhyme the best, and the continued tragic spiral of our once brightest organizational hopes toward irrelevance and eventual obscurity. Visionary leaders and motivated servants must step forward to take the reins. If not, then the next funeral will not be symbolic, but an actual homegoing for the NAACP itself.

IN THE FED

2007-04-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

Young Atticus is back. Please forgive the hiatus.

I was in the United States District Court for the Eastern District of __ today. Nothing big, just a quick routine motion that the higher ups wanted me to handle, likely becase they are too expensive to focus on something so inconsequential. Whatever.

Anyhow, practicing in the fed makes you feel big time, as far as lawyers go. It's in direct opposition to the antiquated and ill equipped state courthouses. In any given town, the fed is laced with high tech flat screens, state of the art security, and rich mahogany all around. Fed courts are very cool looking in general, and my local joint is pretty new, making it even more regal.

So I get up to run my motion. As usual, room full of white folks. The judge was a respected and veteran black jurist, an aging star of the local bar who I have met many times. While I was arguing, my peripheral caught a glimpse of guards leading a prisoner into the on deck circle; I reckoned that his matter would be called next. My man was shackled, orange suited and all.
I finish the motion, and approach the bench to get his honor to sign off on some docs. I glanced at the cover of the file for the next matter, the prisoner. His birthdate was on the cover, 9/18/79, exact same as mine.

I watched the beginning of his matter, a routine bail reduction thing stemming from his possession charge. I certainly don't think that this guy was an uber villain, he probably wasn't even a career criminal. Again, room full of about 30 white people, and three blacks, each being in some way, the man of the moment: myself, the prisoner, and the judge.

All this buildup to say that I couldn't help but think at what point did I zig, and the inmate zag? Had I been privy to some life benefits that he had not? (Probably so, but that certainly assumes that he fit the criminal archetype. Which assumes that he is correctly characterized as a "criminal", and was not falsely accused.) What did I decide to do that he had not chosen to do? When did this decision happen? And what to make of the judge, who was at least 30 years older than both of us? Does the judge's position negate any hardship that the inmate could have claimed, in light of the fact that the judge was likely a trailblazer of some sorts? How did the judge view the two of us; both inheritors of the civil rights movement, the same age, crossing paths before his bench in such opposite ways?

As usual, no answers, just questions.

God Bless Wesley Autry

2007-01-07T12:19:00.000-08:00

A man amongst men.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4GaStsLadQ&mode=related&search=

It's Now or Never for Barack Obama

2006-12-30T12:18:00.000-08:00

It’s Now or Never for Barack Obama

Young Atticus, Esq.
Special to the St. Louis American

Illinois junior Senator Barack Obama is the biggest, most popular politician of our lifetimes not named Bill Clinton. Since he exploded onto the national scene with a legendary keynote address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, Obama’s meteoric rise to stardom and widespread political respect has been unprecedented. At the height of his own popularity, not even Bill boasted such universal approval across the defining demographics of race, gender, region, and religion that is endemic to the Obama mystique. While much of his charm comes from his “everyman” story, he has proven to be a reasonable and moderate voice in his brief time in Washington.
In an October 2006 appearance on Meet the Press, Obama did not declare his candidacy for the White House in 2008, but opened the possibility of making a run. In the two months since, Obama has behaved like a presidential hopeful, making public appearances in early caucus states Iowa and New Hampshire, and delivering speeches before key interest groups such as the Chicago Council and the Global Summit on AIDS and the Church. Politicos and pundits have filled op-ed spaces and hours of airtime with speculation on whether he would run, and more importantly, musing on the wisdom of the potential bid. So far, the message has been clear: we love ya lots Barack, but sit this one out.
The naysayers are with good reason. An Obama presidential run would defy logic and conventional political wisdom. He’s not even two years into his six-year term as senator. He’s only 45 years old. Even his biggest supporters must admit that he doesn’t have the experience in foreign affairs or economic policy to be the leader of the free world. Oh and one more thing: his all-but-declared competition for the Democratic nomination is his senate colleague, American icon, and wife of the most popular politician ever, Hillary Rodham Clinton. If polls are to be believed, likely Democratic voters favor Clinton for the nomination over Obama by a healthy 13 to 14 percent margin.
All that being the case, Sen. Obama should run for President of the United States in 2008, because this is his only chance to win.
Hope-heavy politics and intriguing personal stories are well and good, but the world is excited about Barack Obama for President for two reasons. First, he is black, but somehow racially ambiguous enough to widely appeal to a rapidly changing America. Second, at 45, he is extremely young as politicians go.
The first pillar of Obama’s wild popularity is his racial background. His mother was a white Kansan, and his father a Kenyan economist who came to the United States to study. On top of that, he was raised in Hawaii, of all places. Therefore, while Obama is brown in phenotype, he is not typically “black”; his uniquely American personal story, along with his look enable him to evade many of the racist stereotypes associated with African Americans. Should he run successfully, President Obama would mirror the changing American population: centrist, and increasingly brown but racially nebulous.
Second, Obama’s age is largely the reason that he should run. Political youth and vigor go hand-in-hand with the perception that he could bring fresh ideas to the country, while not yet having been jaded by the Washington machine.
But here’s the catch: federal politics runs in cycles, and this is the Democrats’ turn on top. Assuming that the Dems can ride the November wave through 2008, they will reclaim the White House. If Obama doesn’t run then, he surely won’t challenge the incumbent, his party-mate, in 2012. At the end of the Democratic incumbent’s second term in 2016, the winds of political change could again be upon us, giving way to another four or eight year GOP presidential reign. Worst-case scenario, the door would re-open for Obama in 2024, when he would be a 63-year-old Capitol Hill veteran. By then, the JFK-like spark that defines Obama’s current celebrity would be a distant memory. Chronologically, ’08 is his best shot.
Obama’s presidential ambitions still carry significant peril. The ubiquitous Hillary, and former senator and vice presidential candidate John Edwards present the stiffest of competition. Also, if history is a guide, Obama could face the same fate as L. Douglas Wilder, the African American former governor of Virginia who attempted to parlay his post-election popularity into the 1992 Democratic presidential nomination. Like Obama would be, Wilder was only two years into his gubernatorial tenure when he ran for president. Wilder was attacked as having placed his personal ambitions before his commitment to Virginia, and he was trounced thoroughly in the primaries.
Nevertheless, the hopeless political romantic in me wants Barack to give it a go. In 2004, Edwards was proven beatable, and he has been out of the public eye since. As for the Wilder dilemma, Obama was a national figure as soon as anyone outside of Illinois knew him, while Wilder tried to go national off his Virginia buzz. Right now, Sen. Clinton is the major obstacle. But she is not nearly as well liked as the gentleman from Illinois. Furthermore, assuming they duel in the primaries, both Clinton and Obama would benefit from bigotry; she from those who can’t see a black president, and he from a segment who wouldn’t vote for a woman as commander-in-chief. As for trailing Clinton in the polls, remember, Clinton the First once trailed Paul Tsongas. Yes, Paul Tsongas.
Should he become the first black President of the United States, Obama would ultimately be remembered as one of the most famous people who ever lived. By all accounts a super intelligent, contemplative guy, he surely understands the magnitude of the moment and his potential place in world history. America may not be ready for a black president, but Obama has somehow managed to transcend “black” to become the face of a populist, centrist political day. Barack Obama is lightning-in-a-bottle personified, and he can’t afford to pass on this generation-defining opportunity.

22 Tracks...more to come

2006-06-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

Just a few songs that I think everybody should hear at least once. In no particular order:

1. "Run to the Sun", N.E.R.D.
2. "Holding Back the Years", Simply Red
3. "Ice Cream", Sarah McLaughlin
4. "Wheel", John Mayer
5. "T.R.O.Y.", Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth
6. "As", Stevie Wonder
7. "Hey Young World", Slick Rick
8. "Maybe", N.E.R.D.
9. "Silent Treatment", The Roots
10. "Strawberry Letter 23", The Brothers Johnson
11. "Redemption Song", Bob Marley
12. "Dumb Angel", Deep Cotton
13. "Rollercoaster", Everything but the Girl
14. "Umi Says" Mos Def
15. "Sinner Man", Nina Simone
16. "Sky's the Limit", The Notorious B.I.G.
17. "Human Nature", Michael Jackson
18. "A Song For You", Donny Hathaway
19. "Superstar", Luther Vandross
20. "I Can Only Be Me", Keith John
21. "13th Floor/Growing Old", OutKast
22. the song from which this blog takes its name. (ha!...a bit of trivia there)

The Dionysian Trap

2006-04-30T07:02:00.000-07:00

Let's assume that there is inherent, rampant, and malicious racial injustice ingrained in every stage of the criminal justice system. Let's say that at every phase of his interaction with the criminal justice system, a young black man will be treated patently unfairly. Whether or not this is the case, let's assume, just for today, that this is a factual truth.

Assuming the above, isn't there a more important issue? Isn't the bigger issue why the young black man's belief system, values and resultant behaviors lead him to disproportionally frequent interactions with the criminal justice system in the first place?

One Day in Roxbury

2006-04-10T23:03:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I imagine the day he met her.

It was probably on Massachusetts Ave., under a gray Boston afternoon sky. He probably saw her from across the street, because he lived on the west side of Mass Ave, across from the New England Conservatory where she went to school, on the east side of the street. He probably first saw her a couple of blocks north of Columbus, a few blocks south of Boylston.

He probably just got off the trolley, the orange line, after returning from Marsh Chapel to his flat. For him, home was temporarily the very edge of Roxbury, where he could feel like he belonged, if only for a few hours, as the evenings set in and through the night, until he would have to do it all again at BU the next day. Forget that some people called it the South End. To him, this was Roxbury, where his people were.

In Roxbury, he could see the people that he saw back home on Auburn Ave in Atlanta. Nevermind the fact that their accents were nothing like in Atlanta. Somehow, here in Roxbury, the Beantown accents weren't as harsh as they were over on Commonwealth where he spent his days, or the ones that he'd heard about down in Southie. (He'd never been to Southie, and he didn't mind if he never went there.) In Roxbury, he could get a hot plate of the food he grew up on. Or pick up the latest Billy Eckstein record. And perhaps most importantly, in Roxbury, he could get a haircut. Sometimes he didn't even need a haircut; he just went to the barber shop to be at ease with his people, wasting the hours away.

As he hopped off the trolley that particular day, he wondered if any of his friends from home would ever experience what it was like to sit in the front of public transportation. He wondered if it were better to sit in the back; at least that way they didn't have to endure the stares from folks who knew that he could sit up front in Boston, but most of his kind didn't even though they could. He always told himself that he didn't care about their stares, but he knew that he really did, because he never sat closer to the front than the third, maybe fourth row. Just trying to play it safe, so to speak.

Maybe it was a Monday. That way, when he saw her, he was confident enough to step to her because his razor lining was still somewhat fresh from the previous weekend's cut. And he was probably still riding the high of having gotten chosen once or twice at the gathering for which he had gotten that cut. Maybe it was the all-Boston black graduate student dance, down at the Rosemont Ballroom. He had been a hit that night. Maybe he really showed those up-north negroes a couple of things about jitting; just a few moves he picked up at the 'House. And as a reward for cutting a decent rug that night, he left with his pockets full of napkins and paper scraps, all bearing magic codes to contact more than a few soft-handed, silky-haired admirers of his footwork.

Usually he wouldn't have looked over his shoulder across the street. Usually he would have just carried on to the west side of Mass Ave, leather briefcase slung over his shoulder. But today was different. Today he was expecting a letter from home. Rumor was that his old friend and mentor Howard was coming to assume the deanship of Marsh Chapel, at his school. This was great, he thought, it was too bad that he would be graduated by the time Howard arrived in the fall. Well, maybe he could stay one more year, and find something else to study. No, he had already committed to moving on, to Crozer. And he couldn't delay his return home any longer. His people needed him there more than ever. He was tired of being a student. And, Boston was just too danged cold.

Anyhow, in hopes of getting a letter confirming Howard's new gig, he allowed his eyes to avert themselves from their routine path. Today, he canvassed Mass Ave looking for the postman, to see if he had already come or not. He looked left, looked right, looked south, looked nor...

Whoa! Who is that, he probably thought! She is incredible! He knew that he had to say something to her. Maybe he considered to himself how he would cross back over the street to get to where she was. He couldn't yell across Mass Ave to her. Not this time. She would never hear. And even if she did hear him, why would she stop whatever she was doing to pay him any mind? He would look like a crazy man, yelling across the street to her. Plus, she looked to classy for some stuff like that. No, not this time. Not her. He had to get on 'cross that street for her.

So maybe he made his way across. He probably tried to breathe naturally, which was hard because he was nervous and excited to see her, and he had just dodged Edzels and trolleys crossing the street to get to her.

Collecting his breath for a moment, he probably said, "Hi, have you seen the postman?" DANG!!! That's the best I could come up with!? SHOOT! I know I could have done better than that! That was so jive! She probably smiled, and said "No, as a matter of fact I have not. But if you wanted to introduce yourself, all you had to do was just that. You'd like to get thrown in jail, a Negro boy running in front of cabs like that!"

Wow, he must have thought, she sounds like me! And my sister, and my Mama! This is my lucky day...

I'm sure that she was gorgeous. She was probably coming from her voice class, preparing for the coming weekend's performance at the Conservatory. Some said that she was the best Negro singer that they had ever heard. She could sing classically like the white girls in her class, but she still sang like she had seen other things, other genres in her day. They loved her at the Conservatory, becuase she was an experiment of sorts. The deans wanted to see what would happen with the spirit filled voice of a southern negro girl mixed with a classical training. She had succeeded in the experiment beyond anythign that the head masters could have imagined.

But right then, on Mass Ave, he most likely didn't know all of that. All he knew is that he had to find something else to say to her; anything!

"Hi, I'm..."

"I already know who you are, Martin. I'm Coretta."

Memph-10

2006-03-15T10:50:00.000-08:00

(ed. note: This post is a little late. I wrote it on Monday, march 6, the day after the Oscars were awarded.)

I think that it's a good day for hip hop, and a good day for black folks.

"It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp". Facially, this may be a repugnant image of black folks. But the song must be examined in context. The song is the story of the movie character, who was in fact a pimp. And it was a good movie at that, as evidenced by T. Howard's nomination for best actor. Therefore, if viewed in context of the film, the song is a creative, artistic placing of the plot of the movie over music. What is wrong with interpreting a film in song? Come on. Thus, if you have a problem with the song, you have a problem with the movie.

Now, if we look at the song standing alone, we may not want to laud "it's hard out here for a pimp". Why? Because some say that this is not the image of our people that we want publicized. Furthermore, it's not a great rap song; it would probably be an obscure album track if it were not associated with the movie. But it was the best original song created for a movie. It is something to celebrate that with all of the movies released last year, and all the songs created for those movies, three Memphis boys created the one that the academy deemed best. I for one, am proud of that.

(Side note: to laugh at 3-6 like they did last night, and to bring up the Martin Scorsese comparison is really racist. Three Six has nothing to do with Scorsese, they aren't competing, or anything like that. That discussion is really just to highlight the racist opinion that these rappers are not "supposed" to be winning Oscars.)

And as for the whole "this is the representation of rap music being put out there for the world to see", that is also ludicrous like Chris Bridges. (Ha!) The truth of the matter is that hip hop is Mos Def, and Three six. Hip hop is The Roots, and Cash Money. All of it, in its own way, is a representation of some facet of our people that really exists; people that live and breathe and express themselves in different ways. Some of us got degrees, and some don't. Some burn incense, and others gangsta walk.

When we get into the discussion of the image of black people that we want "others" to see, to me that is code for "push the bougie black people into the spotlight and call them 'positive', and shun the others while calling them the 'negative element' ". That invalidates a whole lot of black lives because they do not comport to the white American standard of achievement and "success".

Three Six doesn't conform, and that is why some of us are upset about them winning. But the fact is that with their win, they have forced the element that they represent into the nation's consciousness, for better or for worse. I would rather have a segment of our people recognized than ignored. Only when people face the fact that a gangster, slumming, pimping, poverty riddled element exists, can they be compelled to do something to help improve it. The world cannot be made aware of the ongoing condition of some of our people if Blacks choose to promote only Black middle class images, and do not make room for our struggling peoples' stories too.

I think that a huge lie has been sold to all of us, that we are a homogenous people. Black Americans are as diverse a people as there are on the planet. Thus, while Three Six may not be my favorite rap group, they do represent my people, and I am proud to see them kick in the door on the world's biggest stage.

Memphis, stand up.

2006-02-20T08:34:00.000-08:00

"Malcolm was our manhood, our living black manhood! That was his meaning to his people. And in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves..."

"...a prince, our very own, shining, black prince, who didn't hesitate to die, because he loved us so."

-Ossie Davis, February 25, 1965

El Hajj Malik El Shabazz, Malcolm X
May 19, 1925-February 21, 1965

The Celluloid Color LIne

2006-01-31T14:50:00.000-08:00

Today, the nominations for the 78th annual Academy Awards were announced. The Best actor nominations were as follows:

Joaquin Phoenix, "Walk the Line"
Heath Ledger, " Brokeback Mountain"
Philip Seymouf Hoffman, "Capote"
David Straithairn, "Good Night and Good Luck"
Terrence Howard, "Hustle and Flow"

I have many questions about the Howard nomination and others. Bear with me here.

This may be an affirmative action nomination. In the wake of Freeman and Foxx's wins not long after Halle and Denzel's, did the academy really want to hear the arguments and criticisms about how they took three steps back by not nominating any blacks after making so much progress in recent years? I don't know. We all know that Jesse and Al would have been out there if there had been no black nominations. BUT, we have to wonder if this is a good nomination for the following reasons.

I think that Hustle and Flow was good. T Howard did really well. But was Howard's performance one of the best of the year? I don't know. Cheadle was as good in Crash. Jeffery Wright was better in Syriana. Is the academy saying that not only will we recognize a black actor, but we will recognize a low budget black film, which should really assuage the black people this time? Is the academy willing to sacrifice one best actor or best actress nomination out of five each year just to preemptively hush our mouths? I don't know.

This year's other nominations make me question the Howard nomination. Clooney was nominated for "Syriana", and Matt Dillon was nominated for "Crash". Both of these pictures had ensemble casts, and in BOTH, the black men, Wright and Cheadle were the central figures that tied the ensemble casts together. How does one select one performance over another for an Oscar nomination in the case of an ensemble cast? If this is possible, weren't Wright and Cheadle's performances as good as or better than Clooney and Dillon's? I objectively posit that yes, their performances were as good or better, and if one is to single out performances from an ensemble cast to laud, Cheadle and Wright's were equally worthy if not more worthy than the two nominated guys.

Then again, I may be speaking the prejudice that a movie has to be more "high art" (Capote, Goodnight and Good Luck) than "organic" (Hustle and Flow) in order to be noteworthy. Still, I really have to wonder about Howard's status as a true Oscar worthy performance. There were better black performances from more difficult roles in superior films. Did he receive the minority nod for 2005? I think so.

Intellectual honesty time. In your heart, do you really believe that Howard walks away with the statue a month from now? Do you really think that the academy believes that he will win? I say no to both. I remember really thinking that Denzel would win back in '93 for Malcolm X. To me, this shows that Howard was not nominated with the intention to win, but with an eye for affirmative action.

If you take all this as true, the final question becomes, is this nomination a bad thing for black film and actors? Would we rather be ignored, or thrown a pacifier? Again, I don't know. I'm just the question asker.

Thoughts at 35,000 feet

2005-12-02T16:53:00.000-08:00

On a plane to Boston, with an hour to kill.

As was Coretta to Martin, and Betty to Malcolm, as was Rachel to Jackie, Ruby to Ossie, Claricy to Eddie C., and Thelma to Earl, so is the little Beliezean to Prescott Gilliam. That’s a good thing.

The title “lawyer” makes people think that you are a lot smarter than you actually are. Or maybe you are really that smart, but you don’t realize it because you’re around just as smart people all day long. Or maybe you’re not as smart, but you will be one day. Or maybe you won’t be. Or maybe…this is going nowhere.

Never pop bottles to satiate the ego. Only pop bottles cause you want to, and can. This certainly applies to more than popping bottles.

By all means, do NOT hop out there and try to be live (that’s live with a long I) when you’re not a live type. A good friend learned this the hard way.

It’s a difficult thing to realize that at 26, your basketball skills are gone. The dunks are fewer, and further in between than they once were. And you’re starting to grey just a little around the edges. And the body isn’t as chiseled as it once was. Brain a little sharper, body a little duller. Does it have to be this way? That sucks.

It is really upsetting me that my laptop is not recognizing the word “grey” as being spelled correctly. Grey is a word! The color can be properly spelled either way. Look it up! But no, the good people at Microsoft only recognize “gray”. I know I’m right about this one.
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=grey
Take that, biatch.

18 months ago, on a date, I took her to 7-11. We were hungry, and that was all I could afford. We ate Big Bites and walked around Brookline at night.
Four months ago. Still broke. We bought a plastic bag of peanuts from a man on the corner and ate them with her last peach mango, while walking around Belize City in a summer rain.
Both times she smiled, and hugged me tight.

TRAGIC HEROES HALL OF FAME

2005-11-28T23:16:00.000-08:00

To explore, or even to define a tragic hero would take far longer than I choose to devote to this post. So let’s stipulate here that a tragic hero embodies the following things:

1. once displayed brilliance in any given area, or displayed unlimited potential for future brilliance

2. underwent a tremendous, or very fast, fall from grace (need not be both tremendous AND fast, but the two usually coincide)

3. is commonly known or remembered as the result of the fall from grace, and not known or remembered for past brilliance; ie: never recovered from the fall
3a. people who once really respected or appreciated the fallen still defend such individual, and always will, while the rest of the world perceives the fallen as a miscreant

Without further ado, I am not so proud to unveil the inaugural class of the Tragic Heroes Hall of Fame, along with the exact wording from each of their plaques, to be not-so-proudly displayed at the official Hall, at #13, Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Wichita Falls, Kansas. Each member of the Class of 2005 was elected unanimously by a panel of expert voters (me and West Indian Archie), and was elected on the first ballot.

Robert Beresford “Bobby” Brown
b. 1969
rise: ca. 1980
fall: ca. 1993
Preeminent R&B/Pop music star of his day. Violent fall highlighted by tumultuous marriage, myriad felony convictions. Ruined New Edition, best man pop group of all time. Thoroughly embarrassed self as reality show star. Currently known as crazed drug addict.

Dwight “Dr. K” Gooden and Darryl Strawberry (tandem plaque)
b. 1964 b. 1962
rise: ca. 1984
fall: ca. 1990
Dr. K and Straw Man. Could have owned Manhattan for 30 years subsequent to debuts for New York Mets. Unparalleled raw talents. Made joint decision to give it all up for blow.

Michael Gerard “Mike” Tyson
b. 1966
rise: ca.1985
fall: 1991
Kid Dynamite, Iron Mike. Most feared man on the planet for almost 10 years. Meteoric rise followed by unparalled dominance of heavyweight boxing division. Savagely taken advantage of by unscrupulous collections of vicious individuals, including boxing promoters, hangers on, wife and mother tandem, and a former Miss Black Indiana. Emerged from exploitation as a shell of former baddest man on the planet. Exploitation resulted in severe, permanent mental and emotional infirmities, and embarrassing beatings inside and outside of ring.

Michael Joseph Jackson
b. 1958
rise: ca.1970
fall: 1993

One of three people able to lay legitimate claim to title of greatest entertainer of all time. At his peak, may be largest celebrity most humans will witness. Maniacal following despite personal eccentricities. Unbelievably good music. Fall centered around two things: intentional, freakish alteration of physical asthetic, and unhealthy obsession with young boys. Although never convicted, plagued by substantiated allegations of sexual acts with young boys under guise of powers to heal from terminal illnesses. Currently exists as pariah to human community.

FARE YE WELL

2005-10-09T22:41:00.000-07:00

As human lives go, mine has been relatively short. Yet I sincerely believe that I have been blessed to meet and befriend more than my lifetime’s fair share of wonderful people. My travels, be they of extended or limited stay, have yielded an abundance of opportunities that I never could have imagined; indeed opportunities that most I know probably will never have. (see previous post, “Wish I Could Take Us All”.)

Every stage brings a new cast of characters. The school on the clay hill gave me The African, the Shakespearian, the Matriarch the Scholar, and Doc, Chief, Bake, the SGA and all those that came with, the third floor of the Wood in 99-00, The Gump Boys, Third, Thaf, the Motor City Boys, Nitty, B Mac, Kerm, Kenny, The Lou boys, The Q, B Phi B, C Coll, The squares. The Phi House, the Phi House, and the PHI HOUSE! Nate, Sykes, and Ware. The Caf. The Station, and Big Jay. The PC, Socks, the Queen, Fife, Sobukwe, and A Love Supreme. Spoon, Chuck, Big Law, Auburn, and Hov.

The New England experience gave me a thousand more faces to dialogue and exchange with. And, contrary to my expectations upon arrival in New England, Boston gave me countless new friends, classmates and not. Deva. ‘Nayak. Susarizzle. Gopes and Loo. Brother Mike. Section A, the Clinic. Bee, Shelly and Groover. Halo, Follies, DK, BG, Chasek. Cedes, Vo, Meg.
Tokyo, Belize, Miniwanca, NYC, conferences, groups, clubs and organizations. Greater Mt. Carmel. Anniston. Normandy. Ladue. Matthews Dickey. St. Louis, St. Louis, and St. Louis.
As a matter of pure fact, I feel really, really stupid right now for starting to type names in this entry at all. It’s impossible to drop shout outs to everyone I know and love.

So I’ll get on to my point. Sometimes I get kinda sad when I reflect on the plethora of beautiful people and times. Think of your stages. The people who were with you at that stage, who lived that period with you and defined that period for you; the people sitting next to you, the people you crossed paths with every day at 3:12 PM, the janitors, the administrators, the faces, the colleagues, the friends. That same group will never, ever be all together again. Of course we’ll stay in regular contact with those closest to us. (That’s why I didn’t list yall’s names!) But that number is minute in comparison to those we’ll lose.

That makes many people, many friends, that you appreciated at different times and for different reasons, that you may, no, probably will, never see again. And it’s not out of malice from either party, or even negligence. It’s just that life goes on, people move on, and lose touch. That’s the way this a-wheel keeps working out.

So let this be my wish, no, my prayer for every last one of the people that I’ve known, or respected, or appreciated, or loved, whether they knew it or not. Pray the Prayer. Run the Race. Stay the Course. Fight the Fight. And fare ye well, fare ye well, if I never ever see you anymore. I’ll meet you on the other shore.

Vici.

2005-09-21T21:02:00.000-07:00

Amen, amen.

www.mble.org

Veintiuno Preguntas

2005-09-04T22:40:00.000-07:00

With apologies to Curtis Jackson, I have twenty-one questions of my own. Any answers are appreciated.

1. Is this work thing really gonna be that much harder than the summer clerkship?
2. Should one bring the super huge, almost gaudy degree for the office wall on day one, or should one wait a while? Would it be somewhat pretentious to bring it too soon? What about other office decorations? Is there a defference between the degree and other decorations?
3. Should one ever mention political leanings?
4. Should political leanings come up in conversation, how does one participate in discussion without revealing personal ideologies?
5. How should one respond to the "What do you do for a living" question? Is "I'm a lawyer" preferable to "I'm an attorney"? How about "I practice law"? Don't each of these sound ridiculously pompous and self absorbed?
6. Should I drive to work every day, or ride the Metrolink?
7. What time should I go to bed every night?
8. How long before word of my work product, good or bad, gets around?
9. Is a brown (almost beige) suit acceptable?
10. Will they think that I am there based on merit, or quotaship?
11. On topics related to my professional performance, and in office relationships, whose opinion matters? And how will I know whose opinion matters?
12. Should I play company softball? Basketball? Anything?
13. In slow times, is it ok to go outside of my practice area and ask for work?
14. Is this where I want to work? Heck, do I really want to practice law at all?
15. Do I need one of those fancy-schmancy pens that shouts "I'm a professional!"? How about a fancy-schmancy business card holder?
16. Should I rent or buy?
17. Should I ever mention having a girlfriend?
18. In fact, should I mention anything about a personal life at all?
19. What aof facial hair; is it ever acceptable? If so, how should it be worn?
20. If I'm done with work, can I leave at 5?
21. Does this mean I'm a grown up now?

Being Bobby Brown

2005-08-05T23:39:00.000-07:00

Apparently, the new rage for television this summer is "Being Bobby Brown". You know, how Bravo or some other junior cable network occasionally strikes gold cause they had nothing to lose by putting on a nonsensical show in a non-crucial ratings wise summer, and running with it? If it wins, it wins big, and if it loses, who cares, no big loss. Kinda like "Queer Eye" was two summers ago. But anyhow, back to the cause celebre' of tv critics, random pundits, and other notable or not so notable talking craniums, Robert (Bobby) Beresford Brown.

To those who are not familiar with Brown beyond his marriage to Whitney Houston, or his publicized run ins with the law, the show is an entertaining look into the wild but strangely normal life of the noted "bad boy". (read: media created term, generally used to dub black guys, especially celebrities, who have ever received as much or as little as a parking citation). But to those of us who know of B. Brown on a somewhat deeper level (read: ahh nevermind, if this includes you, then you know i'm talking to you, and why i'm singling us out), the show is a complete disaster, exposing to the world, in classic blaxpliotative, buffooneric fashion the resulting shell of a guy who really once was the man. And it goes a lil something like this. Follow me.

New Edition was, and in some ways are, my heroes. At the very LEAST, they were my earliest, and most distinct models for coolness. Until I take my last breath, I will have an absolute and irrevocable soft place in my heart for Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, Mike, Ralph and Johnny. Before NKOTB, NSYNC, Backstreet, B2K, and every other boy group with the sole exception of the Jackson 5 (and don't challenge me on this one, cause I know what I'm talking about) , there was New Edition. In my eyes, the boys from Roxbury changed the world. And I know that I am not the only one who believes as much.

While Ralph Tresvant sang lead more than the others, one can certainly make the argument that at the height of the group's popularity, Bobby Brown was the Reggie Jacksonian "straw that stir[ed] the drink". Bob had a tough guy charisma that the ladies loved, and the guys wanted to imitate. He was the man. When he went solo, he proved beyond a reasonable doubt that he was the man with the 1989's Don't Be Cruel. Has there ever been a better (not higher selling, but better) major label debut album from a solo pop artist? (note the interjection "major label", because Don't Be Cruel was actually Bob's second solo album). My Prerogative, Tenderoni, Don't be Cruel, Every Little Step, On Our Own, the list goes on. The album was a flat out masterpiece. Bobby was the first hip hop era king of R&B, plain and simple.

Recap: up to this point, we have our subject, Robert Brown, as both the leader in a seminal, wildly popular supergroup, and as a worldwide phenom as a solo artist. Moving on in our critique...

Against the backdrop of such past glory, the nineties were not as kind to Bob B. While 1992's "Bobby" album was good (Humpin Around, etc), it was not the uber-project that "Don't be Cruel" was. As these things have the tendency to do, Bobby's popularity waned througout the decade. To make a long and already familiar story short, Bobby married Whitney, who was one of the biggest stars of her time, the drugs began, a tumultuous marriage ensued, including wife beating, husband beatings, self beatings, and many court dates for Bob for a plethora of infractions from weed to speed, to countless dirty deeds.

Recap redux: Bobby Brown: supergroup frontman, to solo dynamo, to coke (and probably crack) addicted convict turned cultural punchline.

This is the man that we encounter on the Bravo show, Being Bobby Brown. Given the above mentioned facts, to those of use who once and somewhat always will love Bob, this is a hard to watch, tragic comedy. Thankfully, my bar studies precented me from catching each of the episodes in their painful proper sequence, but I did make time to see the premiere, and I have seen random segments since. In assessing what I have seen, I concede that the show produces laughs. However, the majority, (people who never new BB other than as a common jackass) laughs because they see a funny display of comedic stylings provided by a wacky celebrity couple. I laugh to keep from crying. Yeah, it's that bad.

Untitled...

2005-08-05T15:07:00.000-07:00

People find peace and happiness in the strangest of places. I have been fortunate enough to find it a few times. Most recently from hanging out in a stucco house on the Mexico-Texas-New Mexico border, in the form of a couple from Calhoun County, who in their day have shown the way to somewhere between 67 and 89 different kids, me among them. (Sorry, I lost count at 63). So here’s to good people with graying hair, stories to share, food to spare, and lots of love to give. And here’s to Missy and Michael, and all the lovers down in Cooper Homes.

Some Say Atlanta...

2005-08-02T17:20:00.000-07:00

Man…you are tough to get at. Tough to understand. But I kinda dig it. I guess that I really couldn’t have expected much more than what I got. That is not to say that anything was wrong with the response, cause there surely wasn’t. And I didn’t expect anything more, based on our past interactions (not to mention the fact that it looks as though our two roads have now permanently diverged into the proverbial yellow wood.) But nonetheless, you are somewhat of an enigma to me; a fantastic mystery if you will. Now it’s up to me to decide if it is worth it to keep trying. That question is not so easy to decide. There are several different combinations of variables in my head. It’s a quintessential high risk-high reward situation. But, predictably, I will fall victim to the Carterian “allure of the game”, and the choice will not be so hard at all. I enjoy a challenge far too much to abandon the mission.

THE RECAP Part II: JUDGMENT DAY(S)

2005-08-02T16:27:00.000-07:00

Woke up at 6AM on Tuesday morning, feeling pretty good about my prospects for passing the bar. I popped in the DVD and watched the best scene from my favorite movie, Glory.

Prayer Circle as the Massachusetts 54th prepares for their final battle of the Civil War. Campfire burns in the midnight air, each soldier singing in unison

Soldiers: “Oh my Loooord, Lord, Lord, Lord…mmmmhhmmmmmm….”
Morgan Freeman: “ If tomorrow should be our great getting up morning, if tomorrow we should have to face the judgment day, let our families know that we went out fightin men…let em know that we went down standing up!”
Soldiers: “Oh my Loooord, Lord, Lord, Lord…mmmmhhmmmmmm….”
Denzel Washington: “ Don’t too much matter what happen tomorrow, cause we men. We men, ain’t we?
Soldiers: “Oh my Loooord, Lord, Lord, Lord…mmmmhhmmmmmm….”

Great Scene. And with that, I was ready. Something in the back of my head kept telling me to review the brief Family Law outline even though I was playing the odds. (See THE RECAP Part I). I gave in, and spent about 30 minutes reviewing the topic, concentrating on maintenance awards and child custody issues. Alright, NOW I’m ready.

Got to the Capitol Plaza, Jefferson City. The lobby was buzzing. With folks getting ready to do the same thing I was. Sea of white, with their sweats and tees shouting out their schools (none as good as mine). Patch of brown in the corner. Them with theirs, us with ours. Even on our biggest day, ain’t nothing changed.

After long instructions, we are underway. Morning session: four Missouri essays at 30 minutes each, then a multistate practice essay at 90 minutes. And we’re off

Essay 1: Administrative Law

I had just reviewed admin the previous weekend, and pretty thoroughly I might add, so this wasn’t too bad. Why is everybody in the widget business? And what the heck is a widget any-dang-way? Four questions to the essay. Notice and comment, rulemaking procedures, and a little delegatory authority issue, and the thirty minutes are over before I know it. I feel good.
ATTICUS: 1, BAR EXAMINERS: 0

Essay 2: Family Law

Ain’t this about a bitch. The one out of ten chance comes to life. Damn. (See: THE RECAP Part I). Well, lets give it the ol’ A&M try…OH HELL NAW…this question isn’t even about the family law topics that I did briefly review…this shit is asking about the dispensation of property according to the transmutation theory, and then do it again based on the source of funds theory. Atticus takes a real bad beating. Real bad.
ATTICUS: 1, BAR EXAMINERS: 1

Essay 3: Missouri Civil Practice

Not too bad here, nothing too serious. Date of filing v. date of service issue; of course date of filing controls. This seems kinda easy, unless I’m missing something here. Oh, here it is, statute of limitations issue. Good stuff, almost missed that one. I regain the lead.
ATTICUS: 2, BAR EXAMINERS: 1

Essay 4: Conflicts of Law

Studied this area comprehensively. Missouri is a most significant relationship state; I’ve been all over this from the beginning. Knocked it outta the yard. These Missouri essays weren’t so big and bad.
ATTICUS: 3. BAR EXAMINERS: 1

Multistate Performance Test

This was pretty straightforward, free points for the taking. I clean house.
ATTICUS: 4, BAR EXAMINERS: 1

Lunch break. If this were a marquee boxing match on HBO, Harold Lederman would break in now and say something like this:

HL: “Okay Jim, I got it like this: Young Atticus four rounds, Missouri Board of Bar Examiners one round. Lemme tell ya something Jim, Young Atticus has looked sharp and he has absolutely dictated the course of this fight. His jab is sharp, and he is outpointing the Board at will, just beating them to the punch, with the exception of that disastrous second round, when Atticus got hit with two, count em two standing eight counts. But Jim, that round was an anomaly, cause we saw Atticus completely abandon his fight plan. But I don’t expect to see that kinda round again, and Atticus should be able to cruise to victory in this fight.”

Jim Lampley: “Thanks Harold, that seems to be the way that I see it as well, what about you two?”

Roy Jones: “Uh…well Jim, it is clear that Atticus is ahead on the judges cards, but I tell you, the Board is still verrry dangerous, cause Atticus ain’t really done a whole lot of devastating damage to the Board, even though he has outpointed the Board. If the Board can catch another big round like it did in round two, then Atticus will be in big trouble.”

Larry Merchant: “Jim…it looks as though…there is a coronation on the horizon…and Young Atticus is set to become the reigning king in his division…if indeed he can refrain from imitating Young Icarus, and resist the ever growing temptation to thrown caution to the wind…that has befallen so many neophyte warriors before him…”

JL: “Uh…thanks…Larry… back to the action!”

Lunch break over, let’s get back to the festivities. Six afternoon essays, three hours, thirty minutes per essay.

Essay 1: Wills

A few weeks before the test, I was the wills master. In fact, I got a great score on the wills practice essay graded by the examiners. But I haven’t looked at it in a few weeks, so a lot of good that does me now. I get a good amount of the problem, and I get touched on a good amount of it. This one could go wither way, but I think that I got em. Round scored a draw.
ATTICUS: 4.5, BAR EXAMINERS: 1.5

Essay 2: Corporations

Killed this one. Novations and promoter liability. Corporation by estoppel. Young Atticus rolls.
ATTICUS 5.5, BAR EXAMINERS: 1.5

Essay 3: Equity

Thought I killed this one, until afterwards, I realized that there were some things that I could have included, one of which was extremely basic. I think that I still win this round by giving a good discussion of preliminary injunctions, TROs, and when equity is feasible. Good. Not great showing, but good takes the day.
ATTICUS: 6.5, BAR EXAMINERS: 1.5

Essay 4: Secured Transactions

I read this last night, so I think that I can handle this. I get off a respectable amount, but in reviewing the questions with others, I realize I got touched up. Didn’t include all the proper procedures for foreclosure of collateral. Good faith effort by me, but they got me this time.
ATTICUS: 6.5, BAR EXAMINERS: 2.5

Essay 5: Commercial Paper

Checks and such. But this one is a note. I verbally vomit on the page; just put everything I know. Throw it all against the wall, and hope something sticks. My conclusions here may be wrong, but I think that I justified it somewhat respectably. Still, I know that they got me here. Got me with the whole partial payment thing.
ATTICUS: 6.5, BAR EXAMINERS: 3.5

Roy Jones: "See Jim! I told you Jim! The Board of Bar Examiners is still vurrrrry dangerous, and Atticus can still lose this fight! You can never count a man out Jim, 'specially not a vet'ran with as many tricks up in his sleeve as the Board got!"

Jim Lampley: "You are right Roy, and Young Atticus is in a world of trouble entering this eleventh and final round! This one may have to go to the scorecards!"

Essay 6: Trusts

Like wills, I was once the master of all I surveyed when it came to trusts. That does me not much good now, as I haven’t looked at it in a few weeks, and they are asking about some pretty specific nuances. This almost looks like a wills/trusts hybrid. Man, this sucks. I put up a decent fight, but they beat me to the punch and win the round.
ATTICUS 6.5, BAR EXAMINERS: 4.5

At the end of day one, it’s not he decisive victory for me that I thought it would be. But all things considered, I think that I came out on top. There was only one time that I was completely lost, and I think that I may have gotten a point or two on that one. So, I won the day overall, but there is another day coming, and to say the least, my strong points are now behind me.

DAY TWO
MULTISTATE BAR EXAMINATION

Day two: 200 multiple choice questions. Three hours per hundred questions. Seven topics evenly distributed: property, torts, criminal law, criminal procedure, evidence, constitutional law, and contracts. I know that I need 118-120 to get it done. I think that on this one, I got the same 57-59% that I always get. Felt no better, and thankfully, no worse about this one. Afterward, my buddy Terbell gave me a refreshing breakdown, and I hope my score follows suit. It goes like this:

If anyone off the street, picking at random took the test they would get 50 right.
50
There were at least 100 which could be narrowed down to two reasonable and debatable answers. Odds are I got half of those right, giving me 50.
100
There were probably ten gimmes.
110.
And ten that I had probably seen before, to know what the deal was with them.
120.
I know that this is faulty reasoning, but hey, I’ll take that too. Gracias, Fuser.

ENDGAME
I walk out of the MBE dazed and confused, but happy that it’s over, and with abiding faith that I found success. Two stiff Hennesseys with just a splash of Coke in each, and it’s done. Content, the kid exits into the mid-Missouri heat. Game over. Mission complete. Bar passed.

THE RECAP Part I: THE BUILDUP

2005-08-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

THE RECAP Part I: THE BUILDUP

Twas the summer of our collective discontent. (At least two-thirds of it was). As for the remaining one third, Summer I’ll make it up to you, baby. I know you miss me so far, cause we go back like red states and NASCAR.

But, for now, following is a rambling recap of the epic battle between yours truly, Young Atticus, and the biannual beast created by the evil synergy of the Missouri Board of Law Examiners and the National Conference of Bar Examiners. Certainly this was the one, and only focus of my summer, and ergo my life until it was completed.
************************************************************************************

I have had some huge fights before, but this was without a doubt the biggest bout of my career, and definitely my first career title shot. I knew the gravity of it coming in.
I trained uncharacteristically hard for this bout. For almost two full months, I lived a chaste, very spartan life of academic preparation and study, only breaking to attend worship services and chat briefly with fellow barristers in training who were preparing for similar bouts. As the fight days drew near, my training regimen faltered a bit as I found myself burned out from my maniacal, even excessive preparation. After a 36 hour pause for regrouping in mid July, I regained my stamina and went into the title bout as strong as ever.

I pulled about nine consecutive all night study sessions at Washington University on the nights leading up to the fight. I actually went pretty hard; surprised myself even. I went at it super tough, and I was ready.

On Monday afternoon, the day before the test, I planned to spend the day doing the last essay topic that I wasn’t yet familiar with, secured transactions. I reviewed the topic, and surprisingly, it was not as dense and daunting as I thought it would be, which is why I had avoided it until then. Early evening intense prayer session with fellow barristers set to go to battle the next day. I knew that I had to get a decent night’s sleep, so I ordered a pizza, and tucked it in at about midnight, which I remembered thinking was he earliest that I had been to bed in months. Lights out.

Seven minutes into sleep…OH SHIT. I haven’t reviewed FAMILY LAW. At all. Since class. And in class, we were just filling in the blanks to review later. So basically, I don’t know family law, and it WILL be on the bar. Seven hours from now. Family law is second most frequent on the frequency chart. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? Doesn’t matter now, I just have gotta do it. But, I have to go to sleep or I will literally be staggering through the test in the morning. Wait…we have a 1.5 hour lunch break, and I already know what three of the four morning essays will be. Therefore, there is a one in ten chance that Family Law will show up in the morning. I’ll take those odds. I’ll review it at lunch.

Selfish Post

2005-06-23T16:53:00.000-07:00

Based on the pleadings alone, a defendant can move to dismiss a plaintiff’s claim based on the plaintiff’s failure to state a claim upon which relief can be granted. This motion is based on FRCP 12b6. The essence of this motion is that the plaintiff has not stated a claim that is actionable by law; or there is no legal recourse for the defendant’s actions.

This is different from a motion for summary judgment, from FRCP 56. A motion for summary judgment still happens upon the pleadings, before the introduction of evidence. A motion for summary judgment says that there is no genuine issue of triable fact: that if all the facts are to be construed in favor of the nonmoving party, the nonmoving party cannot prevail, and therefore, judgment should be given for the moving party as a matter of law. There are two types of summary judgment motion, offensive and defensive. An offensive SJ motion is when a plaintiff moves that a defendant cannot win the lawsuit, even if all facts are construed in the light most favorable to the defendant. A defensive summary judgment motion is when the defendant says that the plaintiff cannot win, even when all facts are construed favorably for the plaintiff. It is important to note that when a party moves for SJ, the nonmoving party then bears the burden of showing that there is a genuine issue to be tried. If the nonmoving party cannot demonstrate the existence of a triable issue, then the motion for SJ should be granted, and the matter should be dismissed.

The motion for SJ is different from the motion for failure to state a claim upon which relief can be granted. While the 12b6 motion states that the plaintiff has failed to state a claim for which there is a remedy at law, the movant in a SJ states that there is an actionable claim at law, but the facts particular to this case show that the movant cannot lose.

Finally, after the pleading stage, either party can bring a motion for a directed verdict, or judgment as a matter of law. A party properly moves for a directed verdict at the close of the evidence presented by the adversary. This motion says that given the case in chief of the adversary party, no reasonable finder of fact could find for the nonmoving party, and therefore as a matter of law, judgment is proper for the moving party. If this motion is denied, the movant can renew the motion at the close of all the evidence presented in the entire matter, under the name Renewed Motion for Directed Verdict.

The preceding has been a self serving exercise; I am trying to get these concepts together in my own head. If you read this and you are not studying for a bar exam, then you are a true friend, because you could not have given a care about any of this. Thank you.

And now...

2005-06-17T18:57:00.000-07:00

Mr. Sandman and Super Macho Man have been duly vanquished, and Mike Tyson awaits. In other words, finals over, law school done, and the Missouri Bar Examination stares me in the face, as it will for the next 42 days. Props if you understood the opening sentence. Sure, I am nervous. Scared, even. But, the meeting is inevitable, and if I am properly prepared, I should be fine. Not every barrister is a genius; I would like to believe that even as a novice, I should not be the dimmest light ever to be admitted to the bar. This gives me hope.

My preparations are more of a “scared straight” type variety. I mean, scared into legitimately preparing myself for the test. Save for catastrophe or personal tragedy, failing the examination would surely be the worst thing that could happen to me at this point in my life. How does one tell the village that he has failed? Especially when it seems like the entire village is apprised of his situation, and awaits big things from such individual? Can you imagine? “Uh, well, you see, uh…” Terrible. Not wanting to have to experience this scenario is enough motivation to keep me studying.

Still, this is a nerve bending experience. But, as a very confident friend of mine recently said, “I never considered failure as an option.” In fact, ain’t no need of getting nervous now, cause it ain’t but one way into this thing. I don’t feel no ways tired. Come too far from where we started from. It must be done. After all, Mike Tyson clearly is not the baddest man on the planet anymore. Just call me Buster Douglas. Or Evander Holyfield. Or Lennox Lewis. Or Danny Williams. Or Kevin McBride. Nah, you can keep McBride.

Wisdom from my brother

2005-05-01T16:05:00.000-07:00

Intellect13nupe: man.. listen to her.. not me.. she gonna tell u everything u need to know

Intellect13nupe: in the first month.

Kongressman21: what you mean?

Intellect13nupe: jus study the chick for one month... she is feeling u.. but i've learned that we play it wrong when we don't pay attention to their convo.. we usually be listening to that kitty and that mouth...

Kongressman21: I hear you man.

The Last Day

2005-04-21T12:33:00.000-07:00

As I write this, I sit in the last hour, of the last period, of the last class that I will sit in in my life as a student. This is a landmark moment, considering the fact that I have done this every day for 21 years now, not including preschool. So this is big.

But actually, it's not that big. Serious perils await. Two slithering dragons, and a huge, amorphous, terrifying beelzebub-like creature are happy to see me finish class so they can have their opportunities to get at me.

First, the two dragons, also known as final exams. Labor Law, and Intellectual Property. Two classes that I don't really care much about, but have found scant interesting tidbits scattered throughout. As it stands, I would literally FAIL these exams if I had to take them today. That is saying something, given the fact that as part of the curve system, professors are essentially obligated to drop the universal B. I wouldnt get that, or even a C, or a D. I would FAIL, flat out. That's not tight. I gotta prepare for those.

Once the dragons are slain, then comes the Big Boss. It's like knowing that I have an impending, inexcapable date with Bowser, Gannon, or the Gooch. For all the marbles, for real. Winner take all, for real. On some it's not a game type stuff. This forthcoming battle is known to most as the bar exam.

There is some assistance in fighting the bar exam; a class preps you for it. I know that the class is helpful. Nevertheless, 50% of applicants "similarly situated" to myself failed the exam. THE BAR IS A FLUNKABLE BEAST. And I can fail it too.
(Man, how do you explain that to your Moms, and the people who were waiting on you to begin practice? Whooo...)

Last day of my last year of being a student. This is huge. Reason to celebrate. Just not quite yet.

Rock the Crowd

2005-03-15T10:56:00.000-08:00

"Everybody is a Star..."
-the legendary Roots Crew, from "Star", The Tipping Point

I went to a concert this past weekend. It was a good performance. What interested me most was how devoted the performer's faithful fans were to her. They hung onto her every word, and watched her every movement. The crowd was hers from the time she hit the stage, until she left after the encore. That night, she did something that we all, every one of us, wants to do at some point in our lives. She rocked the crowd.

Having long since given up on my not so prodigious athletic talents, and not being very confident in my vocal or rhyming talents, I too, like everyone else on the Earth (I am convinced), want to be a star. Maybe the quest for stardom is why I labor on the Charles, enduring tundric conditions now far beyond the Ides of March. Certainly, this is why I picked barristry over solictry. Cause I want to stand up and rock the crowd. And I ain't no baller, no MC, or nobody's preacher. In fact, I'm an ordinary dude. I'm taking the geek route to stardom. Verbal superiority through barristry.

Is there a tension between this and my other posts? (See Wish I Could Take Us All...) Certainly. But maybe a zest for stardom is not diametrically opposed to the calling of public service. Maybe someone can be both star and dedicated public servant, ie Dr. Martin L. King, Mother Teresa, Barack Obama. Maybe this is a fanciful, unrealistic notion; and the star servant eventually implodes, or is exposed, ie Jesse Jackson.

So if there is a conflict, then know that for all my self righteous, "transcend the material" talk, I too want to be that boy. Just like you do. And everybody else.

Office Space

2005-02-24T09:26:00.000-08:00

On your office wall, who would you place a photograph of yourself shaking hands with? Consider these conditions:

a. This is the ultimate corporate setting, in which one wants to put their best face forward.
b. One would not want to display too much of their personal politics.
c. One is an entry level professional associate in this corporate setting, and advancement depends on quality of work as well as how one is perceived as a matter of social skills and office politics.

OK, that being said, I think that I have a decent list. In no particular order, I would display well framed shots of myself and the following individuals:

1. Muhammad Ali
2. Nelson Mandela
3. Stevie Wonder
4. Bill Clinton
5. Paul McCartney
6. Jimmy Carter
7. Henry Aaron

That is about it for the first tier; people who I would display without second thought. First tier is reserved for legends. Giants. People who I respect, and who I think transcend certain boundaries. Everybody beyond the first tier I would probably have to think about for a second before they got on the wall. They may still make the wall, but only after some consideration. The second tier list is long, but not too long. It includes but is not limited to people such as:

1. Colin Powell
2. Elton John
3. Oprah Winfrey
4. Hilary Clinton

and on and on...second tier is for people who are certainly A list in terms of celebrity, but are not legends that transcend scrutiny, at least not in my book. Anything that is not second tier is out of consideration for the office. But may definetly be commemorated in some photo album at home. Guess my technicolor portrait of my brush with greatness in the form of William Drayton will have to stay at the crib. Sorry, Flav.

For Brother Malcolm

2005-02-22T22:25:00.000-08:00

For Malcolm was our MANHOOD...our living black MANHOOD! This was his meaning to his people. And in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves.

Academic Haiku

2005-02-17T09:34:00.000-08:00

Cording to my math,
There are bout ninety days left
In my school career.

Wish I Could Take us All...

2005-02-07T06:45:00.000-08:00

A profound brother by the name of Shawn Carter, in the context of a musical composition, once said, " Wish I could take us all on this magic carpet ride through the sky..."

I happen to know how he feels. In fact, I have felt that way for some time now, but I recently heard the song again, and that line jumped out at me and encapsulated all the things I felt. Lets talk about it.

The word "blessed" is one of the most overused adjectives. Sure, if one is religious, or even theist, one recognizes that he or she is blessed to take another breath, or see another day that the Deity owes no being, but has given that being. Nonetheless, I find this phrase to be an empty cliche, latter day catchphrase, with people uttering it without ever really considering its meaning. You know, "How's it going?" "I'm blessed." Or current answering machine favorite, "Thanks, and have a blessed day." I am not a religious skeptic, and in fact I recognize the sentiment to be true, but I refuse to employ a word or phrase just because it may be the order of the day. Maybe I'm wrong, but such is my view.

That being the case, I now turn to my current life situation. I am on the cusp of completing my studies in the field of barristry. I have done quite well academically and socially, and I feel as though my triad of years spent studying in New England have been an invaluable experience in crafting the man that I am to be. The continental United States have proven to be my oyster in terms of where I wish to embark upon a practice of the craft, with offers of employment finding my ears from each region of the country. I have selected a place and venue to begin to hone my craft, while many of my contemporaries have unfortunately not been able to find jobs. In all modestly, I literally feel as though I stand on the very doorstep of something extremely large. I say none of this with a boastful tongue, but only to factually illustrate my good fortune. I only mean to say that without resorting to popular cliche, I really am blessed.

Furthermore, I know, understand, and appreciate the facts that I have earned none of this, that I have thrived because of the sacrifices of many who came before me, and the grace and mercy of Dios. For all of these, I am eternally thankful. The future is bright beyond limit.

These things being as they are, I was not always so fortunate. My parents certainly worked hard to provide for my sister, brother and I. We were never without the essentials, the basics. We did qualify, however, for me to make the statement that I am honestly from a humble beginning. As a black boy in a black family in the south or the midwest in any given year, my family clearly felt the stinging, prolonged effects of trickle down economics that never quite trickled to the down where were. We made cut backs that I am very confident that most of my current classmates know absolutely nothing about. Some things were simply not an option, so we knew not ot ask. Computer in the home? Cable? Vacations? New Cars? No. Didn't happen like that. To put it lightly, the majority of the time, it was real. But we did have each other, and we had our dignity, and we had our God. And that proved sufficient.

When you are from humble beginnings, that means that 97-99%, (if not 100%) of the people you know, love, and are associated with aint got nothing either. That's just how it is. I was of the hood, and the people that I knew my entire pre-New England life were of the hood. Yes, this was true even in college, when I studied with other city kids of modest means but ample dreams. I mean everybody was poor like us. The churchfolks, schoolmates, our friends, our mama and daddy's friends, kids at the boys club, my teammates growing up, all that. Whole population of folks caught up in the urban struggle, which was not always so beautiful in the Kwelian sense. I'm talking about a time when the city I grew up in was the absolute per capita murder capital of the WORLD. No exaggeration. Seeing cats that you knew get popular from joining gangs, then seeing their mamas in the discount suit shop looking for that burial fit. I'm talking about coming up at a time when the crack agenda reached new, flabbergasting heights. Talking about watching as the AIDS epidemic blasted off. Talking about watching my neighborhood crumble in the wake of white flight. Crack, white flight, gangs, Reaganomics; whew...man, I cannot overstate how devastating these things were to my home. Can you imagine the type of public school system that these factors combine to produce? Think about it real hard; and then imagine it as 10 times worse than the worst case scenario that you imagined. That's where I'm from. It was, and is, real in the field.

So when you come up like that, and these are the people you knew, loved, and associated with, it is predictable that I and my brother are the only ones completing our course of jurisprudential study. Not to be outdone is our sister, an extreme success in her own right. The thing is, that most people don't come up out of that. Sadly, I know many people that passed away from violence, drugs, disease that they didnt have adequate health care to treat, or from just having lives more difficult than thay should have been and their bodies eventually caving in. I know many, that if they are not physically dead, they are mentally dead; strung out, liquored up, or so far into the life of a street hustler that they live as savages. Even more are just still caught up in the very same vicious, savage, nefarious cycle of poverty that they were born into, never really having had a chance to get out. Sure they will marry and procreate, but there will never really be an escape hatch, and they will likely exist all their days in the mire and clay of the struggle.

So where am I? How do I fit it? When I look back at the world that I knew before Boston, the world that awaits me upon my return, I think of all these people I have named by description. The thousands that I knew, and the millions that I don't know, who my words fit appropriately nonetheless. These people did not and do not deserve the bitter pill that life has dealt them. They literally did nothing but be born into a messed up situation. They deserve something better. Something more. Something. Anything. Maybe like the something more that I have a legitimate chance to acquire for myself and my family in a few short months.

I could say something snide and cliche such as how I was prepared when opportunity knocked, or I worked hard and never gave up, or any number of ridiculous epithets. I did nothing to receive something that the masses are not privy to. Yet my future is brighter. I am lucky. Better yet, I am blessed. And when I look back at all of the other people, my people, I can only think that "I wish I could take us all on this magic carpet ride through the sky."

So what can I do? I must take those that I can on this ride. And I have to stand tall, defend, and advocate for those who could not make the trip with me for whatever reason. God bless you all. God bless US all, each and every one. Heaven help us all. I will do my best, my absolute best, to never let us down.

ACCESS

2005-01-13T15:17:00.000-08:00

Over the holiday break I experienced a few noteworthy things. The overarching theme of the break was ACCESS. As I enter my final three months of ivy-quality training in the craft of barristry, I noticed that at home, as I travelled among circles old and new, it seemed as though I was granted access. Access to new people, new experiences, new realms, professional and social. With new people I met, this was nothing spectacular; they have never known me as anything but an almost-barrister. However, this was especially remarkable when considered in light of older friends, acquaintances, and even family. It was almost as if most of them thought, "Damn, dude is really bout to be done...I'd better start talking to him like he is somewhat respectable now."

What do I mean by access, you say? Consider three examples from my midwestern fortnight holiday.

1. At a social function, two local surgeons, independent of each other, both of whom I have known of, but who have never known me, strongly invited me to dine with them before I returned to my place of study. One of them put the invitation in explicit terms: he intended to explain to me over dinner how I was to conduct myself, and with whom I was to affiliate upon becoming a member of the local chapter of the bourgeise class professional Negroes. You know, "Our Kind of People" and what not. While the other doctor did not state his purpose so explicitly, I gleaned from context that his intentions were similar. It was either that, or the subject of example #2.

2. Independently of one another, a co-worker of my paternal progenitor, as well as two different mothers from my church offered me the contact information of their daughters. They then went into well thought out, thorough explanations of what their daughters were into. One even said "She's only been with one man before."

3. I have been to several general body meetings of a local board of pratitioners of my intended craft. This break, however, I received an invitation to a special gathering of the leading men of this bunch, replete with spirits, ales, and young and attractive women interested in meeting practitioners of our sort. The gathering was rather decadent; the male practitioners enjoyed it thoroughly, and I assume that the young female company exjoyed themselves as well. It was quite the sight; 40-60 year old solicitors and barristers in the Shakespearian stage V of life (see: As You LIke It; diatribe by Toulouse), entertaining shockingly beautiful fillies of comparable age to their own progeny with tales of their trade, and receiving sympathy for their stories of cuckoldry. "Oh you're interested in (enter arbitrary field of study here) school? I can get you into East Southern Central Asscrack State School of (repeat arbitrary field of study here)..." It was a sight.

In considering the totality of the circumstances, this concept of access is a somewhat curious prospect. Should one want the acquaintance, shallow friendship, or respect of others just because of one's professional status? The jury is still out. While it is commendable and righteous to respond with an astounding "No!". I doubt that many have rejected such fringe benefits. In the end, the great equalizer is a knowledge of self; primarily an understanding of why one has pursued any given trade. Did I do it to belong to the Boule, or did I do it to help improve government subsidized housing? Are my efforts to reside within a gated community, and receive invitations to the entire circuit of bourgeoise Negro holiday parties, or did I do this to defend the constitutional rights of the indigent?

Like I said before, the answer should be clear, and I am sure that I will make the right decision. But, it must be said that the Carterian "allure of the game" does indeed "keep calling your name", so much so that it must be contended with.

But alas, should I need inspiration to remain but a humble descendant of southern field slaves, I need only remember that over this same holiday break I was consistently denied access to the grown folks table.

Start...

2004-12-13T16:54:00.000-08:00

What's up world? My name is...well, that's not really important right now. What is important is that you are here reading what I have to say. I hope everything's well with you. This is the the skinny, the lowdown, the haps on me, as best as I can describe right now.

I exist somewhere between good and evil, right and wrong.
Somewhere between suburb and street, weak and strong.
Im out cheah(shoutout to the bottom), somewhere between Alabama and Massachusetts,
North St. Louis and Glenaddie, Ladue and Roxbury.
Literally somewhere between wicked smaht, and not too bright.

But this is the tale of me....

I was born in the fall that Sister Sledge provided the backdrop for Pops and the Family's stovetop capped ascendance to diamond supremacy, the likes of which they'll very likely never see again.

Born at the middle, of the middle, and in the middle, with strong ties to the bottom, to which I retuned one less than a score later to find my soul buried in the clay on a normal hill.

You still with me? Say something if you're not...

Given another man's tag, and some say his visage, although that's not my own; I share it with one before and one after.

Them folk took me up in that holy thang and I learned its ways, sat through its days, and many a night; they trying to teach me right, and I'm trying to do right, though I never got it right, and maybe never will, but even still, the victory is in the effort, right? Hell at least I hope it is...

Acquired a crew, together we grew, had fun and had spats, but always got back, and now they all grown ass men...notice I say they, cause I'm still on my way...

Threw that white ball, ran through them halls, and banged that orange rock, hung on many a block, doing stuff that I knew I shouldn't have;

"But the allure of the game, keeps calling your name..."

Publicly spoke, privately smoked, cracked a few jokes, and threw a few hands.

So now at a quarter, I'm filling a quota, and treading through water, from the banks of the Chuck...

But yous only a token if you stay out here joking when they know that the laugh's on you, Bojangles...

Now I'm used to it, and I had better be, cause predictably, I'll be the only one like me, until I pull a Jimmy Cafe and say "Fellas, I'm ready to get up and do MY thang..."

(And by the way, if Grutter didn't come out your way, don't get mad at US for trying to have us an Atticus...you'll be aight, lil homes...)

But back to my tale, I'll stay on this trail till I find something better, or maybe till He says "mijo, abogadito, luchiste bueno"...and then, I'll be at paz.

So there you have it. A life in the half hour of Callius Medius. I didn't mean to make it rhyme, but if it did, so be that. I hope you followed. If not, pose queries. One day it'll all make sense.

I'll be back periodically. Until then, vybrate higher.