Life on the Other Side of the Rainbow

You could say that I really lived a sheltered life. If by that you meant that I had two parents who loved us. My brother and two sisters. And who worked hard so that we could survive to live and grow and be productive citizens. Granted the fact that life may not have been so grandiose for them. Mom was from Virginia and dad was from South Carolina which is where I have been living since 1989. My description is that sometimes you don't choose a place to live it chooses you. But I am getting way ahead of myself. The year is 1990. I am attending the University of South Carolina. Which being a real West Coast spirit I refuse to call it "USC" that is reserved for that school in California. Anyway I was at the University of South Carolina in light of a competition I'd won for promising minority students who wanted to study newspaper journalism. The course I was in really started in August and pretty much finished in the same time period. So I was really in a race to complete what was deemed the "Experimental Newspaper workshop" also called the Southeast newspaper workshop. I mentioned that this was a newspaper program mainly for minorities. This should have been my big break. I had wanted to get a job working at a newspaper. So why did I feel so guilty. And why did I think that affirmative action was such a dirty word. Besides wasn't it true that affirmative action was really helping more white women then minorities that's been proven in every scientific and social study. But still I felt that I'd be stigmatized for getting a newspaper credential out of this workshop. And I nearly threw it all away. If it were not for my professor, I will call him Dr. K. I argued my case against affirmative action and what I called a hand-out to him. He would not buy it. "You are willing to give up the chance for a career because you think you're being given a hand-out.' I nodded my head in response. I am not sure what his exact words were. But they had the effect of changing my mind. "Dr. K I will give it a chance." The rest is history. He dubbed me "The Phoenix." Because of my many classmates I was one of the few in the workshop that really had the hardest time. When people think of workshops. Especially something devoted to blacks or African-Americans or to others outside of white anglo-saxon America or the like. The first thing that comes to mind is a lowering of standards. But that was not the case. In fact a large percentage of my class composed of mainly women were English majors. More than half of my class was female. Not alot of guys including me. Jesse I think he was former military like me. Wanted to be a sports writer. And check this out he liked KISS. In fact in one of our assignments we actually did a story on the legendary rock & roll band. I was not much of a KISS fan but I like the reality show that stars one of the bands front men. Jesse actually wanted to see more of the show and the motorcycles and the Sphinx with the lasers coming out of its eyes. We got free backstage passes. So Jesse was happy and got the story. That night many people got in trouble for what one would call illicit drugs and of course as follows most R & R affairs:sex,drugs and rock and roll netted more culprits. I mention this because many in our city that year as in lawmakers and some news personalities were pointing fingers at acts such as the 2 Live Crew and many Hip Hop and rappers as instigators of trouble in shows that they held in our city and state. As Jesse liked KISS I liked following the situation in South Africa at that time. The reason I will never forget 1990. Is that eighteen years have passed since the first freely elected President of South Africa, Chief Nelson Mandela visited US shores in Atlanta Georgia. And I wanted to go. Again Dr. K had to intervene. Of course he would forbade me. But he did advise me that if I did partake in this historical venture. Then I'd never graduate from the workshop. So the choice was in my hands. Again I followed Dr. K's advice. To this day I don't regret my decision. Of course it would have been a once in a lifetime experience to have seen Mr. Mandela. But the fact is that another in my workshop may have been wrestling with that same decision. She was an actual writer from the Atlanta Journal Constitution and she was also from South Africa. Later on I did make a bit of history by having a chance to interview her on tape about her life in South Africa under apartheid and leaving South Africa to live in the United States and work for the AJC. One of these days I keep promising to convert that into a written transcript for Black History Month.

Towards the end of August that year I finally completed the workshop and I graduated. In theory and maybe principal I had in so many weeks completed a two year equivalence of what an actual incoming journalism student would be taking with no lowering of standards. So what was next. I'd been looked at by Reuters and Garnett as possibly writing for them. And I was even given a call-back from the Savannah Evening News. They sent me a ticket and the works. Kept me in a hotel. I never got the job just too slow of a typist. But Dr. K knew my penchant for my passion of writing letters to the editor. He told me in closing written comments that he felt that the workshop probably did not really help me to be a better newspaper writer but that it probably improved my "letters." And it has. So what came after the workshop. It would seem that I'd be "Walking On Sunshine" in the words of Katrina and the Waves which coincidentally are alumni of my high school, RAF Lakenheath American school in Lakenheath England. True story. No I went from euphoria to despair. But why? You ask. I had a secret. Besides God and my wife and a few others. It was my cross I had to bear. A warrant was out on me for my arrest. I had threatened a fellow police officer. I mentioned military. I was a former cop in the Air Force police in fact I was in Special Operations. As far as the threat it was on a postcard and I even signed my name to them. Talk about a stupid criminal. And former cop to boot. Now I had to face the music. I told my wife I was turning myself in to authorities on the warrant. She had her reservations. Citing the fact that even with this burden I'd finally got a college or rather a university credential under my belt. And I had a good opportunity to finally get a job in newspapers. But my protest was that that could be disrupted and our life could be turned upside down by this legal quandary I found myself in. So I asked her to drive me to the nearest police department. Still in the back of my mind. I wanted to run. I wanted to stay in South Carolina. The state of my troubles would then have to find a way to extradite me. That might be near to impossible. But I pushed that thought away. I opened the door. Walked up to the desk. "I'm turning myself in on an arrest warrant," I said. The officer almost looked at me in disbelief. "Can I see your driver's license" he said. "And I need your social security number." He turned away from me and ran my information in an NCIC check. Incredibly nothing came back. "Your free to go." And he handed me back my driver's license. Then I heard the noise of a teletype. The officer went over to see the print-out. "Sir wait a minute" he said. "Something is printing out". It was the warrant for my arrest. Now their was no turning back. I am now sure by now that my wife had driven off. This was one of the hardest things I felt I had done in the short time we'd been married. Up to this point we'd done so much in such a short time.

We met in Germany in 1984. I just came out of Air Force police academy. All spit and polish with my Air Force police badge and our signature beret, of all Security police officers throughout the world. A world wind courtship not really . But I am a hopeless and hapless romantic. I got down on one knee as men have been for thousand of years and proposed to her and we remained engaged for the next two years. In 1988 we were married in a small private ceremony in Kirchberg. It was a bona fide traditional ceremony under German law with a Judge. In attendance were me and my future wife, my cousin and a few friends. The only two guys were me and the Honorable Justice of the Peace. Shortly after our ceremony I carried my wife over the thresh hold and then that weekend we spent our honeymoon in the grand city of Paris. Things in those days in my eyes were so nice. And no I don't give credit to our then President Ronald Reagan. In fact it was not even Reagan that brought down Communism in Europe. I was there. It was like the hole in a dike in Amsterdam leaking water. At some pint all the water was coming out. Our newspaper for the military, The Stars & Stripes was printing story after story of how even the guards behind the wall, on top of the wall and even the ones outside the wall were fleeing to the West. Plus a massive hole had been knocked through the wall. And people were constantly escaping through it. Maybe Reagan did do a little. Like finally take ICBMs (Intercontinental Ballistic missiles) and other missiles out of Germany and Europe. But it was an insult to the German and American people when he laid a wreath at the soldiers cemetery for the "Nazi" war dead. What was he thinking? Notwithstanding the infamous "Reaganomics" we did lots of traveling in the little time we had left in Germany. By that time I had separated from the military and was working for AAFES (The Army Air Force Exchange Services) on a full time basis. My wife was waiting for orders back to the states.

Things were different for me when I got out the military. As I mentioned. I was really into politics and my "letters" which actually started in Germany. So when we got back to the states I fell back on them and tried to organize a African-American literary studies group. And I was also trying to have a mini-Sun splash party. A miniature version of the mega event held in Jamaica and the Caribbean. Neither vehicles did very well. On top of that the job situation was horrible. I did not want to immediately join the police force so I became a security officer doing private security work at the local condos and beach resorts. I liked getting back into uniform. And I got back into the Air Force this time I joined the Air Force reserve. I was lucky enough to get assigned to the 919th SOG (Special Operations Group) whose main mission was drug interdiction and humanitarian aid to the America's, Central & South America. And I wasn't the only one that was doing security work. Many in my unit were doing security work though the majority were into traditional law enforcement such as Narcotics, DEA,ATF and Highway Patrol,Sheriff and city police. I was happy being a rent-a-cop. At least for now. From what I now know lots of ex-military have the hardest time getting back into employment once they leave the military. Sure some get lucky or are prepared if they separate. Some go back to school. Others go back to what they were doing before the military. Some stay in for more years or until retirement. For the me I 'd go into retail which is what I was doing prior to enlisting with Uncle SAM. I was a commissioned shoe sales specialist. Holding a Rolodex of clients. Including their private numbers, bank account information, cell numbers,unlisted numbers and with cart Blanche to order shoes on their behalf and have them shipped directly to them. And then I also worked for Russell Mills outlet. I was really enjoying that job. Then one hot day not sure of what month probably August or July. I was taking my wife to the airport. She was still on active duty in the Air Force. And she had to fly off to a special school to do extra training for her job. Once I dropped her off and kissed her goodbye. I was on my way back home and to work. Save for one problem. I was looking for a shortcut that has now become the longest shortcut of my life. Even to this day. I will call this next segment "Before Rodney King" remember he was the African-American motorist that was beaten by a few wing-nuts of the LAPD who ended up having their Chief fired and the many cops brought up on civil rights charges they know who they were and they know that even a job as a LAPD Animal Control Specialist (Dog catcher)is beyond them. Some rebounded and some like Gates didn't. So I am looking for a shortcut after I drop off my wife. Instead I run into a check point looking for Jamaican Drug runners. And yes I fit the profile to a "T." Wrong place at the wrong time. Speeding trying to find my shortcut. Dressed super cool but in all black and dark black shades also and I had not shaved. Of course I know I should not have been speeding but to add to my alibi I was carrying my Air Force police badge, my military ID and many other Air Force police credentials including a meal card that identified me as being attached to a Special Operations Unit of the Air Force as a police officer.(TO BE CONTINUED)