Commencement- Book One
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2002, 2011 Lawrence Cherry
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One
After the long train ride all the way from Massachusetts, Allen Sharpe looked forward to reuniting with his family and sharing stories over an old-fashioned, home cooked meal. Yet when he got home, all he found was a note on the refrigerator door telling him to come to the New Towers, room B. The New Towers was a luxury condo on Harlem’s newly gentrified West Side where his friend, Tim, lived. “Why would my parents want me to come to Tim’s building? And what was room B?” Allen puzzled to himself. As many times as he had visited Tim, Allen had never seen a room B. All of the apartments were numbered. He continued to ponder the situation as he took the subway over to the Upper West Side.
When Allen finally arrived at the New Towers, he decided to ask Bradley, the doorman, for more information.
“Good evening, Bradley”, Allen greeted the doorman cheerfully.
“Good evening, Mr. Sharpe. Would you like me to ring Mr. Russell for you?”
“Actually, I got this note that says I’m supposed to go to a ‘Room B’” said Allen handing Bradley the note. “I’m not sure where that is. Would you know?”
“Ahh, yes. Just take the elevator all the way up to the top floor, to the restaurant and speak with the young woman at the front desk. She’ll show you”, replied Bradley in his usual courteous manner.
“Thanks”, smiled Allen as he made his way toward the elevator. The doorman nodded respectfully.
“So we’re having dinner at Menagerie”, Allen mused on the elevator ride. “This must be my parents’ idea of a present. Tim probably suggested it. But could they have been more cryptic with the note?” Then Allen began to wonder how they could afford to have dinner at such an expensive place. His parents, Lena and Vernon Sharpe, had been religious, hardworking, blue collar people all of their lives. Lena had been teaching at P.S. 118 in Harlem for over 25 years and she was still going. Vernon worked as a maintenance technician for the New York City Parks Department. Despite their combined 50 years of service to the city, their wages only created a modest income relative to the standard of living in the “Big Apple”. At the same time, Allen also knew of his parents’ ability to stretch a dime. It was this ability that allowed Lena and Vernon to give to their church, Greater Apostolic Church of Christ, charities, and still have money for some of Allen’s college expenses, as well as their retirement. “They probably started saving their money in anticipation of this special dinner years ago”, thought Allen.
When the elevator opened, Allen walked down the short hallway to the entrance of the restaurant with its heavy glass doors that read “Menagerie” in big frosted script letters. As he entered, he was awash in the elegant ambiance of the place. The terrace windows that wrapped around the back of the establishment afforded a magnificent view of the Upper West Side skyline. There were strings of little orange incandescent bulbs wound around ivory columns and the fixtures along the walls, giving a warm glow to the place. Every table was draped with beautiful silk and linen rose-colored tablecloths, and surrounded by high backed French mahogany chairs, with silk damask cushions. The evening moonlight was reflected in the high quality silverware and crystal on the tables. No matter how many times he had passed by this place, Allen was always astounded by its lavishness. He knew that one day soon he would be a regular customer, but right now he was looking for room B. Allen walked over to the fair-skinned young woman who was impeccably dressed in a black skirt suit with a blue and gray tie, sitting in the maitre’d’s booth in the corner near the entrance. Her hair was piled high on top of her head in a French roll. She had her head cocked to the side cradling the receiver of a phone, while busily flipping through the pages of the reservation book she had in front of her. Finally, she hung up the phone and began to scribble something hastily onto one of the pages before typing something into the computer next to her book. She was completely oblivious to Allen’s presence, even though he had politely cleared his throat at least several times.
“Excuse, me. I’m looking for a room B”, said Allen to gain her attention at last.
“Oh, yes, that’s one of the private halls. Are you Allen Sharpe?” asked the young woman, looking up from her work and checking her watch.
“Yes...”
“Good. I’ll just make a quick call, and then I’ll take you over.”
“A private hall?” Allen pondered to himself, as the young woman stepped away to another area to make her call, even though there was a phone right in front of her. He was beginning to think that this was no ordinary dinner with his family.
“Right this way sir”, the young woman said reappearing suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.
She led him down a narrow passage way behind the booth that went all the way around behind the restaurant. By now, Allen was too preoccupied with the mystery of this dinner to be tempted to check the woman out from behind, as he usually would in such a situation. The passage opened into a large open area with its own reception and waiting space. From the front, he could see what looked like a business conference room that was labeled “Room A”, but nothing else. Allen was about to suggest that the woman had made a mistake, when she sensed his uneasiness.
“Room B is around the corner at the end of the hall.”
“Thank You”, Allen replied before making his way down to room B.
****
“So this is room B”, Allen said to himself. Looking through the little latticed rectangular opening in the door, he noticed it was dark inside. He didn’t hear any noise. “Am I early?” he wondered. “Maybe there’s some mistake. Maybe this was the wrong room B.” Then he heard what he thought were hushed giggles, coming from inside. Finally, he began to realize what was going on. Allen turned the handle on the door and peeked in .....
“S U R P R I S E!!!!!”
A flood of light revealed an amazing spectacle before him. At first, all he could see were tangles of streamers and balloons through a shower of confetti that was being pelted toward him. Then he could see a stage with a podium and a video screen behind it. On the screen he could see the word “Congratulations!” scrolling across with graphics of fire works followed by pictures from his graduation ceremony. Down below the stage there was an adjacent dining area with tables that had burgundy and yellow tablecloths and balloons that were tied to chairs. On the far side of the dance space was a D.J with his turntable, speakers and other equipment. In the corner near the entrance where he was standing was a large table piled high with beautifully wrapped presents. Interspersed within the scenery there had to be about 50 guests. They were all cheering, clapping, shouting, and throwing handfuls of confetti at him. It almost seemed like he was at a presidential convention and he was the party nominee. Allen was completely overwhelmed by the moment. Allen was trying to match names to all of the faces, and trying to think of something to say, when a quick flash of light suddenly stunned him.
“Lena, what are you doin’? You tryin’ to blind ‘im?” asked Vernon Sharpe trying to shield his son from his mother’s outdated digital camera.
“I just wanted to get a picture of the look on his face, that’s all”, Lena explained hastily. “Baby, I’m so proud of you!” she gushed to Allen. Lena, Allen’s mother, was a petite, brown skinned woman whose skin had a glow to it that defied her age. To Allen and his dad, she looked a lot like the woman in those old wedding pictures in the album in the attic. She may have been, at the most, 10 pounds heavier but she wore it well. The only thing that could give any hint to her 48 years was the frumpy looking light blue beaded gown that she wore for the occasion. Overcome by her emotions, she tackled her six-foot-three inch son for a hug.
“Mmph”, groaned Allen, a little winded by the embrace.
“Lena, let the boy get some air for goodness sake!” chided Vernon playfully.
Lena had been waiting for this moment since Allen was born. Her only child had just graduated from one of the top Ivy League schools in the country. She could not restrain the excitement, pride, gratitude, and joy that she felt and she didn’t want to. As Lena released Allen, he took some time to gather his composure.
“Praise God, he did it! Graduated from Harvard, Thank You Jesus! We got the Victory!” shouted Lena as she “danced like David”.1
Lena was a devout Christian and she always thanked the Lord for everything. Allen also believed in God, but he could never get as emotional as his mother. His mother’s outbursts always seemed to smack of a bit of superstition and naiveté for him. In this public setting, he couldn’t help feeling a little embarrassed by Lena’s jubilant effusion.
“Well, we all knew he would, and we’re proud of him Lena, but we don’t have to go crazy”, said Vernon sensing his son’s uneasiness. Vernon always seemed to be criticizing his wife’s “wild holy roller ways” as he called them, but it was more teasing than criticism. Deep down Vernon understood the source of his wife’s joy and appreciated her all the more for it.
“Congratulations, Al”, Vernon said to Allen, as he reached out and gave his son a normal hug. Vernon could only be compared to a big tall oak tree, so overpowering was his presence, and the dark suit that he wore made him look even statelier. He was the only other person in the room who was taller than Allen. He was six-feet-five inches tall, with a powerful build. Vernon always wore an annoyed expression on his face even when he was happy. However, tonight he was able to crack a faint smile for his son’s success.
“Mom, Dad… I don’t know what to say. This is too much”, was all that Allen could muster.
“You don’t have to say anything”, replied Lena. “This is your day, baby. You just go ahead and have yourself a good time. Wakeem! Hit the music!”
At Lena’s cue the D.J. started to play “Never Could Have Made It Without You” by the Williams Brothers. Then Lena withdrew to direct the celebration, and one by one, Allen’s closest friends and family closed in to offer their congratulations and best wishes. The first to grab Allen was his best friend James Reid. No one ever called him James though: just Jim. Allen and Jim had been friends since grade school when Jim had taken Allen under his wing as a little brother after saving him from the school bully. Jim had always wanted a little brother, but his parents never got the chance to have any other children. Allen had always wanted an older brother, so the two seemed to be perfect for each other. Jim was older by two years and though Allen tended to look up to him, there were times when the situation was reversed, as it was at this moment.
“Congratulations, dog!” beamed Jim slapping his best friend on the back and pulling him in for a man hug.
“Thanks, man. Couldn’t have done it without you putting up with those late night rants on the phone.”
“That’s what brothers are for, man. You know I’m always gonna have your back. But this is your night. Forget that modesty stuff. You gotta turn this place out.”
“Did you know about all this?”
“Maybe”
As the two men got reacquainted, a young cocoa complexioned woman in a simple black short sleeved dress snuck up behind Allen and threw her arms around him. She was so tiny that she practically had to jump on his back to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Congratulations, Al!” she chimed sweetly, attempting to cover his eyes with her hands.
“Miko, ?!” guessed Allen, recognizing her voice.
“Who else?” said Jim petulantly, as if their pesky little sister had just interrupted them. Then Allen pulled her around for a real hug. ‘Miko’ was short for Tamiko. Tamiko Bynum was another childhood friend of Allen’s. They met in kindergarten, and their relationship started off rather rocky at first. Tamiko was the only other kid in the class who could even come close to being as smart as Allen, and they were always in constant competition. To make matters worse, Tamiko’s father was the pastor at the church his family attended. She was the teacher’s pet in school and in the church’s Sunday school, and with all the time they spent together, Allen felt like he could never get away from her. Tamiko was always moralizing about one thing or another, expounding various rules of conduct and trying to tell everyone what to do. All the kids used to call her “Miss Priss” back then. But one day at school, someone had broken the class’s art project and the teacher was going to cancel the pizza party she planned for the class if she didn’t find out who did it. Miko confessed, even though she hadn’t done a thing. This Allen knew because he was the one who broke the project, only he didn’t say anything because he was afraid of getting into trouble. Tamiko knew this, too, but she took the blame because she knew everyone had worked so hard to earn the party. It was then that Allen realized that Tamiko wasn’t just some stuck up do-gooder, who was one way around adults and another way around the kids. She really believed in all of the things she talked about. Allen admired her courage and selflessness and they had been friends ever since. But there was one thing about Miko that Allen didn’t think he could ever get used to, and that was her prissy style of dress. Her black dress had princess sleeves, a rounded collar, and came down two inches below the knee. Her shoulder length hair was parted to one side with a hint of curl at the ends, and held in place with a wide tortoise shell headband. To Allen, she looked like she belonged on a Disney Channel sitcom.
“I should be congratulating you, too. Didn’t you just get out of Spelman?” remarked Allen.
“Oh no, you don’t. This is your night and you don’t have to share the spotlight”, answered Miko. “Anyway, what are we doing standing here? Come on over to our table. The rest of the guys are waiting for you.” Tamiko and Jim steered Allen through a hub of guests, and balloons toward one of the larger tables near the head of the room. As they approached, Allen could see the rest of his friends smiling and signaling him to come over and sit down. There was Tim, who stood out conspicuously from the bunch because of his fair complexion, and sandy brown hair. From a distance and in the dim lights of the catering hall, he could have passed for white. Timothy Russell was Allen’s best friend from Harvard who had graduated two years earlier. During his first week at Harvard, Allen suffered some serious culture shock. Allen knew that some of the students at the school were from some of the richest families in America, but this knowledge did not prepare him for his encounters with many of his classmates. A small few went out of their way to be jerks, but most of the kids just ignored him. Then one day, someone walked up to him out of nowhere and asked him if he could make copies of his notes for the open statistics course they were taking. This turned out to be Tim. Tim noticed that Allen was brilliant and Tim always liked to surround himself with intelligent people. So Tim helped Allen navigate the complicated social scene of Harvard. Then there was Callie (which was short for Callilope) Harris. Callie was a girl that Allen met in high school. She was very popular, but because she liked to go to clubs and parties, she had never really noticed Allen who tended to congregate with the geeks. That was until her calculus teacher told her that she was going to flunk the subject. So Callie signed up for a tutor, who turned out to be Allen. Callie ended up with a B+ on the final, which raised her grade to a satisfactory C-. Callie was so happy that she agreed to be Allen’s date for the prom, to the dismay of the “cool guys” in school. Allen and Callie got along well, but they decided that it would be best if they remained friends rather than pursue a romantic relationship. Even though Allen was headed to Harvard, and Callie was headed to nursing school, they stayed in touch regularly and became very close.
Tonight, both Callie and Tim were eager to share in their friend’s accomplishment. Callie’s tall, dark, slender figure looked absolutely resplendent in the silver silk dress with black flowers embroidered on the bodice. She had her shoulder length hair pinned up to the top of her head in a chignon. Tim looked very handsome as well. He had his sandy colored hair gelled back into waves, and his wire framed glassed made him look like the dapper Wall Street type he so desperately wanted to be. His olive colored linen suit made him look a little less washed out than usual, and more like a real brother. When Miko, Jim, and Allen reached the table, Tim and Callie stood up to greet them.
“Finally, the man of the hour has arrived”, said Tim putting one arm around Allen.
“Congratulations, Al”, Callie cut in as she moved over to the other side of Allen to place another lipstick mark, under the one made by Miko. “Were you surprised?”
“Kind of…”
“You should have seen the look on his face”, laughed Jim.
“You guys - I know this is gonna sound kind of cliché, but I really don’t know what to say”, said Allen.
“How about ‘let’s order’, because I am absolutely starving right about now”, joked Jim taking his seat at the table.
“That sounds like a good idea to me”, said Tim who helped Allen to seat the ladies before sitting down himself.
“Oh Snap, look at all this! Fancy silverware, china, menus, that big table of presents over there - this seems more like a wedding reception than a graduation party! Dag!” Allen mused out loud. He was wholly dumbfounded by the expense his parents were driven to in order celebrate this occasion.
“Don’t tell me you were expecting your mama to put on some little trifling backyard barbecue with a Carvel ice-cream cake, and some Pepsi”, said Callie as she opened her menu.
“No, but I didn’t think they would go for broke. Tim, I know you had to have a hand in this. Be straight with me brother, did my parents have to re-finance the house for this or what?”
“Calm down, Allen. Let’s just say that a lot of people chipped in to make this all possible, so your parents are not going broke. Enjoy your night. You’ve earned it, man”, said Tim stretching back in his chair.
“Yo! Where my Harvard dogs at!” a voice bellowed from across the room. Everyone at the table looked up to see a tall dark skinned man with a goatee, lots of bling, and a navy and white pinstriped Sean Jean suit with matching Stacy Adams shoes walking toward the table. He let loose a wide grin revealing several shiny, gold-capped teeth.
“Up over here that’s where they at!” Allen responded, a rhythmic cadence marking his voice. He stood to greet him with the familiar man hug and the pound.
“Congratulations, man! They finally gave you them get out of jail free papers, huh. Now you gon’ set if off out there, ‘ight!” cheered Richard as he playfully jabbed Allen in the arm and then took his seat at the table. Richard was another friend that Jim had introduced Allen to. They had originally met at a street fair while Allen was on Thanksgiving break from Harvard. Richard was selling books in a booth and was able to provide Allen with a copy of a desperately needed textbook that had been sold out everywhere. Later on Allen found out that Richard sold lots of different things in lots of different places. Due to the peripatetic and transient nature of his business enterprises, many tended to call Richard a hustler, however, Allen was always amazed by how a man with only a high school diploma, and a little bit of street cred could manage his life so well. Richard always lived in the nicest places, had the coolest clothes, and never had a lack of women.
“Look like you settin’ it off right now. This party ain’t no joke man. Ain’t no Chinette and chittlins up in here!” smiled Richard.
“It’s about time you got here”, sneered Tim. “We were just getting ready to order.”
“Order! Dag, it’s like that!” said Richard ignoring Tim and opening his menu. Richard always thought that Tim was nothing but an uptight Uncle Tom, and most of the time paid him no attention. “Cold Snap! They even got stuff on here that you can’t pronounce! Like what’s this, this uh...Cock aw vin stuff? What’s that son?”
“It’s coq au vin”, said Tim with the proper pronunciation, correcting him. And Tim always jumped on any opportunity to correct Richard. “It’s chicken braised in a red wine sauce.”
“I was down wit’ it until you started talkin’ bout a wine sauce. The only sauce I like on my chicken is hot sauce, youknowwhatI’msayin. I ain’t tryin’ to get high off no chicken.”
“I feel you”, chuckled Allen.
Jim and the girls laughed as well, while Tim rolled his eyes in disgust. Jim flagged down a waiter to take their orders and within minutes the food was brought to the table. Soon everyone at the table was caught up in the convivial atmosphere of celebration. They sat and talked about old times, caught up with the present, and discussed their future. It was the future that was their foremost preoccupation, especially for Allen, and everyone was full of anticipation to hear what was next on his agenda.
“So, Allen now that you’ve got your degree, what’s next?” asked Tim.
“I definitely want to go into financial consulting and I have a couple of interviews lined up with some really good firms, so we’ll see what happens”, answered Allen with a sort of practiced humility, trying not to make a big deal of his good fortune.
“Interviews already! You must really be in demand, huh!” cheered Callie.
“But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. It’s just interviews, nothing’s settled yet.”
“C’mon Allen, as smart as you are, those companies will be fighting over you before it’s all over with”, Tamiko gloated while picking at her collard greens.
“As it should be”, said Tim in a matter of fact way.
“I don’t know if it’s going to be that easy”, Jim said rather gravely.
“What do you mean?” asked Allen a bit surprised.
“I hear what he’s saying”, reasoned Tim. “There’s been a big downturn in the financial sector since the whole subprime mess started to unravel. There aren’t as many jobs as there used to be and it’s starting to get pretty competitive out there. Even so, I don’t see why…”
“And you know what that means, especially for us”, said Jim cutting Tim off, bitterness seeping into his voice.
There was a moment of silence at the table, as everyone looked around at each other, but not at Jim. Finally, Allen decided to break the silence.
“What does it mean? What are you trying to say?”
“Look, Al, you know I’m your boy and I would never say or do anything to bring you down, especially not tonight. It’s just....I don’t know. Maybe we should talk about this at another time.”
“C’mon man, say it. You’re my boy. You can be straight with me.”
“It’s just that everyone is making it seem like good jobs are for the taking. That’s just not how the game works in this country. When I got out of St. John’s I thought everything was going to fall into place. I had my degree in political science so all I had to do was get a job as a law clerk or a paralegal until I finished law school. Then I’d be a big time lawyer with lots of money. But did it happen?”
“Obviously, no. So what’s your point?” asked Tim.
“My point is, even if you have a good education and lots of skills, there are other things that you have to be prepared for. Especially during these hard times”, Jim continued.
“Oh? Like what?” asked Tim with just a hint of sarcasm. Tim knew what was coming. They all knew.
“Like racism”, Jim blurted out after a few awkward moments. He hated the way his friends always played dumb when he brought up the subject.
“Here we go again”, said Tamiko under her breath, shaking her head. Tim shot a knowing smirk at Allen, and chuckled lightly to himself before returning his attention to his meal. Callie fidgeted uneasily with her napkin, while Richard looked around at each of them expectantly, wondering where the conversation would lead. All of them expected nothing less than another bitter diatribe from Jim about the perils of the black man in a white Eurocentric society. Jim believed that racism played a big part in his inability to get a legal position when he graduated college, and he spent a lot of time trying to convince the rest of his friends. Everyone had hoped that if they kept silent and didn’t make any eye contact, they could weather the storm of Jim’s whining and go back to having a nice dinner celebration. But by the cross expression on Jim’s face, it didn’t seem likely.
“Most of the legal jobs I was turned down for, I was more than qualified to do! How else would you explain it?!” He continued, the tense emotions spilling over.
“C’mon, Jim. This is Allen’s graduation dinner. You should be trying to encourage him, not bring him down with all that racism baggage you’re carrying around”, said Callie sounding a little disappointed in Jim.
“I’m just tryin’ to keep it real. I’m speaking as a black man with experience and I’m lettin’ Allen know what the deal is. In times like these, we’re the first ones fired and the last ones hired.”
“Dude, you’re not the only brother in the world and your experience is not the only experience. Despite the fact that you weren’t able to get a job in the clerk’s office, I happen to know a few brothers that have. There are even black lawyers, judges and even Supreme Court justices now, you know. We even have a black presidential candidate, who looks as if he might make it, for goodness sake. It just so happens to be 2008 and not 1908”, argued Tim.
“I don’t need you of all people to tell me what year it is, Tim. There’s just as much racism today as it was back then. Just look at what’s been happening in the last ten years or so. Abner Louima, Amadou Diallo, Sean Bell, The Jena Six… and I don’t care if they put this brother in White House. The struggle’s not over.”
“Look, Jim” said Allen finally speaking for himself. “We’re not saying that racism is dead, but this is the new millennium. Racism can’t stop you unless you let it. Our ancestors taught us that. If Frederick Douglass could publish a black newspaper when blacks weren’t even supposed to be able to read and write, there’s no reason why I can’t have a job as a financial consultant.”
“Amen to that!” added Miko.
“Racism may not stop you, but it can still affect you, knowwhatimean. That racism is still out there, yo. As a matter of fact, look at what they’re doing to the black presidential candidate. He can’t even fart without some of these folks turning it into a scandal. White folks ain’t no joke”, warned Richard.
“But there are a lot of white people who are supporting him, too. Not all white people are evil racists, you know”, Tim shot back.
“I dare anybody here to name one white person they know that’s not”, Jim challenged.
“Are you kidding me! If all white people were racists I wouldn’t have even been born!” exclaimed Tim.
“I know you’re not referrin’ to the dude that’s been keepin’ you and your little sis’ a secret from his whole other family-” Richard began.
“Don’t even go there, Richard”, Tamiko interrupted with a warning. “Let’s not make this personal.”
“If he didn’t want it to get personal about his dead-beat, racist pops, he should have kept him out of the conversation.”
“You don’t know anything about my father!” shouted Tim angrily.
“And neither do you!” Richard retorted.
“Oooh, that was cold!” remarked Jim.
“Don’t let this color fool you. Bright boys can kick-”
“Tim, chill! You know how Richard is. Just let it go. Richard, you know you were wrong for going there. We weren’t talking about Tim’s family, we were talking about white people in general”, said Allen trying to mollify the situation.
“Besides, Tim’s right. There are a lot of really nice white people out there who are not racist. If most whites were, none of us would be able to survive”, said Tamiko steering the conversation away from the danger zone.
“See you guys are still stuck in the mentality that racists run around with white sheets and fiery crosses. It’s far subtler than that. White people don’t have to be particularly evil to be racists, just self-interested”, Jim insisted, vehemently to the point to where he was pounding his fist on the table. He was always surprised by his friends’ blind naiveté about the way the world worked.
“But that’s just my point. You say that most of them are about preserving white hegemony. But if that’s true, why are so many African-Americans in very high positions of power. I mean Condoleeza Rice is our secretary of state for crying out loud”, continued Tamiko trying to be as sensitive to Jim’s feelings as she could.
“Because they know that certain African-Americans are not willing to rock the boat if they can have a few crumbs. Those are the only blacks the white power structure is willing to enter into a dialogue with”, retorted Jim.
“Word, True that! Most black folks that get them big gigs is sell-outs, straight up. They climb the ladder to success and then turn around and burn it down, so no other blacks can get up there. Like that dude, in the Supreme Court. This Tom uses affirmative action to get his education on, then he want to take it out so these up and coming young brothers can’t get nowhere”, added Richard.
“Why is it that if an African-American is successful, and makes a lot of money, some people get the idea that he or she has to be an Uncle Tom? There are many successful African-Americans who help other African-Americans. Look at Magic Johnson, Chris Rock, and Tyler Perry for example. I mean, that’s where I want to go with mine. If I got a really prestigious job at one of these consulting firms, I would try to use my influence to create some opportunities for these young brothers out there with nothing to do”, said Allen.
“First of all, they’d drop you like a bad habit before you could even think about something like that. Secondly, even if they did let you make such a program, they would oversee it and make sure the only thing to come out of it is a bunch of pre-programmed brothers who won’t do nothin’ to shake things up in this society”, said Jim bursting Allen’s bubble.
“Man, you’re negative! You’re just as bad as these gangsta rappers out here. If all you say is true, what are we supposed to do? I guess Allen shouldn’t bother with looking for a job. He should just smoke some crack and die before the white people get him, right?!” exclaimed Callie who by now was fed up with Jim and the whole conversation.
“See, you guys are too plugged into the system to understand what I’m puttin’ down. I shouldn’t have said anything, like I started to.”
“Finally, something we can agree on”, snarled Tim.
Jim gave Tim a “don’t mess with me” look.
“Well, I know there’s something else that we can all agree on”, said Callie smiling at Allen and raising her glass. “I’d like to take this time to make a toast. To Allen: for whom the best is yet to come. We all believe in you and we all support you; right, Jim?” Everyone at the table gave a hearty “here, here”, with the exception of Jim, who was still sulking over the fact that his friends would not validate his ideas.
“You know what? I’m ready to get my dance on, but all you got goin’ at this party is church music. When we gonna hear somethin’ with some beats?!” said Richard who was ready for a change of scene.
Allen blushed a bit at the fact that his mother’s spiritual side was showing again.
“You know my mom. If she organized this celebration, it’s gonna be gospel all night.”
“You know what, Allen? Your mom’s so religious, maybe you should get her to put in a good word with The Man Upstairs for you before those interviews”, joked Richard. “It wouldn’t hurt.” With the exception of Tamiko, everyone laughed.
“I think she’s been doing that all of her life.”
Two
“This is Broadway-Nassau Fulton Street, transfer here for the downtown A, C, 2, 3 and 5 trains as well as the J, M, and Z trains. Next stop, Cortlandt Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” the smooth voice charmed from the PA. Allen was riding the 4 train, which he knew was Jim’s regular line. He also knew for a fact that his friend was driving this particular train. Since Allen was standing at the head of the platform when he was waiting to board the train, he was able to see Jim leaning out of the motorman’s car to punch in his stop at the station. Knowing that his boy was driving made him feel a little more at ease, which was helpful right about now. Allen and Jim had managed to reconcile things since last week’s graduation celebration. Deep down, Allen knew Jim’s remarks stemmed from his over-protectiveness. Jim had been through a lot of hurt and humiliation and he only wanted to shield Allen from a similar experience. But Allen believed he was a different person from his friend, and this was a different situation. Allen was going to make his destiny. Soon. Within the next two stops to be exact.
Allen was on his way to an interview with Hartland Financial Consulting, one of the top-consulting firms in the city. He had spent a whole week doing research on the company, and was excited to find that they had been encouraging newer, mid-sized businesses with a lot of growth potential to go public with stock offerings as a way to build capital. This was the type of thing that Allen liked. The giants in the industry had been there for so long they began to take their public for granted. Allen felt it was time to make some more giants. The only way this could be done would be to encourage the growth of smaller businesses and help them to find their niche in the market. He had seen this done with companies like Google and Yahoo. Allen felt that it was time for some African-Americans to step up and hit the scene with their businesses too, and he would be in the position to help make it happen.
Allen sat back in his seat and crossed his legs, trying not to wrinkle the pants of his charcoal gray suit. Then he took out his burgundy leather portfolio briefcase and opened it on his lap to review some of the notes and data he had gathered one last time. Allen tried to concentrate on what he was reading, but the anxiety he felt created a whirlwind of thoughts that he couldn’t keep out of his consciousness. Allen began to consider the tenuous nature of the interview process. “What if there’s something they don’t like about me?” he pondered. He closed his portfolio, leaned over and put his head in his hands and tried to relax to the rhythmic rocking of the subway car as it barreled down the tunnel, but it was no use. “I should get an offer”, he thought. After all, he was articulate, he had experience interning at some pretty well known firms, he had a sound knowledge of the company, good references, and not to mention he had just graduated from one of the top schools in the country. Everyone told him he had a lot to offer, so why should he doubt his capabilities now? Then he could hear Jim’s words echoing in the back of his mind. But like everyone else said: this was a different era. Allen felt that America was on the verge of becoming a post-racial society. So Allen brushed away the negative thoughts.
The train slowed down and pulled into the station with a screeching halt.
“This is Wall Street. Transfer here for the uptown trains across the platform. Remember to take all your belongings with you and watch your step on the way out. This is the downtown 4. Next stop Brooklyn Bridge, stand clear of the closing doors, please”, said the automated announcer.
This was Allen’s stop. He gathered his belongings and his confidence and exited the train and stepped out into the throng of people on the platform. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed most of them were clearly business people with their shiny leather brief cases, and copies of the Wall Street Journal tucked up under their arms. All of them striding confidently down the platform, up the stairs, and off to their respective jobs. These were the movers and shakers: the change makers. As Allen moved along with them, he was confident that he would soon be one of them.
When he had reached the street, he paused for a moment to glance at his watch. It was 9:45. His interview was at 10:00. The building was only a few blocks over, so Allen decided to take his time and look in some of the windows of the shops on the way. The tourists were out, which made it difficult to navigate the narrow sidewalks, however, Allen wasn’t bothered by it. He knew why the tourists were attracted to this area. No matter how many times Allen had been down this way, he was always amazed by the opulence of the surroundings. He was not just impressed by all of the big names he saw on the store windows, but by the design of the buildings, the cleanliness of the streets, and the order that seemed to coordinate everything. It was a far cry from his neighborhood back on St. Nicholas Ave. Not that his neighborhood was that bad. Allen would never dream of leaving his beloved Harlem. He wanted to be able to help transform his neighborhood into the busy thriving oasis that he was traversing at this moment. He knew it was possible. If only he possessed the money and the influence. If only someone would just give him a chance to get started. He hoped that this company would be magnanimous enough to take a chance on a 22 year-old dreamer from the inner city.
In the midst of his reverie, Allen almost missed the building. It was a huge glass structure that seemed like an obelisk, especially if you were looking at it from the Brooklyn Bridge. Allen walked in and showed his I.D to the security guard who stood in the lobby. Then he rushed over to one of the elevator banks and grabbed an elevator to the 35th floor. When the elevator doors opened, he could see two big mahogany doors with the words Hartland Financial Consulting inscribed on a conspicuous gold-colored plaque, with the company logo next to it. Beneath it was another one that indicated this was the human resources department. The consultant and analysts’ offices had to be on one of the other floors. As he opened the door, he could see the receptionist, a thin, young, white woman sitting behind a large circular oak paneled desk with a headset on. To the left of her there was a short leather couch, and a table with several business magazines spread over it. As Allen walked in, the receptionist looked up, her eyes locking onto his.
“Delivery or pick-up?” she inquired.
“Uh, neither”, answered Allen a little puzzled by her question. “I have an appointment for a 10:00 interview with Mr. Ravitch. I’m Allen Sharpe.”
“Oh…”, she replied, still a little doubtful. “I’ll let Mr. Ravitch know you’re here. Allen Sharpe, right?”
“Yes.”
She leaned forward and pressed one of the buttons on the console in front of her.
“Mr. Ravitch?”
“Ye-es”, a friendly voice chimed back.
“Allen Sharpe, your 10:00 is here.”
“Give me five before you send him in.”
“You got it.”
“He’ll see you in a few. Have a seat”, she said to Allen as she pointed to one of the chairs in the reception area.
“Thank you.”
“No problem”, she winked.
Allen simply smiled back and adjusted the collar of his shirt and loosened his tie just a bit. He hoped the five minutes would pass quickly before the flirty receptionist made him an offer he had to refuse.
*****
Martin Ravitch, a tall, well-built, middle aged white man with brown thinning hair, leaped out of the chair in his office and headed past a maze of cubicles toward another office in the corner. He stuck his head in and motioned to his associate, Greald Harris, who was neck deep behind a stack of papers. Harris was on the phone trying to wrap up a conference call. Mr. Harris was an older man who was much rounder. He had more hair on his face than he had on his head, most of which was gray and shaggy looking. He nodded at Ravitch’s signal, and began to wrap up his call.
“Look, come in on Thursday, and we’ll get the paperwork done”, said Mr. Harris to the person on the other end of the line as he tried to end the call. “Yes, 9:00 would be great. I’ll see you then.” Harris wiped his face with his hands before turning his attention to Ravitch who was anxiously waiting in the doorway.
“That Sharpe kid is here. Did you go over his resume?” asked Ravitch.
“Oh, yes. I got it yesterday in your e-mail. Just let me print it out.”
“So what do you think?”
“Well, he looks good on paper, but I don’t know. Let’s see what happens.”
“I think this guy is just what we need. I almost proposed to Gertrude for setting up the interview.”
“Did you check out his address?”
“He lives up on 127th and St. Nicholas. So?”
“So, what type of people do you think live there?”
“C’mon. I know a lot of people from around that way. It’s where all these trendy hipsters live. The neighborhood is changing”, said Ravitch nonchalantly. He then checked his watch. “Hey, let’s head down, Sofia’s gonna send him back soon.”
Harris grabbed the printout from the printer and headed down with Ravitch towards the conference room. As they walked in, an admin was busy making last minute arrangements to the room for the interview. She moved some of the chairs behind the conference table, and one chair in front. Harris promptly took a seat and continued to look over the resume, while the admin finished up and left. Ravitch took the seat next to him.
“He’s a Harvard guy, but I wish he had a little more experience. He’s only had a few internships. He seems a little raw, but I think we could work with him.”
“I know you think all interns do is make coffee, but according to his creds, he’s been doing a lot more than that. I think he’d be great.”
“We’ll see. That address still worries me though.”
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Ravitch rushed behind the desk and took a seat next to Harris.
“Come in”, Ravitch sang, his voice full of expectation.
Allen opened the door slowly, and stepped in. The men at the conference table looked up, and an uneasiness washed over them, which Allen could read all over their faces. It made him a little tense. For a moment, Allen thought he had the wrong room.
“Good Morning.”
“Yes?” asked Ravitch with a little trepidation.
“I’m Allen Sharpe”, announced Allen walking in further and extending his hand for a shake. This made the younger of the men break out of his daze.
“Oh, yes. How do you do?” said Ravitch as he stood up, trying to cover his shock, and forcing a smile as he shook Allen’s hand. “Martin Ravitch. I’m the human resources specialist, and this is Mr. Greald Harris. He’s the one of the senior consultants, here at the company.”
“How do you do?” grunted Harris perfunctorily, who remained seated. He then gave Ravtich a wary look.
“Have a seat”, breathed Ravitch, pointing Allen towards a chair. All three men were sitting down and there was a tense moment of dead air between them. Allen noticed that Ravitch’s smile seemed pasted on. He sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward as if he wanted to bolt from the room. He tried staring at the resume as a way to avoid looking at Allen. Meanwhile his associate, Mr. Harris, sat leaning back with his arms folded across his chest. His stare was as cold as his ice blue eyes. The moment lasted only five seconds, but for Allen it seemed like five hours. Finally, Ravitch broke the silence with the first question.
“So, Allen, why do you want to work for Hartland Financial Consulting?”
“I understand that your company works with small and mid-sized businesses to develop long-term fiscal planning solutions. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“I have always had an interest in working with smaller businesses in consulting. In fact, I have had some experience conducting data analysis and evaluating financial plans for such firms as a part of my internship experience. At McFarland Tracy, I assisted consultants in creating a financial restructuring plan for a client that saved the company over 20% in infrastructure costs. This money was then put into investments that increased overall revenues by 30%.”
“Do you have any documentation or proof of this?” sneered Harris.
“Yes, of course”, said Allen handing him the case study from his portfolio. Ravitch took the portfolio first and looked it over.
“Impressive”, he remarked.
“Do you think you could handle a case study on the spot?” asked Harris.
“It would be a challenge, but I’d welcome the opportunity. How much time would I have to make an analysis?”
“I’ll give you 45 minutes. There’s paper inside the folder for you to jot down your ideas. When we come back you can let us know what your take on it is”, said Harris coldly.
Harris took out a folder and handed it to Allen. The folder contained several reports on a mock client’s earnings and outlook. It also contained the company’s plan and targets for growth and accumulation of capital. Allen carefully perused the sheets, taking notes along the way. Then he made a quick summary of the strengths and weaknesses of the plan, and provided his own preliminary analysis of how the company could reach its growth targets. He had just finished when Harris and Ravitch re-entered the room.
“Are we all done?” asked Ravitch.
“He is done. Time’s up”, blared Harris snatching the papers from Allen. Harris looked them over. Ravitch had to look over Harris’ shoulder to get a glance. Both men studied the papers thoughtfully for some time.
“Hmph, this is impressive”, remarked Ravitch out loud in spite of himself, rubbing his chin as he examined the papers. Harris merely rolled his eyes, before chucking them toward Allen.
“There’s more to financial consulting than just analysis, research, and planning. There’s also a lot of legal work involved. You don’t seem to have a lot of experience on that end.”
“I may not have a lot of experience, but I do have some experience in the areas you’ve referred to. At Briers and Lang, I assisted consultants in conducting legal research involving transferring of holdings, liquidations and escrow accounts. McFarland Tracy, I assisted consultants in researching bankruptcy laws as well as mergers and acquisitions.”
Another five second silence. Ravitch had taken up the papers Harris had so scornfully cast aside and was now back into the case study analysis, nodding his head up and down like a bobble doll. Harris rubbed his chin thinking of some cunning question to volley at Allen. His next line of attack would be to investigate the validity of Allen’s experience. Asking for concrete examples of the people, projects, and customers that he worked with in minute detail. Then Harris interrogated Allen about his plans for the future. Was he working on his MBA? Why or Why not? When did he expect to pursue it? Where did he see himself going on the job? Allen had to think fast on his feet, but he was somewhat used to this as he encountered it before, but not with such ferocity. It was as if Harris was trying purposefully to trip him up. The next 15 minutes was like a verbal tennis match. Harris would serve out an ace of a question that Allen would have to think fast on his feet to return. Ravitch served as the commentator, and made remarks about the cleverness of the question or the shrewdness of the answer. By the end of the interview more than an hour had passed. Allen had managed to maintain a pleasant demeanor through it all, despite the caustic effrontery of Harris’ questioning, and the nonchalant disregard of Ravitch.
“Thank you for coming in Mr. Sharpe” managed Ravtich, who still seemed a little uneasy. “We are still in the process of conducting interviews, so we will call you when we make a final decision”, he added, extending his hand for a farewell handshake. Harris stood with his arms folded across his chest.
“Thank you”, replied Allen. “It was a pleasure meeting both of you. I look forward to hearing from you.” Allen extended his hand to Harris despite the fact that the older man’s face shot him a look that said, “Don’t count on it”. However, Harris managed to give him one of the weakest shakes he had ever had.
Allen left the conference room and headed back down the hall toward the reception area, trying to sort out everything that happened in the last hour or so. He sensed that something went wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. He was polite. He was articulate. He answered their (or rather Harris’s) questions directly, and didn’t engage in unnecessary circumlocutions. Ravitch seemed to be impressed with his ideas at times, despite his overall indifference. Could there have been something that he missed?
“Have a nice day”, a voice sang behind him. As Allen turned around, he noticed that he had passed the reception desk. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he was almost sleepwalking.
“I’m sorry. You have a nice day, too.” He replied absentmindedly. Allen struggled to regain his composure before leaving the office. He would have to think about it again, later. After all, he had another interview in a few days, and he had to go over what went wrong today to keep it from happening again. Allen tried to push the thoughts back as he waited for the elevator to take him to the lobby, but they would not be kept at bay. “Maybe it was something that had to do with the way I was dressed”, he thought anxiously “Maybe I seemed too eager.”
“Ping!”
The ring of the elevator brought Allen’s mind back to the present moment. As he got on, he noticed several people who were dressed in expensive business clothes, looking very sure of themselves as they stared at the row of numbers above the elevator exit or at their watches or at the floor. Allen felt very small and insignificant. When the elevator opened to the lobby, Allen rushed out past the tinted exit doors into the late morning sun. He walked until he saw one of the green benches that the city provides for its denizens to rest. Before Allen sat down, he took off his jacket to cool down. When he did, he noticed the enormous rings of sweat under the arms of his shirt.
Three
It was 85 degrees outside, so that meant that it had to be about 105 degrees on the platform of the Bowling Green Station. Jim had just come back from lunch and was waiting to relieve the driver of the northbound 4 train. The morning had been frustrating, especially when he was driving uptown in the Bronx. There were several delays, one involving a sick passenger at Kingsbridge, and the other a 5 train that had gotten stalled on 149th street as he was on his way back to Bowling Green. But such disruptions were fairly common in the underground caverns of the city.
He was a little early for this shift, so he checked in at the dispatch office next to the platform to pick up his belt, radio, goggles and headset and wait for his friend Brian, who would be the CR, or the conductor, on his train for the rest of the day. To his surprise, Brian was already there along with Greg the dispatcher. Greg was about forty or so and, at least to Jim’s knowledge, had been there the longest. Brian was African-American just like Jim and was one of his closest associates on the job. In fact, he was the one who had helped him to get a job in transit in the first place. Jim had known him from his days at St. John’s University. Brian had the same hard time that Jim had trying to get a job out of college. Fortunately, Brian had an uncle who was a transit worker. It was this uncle who helped Brian get a job as a CR. Later after running into Jim and hearing just how down he was on his luck, Brian was able to help Jim get a job as a motorman. When Jim came in, Greg was already talking to Brian about the rest of the day’s schedule. Jim knew there was always some type of interruption, especially with the 4 line. Occasionally, there were signal problems, trains breaking down in the tunnels, or track work going on, in which case trains had to be re-routed, and then once that happened, he had no idea where he would be going. But best to find out before the run than during the run, which happened more often than not.
“Hey, everybody. What’s up?”
“Hey, Jim. Great timing, I was just telling Brian about the change.”
“Are we going to have to re-route?”
“No, nothing like that yet. Your going to do two runs from Green to Woodlawn and then on the third, you’re going to go from Woodlawn all the way to Crown Heights and Utica for the evening rush.”
“Brooklyn? But it will only be 3:00. I thought the rush starts at 4:30 for summer.”
“This is just temporary, at least until they finish renovating the station at the Bridge”, explained Greg.
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(Pages 1-29 show above.)