One day while I was in the 11th grade, all of the black students decided to skip school and go down to Cobo Hall for a black college fair. Being in the Bloomfield Hills School District, we did not have any college fairs that included historically black colleges during the school year.
So, we all caravaned downtown and went to the fair during school hours - it was one of the only times I skipped school all through my school years.
We got there and I walked around from table to table chit-chatting with the reps from different schools. I had already decided on my future school - University of Michigan - GO BLUE! I was influenced by all of those around me and I really didn't know or investigate any other universities.
I came across a table that was maroon and white and I LOVED those colors at the time, so I went up to speak to the guys behind the table. Hmmm ... "Morehouse College" it said on their banner, t-shirts, and materials, but I had never heard of that school.
I asked them about the school and what it was like. I don't even remember talking to them really because my mind was as open as it is now. I took their brochure and an application because I liked the colors!
I went home and told my mother that I thought I wanted to go to Morehouse College. She was like, "well, if you do ... I won't pay for your school." That wasn't the first time I had heard that. Being deeply rooted in the school system, I think my mom was a huge fan of the carrot and stick philosophy. Well, I wasn't.
So, I convinced my mom to allow me to apply to University of Michigan, Michigan State and Morehouse College. I had to convince her because the applications cost money ... and money was ALWAYS an issue; but ... she agreed.
Well, a few months later, I got acceptance letters from all three schools. University of Michigan offered me a scholarship for the first year, but by then, I really decided to go to Morehouse and my mother had bought into the idea also.
One Saturday morning, she took me down to Detroit to meet a Mr. William McGill. I think he lived in Palmer Woods or Sherwood Forest. I didn't really know Detroit and I didn't understand why we were going to see him.
In our conversation, he asked my mother to leave the room. He asked me what my interests were and a lot about my background and academic performance. He was impressed that I had been programming computers all of my life and that I wanted to major in that.
He suggested that I apply for an academic scholarship to Morehouse that was directed to engineering students and might apply to what I wanted to do with computer science. So, we did.
I was awarded a full academic scholarship to Morehouse College and we even framed the letter and placed it on the wall in my bedroom for months before I even left. I had a few other letters on the wall, so awards, honors and letters of acceptance. My mother had a thing for framing these things and placing them on the wall - but I never understood why.
The scholarship was for $7,500 per year for 4 years - that was the current tuition.
In high school, Frank Baker, Jr. (Two) and I were the only black males on the honor roll when we graduated and I thought I was something special. My goal in high school was "to be the coolest guy on the honor roll". So, unfortunately, I did everything the "cool" kids did and still managed to maintain my honor roll status in spite of it all.
When I arrived at Morehouse, however, I experienced extreme culture shock. First, I was from an all-white school district and had never been around as many black men and women at once as I had been there. Secondly, I had an arrogance from being one of two black guys on the honor roll and felt like the majority of black males were somehow inferior in intellect to me.
Well, my Morehouse experience cured me of all of that. I soon realized that exceptional black people come in all shapes, sizes, colors, socioeconomic backgrounds and regions of the world! At Morehouse, I was overwhelmed and excited by the diaspora of the black community. Most of the brothers at Morehouse were valedectorians, salutatorians, national honor society members, etc. I wasn't any of those, so it humbled me quickly and open my mind to a new reality.
Also, something I didn't mention was that my mother wrote all of my college application essays. ALL of them. I'm not afraid to admit it now because I've come so far on my own, but my mother carried me on her back into college.
Once at Morehouse, I was on my own for the first time. I made a lot of mistakes right off the bat. I was actually in jail in Atlanta for two days my freshman year! Can you believe that?
When I was growing up, we used to do stupid things just to do them. And one of those things was to steal. We did a LOT of stealiing. We would go to rich kids' house parties and steal their cellphones, Nintendos, their gold necklace in the bathroom ... whatever. Then, when we went on our Spring Break trip to the Bahamas, we would come back to the hotel room and sit around and brag about all of the little island rings, necklaces and trinkets that we grafted from the street sellers.
Well, taking a boy out of that environment doesn't change the boy unless he changes himself. So, I remember going to West End Mall near the campus with a couple of my dormmates and going into Sear's. I used to have a Sony fetish and saw a cordless phone that I wanted for my dormroom on display.
I stealthily unplugged the phone from the back and hid it under my jacket and walked out of the store ... undetected. I got to the mall bathroom with the phone, realized that I would be able to use it because it didn't have a power cord, so I wrapped it in papertowel and hid it in the garbage can. Then, I walked back into Sear's to steal a power cord. As soon as I got near the electronics department, I felt a hand grab me by my belt and whisper into my ear, "If you try to run, I'll hurt you."
It was security and I was caught. He took me to the security office and sat me down to watch the video footage of me stealing the phone. I told him that I had hid it in the bathroom. They went and retrieved it and called the police. They immediately took me to jail.
I was fingerprinted and charge with grand larceny because the phone costs $125.00 (grand larceny is theft of anything that is valued more than $100). So, they put me in a holding cell with the rapists, a murderer and several prisoners that were caught driving without car insurance.
I called my dad and he called my friend, Tony Burks, who was the R.A. of my dorm. Tony was the only person that I knew that cared about me enough and had a car and would come and get me. Luckily, he got through to Tony and Tony's dad was in town visiting.
I asked Tony to get my bankcard from my roommate and bail me out. He wasn't old enough to sign for me, so his father did. That was God working in my favor, his father didn't know me and it was only because I had had a good repoire with Tony that he agreed to do it.
THIS WAS THE SECOND WEEK OF FRESHMAN YEAR!
Anyways, I came back to the dorm with my head hanging low and ashamed to enter the dorm and listen to all of the rumors that were floating around about me. But, I knew that I had to face it and go on with my life. I had a court date scheduled a few days later and I was dying worried about losing this opportunity that I felt like I didn't deserve anyway.
I knew I wasn't a bad kid, but I didn't feel like I was worth much at the time.
I prayed to God in the jail cell and asked told him that if he got me through this, I would change my ways forever. I would never steal again. Later that week, I went to court, sat in the audience and waited for my case to be called. When I was called up and the called for the Plaintiff (Sears), noone in the audience stood up. The prosecutor announced that since there was no plaintiff's representative, that they would request that the judge drop the case. The judge agreed and I was free. That was God.
I went back to the dorm and I decided that for the rest of the school year or the rest of my life, I would wear thick, black, winter gloves to prevent me from stealing until I could get over the urge. It worked! I can't remember how many months I wore those gloves, but I've never stolen anything ever again.
Thank you Tony Burks II and Tony Burks I for believing in me enough to help a lost & confused young brother!
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