THE CONQUEST OF FEAR: SELF-LIBERATION

My brother Earl and Rena, about 1974.  By then  they had four daughters.

By then, Jimmy and Earl had married and had their own families.  Earl always lived not too far from us, so we could walk to his house.  Jimmy moved to the other side of town.  Mama seemed to have gotten over daddy and was moving on with her life, fixing up the house and doing whatever she could to continue to keep all of us happy.

Peer pressure at its best!

Back to high school and the absence of a girlfriend. Ok, the pressure was on.   I was hearing it from all my brothers and my peers at school about not having a girlfriend.  I was tall, skinny, and acne-faced, not caring about the way I dressed or combed my hair, shy as hell and highly insecure.  I tried to improve my appearance but it didn’t seem to work.   At school it seemed I couldn’t even get in the crowd let alone get lost in it, and neither Chris nor I liked Southeastern High School.  Then we started hanging out with a guy from the neighborhood named Leonard King.  He was a year older than me and a year younger than Chris.  Leonard and I never got along growing up; fighting every time we saw each other in elementary and Junior high.  But at Southeastern it was so bad and we three didn’t seem to fit in.  It was like we had no choice but to band together.  But Leonard was a super cool guy, and he gave me some badly needed lessons in the art of being cool.

In 9^th grade I began to smoke cigarettes and weed.  I was hanging in the hallways trying to be cool and talk with the girls.  I didn’t go to classes nor did I try to do any work and I ended up getting straight E’s on my report card that semester.  Depression set in and I smoked more weed to avoid my problems.  I was heading downhill and didn’t know what to do.  I remember feeling like there was no need to go back to class, it was too late. 

At that time, Leonard and I started playing more basketball.  Chris wasn’t doing so well in school either, but he was working a full time job at Joe Muir’s with my mother.  Somehow Leonard was doing well in his classes even though we all hung out everyday playing basketball, smoking weed and chasing girls.  Leonard did them all well and still passed his classes.

Straight E’s and Depression

In contrast, I ended up flunking 9^th grade.  Depression was getting hold of me—worse yet it was choking me.  I didn’t have a girlfriend, was failing all my classes, and couldn’t even play basketball that good either.  Leanard and I continued to play basketball, and to my relief I was getting a little better at it.  Leanard was a stronger and more confident player than I was and he inspired me to get stronger.   We played at Pingree Park.  I remember everyone at the park would say to me, “Your brother David is all the world and you ain’t shit!”  It hurt very much— to the core of my soul.

It was the summer of 1976 and I was still flunking most of my classes.  I did go to summer school and didn’t pass that either.  Dave came home after two years away at college--he was a star athlete and I was a zero.  We talked about basketball and he said he would get me into Finney High School where he attended with the same coach; summer basketball for high school was just starting up then. He took me up to Eastside Center--the hottest basketball spot on the east side of Detroit.  I was scared just thinking about going there, let alone playing.  His old friend James had a van and he drove Dave, Chris my older brother Earl, and I to a game. Dave asked me if I could play on that level of high school varsity.  I was getting better at the parks so I said yes, not knowing at the time that there is a great difference from parks and organized sports.

My nightmare at Eastside Center

We arrived at the gym that hot summer day.  When we walked into the building-- it was even hotter--about 90 degrees outside and 105 inside.  I wanted to turn around in the hallway and say, “Let’s go home.”  I heard whistles blowing, kids hollering, coaches screaming, and the basketballs bouncing on the old hardwood floor sounding like gunfire.   What have I gotten myself into?   Fear gripped me.  We walked into the gym and it felt like 120 degrees.  Everything seemed to slow down.  All eyes came towards us and I remember feeling as though everyone was looking at me and whispering to himself or herself, “He can’t play, so what the hell is he doing here?”  I was ready to run back home for sure, but it was too late, for I bragged to everybody that I could play.  I didn’t know much about organized basketball at that time.  Only later did I realize that yes, everybody did slow down a bit and looked at us as we walked in the door, but they were looking at Dave Cochran entering the building--not at his skinny little brother.

 Well it just so happened that Finney’s coach was not there that day and the kids asked my brother Dave to coach until the coach came.  He agreed and started me off in the game, putting me in the line up in front of other players.  Wouldn’t you know it, we played against Southeastern.  All those players knew I couldn’t play, I wasn’t good at all. My school, Southeastern, was a powerhouse in basketball during those years. They argued over who would check me--the GUMP is what they called me.  The officials blew the whistle and the game started.  Jump ball off and running--the action started.  The pace was one I never experienced before.  Both teams started running and I quickly learned they were faster than me.   I tried to keep up but at the same time pushing started to take place.  I thought someone wanted to fight me.  I could see they were stronger than I was, and they let me know it. 

I knew the feeling that was taking control of me all too well, I was afraid.  Then the ball came my way, I got rid of it as quickly as I could.  It came back and it seemed even quicker, so I decided to shoot it, air ball.  I was getting extremely tired while the heat rose--it felt like it was 150degrees in there.  The players on my team knew I couldn’t play at this point, and then they looked at me with some doubt.  Southeastern’s players begin to attack me harder as they knew I was the weakest link.  By then my brother Dave knew it too. He started screaming at me.   I remember clearly hearing him say BOY PLAY BALL! 

The heat of the gym and everybody in it began to close in on me like a human hot box filled with fire.  My other brothers’ voices became gasoline overflowing all over me.  By now it was clear I couldn’t handle this game at all.  Dave took me out, gave me a look like I was a stranger that killed his little brother, and said get him out of here, take him home.  Please, just get him out of my face.

After we all made it home, my brothers continued to talk about me, and told the whole neighborhood about what happened.  So now when I went to the courts people talked about me even more and things were getting worse.   By now basketball became my safe haven.  I wasn’t that good in a basketball game, but when I just shot basketball by myself it was the perfect escape.  I had to put up with a lot of negative talk at the parks and I must say it was getting the best of me.

    Chapter 6: – Taking a Stand (Basketball)

  One day I went to Pingree Park, walked past the courts, went to the other side, sat down on the picnic bench, pulled out a joint, lit it up, and told myself: “Either you’re going to get better or you’re going to leave the game of basketball alone for good--and I must have an answer TODAY!”  I was tired; no one was there but me, myself and I.  I told myself, “You don’t have to put up with all that talking those guys do.  You can do something else, just walk away from the game because that’s all it is, just a game.  But if you keep playing you’re going to practice and get better.”

Thank God I took up that challenge!  That day I caught the basketball JONES. Got me an old bike and rode from park to park and gym to gym.  I was on a mission.  I found myself doing it more and more--it became my safe zone.  Sometimes I played alone, finding a court where no one was playing and just shooting for hours at a time--the perfect escape from reality.  I watched other players play and I would pay very close attention to their every move.  Back then I felt everybody on the eastside had one good move and it was my job to find it and use it.

So while Leanard dated girls I would find myself dating basketball at the courts.  I had to repeat 9^th grade because I didn’t pass any classes that year.  I just went to the hoops.  That was pretty much all I did--play ball and smoke weed with friends.  I was getting better in basketball but not in my classes.  I hated the academic world and was filled with love for basketball and totally forgot about art.

My brother Chris was at the top of his game that summer.  Even though he had dropped out of school, he was working and he could always handle money better than any of my siblings.  Most of the time he would pay my way on the bus and give me a couple of dollars when we went downtown.  He gave me cigarettes every day, sometimes all day long.  He was about sixteen or seventeen when he moved out of mama’s house.  Chris moved into a very nice apartment in Downtown Detroit--the ultimate bachelor in the neighborhood.  Chris, Timothy (Slick Tim) and a host of other kids I hung out with regularly (What about them?). Chris started back drawing and painting at his apartment and even went back to adult school.  He had a couple of girlfriends at the time--boy he had it all.  He also continued to sing in different groups and started his own singing group.

I had become a student of basketball,  (redundant), and took almost any advise I could get.  My oldest brother Earl was married had four girls and lived two blocks over on a street called Rohns.  Even when he was married he had plenty of girlfriends and was driving a sweet 1976 Electric 225 (what is this?) with power everything.  My brother Jimmy was married and had two children and was living on the west side.  Somehow I ended up over there just about every weekend, playing a basketball game called “21” with him.  He would always make me play harder than I normally played, never letting me score.  I remember him blocking every shot that he could and playing tough defense on me at all times.  This would happen week after week the same way, but it was beginning to work.

Working hard began to pay off

As I was getting better; people began to treat me differently than in the past.  I was now welcomed at the parks.  And I remember a friend of mine named Maverick Kennedy would ride to this one park out of the neighborhood on St. Jean St. and he would always wait for me to come.  I knew then I was getting better.  Little did I know, but at the same time I was forming a personality that I could live with.

There were a group of teens I hung out with back then, in the neighborhood: Arshell, Pernall, Leaita, Raven (Doc Smooth), Antonio (Stud), Jerome, David, and Maverick Kennedy, Milton Austin (Do…c), William, and Dorin Gaddy, Timothy (Slick Tim), Ella and Chrissie Jackson, Lorny, Thomas Jackson, Regina and Clawden Moore, Gary Conley, Leanard King, Earlene, Gwen, Little Larry and a host of others.

Among my friends I was known as the basketball player in the hood.  With my new personality, I grew more confident with the girls and started meeting girls around town on the Westside and further east.  I began receiving telephone calls and then came dates.  I was finally accepted by my peers.

Puppy Love

It wasn’t long after that my friend William introduced me to a girl named Diane Cowens.   I was crazy about her, but at first she wouldn’t give me the time of day if I tried to talk to her, but over a couple of months, she relented.  We started seeing each other every day, over my house or hers.  We also walked the streets and sat on porches. Then I took her to the Pingree Park. By this time, things changed, and when I showed up at the park people would ask me if I wanted to play with them the next game.  At my park I had the best of two worlds.  I could be at one end of the court with the game I loved, quit, and then walked down to the other end and be with the girl I loved.

I remember clearly holding hands and walking through the park, looking for a place to sit on a hot summer day.  I remember the sun shining, birds singing, a ball in one hand and my girl in the other, a threesome it was! I had no real desire for more--with those two my world was complete-- or at least I thought so.

 I thought those days would last forever.  We would sit side by side on the picnic benches and then lie in the grass and play around.  I remember I’d never get too far away from my ball.  We would walk up and down the streets until dark and stop at someone’s house or I would just walk her home.  We talked about everything in those days-- it was puppy love at its best.  Diane went to any basketball court or gym that I wanted to go to, I could talk about my dreams of basketball with her and she listened. She talked about hers too.  I never even gave our relationship a thought of breaking up. “Always and Forever” was our theme song.  Then, I began to see other girls taking an interest in me around the ‘hood.

 Life’s ups and downs: fear is the lock and balance is the key

School was the only area in my life that I just couldn’t get a grip on; I had fallen way behind in my classes.  At this point I should have been going to the 11^th grade, but I was still in 9B, one year and a half behind.  I really had a learning block at this point.  I think the only area I was truly growing in was the basketball court.  My reading and math were at a very low level and I had no idea about what to do and didn’t really care.  I did not want to listen, to try to understand the advice of my mother, teachers, counselors and other people in the community were try to tell me: start studying, stop hanging around doing nothing with your time but playing basketball, sitting on porches, chasing girls, and smoking cigarettes, etc.

                                                                                                                                             My love for basketball was growing stronger and stronger and I was getting better and better. I had become one of the better players in the neighborhood by now.  At this point I was moving around the city trying to find competition to play.  I was starting to dream of playing high school basketball more and more.

However, deep inside me, far past my love for the game, in a dark place lay the stark reality of my grades in school.  I lied so often to people about what grade I was in school; I started to believe my own lies.

Fear was still a major force in my life.  The only thing that was different was that the weed took me further into fantasyland, and my love for basketball and Diane, which grounded me here on earth in some youthful form of invincibility.  Those two types of love I had never experienced and I had them both at the same time--the world was mine—accept for the truth about school.

Ronald Cochran at 16, 1977

Chapter 7: – Kettering High School 1977

 So I decided to change schools, start all over again, do better in my classes and make the high school team.  Leanard and me enrolled in Kettering Senior High School that September 1977.  And after enrolling our first stop was the gym, gym bag in hand and basketballs pounding inside our hearts.

Here is where I had my first experiences as the new baller in school, a hungry challenger looking for the best players to show them my newly perfected art of basketball.  I was 6 feet 3 1/2 inches tall and skinny but solid.  I had skills--I could shoot, rebound, jump high and block shots.  I loved the rough contact that came with performing; now I loved pushing players around on the court. I WAS READY!  Once Leanard and I played in gym the rest was history.  We dominated the entire gym and all the players; the word was out:  Kettering had two new big fellows who would start on this year’s varsity team. My confidence was as strong as ever; all the hours of practice were about to pay off. 

We started off that year running on the cross county team to get in shape.  It was very hard and I never ran that far at one time in my life.  But it’s called conditioning and it’s a must.  We made it through and the basketball practice began.  The coach Mr. Williams was building Leanard and I into power players in the forward positions, hoping that no one could stop us.  Some of the players began to get jealous of us, but we didn’t care.  The girls even started smiling and talking to me.  I was highly imprested with that.  I was on my way, nonstop to the top.  Leanard and I,  Viceroy and Cigarette, is what they called us. 

Everything was going so well until it got closer to the first game.  It was time to check on players’ eligibility.

Paying the Price

  I had finally found a home away from home.  I was respected on and off the court from September 1st until October 20^th.  One day before we all came into the gym for practice at 3:15 pm.  As usual, Mr. Williams was sitting at the door as we walked in.  As me and Leanard entered the gym, he stopped Leanard and told him, “Before you walk in, make up your mind right here and now. Do you want to be a basketball player or a father?”  Leanard looked at him, then looked at me, and said, “I must say a father, I have no choice about that,” He then told Leanard to leave the gym.  You see, Leanard’s girlfriend was pregnant and Mr. Williams was very wrong to put Leanard in such a position.  I left with Leanard.  We sat in the locker room for a while.  We were both very sad.  He told me to go back and stay on the team, which I did. 

Little did we know that day was the end of Leanard’s basketball career?  The next week came and practice was again starting at the usual time, but Mr. Williams said he wanted to talk to the team about someone on our team.  Everyone looked around at each other, puzzled.  We all came in and sat down.  Mr. Williams then said “Someone on this team has let us down really bad today.  He came here and brought high hopes for our basketball program, we welcomed him and put him right in the starting lineup.”  Right then I knew he was talking about me.  Mr. Williams continued, “He thought he could just come here and play basketball, coming from a school where he had failed almost every class he signed up for.”  I felt very small, like an ant’s baby toe.  “Ronald Cochran, get your shit and get out of here!” he screamed.  I put my head down and just walked out of the gym. My world was crushed. What had you done?  Was it your grades that kept you off the team?

The Grades!

The grades had hung me out to dry before, but never like this.  I was so close and yet so far, my dream of playing high school basketball had just started to come true and was destroyed the minute it was born.  I put all my time into basketball and did absolutely no studying at all.  I was once again the laughing stock of my family, the entire neighborhood, and the whole school.  Everybody talked about me as if I were a dog.  I smoked more weed with my friends, and they all told me, just forget it, Kettering didn’t have a good team anyway; helping me lick my wounds.  This particular group of friends had no dreams; they pretty much drifted around through life.  It made me feel better, so I drifted with them for a while. 

Diane was in my corner.  She told me to try and get back on the team.  Older people in the neighborhood told me the same thing.  I said maybe.  I was truly depressed.  I didn’t know what to do and kept drifting.

Another rude awakening, complements of life

One day as I was slowly walking alone down the hallway at school just after smoking some marijuana, with my head down, chin close to my chest, drifting along in sadness and self-pity, dragging myself down past the hallway lockers in a sad, sorry state of mind.  You see, this life of drifting was ok when I was with my friends but when I was alone it was unbearable.

Mr. Nichols, the assistant coach of the basketball team, approached me in the hallway that day.  He said, “Come with me son, I need to talk with you.”   We went into a tiny room and he slammed the door behind us, and yelled:  “What is your problem?  You have the talent, why don’t you use it, instead of wasting away? Just look at yourself.  Do you like this smoking weed?  Do you want to play basketball or not?” “Yes,” I meekly said.  “Well, you’re going to have to go to classes and pass.”  I felt pretty bad, as if the whole world was falling in on me again.  He then said that I should come back to practice and start going to classes right now.  I promised I would.

Oh yes, I woke up

I didn’t get to play in the games, but I practiced with the team daily and started going back to classes.  But by now I was pathetically behind.  I was having trouble doing the work and failed that semester. 

Mr. Nichols didn’t give up on me and I didn’t give up on myself either.  He told me to stop hanging out with my old friends from the neighborhood while I was at school and to start hanging with the team members.  I shared this with Leonard who agreed with Mr. Nichols and told me to do as he said.  He also said that he wasn’t going to hang out with me anymore and I should hang with the team and leave him alone.  I told Leonard I didn’t want to do that, but he left me no choice and was gone.

Mr. Nichols and I had to try another way to get me on an academic track.  It was getting late in the semester by now.  Christmas break came and so did the New Year--January 1978.  Mr. Nichols enrolled me into another type of class.  I was put in a class for kids who had trouble focusing.  The teacher was Mr. Campbell--a very tall thick man with a deep voice that commanded respect.  In his class, there was no playing.  Everyone had to read out loud every day and nobody could make fun of anyone. 

I was happy to be in his class because I now I needed all the help I could get if I was going to get eligible for next season. 2 ½ years of high school had passed and I felt like a dummy.  But I was willing to change.  I started going to the library after school, doing my homework and trying my best to become a student again.  It was very hard.  Diane still was in my corner and she went to the library with me and helped me as much as she could.  I was practicing with the team for about two months and the whole athletic program became my support group.  I started making friends with the players.  I continued to hang with my old friends from the ‘hood but only after school; even they seemed to understand and just spoke to me in passing during classes at school.

I dreamed about laying up the ball in my blue & white uniform

Mr. Campbell encouraged my dreams of playing ball for our school.    A host of people from the neighborhood started supporting me and telling me I could do it.  The men at Pingree Park cheered for me and pushed me as we played basketball together. The whole community supported my quest.  I had never had that much support before.  No, it wasn’t like TV when everybody gets together and walks down the street and demands a dream for Ronnie . . . It was the individual vibes that helped me make the transition, from the whole community to the inner depths of my young soul.  No one gathered in a big crowd for the sake of me getting eligible.  BUT at home my family said you can do it, my girlfriend said you can do it, my next door neighbors said you can do it, old Willie and Thelma who ran the corner store said you can do it, all my friends and their parents said you can do it, the senior citizens sitting on their porches watching me dribble that ball up and down the street everyday said you can do it, the wino’s up on Mack said you can do it (and then asked for a dime), all the little kids in the neighborhood said you can do it, all the guys at Pingree Park especially said you can do it.  Never was there a community meeting about me getting eligible.  But there was truly a community support system; because not a day passed without someone verbally inspiring my dream.  Those wishes and the daily feedback helped me greatly during those times, and I needed every bit of it.

I kept going to the library and studying at home.  Deep down I felt I couldn’t do it; that I would probably flunk at the end of the semester.  But still I felt compelled to go on.

Chapter 8: – Eligibility: Dreams do Come True

June came and so did my report card.  I was eligible to play next season!  I remember walking home from school that day alone.  I was so happy, I felt like crying. The sun was shining brightly and it seemed like everybody was out.  I remember telling everybody I could, even strangers.  I started singing songs and jumping up and down as I walked.  I even ran a little so I could reach the neighborhood quicker.  I bet I was the happiest kid in Detroit at that moment.

The first thing I said to my neighbors was: “I’m a basketball player at Kettering High School!  I passed and here’s my report card.”  I made it home and told my mother the news.  She was very happy for me and so was the rest of the family.  I was back on my way, none stop to the top, and life was great again.

Summer 1978: back at Eastside Center (Second time around)

In the summer of 1978 the high school summer league was about to start and I was a part of it.  I got my summer league basketball jersey and was ready to play. Our first game was—as you might guess-- at the eastside basketball capital, Eastside Center.  It was the same place where my nightmare of two years ago started.

Summer league started and Kettering turned it out and I was leading the way. We made to the championship that summer, and were going to play Murray Wright High School.  Once again I was in the starting lineup and the official blew his whistle.  Before the game, all the guys on the team told me I would have to check one of the city’s best player, Marlow McClain.  I said, “Bring him on!” We played them and won the game -- I held Marlow down to 12 points and scored 29 points on him.  I was back on top. 

My father’s back

 We heard from my father that summer too.  The drinking over all those years had caught up with him and he seemed on his last leg.  One day he called my mother and said he wanted to see all his sons one more time, including Niecy, who last saw him when she was two months old.

Let me say in passing that by now Niecy was 8 years old and a very pretty little girl.  I used to take her places with me all the time.  We had a lot of fun riding the bus around town, stopping at stores, and going to the mall almost every weekend. I would even take her to the park to play basketball and swing.  By then I was very proud to have a little sister-- she was smart, kind, a quick thinker, a good talker, and a straight A student.  She looked up to me as if I was the world.  I always tried to teach her everything I knew and she learned quickly.  But she had never seen her father.

Meanwhile, my mother said it was ok for the boys to go see him but not Niecy.  So one hot summer day in July we rode out to Mt. Clements where he was living.  I was still fearful, even after 8 years had passed.  The fear was still as fresh as it was in the last day I saw him, after Jimmy shot him, even though by now I was sixteen. 

We pulled up in front of his house and there he stood on the porch smiling at us.  It would have been ok if we just turned around and left at that point, for I became even more afraid.  The only thing that helped me get through that part was the fact that I was with all my brothers.

We all walked onto the porch and I noticed he wasn’t as tall as he was when I was eight.  I towered over him.   One by one we walked into the house and sat down. He asked each one of us how we were and cracked a joke about each one of us when we where small kids.  We all laughed but we couldn’t help but see the pain he was in.  He was still drinking, even as we sat there.  I remember looking at the little tube sticking out of his stomach that replaced his kidney --and still he was drinking; it was sad to see him like this.  We all tried to laugh right with him, but it was very clear that there was too much pain and sorrow in the room.  To me the room was filled with fear, gloom, pain and too much sadness, all harking back to that terrible past we endured.  I wondered if amends could be made now, in the short time that was left to him.  I was perplexed.

Tentative Reflections on the Origins of my Father’s Conduct

Just how much must a man put up with in order to be a man? In this appendix I wish to add some new insights on the life of talented black men living in Detroit during the late 50’s and throughout the 60’s.  At the end of this journey of writing this 88 page autobiography, one of my panelists, novelist Rainelle Burton, shared with us her insights about the pain and suffering that my father may have experienced during the 60’s, especially because he was exceptionally talented and what I long viewed as my father’s false pride.

I have always known of the wrenching struggle of the black man in America and how totally demoralizing it has been for all of us.  I must say and agree with Rainelle Burton that the motor city was highly success in luring the black man from the southern parts of America with the promise of healthy paycheck to come and work in the great automobile plants in Detroit.  This lure was especially attractive, since no education was necessary.  In fact, the less educated you were the better your chances in the plant.  This had the strange, and probably deliberate, outcome of the typical black worker in Detroit with enough money in his pockets, but, at the same time,  lacking true understanding of himself and the world around him.

And here is where the problem got worse.  Large numbers of uneducated, lost, people were now living in an urban ghetto.  By the early 60’s this turned into a pattern and a tradition--a third generation of a working class people who needed no education to live a half way decent life (in terms of money).

By the time I was born in 1961, the white man felt that the best negro was a semi-literate negro.  Recalling now for example Frederick Douglass’s struggles against literacy, and the attitude of his white master towards his young charge quest for knowledge, we can see that, at the core, the situation of black people only marginally improved in over a century of struggles.  The white masters were actively looking for  black men  without education, for it’s easy to out-think a man that really doesn’t understand the power of thinking.  So, as long as the African-American man remained semi-illiterate, the white employer was safe. 

Tragically, my father wasn’t born to be controlled, for to be born with the gift of creativity is to be a born thinker.  The creative thinker is filled with the question why?  Thus, the social forces over which he had no control on one hand, and his own active mind on the other, may have contributed to my father’s frustrations, fears, and asocial actions. 

Speaking for myself, I have come to understand this filling of frustration oh so well in my own life, a generation later.  In the 1960’s the situation was even worse, for the majority of African-American Detroiters then internalized the odd notion that the man who wouldn’t or couldn’t think for himself was superior to the rare man who did.  The prevailing belief in the community was one of acceptance and resignation.  The only viable course of action appeared to say to yourself:  “this is all I’m worth, and besides, there is nothing I can do to change things.  So off these good obedient men went to work, then back home,  tired, confused, and frustrated.  For my part, I truly forgive and understand every black man who believed that  the white man will always have the best, every black man who played the role of the Whitman’s child at work, every black man in Detroit who felt like he had to kowtow to the white man in order to keep his job and put food on the table for his weak offspring he called family.  Those people lacked understanding of the social and psychological forces that were oppressing them and preventing them from be the men the could be.

Thus, my father’s frustrations are traceable in part to white oppression, but they are likewise traceable to those hard working black Detroiters.  Had these black men demanded a lot more respect, things would have been better for us all.  Instead, these men quietly suffered and obeyed for more than 8 decades with the obvious consequence that their offspring are in worse shape than ever.

This leads me to realize the distinction between pride and false pride.  I understand now that my father at one time had real pride and that he aspired to be a man in his own heart.  I also understand his frustrations with his co-workers and his bosses.  All this eventually led him to become a problem drinker and warped his real pride into a false one.

For someone like my father to live and work in a place like Detroit in the 60’s must have been very hard.  Each day a man must look at himself and dig into his own soul.  Is this the point where drugs come into the picture, when a man ask himself who am I?  Or is it the point when a man prays to his God, what am I to do?  Or does a man with no understanding ever asks such questions?

If enough pressure is applied, any man will break.  The plants of motor city have broken down many of man.  I hear these broken men’s cries to this day.  I hear them describe working conditions not fit for animals, let alone human beings.  They knew it was a sham, they knew they were being taken advantage of, they felt the burden of ignorance, exploitation, and racism.  If asked, they will tell you that they had to do it.  Theirs is the true answer for those who lack understanding.

I think my father understood one thing.   He wanted to be his own man back in the 60’s.   And daring to aspire for more, he paid a price far greater than those who chose to continue work in darkness, under the yoke of not think for yourself.  To understand the fact that you chose to be your own man is just one thing, but to shape that man and live with him day in and day out among unsympathetic neighbors and masters is quite another thing. 

The white man has truly chosen to keep us in the dark because of his fear of losing control over us.  The civilized world has not yet scratched the surface of our potential, still refusing to open the doors of sharing and expressing to us.  Even though Detroit led the way in pay for working men,  in the 60’s it paid blacks far less than it paid their white counterparts.  Housing was another curse for the African American; his hopes of living the American dream has not been filled yet.  Given his ignorance on the one hand,  and the white man’s greed on the other, he had no choice but play his marginalized role in society and at times, as in my father’s case, succumbing to alcoholism, self-hate, and estrangement from his own flesh and blood.

When a man’s pride is trampled under foot, he typically ends up weak or hurting.  I feel my father was hurting.  Given his talents for drawing, fixing things, music, singing, writing, union organizing, mechanical skills, football, baseball, basketball, track and field, it not surprising that he felt compassion for his oppressed fellows, and for himself.  In the social environment in which he found himself, living with resigned black men and greedy white men, his talents, his ability to think for himself, were a curse.  His talents, his unconventional thinking, his environment, his frustrations, have all added oil to his internal fires, living the door open alcoholism and self-hate which totally undermined his pride, family, and life’s mission (if he had one).

A performance to remember

Somehow we got on the subject of basketball, and at that moment and I saw his face light up.  “Could we go to the park and just let me see you guys play one time?”  Sure, we said and off we went to a nearby park.  David and me were the only ones to play.  Everybody else shot around on the side while we waited for our game.  It came and right from the start David and I took total control of the court.  There sure were some big guys out there but they couldn’t touch me and Dave and I remember feeling once again as though I was on top of the world.  All I could hear was my father loud voice, seeing him walking up and down the court screaming, “Those are my boys! Yes, they are my boys!”

  We put on a show that I’m sure he still won’t forget--even after his death.  That was the first time David and I played basketball together and I could really hold my own on the court.  At that moment I saw the combined talent that we both had.  It was the first time I played with someone and felt the rules of basketball should change, for it seemed that Dave and I needed two balls for a single game.

Then off back to Daddy’s house.  He seemed to be the happiest man on earth.  I felt like the happiest boy on earth, performing for my father for the first time, and playing with Dave too, but little did I know it would be the last occasion we would have to play for him. 

We made it back to my father’s house.  Some of my brothers were drinking with my father, and we all were enjoying our re-union.

I had to dig deep, and dig deep I did

Then all at once my father started to cry and apologize for all the wrongs he caused us.  He said, “I was wrong, AND I KNEW IT!”  He asked us to forgive him, and when we did he started sobbing, wildly, unrestrainedly.  You could clearly see that all those years of his troubled life and the grief he caused us came crashing down on him and it was all at once. At that moment I was frozen.  I tried to fill his pain, digging deep for strength.

I started thinking about all the days he made our lives miserable, the times he scared the living hell out of me, the beating of my mother and brothers.  I remembered the days he was drinking and terrorizing our household, the days when the neighbors talked and I didn’t understand but I knew it was bad and it was about my father.  The times on Grandy Street, and when Jimmy shot him and even then the terrible longing I felt for the father I once knew. And now here he was, sobbing and asking his sixteen-year-old boy to forgive him. .

God in heaven help us all! I just didn’t know what to say!  None of us had the wisdom to maybe say, “let us walk around the block and think about it.”  I told him I forgave him when he asked for forgiveness, but it wasn’t until later that I understood.   This was my only father and look at him--a total wreck! I had never seen a grown man cry like that before.  I was hurting bad inside and I didn’t want to forgive him at all.  But I could clearly see his genuine sorrow.  He had missed out on his children’s lives, he was dying and I knew it.  He was at his sad end, a truly miserable man.  At that point I looked at him and somehow felt sorry for him--not as my father but as I would at any man in his condition.

Once again I had just experienced one of the happiest days of my life playing basketball for my father, not even two hours ago, and now was in the midst of one of the saddest moments of my life, seeing him like this. 

That would be the last day I saw my father alive.  I still thank God today for giving me, a sixteen-year-old, the courage to forgive my father that day.

A great summer on the court

 Well I played more basketball than ever the rest of that summer.  From park to park, I had become a dunking star in the ghetto.  I was moving on with my life.  Diane began to get mad at me because I was addicted to basketball.   She was still in my corner in her heart, but inside my heart things were changing.  I had become obsessed with basketball.  I still cared for her, but basketball came first.

 It would be years before I would come to understand you don’t compare people with things. We talked about it often--which was first in my life-- her or basketball.  I chose basketball; and I don’t think our relationship was ever the same.  She was a very sweet young lady always spending her time with me.  Going wherever I wanted to go, which was only to play basketball, but she was there.  That summer, out of 100 places we went to, only about five of them were places she wanted to go.  I now realize how wrong and selfish I was then.

Still finding my way

  The summer of 1978 ended and it was back to school.  I returned to school not only a starter but also the star, The Man at Kettering.  The only thing that was strange is everybody felt that way except me.  I went to class first thing and practiced hard everyday and was looking forward to the season and my debut with the PSL (Detroit Public School League).

Little did I know that I was still drifting through life with all the wounds and insecurities still intact?  All my issues were about to show up out there on the court, I just didn’t know it yet.  All the unanswered questions and hidden pain of my life would also make their debut on that first game.  You see I was filled with emotions of all kinds still, but I just had learned to suppress them, trying to move on.  And move on I did.

Chapter 9: – My PSL Debut

The season opener came on December 11, 1978, Kettering vs. Cass Tech at Cass.  We got there and dressed in the locker room. I put on that uniform and the dream came true.  I was as ready as ever.  Mr. Williams was the head coach and he still did not care much for me, but it didn’t matter because my man Mr. Nichols was standing right beside him.  Mr. Williams made his speech and we headed out to the gym floor.

Living the DREAM!

 The gym was packed, standing room only on both levels.  A few close friends of mine were in the stands, including neighborhood girls Ella, Sheila and Olivia who attended Cass Tech.  They warned me all summer long that a player named Dewayne Rogers and the Cass Tech team would tear me apart and that I wasn’t good enough to play those guys, or so they said.

The band was playing, people were screaming, cheerleaders were dancing; you couldn’t even hear yourself talk.  But I made it, I said to myself I was in line waiting for my turn to lay it up. I looked at the team in their sweet blue and white uniforms and imagined how I looked in mine.  I imagined how it would be once the game started, dreaming in my mind how I would get the ball, taking off like an eagle in flight, feeling the ball in the palm of my hands.  In my mind’s eye, I saw myself dribbling to the hoop, experiencing once again the feeling of the ball being a part of me.  Up in the air I saw myself jumping, like I was on a cloud, my arms stretched out over the rim, and with my hands gently handling the ball, I lovingly delivered her to my favorite spot, the inside of the rim.   Then down I came, back to earth, back to reality-- I had made it, and I’ on the team.

And then the real whistles blew and it was game time.   I was nervous as usual but ready.  I recalled all the hard work it took for me to get eligible and play on this team.   We won!  I led the team with 20 points, 20 rebounds and 12 block shots.  Today, 25 years later, they call a game like that a triple double--a superb performance even now.  So 25 years ago it was a superstar performance. Right after the game, I was jumping around, on top of the world once again, with the team cheering our victory.  All at once I felt myself rising up into the air. I didn’t know what was happening until I was sitting on players’ shoulders and everybody was shaking my hands and patting me on the back and pretty girls calling my named out “COCHRAN, COCHRAN he’s our man, let’s give COCHRAN a great big hand”….

 I was the only one up there.  Everybody was looking at me and carrying me shoulder high to the locker room.  Once we got to the door of the locker room I had to duck my head to enter.  It was 100 times better than my dreams.  When we went into the locker room to change and came back out to watch the junior varsity play, I was so fired up I could hardly keep still.  When I came out and sat down, everybody was trying to sit with me.  About 4 or 5 pretty girls were all trying to talk with me at the same time.  When we rode back to school on the bus I had my choice of whichever girl I wanted to sit with and the singsongs of cheerleaders and the team using my name.  You had to see it to believe it.  And it was all happening to me!

Nonstop to the top, so I thought

I went home, told a few a few people about the game, and got into bed.  The next morning was Saturday.  I woke up and rushed out to get a newspaper to see my name in the paper for the first time.  Ronald Cochran’s 20 points, 20 rebounds, and 12-block shots spoiled Cass’s PSL opener, I was on top of the world that weekend.  When Monday came I was never so happy to go to school, the whole entire school was cheering for me, I was truly “The Man”!

But as usual the euphoria was short lived.  I got my first lessons early about fans loving and supporting you when you’re winning and turning their backs on you when you are losing.  The very next game we played Denby High School.  I fouled out in the first quarter and everybody talked about me as if I were a dog again. Things like, “You know I’ve been around the game for about 30 years and never seen someone foul out in the first quarter.”

 That entire season went up and down; I played well in some games and bad in others.  I had a friend named Milton (DO…c) who really stuck by me that whole season, regardless of my level of playing.  I was still going to classes and getting a little better at my studies.  I was the star some days and a zero the next and simply had to get used to it. 

I was getting attention from a lot of girls and responding to as many as I could.  Diane and I were falling apart--I couldn’t handle all the extra attention and my head got bigger.  I started thinking that I was better than her and I could get a better girlfriend at school.  It didn’t happen and I lost Diane.  We didn’t break up right then but our relationship was never the same.

The “Big House!”

 We made it to the playoffs at Callahan Hall, at the University of Detroit, nicknamed the “Big House”.  Mr. Williams and I had had just about enough of each other.  I don’t know who was more tired of the other-- him or me, but Mr. Nichols kept the team together.  So here we stood, with a locker room like the NBA and a gym that could accommodate thousands.  And it seemed that all of Kettering was at this game--teachers and students alike.  As we came out of the locker and they announced us as the Kettering Pioneers the crowd went wild.  Then we came running out of the locker room and ran one full lap around the gym floor.  As I ran around looking up into the stands, I saw all my school friends and the teachers cheering for us and then in the front I saw my brother Chris standing at half court, as the sharply dressed bachelor with a big smile saying “You better play ball boy.”  Chris had also come to a lot of my home games.  Other friends from the neighborhood were present, including David, Jerome, Slick Tim and Maverick, all with Mr. Campbell saying, “Play ball!”

 1979 PSL playoffs we made it down to the BIG HOUSE, Callahan Hall, and The University of Detroit.

Ronald Cochran ( better known as CIG), in flight!

We started laying the ball up.  I felt like I was in the NBA.  This was the largest gym I had ever played in.  It was so noisy it seemed the only voice I could hear was Mr. Campbell’s.  The old wood on the gym floor was immaculately polished and when you jumped on it, it was so soft you could almost feel the wood give. Then when you jumped up for a lay up, it seemed the rim would lower itself to you.  They let us dunk a few time before the game.

But this time we lost.  They blew us out by about twenty points.  I led the team in scoring and rebounding with 16 points 13 rebounds and about 4 block shots.  I always felt that the team was burnt out at this point and Mr. Williams wasn’t the greatest of coaches.  I had often heard he had his days of good coaching, but by the time I played for him the burnout and alcohol had got the best of him.  We had been ranked in the top ten best teams in the state and the tallest team in the state. These were my team mates--Hands, Gonz, Grills, Montez, Ray, Tripp, Dewayne, Lorenzo, June, Griffin, Terry, Derrick, Petty, Darrell and Joe Lee. We were a special team that year-and our coach didn’t seem to be able to get the best out of us.  After that game, it seemed we just went through the motions--the season was really over in our hearts. I finished that year making ALL CITY honorable mention, not bad for one year in the PSL.  Most kids play four years and never get that type of honor.

Life after basketball

After basketball season was officially over, Mr. Williams stopped speaking to me and Mr. Nichols continued trying to reach me.  The gym was closed to us--no more practice every day.  I just drifted away again.  Back in the hallways, I resumed smoking weed and hanging out. I was sixteen then and all my friends talked about dropping out when school was over in June.  That particular year there was a very high number of drop outs in the public schools with Kettering being one of the highest, so I had plenty of company.  Quitting school sounded like a good idea to me.  Besides, I was 2 years behind and couldn’t see myself staying in school that much longer without playing basketball.  I truly wanted to go to college and play ball, but I just didn’t know how to do it, so I smoked more weed.  But deep inside the dreams of college never died.

Life and Death

Then one day while I was at school, hanging out in the hallways, I got word that I was to come home as soon as possible.  When I got there everybody was sitting around looking sad and I was told that my father died.  I was hurt, but once again I just didn’t know what to feel.  I was sad but not too surprised, seeing the shape he was in the last time I saw him.  I tried to reflect on some good times, as I had no problem at all reflecting on the bad.

We all went to his funeral, except mama.  I remember not wanting to be there and reminding myself, “This is your father, and the only one you had.”  I felt robbed.  The last time I saw him he was the saddest man I had ever seen, and now I’ll never see him again.  I forced out one tear for him, as I felt I should, knowing after all that he was, is and will always be, my father.

The Dropout

June came and so did graduation.  I had made up my mind by now to quit and the whole neighborhood came down on me and pretty much branded me a loser.  Diane was mad at me, and really was sad for me and told me I was doing the wrong thing.  My Mother was totally disappointed in me.  I remember the most hurtful feeling I had about dropping out was seeing some of my friends actually graduate later on.  To see them graduate hurt very much.  I just stopped coming the last few days of school.

It all came crashing down again.  I felt as low as could be by now, getting used to the ups and downs of my life.  Up one month down the next, never finding level ground; growing up to me was like I either had it all, or I had nothing.

I started the summer of 1979 with the deepest depression.  My mother told me right at the beginning, in order to motivate me to go back to school she said, “Ronnie, I’ll give you all the summer to think about this.  In September either you go back to school, get a job, or get out.  It’s up to you and I won’t bother you about it all summer, but when September comes that’s it.”

Boy did she put something on my mind.  I began to think about it from time to time in between highs from the weed, I talked about it with my friends, most of them had dropped out, but their parents weren’t putting them out like mine was.  I had to think about it alone.  I still played a lot of basketball and really wanted to go to college.  I just didn’t know how to do it.  I didn’t really want to get a job; I didn’t want to go back to Kettering, not being a star anymore.   Time was ticking; friends of mine started leaving for college.  It was August and I still didn’t know what to do.  I didn’t want to get out because I had nowhere to go.  I was bereft of ideas.  I knew my mother was for real because I had seen her carry out similar threats with my brothers. 

Time was ticking faster.  Diane had started moving on with her life a little more.  I began to think about how wrong I treated her by being so selfish and big headed.  I started to think that she might even leave me.  The girls weren’t chasing me like they did when I was on the team. I was just another regular guy.

Chapter 10: – Slapped from Boyhood to Manhood

Most importantly I was a man now.  Those same people in the community that supported my dream started telling me to get a job and stop dreaming.   Those old senior citizens said to me, “The game is over. You’re a man now, GET A JOB.”  My friends called me the dumb jock and dropped out.  The winos just shook their head as though they were saying welcome to the club.  My father had passed in March and I still didn’t know how to grieve.  .

How does a young man, who had this type of relationship with his father, grieve?  Meanwhile, I didn’t have a job that summer and my money was low, which didn’t help my social standing, so I kept balling.  Mama was starting to get on my case about my plans, and I kept balling.  I thought about me being a man, and what was I to do?  I came up with nothing.  But I kept balling. 

The end of August did come and my mother did ask me; She said, “Ronnie it’s time. What are you going to do?  Get a job, go back to school, or get out!”  The question hit me like a ton of bricks, but I knew she was for real.  You know, I hadn’t really given it a lot of thought; in fact it was the very question had I tried to avoid all summer.  But for sure by now I knew I had to tell her something, so I said I planned to go back to school.  The only reason I gave her that answer is because it was the easiest one at the time.  You see I really didn’t want to get a job and I truly wasn’t ready to get put out, having nowhere to go.  School was starting in a couple of days, so I also felt that there was enough time to really think about what I was going to do. 

Facing facts

The only thing I really wanted to do was play basketball.  Anything else made me depressed, but I was trying to think.  I had heard and seen nothing but horror stories about the job market for a young black male with no real education.  I remember saying to myself, I’m not ready for that.  I could have moved in with one of my brothers, Earl or Jimmy, but I didn’t want to baby sit kids all the time.  I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. School was starting in the morning, so I said to myself, “Well, I guess it’s off to school for me.”

I was up the next morning and got dressed for school.  I felt bad dropping out and not being on the team. I was 18 years old and I couldn’t play in high school anymore.  All the attention from the girls was gone.  By now I knew Diane was getting tired of me.  It was like I had to start Kettering all over again—but without any dreams.

Back to school

  I walked to school by myself that day very slowly.  I remembered walking down these same streets so many times before on other bad days, and yet this was one of the worst.  I finally made it up there and I felt like a little boy, but I was an 18-year-old man, two grades behind and an old basketball star.  That daylight broke too l late, my career was over and it had just started a year ago.

Back then the registration lines were very long and you had to wait for hours just to get through the first part of it.  I stood around on the wall talking to friends and telling lies about why I was up here and didn’t stand in the line at all.  But I had to register because mama wasn’t going to accept the same lies I told my friends.  So I got in line and my head dropped to my knees.  Each time the line moved, you had to take a step ahead, it seemed like when I had to take one step, it felt like I had 200 pounds of weight on each foot. My stomach started hurting and I was starting to fell very depressed, hearing all the voices from the students, talking about how good the summer vacation was and what classes they were going to take.  Suddenly it seemed like I couldn’t hear anybody.  I was in my own world, filled with misery, belittlement and shame.

A reality check

What am I doing in this line I said to myself?  I’m Ron Cochran, the best basketball player at this school.  I started thinking about how the whole school cheered for me just this past semester.  My favorite plays started flashing through my mind, people telling me I could make it to the pros, teachers telling me you can go to college if you get some good grades.  All the little kids in the neighborhood calling me Dr. J.  What am I doing in this line?  Then the other kids’ voices came back.  I was still in line and I looked around and depression was staring me right in the face again.  The reality I had to face was coming back to Kettering without dreams of basketball.

The kids were still talking, but it seemed like they where getting louder and louder.  I was getting hot, sweaty and dizzy. I didn’t want to stand in line anymore and I didn’t have the courage to step out and go home and face mama.  I just didn’t know what to do.

God works through people

There have been a few times in my life that the stars smiled at me lifted me when I couldn’t do it myself and this happened now.  Just at the moment when I was so lost and confused, down the hall came Mr. Bogard, a teacher and football coach at Kettering.  He was a short hardnosed type of guy who played basketball with me in gym classes sometimes.  It was his first year teaching then and he was young with a lot of energy and played me very hard on the court and always told me to push myself.  On seeing me, he stopped and said “Hi, Cochran what are you doing here? I thought you had graduated?”  I looked at him very hard and for a change I didn’t lie about my state of affairs and said “NO! I didn’t graduate.”  Without him asking, I told him I had to come back here for two more years in order to graduate.  He then looked at me very strangely and paused…   We both looked at each other; there was silence all around us.  I think the other kids heard the conversation, it seemed all eyes and ears were on Mr. Bogard and me.  It looked like he was thinking and having a hard time doing it. All at once he seemed to have found his next question.  Everyone seemed like they were waiting to hear it more than I was.  Then he said, “Do you want to go to college?”  It didn’t take a half of a second for me to answer, “YES!”

He said, “Well then, come with me,” I took a last look at everybody standing in line.  I stepped out of the registration line and started walking with Mr. Bogard.  I remember saying to myself, “It must be a miracle.”  I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but I was out of that line.  I never did register at Kettering in the year of 1979.  I was on my way back to the top--college bound; I was The Man once again!

At this point in my Life (1980) I was 19-years-old and on my way to Highland Park Community College, and just changed my basketball name to:

                                   RON DOC ROCK COCHRAN

In Conclusion

In the next year, I managed to get into Highland Park Community College and play basketball.  I asked my mother how she felt all those years ago when I came home that day from Kettering and told her I was on my way to college.  She said, “I was very happy for you, but I remember saying to myself, ‘How is he going to college without finishing school?’” 

I did my first year of college without a high school diploma.  But I also had to take a full load of college classes, a full load of GED classes, besides practicing with the team.  I must give thanks to some of the people who believed in me a lot and supported my deep desire to play basketball in college. My mother, my family, Diane, Mr. Nickols, Mr. Campbell, Mr. Bogard, Coach Donahue and Coach Dawson at Highland Park Community College Hubert Thomas (Hands),  Milton (Doc), Leanard, Ella, Slick Tim and the whole Holcomb Hills and the total community and all of the guys at Pingree Park; Tony, Art, Terry, Mike Cotton, Kelow, Melvin Ford who did tricks with a ball I’ve still yet to see anyone else doing,  McDougle, who taught me how to do the hook shot, Jeff, who opened my eyes to creating my own moves.

  But the road had just begun.  I entered manhood--another game.  Even though I stopped drawing years before, my ability to dream was as great as ever.  Despite all the problems I had as a child growing up in confusion, fear and depression, I went to college as a man.  And, oh yes, I carried all that extra baggage right along with me.  It would take many years of pain and misery after college to unload that painful burden, but I must say that it is possible and I have gotten rid of a lot of it.

My sister Denise continued to grow up in the neighborhood.  She and I were the last two living at home with mama during that time.  By now she was an early teenager with her own personality and visions of getting out of the ‘hood.  She graduated from the same high school I dropped out of (Kettering).  She got married to a young man in the US Air Force and moved to France for two years.

 My brother Chris got married not long after and had two daughters.  He continued to live on the east side of Detroit and pursued a career in music and entertainment.  With a music studio in his house he will always have a great love for music.  At that time he worked for Joe Muer’s seafood restaurant.

My brother Dave was coming off the merry-go-round of a college basketball career just as I was entering college. He attended three different colleges and traveled around the country playing basketball in some of the greatest gyms in the nation, coming home as a college All-American star.

My brother Jimmy was already married with two children when I went to college.  He lived on the west side of town after he came home from the military service.  He didn’t do much in the art world, and is pretty much a blue-collar worker.  He surely had plenty of talent, but, like my father, has had problems putting it to its best use.

My brother Earl also married, and has four girls and works jobs here and there.  His marriage ended and he became “bachelor of the year” in the hood.  He always kept a nice car and plenty of girls around in his corner and on the side.  He lived not far from mama’s house, and I saw a lot of him my first year at Highland Park Community College.  He later moved right next door to mama.

My mother continues to go to the Kingdom Hall and attend Sunday services, trying to influence us with her religion whenever she can.  I asked my mother how she felt about the whole ordeal and she said, “I always felt the need to stick with my children throughout their lives --no matter what.  Because my children only had one parent at home, I felt they were cheated.  And I have maintained a very strong love for all my children ever since.”

I feel that one of the most important things that happened to me at an early age was my ability to spot and admit to myself the presence of fears, not necessarily overcoming them, but realizing their existence.  The pain came from my inability to handle them.  Then came sadness, insecurity, and confusion.

My view of my family during those times was that we all suffered great pain over the years, more than a family should endure from one man.  My father’s inability to confront his fears in a manly way would cost the family frustration for many generations to come.  I still find it hard to accept the facts about the impact of fear that my father had inflicted on me in such a short time period in my life.  I feel I could do so much with my life, make more of my gifts, had I grown in a more nurturing household and environment.

I’ve also learned to take the bitter with the sweet.  My father left us a legacy of his own pain and insecurities, which he allowed to dominate his life.  He also blessed us with talents far superior to any other father that I’ve ever met.

 I know there’s not enough time or paper for me to tell my whole story. I just tried to illustrate some of the key points in my life, times when I have had to confront fear and the rewards I received afterwards. I tried to share some of the many moments in life when I said,  “Yes, I’m still afraid, but I’ll move on.  I can’t and won’t let fear stop me.” 

I shared just a very small amount of the truly good times my family and I had despite the problems we faced.  We all learned how to have good times even in moments of despair.  I recall all the ideas we created to amuse ourselves, the hilarious jokes we came up with to keep us moving on, how mama never gave up on trying to make us happy children, and how we never gave up trying to be happy and have fun; the times we laughed when we should have cried, how the laughter got us through those days.  Looking back, I feel that maybe we overdid the laughing a bit, maybe should have cried back then.  In fact we all needed one good cry.  But we continued to sing and laugh instead, while running away from our fears and pains. 

  Yes, I remember those days, many of them like yesterday.  I remember the pain I felt as a child-- lost in the darkness of a family’s history and unable to confront or understand it. You see, I’ve lived in that hell hole of self-denial.  I’ve lived with fear, not only in my house but also inside my soul.  Fear ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with me.  Every night, fear slept not merely beside me, but inside my soul.  I ran away from it and felt the pain of my weakness.  Yes, I have often taken the coward’s way--but not always.  I’ve portrayed myself in a manner that made me appear tall, when in reality I was very small.  As a child I recall getting tough when it got rough but often quitting when the going got tough.  And I hope I never forget it.  I didn’t have to deal with my father as much as my brothers; I can’t help but feel deep inside that their pain was worse than mine by a long shot, and I pray for us all.

My many issues, those things never left my mind and heart.  They’ve always bothered my soul, never letting me sleep in peace.  Even though I had no idea how to deal with and handle my fears, I always knew they were there and I have had much practice confronting them, yet never really conquering them. 

So the bad times and the good times I’ve shared with you were just a few of my ways of moving on with my life and striking an uneasy truce with fear.  I haven’t conquered it yet, but never have I, as a child or a man, allowed fear to conquer me!