Five Guys in Harlem

     As a freshman in college I remember this cat standing amidst the silence of a full Auditorium after the deans orientation. I figured him to be a senior. “My brothers and sisters,” he said, “let us not be fooled by the dean’s words. Though he is honorable, of good character and has many years of experience, still he is misinformed. There is "poverty abject", just beyond the city limits where people are living in swamps and on the sides of hills with limited access to electricity and drinking water and the bus stops are a mile away. Half of them cannot read much less vote and this doesn’t even scratch the surface as to the problems affecting, not just they who are disenfranchised, but all of us. It is a more serious dilemma that we are faced with than our elders portray. And I am saying to you with urgency that we better address it and do something now before our children and grandchildren, when we are old and grey, kick us in the butt for our negligence and irresponsibility.”

      I'd always had a passion for truths' proper balance to faith and practice. The total of the brothers words on that day supported that equation. They define much of my motive today.

                                                                                                 Cast of the Five Guys in Harlem

      Honesty can be disarming but beyond the discomfort lay a universe of possibilities.

     Black at 6'1", tan with one light brown eye was a plumber who learned the trade from his father - the first black licensed plumber in Harlem pre 1950 and had taught his sons the trade when they were growing up. Unfortunately after their father passed Blacks two brothers became victims of Harlem's mean streets turning to drug addiction and becoming felons letting their father’s plumbing business depreciate to nothing. It was too late for Black, who was the youngest, to save anything after returning from serving in Vietnam. There he had lost an eye to shrapnel but could still measure dimension and depth to scale by just looking at it. One eye was all he needed. Through two tours which gave him a "Purple Heart" he had retained his father's knowledge inheriting his skill of craft and gained an excellent reputation plying his trade as a freelancer. Some work Black did for a woman who owned one of those pre-war buildings on Adam Clayton Boulevard added to this repute. 
      It was eight o'clock in the morning when Black gave a courtesy knock then tried to enter the apartment with a pass key the tenant gave him. The tenant had to go to work that day. Just as Black opened the door the teeth of two doberman's were inches from his face. 
      The barking started only after he slammed the door just in the nick of time. "Damn" was all Black said.
He went to the apartment below that one and entered the ceiling through a crawl space. He crawled through the space all the way to the radiator in the bathroom and through the floor, with some innovative tools, fixed the pipes with the two dobermans sitting over his face.  The Two White guys, Paul and Stuart were union guys doing some work on a nearby floor. They had witnessed Black's work before. "Might have known that was you there Black," Paul said. "Yea," came from Stew. "Good stuff."
      The Two White Guys, Paul and Stuart were cousins and retired union guys. Paul was 5'8", his light brown hairline thinning from his forehead and wire rim eye glasses and although sixtyish still had a hearty build. He was a carpenter and still worked enough to help put his children through school. He was married all of thirty years and his two children attended college out west. Stuart, Stew for short was sixtyish also, 5'5", his hair slightly more full and darker. He had a thin build, an easy smile, was reserve but amiable. He was divorced and his son, now an apprentice, lived with him in midtown. He was a metal worker and did jobs now that required speciality welding. 'The Two White Guys had gravitated to West Harlem via Hell's Kitchen where they were neighbors for a while. They lived not far from Columbia University where they first met Black and later "T" at Columbia's Teacher College gym. Although they played handball and “T” and Black played basketball, they all frequented the pool to cool off during the hot summer months and there, they established friendships. 
      “T” is short for Thompson. Wiry at 5'10", short afro and dark skinned, he was popular growing up in Manhattanville projects and was well known amongst his set as a local hustler - his game was short but it was significant for those times. He was also an athlete often playing ball in Columbia’s gym. He was a solid young cat with lots of friends and along with being streetwise he also a reputation for having “street integrity” if there is such a thing. Refusing to rat on some friends he suffered a 2-to-4-year stint while not having anything to do with the incident. When he got out his esteem and street value only skyrocketed amongst the hustling crowd. He reconnected with Harlem with his hustling “know-how” and with his gained wisdom did better financially than he appeared. The Buster crew never talked about it if they knew ... He lived across from Mount Morris Park, around the corner from Poncho. 
      Poncho most closely resembled a deeply tanned Santa Claus with a round protruding belly, a thick gray main with matching beard and a enthusistic demeanor only adding to the preception. But Poncho was actually an accomplished professional musician. He played percussion; traps and conga and over the years recorded with many of the top names in R&B and jazz. And because he was usually available, he was still sort after to go on tour with some of them. He could hold your interest for hours telling interesting stories about his days on the road and abroad. He once told me that he grew up on a farm in Mexico. And one morning as a youngster he woke up to the roosters crowing .., he he saw the cows he had to milk, the chickens and horses he had to feed, the pigs sleeping in the mud ... he quietly jumped over the fence and started running ... and never looked back.
      All five “Busters” bonded having lived in Harlem over the years and would meet and discuss its changing landscape. It made interesting conversation watching young playground ball players get college scholarships and a gifted few turn pro. They watched Harlem’s leaning tenements turn out city workers, school teachers and the occasional doctor and lawyer. And too, the fading architectural facades, the changing trends in music, fashion, style, the choice of street drugs, even politics. They watched buildings going up while others came down and people and businesses move in and out; they watched young men go to jail, school or war as girls did the same, some becoming mothers ... they yielded, it was the young set's turn.
      And me? I’m an author, a buff, an artist depending on who you ask, targeting errant social codes and sequences. Hope what I reveal helps ... or at least makes you curious.

  
                                                                                                        The Five Guys in Harlem
                                                                                   Preparation and Resolution

   The Five Busters were sitting in Ponchos pink Cadillac parked diagonally, facing Harlem's Mount Morris Park. The V.A. Hospital and Madison Ave. were behind them.      Poncho saw Black through the rearview mirror walk out of the VA hospital. “He’s got a patch over his eye.”      Paul's head was in his racing form, “Just as long as they’re treating our Vet’s good.”
       In work jeans and boots Black's 6' 1" frame crossed the street with his wide cowboy swagger. The sun was lowered past 4 o'clock.       “It’s after 4, you was in there long enough.” “T” was sitting in the back with the First White Guy. The Guy looked at “T”, “They’re taking care of our Vet's.”
      Opening the back door, “You wouldn’t believe how crowded it was in there. It’s the pandemic.”      “Yea,” Paul looked over his glasses to the back. “They got to compensate those health care workers too. They’re doing a hell of a job.”      “I’m a witness to that.” Poncho kept looking into the park.      
      First White Guy, “The other departments are having it hard also. The Police, fire departments, EMS, Sanitation ...”      “Nice seeing those green trees and grass walking out of the V.A. clinic.” Black changed the subject and slide next to “T” now between him and Paul, 
      “Yea, nice view especially when you open the front door coming out of one of those brownstones on 120th Street or over on Fifth”.      Paul interjected, “Yea, Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison and a couple of artists live around there. He nodded his head in that direction.       “You know Maya Angelou’s place because there’s always two secret service agents parked outside. She’s a Kennedy Center Honoree; was awarded the National Medal of Arts; a recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom and on and on. Celebrated as a national treasure. Agents must have an easy job guarding her.”      “Maybe, but it’s the cops who do the leg work ...” Black was gazing into the park.      Paul, “Yep, that’s right. An' got the Feds on one side and the streets on the other. Got to negotiate all that and go home to their families at the end of the day.”      “And the' cats are underpaid.” Black added.      “What are your thoughts on the Fire Department?” Poncho looked over at Paul.      Stew smiled in the back but it was “T” who interjected. “I sympathize with the “bulls” but we have to bone up on our fire-fighting skills.”      “That’s true there, “T”.      Poncho, “Maybe. When hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans in 2005; the L.A riots in 92; even the Newark riots in the 60’s … the neighborhoods where the block associations and community groups owned firearms were the ones that suffered the least casualties and damage … were able to protect themselves …”      “But note that most of those folks who were carrying … were legal and licensed …” Paul looked back at his forms.      “Good point.” Poncho, still looking ahead      “I hear you; so what you’re saying is that local citizens themselves are less adept at fighting fires then they are at protection? 
      "Definitely. They don’t have the training or the equipment to fight fires, especially in high rise buildings.” Black nodded his head. “And that’s an important factor the way things are.”      Paul, without losing his focus ..., “Have to admit … got a point there fellas. Those firefighters have specialized training and complex equipment specifically to fight different types of fires and blazes … not a small thing.”      “Like I said, citizens themselves need to be prepared with firefighting capabilities. One never knows ...”       They watched the dogs run and frolic in the fading light. A short silence. “Who you got tomorrow in the first there Paul?” 'T' asked.      “Pay Attention” to win, “Why Be  So?" to show and "Common Sense" to place.”       “Question 'T'.” Black now transfixed on the sun setting through the tree's red and gold leaves, ... “Think that if the cops were given more latitude, they could stop all this violence?”       This time Paul lifted his head, turned slightly, “Getting down to the nitty gritty there Black!”
      “Then where will all the gangsters go?” The First White Guy was eyeing a Jeep 4x4 next to them getting ready to pull out.      “In Africa they go into the bush.” Black was eyeing the Jeep also. 
      “There’s no bush here in America!”      “The forest,” came Poncho's raspy blurt. “The forest will be the badlands.”
      “Who you got in the second Paul?”      "I Told You So" to win, "History Rules" and "It is What It Is".


      Leslie Lox, author and principal of The Potential Enterprise Company
My thanks to Langaston Hughs for his artistry and invention. We need more creatives like him during these uncertain times. 

The Five Guys in Harlem ask 
'Where the Winding Road Leads'

       It was New York and the sun was being kind to Saint Nicholas Avenue stretching north in Manhattan's 'Harlem'. The gray brick of the Lionel Hampton Houses was visible through the green oaks just off the avenue where Black stood.       “Don’t think too hard there Black, your brain might catch on fire.” Poncho was sitting in his sixty-nine Caddy with Paul, the Second White Guy next to him. They were eyeing some young cats playing basketball in the playground across the street. ‘T’ and the First White Guy were coming from the corner Bodega.      “That’s how I remember our youth,” came from the open window.      “Right,” Black uttered.      “Heard you there Paul." "T" held the bag. "The question is, what are the young cats doing now? These guys here are the exception.”      Paul, “Don’t ask.” "T" handed Poncho a “Champale” and a Ginger Ale to Black. They all left the car parked and walked up St. Nicholas Avenue and a park bench in front of the sloping grass and leafy trees somewhere along the parks quarter mile. There were a few adults with young children, an occasional senior with a shopping cart resting on the way.      “Black, what do you think about them young cats balling back there? Makes you wanna pull your sneakers outta the closet!”         Paul lost his smile to his newspaper.      “What about you, ‘T’? Poncho sat on the downtown end of the bench.      “’T’ played … too?”      “Yea, both our dudes almost made “All City.” Poncho took a swig from his Champale. “‘T’ was in the papers.”      “So was I.” Black said holding his unopened Ginger Ale.      “I was first string at Gompers.”      “I wasn’t first string but I played for "Clinton" … De Witt was city champs for what, five years in a row?” Black lifted the now opened Schlepps tasting the tart ginger.      “Almost sounds like you sayin you was a better baller than me?”      “Naw ‘T’, You know I wouldn’t imply such ... But now that you mentioned it, I did average 7 points my last year … off the bench!”      Poncho smiled and replied, “Ease up there Black!”      ‘T’ lifted his head, “That's cool, but I played every game … every game I could make when I wasn't running away from them chicks.”      “Yea, well me and Yolanda had our first during my last year ... and I averaged five rebounds per game … four assists … all off the bench.”      “I think I should sit on this bench over here.” Poncho moved over to the next bench. Paul grinned, adjusted his glasses.      “Tell you what.” ‘T’ adjusted the sleeves on his white linen shirt, then his tan fisherman’s hat with word Potential embroidered on its front. “I’ll go home right now, get my sneaks and meet you right out where we saw them young cats and play you some ‘one on one’ … for say twenty … no thirty bucks a game. And I know who you be working for so I know you got the dough.”      Black waited before he spoke and looked straight ahead. Hardly moving his lips, his tone low, “Man why you want to get beat down in front a' all them kids? … you got a little reputation round here.”      “What?” ‘T’ grinned ... lowered his cooler.” I don’t believe what I just heard. Ya’ll hear that?” The guys laughed.       A short silence, then "Damn, so what you goanna do there Black?" Poncho couldn't help instigating. "Sounds like a challenge to me. Right fellas?” A breeze surfed through the trees turning the leaves different shades of green.       “Yo boss, my game right now is this plumbing. That’s the only game I know. Don’t mean to disappoint …”      “Thank you Black for clearing that up.” ‘T’ put his Champale down. “For a minute there I thought you was gonna meet me out on the court there or something.” The Busters laughed.      “Naw, I wouldn’t do that” Black paused, “Not for thirty dollars a game.” The Second White Guy laughed.      “Hey, you know what?” First White Guy interrupted, “This is how we resolved our little skirmishes and disputes in the old days.” He tapped his brother on the arm. “What do they do now? I’m askin you!”      “Years ago, the most that would happen was they’d settle it in a game or at the very most, if it was serious, some fisticuffs or something." 
       "Now they shoot it out … imagine that.”       “Yea ‘T’ but it’s gotten complicated also. They have no money, no prospects, no future …” Black rested his soda on the bench. “It’s about the juice; the money and power … just to survive even.”      “So, where’s the juice gone to?” Poncho looked at Black.      ‘T’, “Changed hands …, hustling on the streets been diluted. You talkin about dealing; policy, numbers; pimpin … a good chunk of that hustling went somewhere else.”      “Pray tell, where to?” Paul inquired.      Poncho, “Marijuana is legal … so all the profits from that will go to legitimate concerns and is taxable. Won’t be long before heroin and cocaine is legal in some form or other.”      Second White Guy, “They already are. We have methadone and opioids and there are pills to stimulate like cocaine or will be soon.”      Black added, “numbers has been legal for a while cause you have the lottery, so imagine all the money syphoned off from the streets ... and the idea of banking itself is being stretched. Some neighborhood churches are acting as banks where you can go get a loan like they do in some European countries.”      “An they put a damper on those victimless crimes n’ the sportin life," Poncho added, "Arresting the patrons, know what I’m sayin there ‘T’? “Neighborhood institutions actin as match makers and what not.”      ‘T’, “Really?” His eyebrows were raised.      “See what you’re sayin there Poncho,” Paul said, “But all the blame shouldn’t be in one place … No one person or reason is to blame … although one can narrow it down a bit.”       “All that money and power that used to be on the streets and supporting neighborhoods is gone. Miss too, all that glamor, them big cars and fly vines ... Consider also that them hustlers patronized neighborhood stores … they were significant for the local economy,” ‘T’ added.      Second White Guy, “And that’s a true fact ‘T’. But there's more to that. You guys familiar with India’s war of independence from England in 1947?”      Poncho in a raspy voice, “Do tell.”      “Well, it was a fierce and bloody war that came after many years of struggle by India for its independence from England. There were a lot of religious and regional disputes and divisions in the country after they won it and India was coming apart at the seams and on wobbly legs.  The economy was in shambles. There were food shortages, extreme sickness and poverty and with no money. No one was getting paid. It looked like the country after fighting all those years for its independence was about to collapse after they'd won it. But do you know how they survived?”      “Preach Paul. Tell us what we need to know,” Poncho was listening intently.      “Well, it was the hustlers. It was the hustling venue that got them through it. Many of the hustlers cooperated with each other and with the authorities and kept things going. Wholesalers and people who had goods to sell would “pay under the table” so to speak to have their goods protected and reach their destination. This way businesses could survive; the bureaucrats made money; the police and the army got paid and there was some semblance of an economy as money circulated. That's how the country survived until their economy got stronger.”  

      “Then it don’t make sense for us to destroy our hustling venues.” Black looked around.      “Meaning our hustlers, movers and shakers, pimps, numbers bankers and number runners n’ what not?” Poncho.      First White guy, “Let me ask you a question. What would happen if we had a revolution like in India and the economy was in havoc? Are those neighborhood institutions that took the place of the hustlers capable of sustaining the Black community and getting it “back on its feet?”      “Maybe.” Black took a swig of Ginger Ale. "But our options might be limited."      “The reason the gangs, or crews or social clubs as Paul calls them, evolved in the first place was to survive after the hustling venues had dried up” Paul added. “They had no choice. All their opportunities, legal and illegal dried up. They had to come together to survive."       “Well, what if they all got together and had a truce? And I mean all of them; whatever nationality, whatever religion or anything.”      “Damn Paul, …  what are the chances of that …?”      “Well, what if they did? What would happen?”

Benches on the avenue outside St. Nicholas Park in Harlem where The Five Busters had this conversation 

      “They’d have to know how and why all their opportunities dried up and fell in the first place.  And keep in mind, there are still some cats out there making money … depending on where you go …  just a lot fewer of them and they're not making as much ...” ‘T’ tilted his head, “Add to that the bigtime stars … can't be fooled by the mega successes of so few ... Have to know how our situation became dire enough to put our young warriors in survival mode?” This was ‘T’s venue.      “In other words we all need to know how and why the hustling games and all the opportunities dried up, legal and illegal, where all the money and power went ... an who messed up the hustling game.”      “Give our young warriors a complete focus ... a more political and socially conscious view. That’s how the Black Panthers, the Young Lords and similar crews came into being.”      “Which could be viewed as righteous. A common objective and focus would unify them cats Black - stop all of these shootings and conflicts on the streets and what not.”      Poncho continued, turning to the guys. “You know, when we were in our early teens we had community services like the Youth Board or Human Services which had offices set up around the city.”      ‘T’ shook his head up and down, “Right it was mainly in the summer and these community organizations had funds to finance community improvement projects and hire the youth in their neighborhoods to work in them. It worked out for everyone.”      Black was shaking his head also, “All of us was down with it. We learned skills; working skills, business skills; project and program organization and operations, how they were managed and other good stuff ... Matter of fact I also learned how to stuff a basketball during one of those summers.” Black smiled taking a sip from his Ginger Ale.      “We were all down back then.” ‘T’ took a sip of his Champale looking in Black's direction, sort of.      The Second White Guy folded his paper. “Point is, when those young men turned twenty-two or twenty-four they were supposed to know enough to manage those programs and provide mentorship to the young cats following them … and many of them did.       “Then at around twenty-seven or so they were ready to start their own business; different kinds of stores; drycleaners, clubs, entertainment, transportation, clothing company’s and many of them did that too.” Poncho stretched his legs out on the sidewalk.   “Or bercome gainfully employed .., but now …?”      “That was the process or one of the roads forward for youth back then.” ‘T’ took another swig from his soft drink. “Wasn’t a wide road but at least it was a road forward. And don't forget the role the hustlers played ...”      “That’s what I’m sayin.” Black exclaimed, “A lot of cats were able to draw on those examples of success but stay off the streets and out of trouble and focus on positive things.”      “So, what happened?” Paul looked up to the trees swaying in the breeze. “Where’d all that ‘juice’ …, all that money and power go?”      Poncho and ‘T’ looked at Black. Black looked at the young men bouncing a basketball heading towards the playground behind them.        “Interesting question.” Second White Guy looked away.       “Everyone knows where the money is … well almost everyone. ”’T’ set his cooler on the bench.       “The people who are supposed to know, know where the money and power went and why … The question is what are we or they going to do about it?” and Black wasn’t smiling.      “… Author cat was writing about this for years. Had no takers, no listeners … no one wanted to publish him … “It’s about ethics” … no one wanted to hear that.” Poncho crossed his legs out on the sidewalk.       “Yea, it’s a matter of cleaning house and getting our business in order. Those young mavericks have to get on board, become rainmakers. Once they know who the real culprits are, they’ll know where to point themselves and where to focus ... they might regain the money and position they’re supposed to have in the community and their magic will happen ...” ‘T’ turned his hat with the word 'Potential' sideways.      “Some of them already do … probably. But they need some back-upo and they need that independence.”      “So they need money”, Second White Guy.      “Again, if things were the way nature designed it, that’s where the hustling would come in ... but’s been displaced. Gotta bring some of that back … if the gangsters might reposition and rearm themselves with knowledge and a higher purpose … it can benefit everyone again.” Black.      Poncho shifted, “And even more than before, now that we have the momentum of the ‘Black Lives Matter’ campaigns.”      “True,” ‘T’ wiped his chin. “Was checkin out that old movie “Cotton Comes to Harlem” where in it a Reverend O’Malley was startin a “Back to Africa Movement” and takin or rather stealing the people’s money as the story line of the movie went. Right now, a lot of Black banks and Black businesses are starting up and we need our own brothers and sisters, or warriors as you called them who are independent of any institution to keep them start-ups and programs and everything else in check. We need them to fill that position for the people.”      “Really!"
      "Key word there is ‘independent’.” Second White Guy kept looking at his paper.      “Yep, to be honest, we lack trust in our own …” Black stood up next to his dolly of covered, well- used ‘top of the line’ tools. … “We need our own independent sources to help recreate trust in our institutions. We need our own ‘checks and balances’ type structure in our own communities. They could help do that.”       “Need to strike this while the iron is hot. Solving society’s problems means peace for all of us and I mean all of us … not just the crews.” Paul stretched his legs out almost like Poncho’s.       Poncho let out a “Yep” that sounded like a burp.      “Interesting.” First White guy lifted a luke warm coffee. “That’s kinda clear and addresses a few problems. One being the question about the future and the future we’re creating for our children! The cover of that author’s book ‘Potent Enterprise’ tells us how we should be focused.”       “If you know the source of things you’ll have a better understanding of where you’re going. If you know where you’re going you’ll know more clearly what your options are and what you gotta do.” Black added.      ‘T’, “Like in the author cat’s piece, “Dilemmas Portrait.”      The guys settled. The breeze rolled the summer grass like it was making fine cigars. A pause happened ….      ‘T’ looked at Black … facing the playground. “Can’t believe you was really gonna get out there and ball with me …” The sun lapsed west giving the New York brick an Autumn glow.      “I hear you.” Black was looking straight ahead.” … Ain’t getting all sweaty n’ what not.” He took another swig of his Ginger Ale. “Not for thirty dollars.”

My great appreciation to the late Langston Hughes for his artistry and invention. Maybe his creativity can help us again today?

It helps to know the source of things and it helps to know where your going.”

*

Lookin Out for Number 1

      Late afternoon. The thin leaves on the Birch were still, the sun was low tinting the sky away from blue to a silky peach. A buffed sky blue Bentley convertible, top down, stopped at the red light on the corner, Poncho whose belly reached over the steering wheel of his sixty-nine pink caddy, reported in his raspy voice, “Well look at that! Damn, brother wearing a sky blue Kangol! Say, where does the phrase, “Look out for yourself come from?”      Second White Guy, Paul, was texting somone on his smart phone, “People looking out for themselves, no matter what.”      “Putting yourself first.” Came from the First White Guy.      “T” stood, his back to the street, counting his hustling revenue and turned to the Bentley, “You’re both right there gents, but I do believe that you must carry that statement a little further for it to be truly accurate.”      “How far back are you talking about there “T”? The Second White Guy lowered his glasses. 
      Black, the plumber had just finished a job down the block. He pulled his tools closer. “If you’re askin for the true source … the real numbers … then I don’t think you'all want to know ...”       “Pennies… actual pennies on the dollar?” Poncho squinted. 
      'T' stooped to brush the knee of his black 711’s, “I heard you could by a baby in the outer boroughs for fifty dollars.”      Second White Guy, “… If that’s true then it needs to be addressed ... and ASAP.”      “I can appreciate that ...”       Poncho watched the Bentley glide through the intersection. “That’s a lot of lookin out … for one’s self that is.”      “Where and from whom does that phrase come?” The first White Guy sitting on the stoop had stretched his legs out over the sidewalk.      Poncho shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know but Vernon Jordan did say that it helps to know the source of things.”      “An we down here each one looking out for himself … killing each other for pennies.” Black looked down Lenox Avenue.       They watched the Bentley drift across 110th Street into Central Park.
      "T" still standing, “Th' Source can't be him driving a Bentley ... that would be a lot of babies at fifty dollars apiece!”
Leslie T. Lox, author and principal of The Potential Enterprise Company 

*

Talkin about that First Ten
September 16, 2019

      Autumn was clearly in evidence with sporadic patches of red and gold foliage along the Riverside Park walkways. Leaves gone, the tree limbs pointed south where geese would follow.      “There’s this school of thought that says a person learns most of what he knows in the first seven years of his life. Think that’s true?” Black took a sip of his club soda.      Poncho corrected, “The first ten years.”      “There abouts,” came from Paul, the Second White Guy.      “Tryin to teach my sons some good habits and values before the actual ‘abc’s’ is why I’m askin.”      Second White Guy, “Yea, that’s what some folks say but there are those whom dispute that theory.”      “Gee Paul, whom and why be so?” Eyebrows raised, Poncho almost looked earnest.      “There’s the power and money factor for one. People with power and money don't want us to know these simple things. We       might learn a little too much,” The First White Guy said.      “There’s the money factor plus the people with power and money are naturally going to defend their advantage ... to keep that power and make more money. That’s one reason it’s so hard for us regular guys to get ahead,” Black added.      First White Guy: “That’s what that authors handlers over looked in his campaigns … the money factor.”      Black, “Think you’re right, even though he was successful, the culprits had and have the power and money to somehow disaffirm what he did. And now because he hasn’t been compensated, he has no resources ... his acts have lost their magic. There’s a disbalance between his intent and his engagements and his efforts have less significance. Some situations are even regressing.”‘T’ was sitting on the end from Black. “So, you’re saying that because of this current disbalance of power, it doesn't matter what you teach your children … that those in positions of power can compensate … even change the rules if we folks on the bottom learn the game so to speak?” Paul looked up from his paper, “Power is just that .., power and it doesn’t care who you are.”      Second White Guy: “Isn’t that one of the things that author cat discusses in his book RoadWindows”?      ‘T’ turned his Kangol backward and leaned forward opening his brown linen bush jacket. “Cat says we need a tarp like solution to cover our perceptions; how we collectively view the world and what we do … and use sports and academic competition as outlets.” 
      Black was leaning away … with his elbow on his dolly. “The author proposes that ethical tarp like solution … sayin’ that when they do change the rules, we and they would still be governed by a consensual ethical mindset. Better than all these laws they keep passing.”      Paul, “An enlightened view …Obama was pointing us in that direction.”      “Enlightened governance maybe, but there'd still be penalties for wrong doing.” The Second White guy looked at Poncho whose voice was high and raspy as always, “He got historical arguments for those positions?”      ‘T’ stood exposing a yellow tee shirt with the word Potential written in script. “Yea I think so. Ethics goes way back.”      “Ain’t that the same tee shirt you had on the other day?” Poncho asked.      “No, got five of them, one in each color and some hats.”      Second White Guy smiled at ‘T’, “Gee, and what did your parents teach you when you were ten?”      “Fairness, support, boundaries … you get them right everything else supposed to fall into place.” Black lifted a sparkling club soda. "True there 'T'.      How are your sons there Black?” First White Guy.      “Doin fine.”
      Poncho turned to New Jersey, “Ya’ll gotta listen to Black.”
My gratitude and admiration to the late Langston Hughes for his style and invention. 
                                                                                                                   *

No Comfort in Not Knowing
September 9, 2019

      ‘T’ was standing facing the other guys on the bench. “Man, would you believe this? I’m trying to talk to this fine young chick works in the Post Office and AARP keeps sending me all these brochures about life insurance for seniors.      “So what?” First White Guy.      “You gotta be fifty to belong to AARP.” Poncho sipped a Sprite.      “So?”      “That same chick puts the mail in my box.” 
      Paul the Second White Guy looked up, “Sorta blows your cover.”      Poncho chuckled, “So you ain’t no player, you a retiree.” The Guys laughed. They were sipping coffee and sodas under an impending dark insistent clouds.      “You know who else is having their cover blown?” Black looked straight ahead.      Second White Guy, “Pray tell.”      “That author cat.”      “Yea, what’s up with him?” Paul from his spread sheet.      “Can you imagine he’s been doing all this deep cover stuff, being tortured,  risking everything and what not and his handlers won’t pay him.”      “Yea?”      “They won’t let him get a job cause they either don’t want him exercising his skills publicly or they want him to work exclusively for them.” 
      Newspaper crumbles, “Ok, he's been down for a long time but what’s so bad about working for the 'man'?”      “No pay. I heard there’s a money factor in his campaigns that was/is being over looked. First, he had to sell his properties and use his own resources to finance the campaigns and now that he’s run low on funds its becomes more difficult. The core of the problem is that there's usually someone making money off the situation so imagine that he would counter that with his own resources. He can't do that so imagine that he now writes a couple of books to make some money and he can’t get them published ... and for it seems, the same reasons his handlers won’t let him work.”

      “Lotta data in those books probably.”      ‘T’ looked at Black. “They manipulating his credibility and blocking him financially … and third, there's the "green monster". It's the same story over and over, only the characters and locations change.”      “Same as me.” Poncho added.      “An me.”      “Me too,” First Guy.      “Yea, but his thing is important.”      “So was my ‘copin’ that chick.”      “That’s the difference between cats like you and people like him … He's trying to make a difference, you're trying to get laid.” 
      Second White Guy looked back at his racing form and continued, “You know, when you ignore the truth there’s a certain comfort comes in not understanding things … you play dumb and don't know nothun ... excuses ...”

The park bench in Riverside Park where the Five Guys sometimes relaxed

      Black looked over, “Yep, excuses for crime and illicit behavior too.”      First White Guy’s arms were spread along the back of the bench behind Paul and Poncho. He looked at ‘T’ and tapped Poncho’s shoulder. “That’s why he’s him and you’re you.”      ‘T’ was holding a Michelob. He stooped to brush some imaginary lint off his bone colored linen pants that bent just over some very dark blue gators. His Kangol was on backwards as usual. “I see what you mean but let's not get too comfortable with our lofty allegations i.e. Why don’t you guys buy a tee shirt or somethin to support the cat ... you so concerned?”      Poncho’s interest peaked, “Why is it only the hustlers … those rappers and artists types be supportin' that author cat?”      “Insight,” the Second White Guy said. “Insight, concern and hope.”      “Cat sorta clarifies … narrows things down to a real workable position.” Black looked at ‘T’s’ shirt, "And don’t forget ‘support’.”      ‘T’ turned so they could see the words Potential written in script on the turquoise tee shirt he was wearing. The Second White Guy winked at 'T', “I like that word there 'T' ... it has significance."      First White Guy, "You a little smarter than you look there 'T'. I commend you on that."      Poncho looked at 'T's' custom faded jeans falling neatly over his red alligators. "Sorta expains things a little ..." Ever grateful to late great Langston Hughes for his invention, artistry and method.It’s all about ethics.Leslie T. Lox, author and principal of The Potential Enterprise Company 

*

Hate not the Player or the Game
September 4, 2019

      “These clouds have got to cease, … ruinin my day,” came out breathless and raspy.      First White Guy, “Could be worse ... wet and cold.” 'T', in Nike’s, slim blue jeans and a yellow tee with the words Potential written in script stopped where the Guys were sitting in Riverside Park. His tan Kangol was on backwards, “What’s up gents. I see you cats enjoying the last remnants of a fine summer.”      “Hey 'T’, we was just talkin about how ‘jacked up’ the day was. You right on time.” Poncho was holding a Sprite.      “Don’t hate the player … What are you guys having …? Coffee and Sprites … that ain’t no way to live.” He pulled the bag off a bottle he was carrying. It was a bottle of Hennessey. "You cats got to step it up a notch.”      “When we get some of that long hustling money like you ...” came from the First White Guy. The Player’s attention went across the walkway, “Who those chicks over there?” ‘T’ was looking at the benches across the wide path opposite.      Poncho, “Kinda old for you there 'T'. One on the end’s gotta be at least twenty-five.”      “Old for him is young for us. Though, one on the other end be kinda nice …”      "That's funny ... you are so married there, Black.” The Second White Guy half smiled, listening to a ball game on his phone.      “Watch this … show you retirees how a player works the chicks.” ‘T’ went a few steps toward the women and stood still, checking  their trance ratio.      “... a few skills they could use in politics.” Poncho pretended not to be watching.      Second White Guy, “Weed out the incompetents. He who controls the environs controls the action.”      “Yea, you'd think they'd be a bit wiser these days.” Black commented.      First White Guy, “Think so?”      “You think Trump is susceptible?” Poncho asked. Second White guy, “I'll repeat, he who controls the environs controls the person, that’s all.”      Black, “Then we need to check out all the politicians, people in positions of responsibility … leaders etc.?”      ‘T’ walked back over, “Ya'll need ta check out where them folks be goin on Sunday is what you need to do there Black.” ‘T’ winked at him, “You know what I’m sayin?”      Poncho looked over, “That's true … Black knows, he agrees ...” 
      ‘T’ continued, “And ain’t that part of that Cowardice and Equality series on infopotent.com by that author cat?      “You kinda insightful yourself there ‘T’ but the author took that off his site. Maybe you should pay us a visit next Sunday.” Black looked up at him holding the bottle of Hennessey, “But you right though. Be nice if there was a way to wean folks outta that slightly extreme mindset, kindly like. There are always limits,”      “An "bills" that have to be paid, an not the kind that get paid with money if you know what I’m sayin.”       First White Guy, without looking at Poncho, “What you think about that Ponch?”      “True,” came out like a raspy, unstoppable burp.

Leslie Lox, It's about ethics.                                                                                                                 *

Some of my crew may remember those times outside Poncho's window (left) when this cat named G-Money, an up and coming comedian would tune his material before hosting gigs at the Apollo Theater a few blocks away.
Poncho himself was a seasoned professional musician as well, know in professional circles and having played around the world. His stories themselves are bookworthy. Also had a cat named "Peanut", lived upstairs; a professional dancer in his heyday. He and his partner performed widely in Europe and elsewhere. A lot of really old school talent in Harlem and those Five Guys weren't alone in their assessments.

You've got to Pay to Play
August 2020

      An August mid-afternoon and the Five Guys were enjoying the cools breezes push summer out.Black chuckled. “What’s so funny?” Poncho wanted in on the joke.      “Well, I’m doin a job in this building and there’s been some theft from the store on the ground level. The landlord and the store owner think they know who did it ... ”      “So … and?”      “The cat who did it’s walking around like nothing happened and everybody knows … And he thinks he doesn’t have to pay for what he did.” First White Guy chuckled. “He’s wrong on that account.”      “Boy is he ever.” Poncho pushed his words out. That's Robby's store.      “To me, it’s ironic because there’s a lot of that thinking going around.” Black got Paul's attention with that, “What do you mean?”      “Look at Wall Street and those big conglomerates,” First White Guy.      “Yea, but look at our black neighborhood institutions. A segment of my folks, have those same sentiments and they're part of the elite.” Poncho pushed out rasply, “He’s gonna pay. Somehow, someway, you know he’s gonna pay for what he did.”      “Bet good money on it.” First White Guy patted his newspaper. “You gotta pay to play.”      “Yea but what about our community?” Black took his foot down off of his tool boxes.      “You mean our community institutions?” Don’t look at me. You the one go to church every Sunday ... and without fail.” Poncho was adamant.      Black looked at his well- used but quality tools neatly stacked. “Still, you gotta pay ...”      “Who you guys talking about?” Second White Guy.Poncho coughed, “The thing is ... when you get caught, you don’t tear down the house sayin that you’re innocent … You got caught. Pay up. Everyone can see what’s goin on. And for what we discussing here … this could be expand and be really bad for our commmunity.”      Black nodded in agreement. “Like in that series on infopotent.com ‘Cowardice and Equality’ it’s time to pay the piper.”      “The idea is to spare the innocent … Am I right?” First White Guy.      “No need to tear down our whole house’s what I’m sayin.” Poncho kicked some leaves at his feet. "Look at all those White Catholic priests going to the penitentiary and all the fines and penalties … They owning up and taking responsibililty ...”      Second White Guy looked around … “And some … most of those guys are soft …”      “And ‘you know who’ … gotta tear down the house ... or at least that's what it looks like.” Poncho looked at Black who was silent,“I'm clear on that with you, you gotta pay to play ...  a little now or a lot later.”      “The law of nature.” There was silence.

                                                                                                      *

Whose on First, What's on Second and Why's on Third
August 26, 2019

       First White Guy: “I read here that NASA wants to land a space vehicle on Mars by 2030.”      “That’s actually old news.”  Black said jotting something down on a small pad. "Been there, done that."      “Why’s that old news?” came Poncho’s raspy voice. “The question should be, why would anyone want to take our mess into outer space?”      “That’s why it’s old news. We could have done this decades ago but ….” 
      First White Guy interrupted lowering his spread sheet, “But what? How so … or why didn’t we?”      “Like Poncho said, who would want to take this mess into outer space? All this chaos and dysfunction we see on the news would follow us up there.”      “So what? It’s human nature.”      “Some of it. But still, there has to be some order before we venture into the eons. Someone has to be responsible.”  Poncho looked bored. 
      Second white guy looked over. “That’s the reason for all this international turmoil; twenty seven major wars around the globe; exoduces and migrations, religious extremism, renewed nationalism and populariasm ... nations, cultures, groups all jockying for position.”      “Right - who’s on first, who’s on second and who’s on third … so to speak.” The First White Guy looked at Black, “Really – and who’s up first, whose batting second, third and who’s clean-up?”      “Yea, otherwise we would have colonized the planets a long time ago ... someone has to be in charge ... got to explore space responsibly. It's in that book RoadWindows (leslielox.com). The author even discusses scientifically and technically how NASA described they might do it.”      Poncho: “It’s a process. The first thing is that you have to know where you’re going, like on the cover of his other book Potent Enterprise. Then you have to make up your mind that you want it and that you’re willing to do what’s necessary ...”      “You or we have to be honest with ourselves throughout. It’s kind of ethical ...” Black threw some sunflower seeds to the pigeons ambling about.

      We need your support. Please visit the support pages on our websitesMay I also express my great appreciation for the form and invention of the late great Langston Hughes                                                                                                                  

*
Preparation Invites the Best Opportunity
August 25, 2019

       The First white Guy was reading the newspaper. “This veterinarian, Dr. Marty Goldstein, who has been practicing for over forty years did this study.”      “What did he say?” Black, the plumber, was only mildly interested.“He claimed that a dog’s eating grass, other than indicating that the dog is sick, more precisely is an indication of problems with his digestive tract along with other symptoms such as dog breath, watering eyes and scratching.”      “I like the part about those indicators; the dog breath and what not, being symptoms of bad health. Same with our community.”      “I hear you Ponch. Hard to live, much less progress, with negative symptoms that overwhelm ...” 
      The First White Guy lowered his spectacles, “What’s that?”      “Means my community should pay attention to our indicators, before we sit at the bargaining table, asking for reparations for example.”      “Don’t complicate stuff all the time Black.” Poncho in his raspy falsetto, “Just tell it like it is; Black people got dirty linen, and dishes we need washed before we sit at any table to negotiate for anything.”      “Hear you big man. ..." Black bellowed, "As said in that ‘Cowardice and Equality’ piece of infopotent.com.”
      "Some of his stuff was discontinued or taken off ... "
      "First White guy, "Maybe if people requested ... it could be brought back." Leslie T. Lox, author and principal of The Potential Enterprise Company. Support us by visiting our support pages

                                                                                                                 *

Truth is Forever
August 24, 2019

      Autumn was coming to Union Square Park. The greenery had peaked … glimpses of sky winked through the Maple and Oak foliage.      “Just being out in nature is inspiring. Makes you wonder how people could mess life up so bad”. Black was looking at the First White Guy scan the newspaper. “I know what you mean.” 
      Poncho spread his arms wide along the bench: “People are afraid of the truth”.      “How do you know what the truth is?” … scanning Belmont’s spread sheet.      “You can figure it out … if you want to.” Blacks feet were resting on a tool box. “On infopotent.com there’s this series piece, Cowardice and Equality. It tells some of the story … sort of points you in the right direction.”      Poncho: “What good is that? People are afraid to read it”.      Second White Guy: “He’s right. That author speaks the truth and that’s hard to accept for some people.”      First White Guy: “They wait until they have no choice and their options are limited.”      “And it’s too late.” Poncho picked his teeth with a matchbook.      Black: “We need dialogue. People need to discuss things honestly.” The First White Guy smiled, eyes still on the racing form. “Like we’re doing now?”      Voice raspy, “Something like that. Or there’s this commentary piece on infopotent.com called, This Picture but it has a scary ending.”      Black sat up straight. "Good ... wake people up! People playin’ around neglecting their future with their silence. Forever is a long time …”                                                                                                        Leslie T. Lo

*

Five Guys in Harlem: It Helps to Know Where You're Going
August 21, 2019

The end of summer is officially three weeks away. It’s cooler, less humid and the back-to-school sales are everywhere. It was afternoon and the five guys were sitting at their favorite spot in Riverside Park next to Chelsea Piers. Black was watching a yacht try to dock into a tight slip at the Piers.      The first White guy was watching also: “It’s a shame, the future we’re leaving our kids ...”Poncho looked, his voice always raspy, “What, you think there’s gonna be ... a revolution or something?”Black the plumber: “Something going to happen.”      “I agree”, the second White guy offered.

Seems I'm always too late catching up with them. The Five Guys sat and chilled here watching the boats dock

     Poncho, his voice always raspy, "What you think there's gonna be ... a revolution or something?"
Black, "Something going to happen."
      "I agree", the second white guy offered.      
“If something does happen it should be all Black – no Whites, no one else is invited.” Poncho let out.      “Why so?” First White guy      “We’re the ones who are divided - as usual.”      “Picture this,” Black lowered a can of club soda, “On one side - brothers in red, white and blue “do rags” with the American flag configured on them. On another side we have brothers in Black nationalist red, black and green “do rags”.Poncho injected, “And over there, the Latins with the flag of Puerto Rico configured on theirs.”The yacht docked tightly … not without a few crunches.      Second White guy: “Let’s not forget, White cats in “do rags” with the Confederate flag.”Black took a sip of his club soda, “An they got the guns – big, small etc. etc.”      “Think it can go there?” The First White guy looked at Black.      “There’s this commentary on infopotent.com entitled “This Picture” which describes that exact scenario only the ending is a little dramatic.” The First White guy looked at Poncho curious.      Black looked straight ahead. “It ends with Black people successfully seceding from the Union, occupying a few southern states. But they have no economy because American Blacks have no industry or trade attributable to their culture - only the Black Church.”      Poncho was looking out over the Hudson.      The Second White guy, curious also. “So, the Black Church is the only industry identifiable with the American Black Community? That’s not good. What happens next?”      “They or we then have no choice but to apply for foreign aid from the former United States and become a third world country.”      Poncho still facing the Hudson, voice high pitched and raspy, “And that’s forever. There is no way this can end good with the path we’re on.”      “Something’s got to change. Honestly.” Black took his feet down and tightened the ropes on his tools. 

We need your help. Please go to our support page and be a part of what we're doing
Leslie T. Lox, author and principal of The Potential Enterprise Company

                                                                                                              *

Midway on an Odyssey
September 8, 2019

      The leaves were letting go their branches and falling gently, brown and golden red – the color of sunsets. The two White Guys were sipping coffees. Black had just got off work and had brought coffee for the guys … Poncho a Sprite … thanks all around.“I have a puzzle for you guys.”      “Bring it” said the First White Guy.      “Let’s say there was this guy who was involved in some deep, really deep cover stuff ...”      “How did he come to be involved in it?” Poncho opened his Sprite. First White Guy, “Was he a member of one of those organizations?”      “No, but let’s say they gave him an oath outside of the organization to get him involved on some specific issues. He couldn’t have been a member because he had to be able to confront some of those members along the way and he wouldn’t have been able to do that if he was also a member, even cautiously, so …”      Second White Guy; “Cut to the chase. What happened ... he got shafted?” 
      Poncho, voice always raspy: “Got cheated out of his money? All types of people come in all sizes and shapes.”      “Would it have been one of those buddies …?” The First White Guy lowered his paper.      “Assume that whomever was involved … law enforcement on the federal level or whatever … that’s what happened.” Black sipped his coffee.      “Gee, how long was he on the hook?      “Over thirty years ... seven years of training before that.”      “That’s over thirty years of service to country and community …”      “Ghee?” Came out of Poncho like a burp. First White Guy smiled. Second White Guy, “Too deep for me.”       “Yea, let’s say he was taking down those terrorist cells: profiling, accessing and defining - home grown, dormant … insurgents or sympathizers then sorting out their networks, dismantling … diffusing them. He was the one they sent in … take out one cell, two or three others go with it.”      “Over thirty years …?” Poncho said toward the others, “Breakin codes, … Profilin’ working stiffs and criminals, people from different cultures their … beliefs and practices; religious institutions, groups, organizations, public agencies …?      Black, “Had to recognize the effects of chemicals and pharmaceuticals, cultural rituals and practices and respect them too. Had to be able to recognize diets, medications, illegal drugs and alcohol … and all these things when used in combination with each other. He made some reference to those events in ‘Then and Now’ on infopotent.com.”      First White Guy, “Yep, one would say that if he's really broke that someone robbed him … takes a lot of something ... I don't want to call it hate, but it takes a lot of something to do that to an asset ... and a loyal one at that.”      Second White Guy, “Well, they say you judge a man by his enemies.” Black lowered his can, “Law enforcement is fraternal and that’s not just the locals. If he was that successful, there’re those who might not feel so good about him for being an expert at what he does - cause that’s how it works.”      “Yep the “green monster” is powerful … also a part of anyone or anything that would have recruited him; then law enforcement - more likely large and reaching beyond the local venues; the Black Church if there were brothers within - followed by an army of misinformed Black people. Then there would be the Whites, Latins and other groups; and, there are also political interests if he was a firm believer in democracy and free enterprise.”      “It is what it is … and with proper explanations, he’d be seen as an outsider and potential threat to all of them which was just his opposite. He took an oath and was asked into that life?” Poncho, asked coarsely. “A lot of hate for a brother who did so much ... a peacemaker!” Poncho looked between the trees out over the Hudson.      “And he’s broke … Am I right?” The First White Guy didn’t even look up from the Racing Form.Black, “Yea, heard he had to sell off his homes to finance his campaigns as the author suggested on leslielox.com. Probably realized the importance of what he was asked on, early in the game.” Black followed Poncho’s gaze over the Hudson. “The question is, how many tens of thousands of lives … how many hundreds of millions of dollars of property did he save and how much turmoil was circumvented?”      Poncho, “Them cats who gave him that oath would have known his core. My worry is, if all those cats would do that to him, what the heck would they do to me? We talkin about a double cross from the street level all the way up ... according to his portrayals on infopotent.com. And most of it can be verified. If so, that’s a lot of credit and money he’s being denied.”      “True, but not all people are like that … probably serious divisions within the enforcement sectors of those groups.”The Second White Guy looked at Black, “Right away.”      “And the guy is authorized to put it all out there. Imagine all that insider knowledge and no one listening!” Black watched a recreational craft negotiate the waves traveling inland … probably heading in to retire for the day.      First White Guy, “Risked it all an got … nothin.”      Poncho, “Not over yet. Cats selling tee shirts … I suppose.”      “Guys gotta eat … .”      “What you don’t know can do what … one supposes?” Black’s arm raised … viewed New Jersey through the clear soda. It's about ethics. Leslie T. Lox, author and principal of The Potential Enterprise Company on leslielox.com & infopotent.com.

                                                                                                                  *

 A King's View
July, 2020

      It was a sun-drenched Friday, the day before 2020's 4th of July. The guys had left E. 3rd Street for the shade trees at Chelsea Piers on the west side and the occasional breeze off the Hudson. A few folks stood along the railings with “dropped lines” and thoughts of fish for dinner.      Poncho, spread wide on the park bench looked at the First White Guy with his head in the racing form, “Belmont’s open Paul.”      “Don’t I know it.”      “What you got good?” Black’s feet were crossed, resting on his tool bag, his baseball hat on backwards.      “Don’t you guys know that gambling is a sin?” 'T' had just come from attending Jumah. “And that’s with most faiths not just Islam.” He took a seat on the end of the bench.      Poncho shifted his heavy frame. “Got to be careful of that Covid 19 fellas. Them experts say it may not go away.”      Black, “And all that while those “Black Lives Matter” protests are still going on?”      “People want change ... now!” The First White Guy interjected .      'T' leaned into the group. Ya’ll know that book that author cat wrote, “Potent Enterprise”?      “What about it?” Second White Guy.      “The cover. Ya’ll remember the picture of that futuristic city on the books cover?”      “What about it …?”      “I know what he’s sayin,” Poncho's voice, always raspy was loud. “If you travel to Manhattan from the Bronx on the Bruckner Expressway, the New York skyline seems to be taking on a futuristic shape just like on the cover of his book.” Poncho juggled the keys to his pink sixty-nine caddy.      “Really?” The Second White Guy looked at Poncho. The first White Guy looked up from his paper. “That’s true now that I think about it. Gotta keep up with the times.”      “Yea, I saw it too ... careful not to be left behind. Also heard Jeff Bezos is worth 172 billion dollars, How ya like them apples? Richest man in the world.” Poncho winced at Black saying it. “Hope those young protesters get it right ... Our future is in their hands.”      “Yeeaa, but there’s another way of looking at it … where it don’t seem so bad even though it still is.” 'T' frowned at his own statement. “One of my hustler buddies was sayin that things always evolve, so we really have no way of knowing what the future has in store. What's gonna happen is gonna happen no matter what we do. Therefore, there’s always hope, there's always the promise that things will get better."
      "Along with the dysfuynction and dilemmas."
      'T' ignored Poncho. "Look at that movie “Planet of the Apes” for example and how apes eventually ruled the earth. It’s how the universe is, it's how life is … it evolves and we have no way of knowing what will happen down the line i.e. science, biology, electro biology, biorobotics, nano biology, physics, nuclear energy, the internet, our physical and intellectual evolution, space exploration and everything else makes anything possible. It’s impossible to know how things will turn out. All you can do is do your best and go with it …”      Now Poncho frowned. “What you think about that Black?"      “Sounds like a certain perspective,” First White Guy.      Second White Guy, “A personal perspective.”      “A Kings perspective.”      “Damn Black”, 'T' gave Black a surprised look. “Has to be said and you said it right. That particular view comes from folks that’s making money and getting paid. It’s the view of a king. They’re telling the rest of us to wait for a miracle or something… Get what I’m sayin?”      Poncho, “Like … wait for a revelation or for a miracle to fall out of the sky.”      “Sounds like church ... sorry there Black.” Second White Guy looked away.      “True enough, that’s an elitist’s view, a king’s perspective that regards us down here on the bottom only if and when their situation is maintained ... if they can make money and maintain their kingship.” 'T'; was hitting his stride.      “And that’s not just Black folks … that’s across the board.”  The First White Guy fixed his glasses, looking at his racing form.       “True, but it’s more so in the Black community.”      "You remember Black, when we was sittin in the park that day and those “fringe playin hustlers” were sitting over from us … an what they said? Poncho’s huge frame was now on the edge of the bench.      Fringe players … what the hell is that?”      'T' looked at the Second White Guy, “That’s when cats are hustling but not making any real money … they’re making a couple of dollars …, maybe a little more but they’re still only on the outer circle … on the fringe of the real game.”       

      “OK, tell em what those cats said.” Poncho was looking at Black.      “One night, … not quite dark, me and Ponch were in Morningside Park while some cats were sittin on the bench over from us just rappin, getting zooted up and washing it down with Champale and what not. Some other cats were standing over them talking wit em, dressed in silk and gators, blinged up, one, holding a bottle of Hennessy. Cat named Arnie who was sitting on the bench said , “I don’t know why ya'll standing uo there all smug n' what not …, all “C’ed” up, holdin a bottle of 'Henny' … If we get busted, we all gonna be in the same jail cell.”
      The cat standing with the bottle of Hennessy took a drag on an imported cigarette and looked down at Arnie, “Yea but at least I’ll still be on top.”      There was a brief silence before the Second White Guy said, I see what you mean there Poncho.”

The Five Guys watched lines dropped for the nights fish dinner. Unfortunately, fishing here since, has been disallowed!

       'T', “That’s the perspective of a king. And that’s the only way those cats who’re already gettin over are gonna let something go down. Whatever goes down, they have to be on top ... that’s the only way they gonna allow change. And change would have to justify their entire situation, good or bad and give them continued reign over the rest of us.”      “But what if they have “bills to pay” … sayin that they have social or moral or legal debts owed to society?” The Second White Guy was interested.       “That’s a heavy question … and a big problem.” 'T' sat back on the bench. “The thing is, if that’s so, and many conservative folks believe that it is, then someone with the same political mandate as say, Donald Trump, can come along and even with circumstantial evidence ..., upset the entire process not to mention the Black Lives Matter movement. It could be just that easy, depending on the type of debts and how deep they are.”      First White Guy looked over his glasses. “Have you listened to Trump’s speeches: You don't know your history so you don't know youreself ...? Seems to be where he’s heading!”      "Those so-called "debts" are just what he's referring to and it seems he's holding back on them, saving them for the big finale."      “Good point there Black. An’ the author cat discussed those exact pros and cons in his commentary … know what I’m sayin fellas?” 'T' straightened his baseball cap with the word “Potential” embroidered in script. “See you joined the club there Black.”      “Yea, told you I was gonna get one.”      “So what you sayin is that nothing will really change until our own elite faces their demons and only then, when everyone is on the same page can we make progress? Cause we definitely ain't on the same page now ... not all of us.” Poncho stroked his beard.      “If Trumps latest quotes in the press are any indication ...” came from Black.Second White Guy, “You sayin that everyone should to be on board … properly, before they ask for reparations or something?”      “He’s sayin that a lot of issues should have been straightened out before we got to this point.” Black stretched. He could see through the thick brush to the sunny Palisades across the Hudson.      Poncho looked at the both of them.  Black continued, “That's what happened with Obama ... And because these same issues had not been addressed beforehand … our local leaders held back. Those unaddressed issues had left them flat footed. They were unprepared, had no plan; didn't know what questions to ask next ... that was the weak link. And his presidency although it was good ... it didn’t reap the benefits we had hoped for.”      “Right …, same thing can happen now with the “Black Lives Matter” movement. Those same issues haven't been addressed much less solved so the results here can mirror the previous ... ”      "Wow," sounded like a roar coming from Poncho. The Second White Guy was watching a man cast out into the Hudson. “Wanna do some fishing. Also gotta get me one of those hats before it gets too warm.”      “He got tee shirts too there boss. Ten bucks.”      “Maybe a blue one. What’d ya think?”      “Man, so our elite's gotta deal with those possible moral, social and legal issues, “clean house” and do it immediately ... if those on the right are planting those same seeds that we think they are.” The sentence came out rough and muffled.      The racing form page turned, “The bottom line is, those kings as you called them and the folks who are well positioned and making money are not going to give up their advantaged position for any kind of change ... Think of what they had to do to start with ... grow their businesses or wealth or attain their position in the community … They’re not giving that up. Any change has to accommodate them!”      “I don’t know everything but it would appear that some concessions are in order. That particular part of the equation might definitely need to be reconsidered before we go any further ... and it does appear that something needs to be conceded.” Black straightened his hat with the word “Potential” embroidered in script."Ok, then we agree that the elite must be offered to maintain their hard-earned positions and still be held accountable for any misdeeds … then maybe the lies and damning secrets that are holding us back will stop and we can really move forward. The problem is that those issues are connected ... gotta come to that realization," 'T' said.      Poncho, "There's work to be done!" 
      Racing form closed. “That author cat addresses all that in his book, am I right?” 
      Black turned, “That’s what makes “RoadWindows” so interesting. He explains how all of our sensibilities can be addressed, reveals the method as doable … then offers proof from noted scientists and historians and it all forms a map ...”      “That’s a long road forward.” Second White Guy. Poncho jingled the keys to his Sixty-nine caddy. “Speakin of roads. Ya’ll’ wanna take that ride on the Bruckner and see that skyline?”      A couple of nods and yeses. The First White Guy folded his paper, “Let’s go.”      “Wait while I put my tool bag in your trunk ... don’t wanna be left behind.”

Leslie T. Lox

                                                                                                   *

The Absense of Responsibility

      It had been an unusually cool April that 2020. The sun’s rays streamed through the crooked contour of tree branches with like stories to tell. Four story tenements were their backdrop on a barely agreeable day on Avenue C's lower east side. The First White Guy leaned folded arms out a first-floor window. The Second White Guy scanning a “Big Red” gaming brochure in a window in another room, same apartment called out to the stoop; “Yea, this Coronavirus is something …”      Black the plumber was sitting with his dolly stacked with crates and tools near the steps leading to the basement. “Yep, say it’s gonna last until fall.”      “Good thing somebody knows what’s goin on.”      Poncho looked straight ahead in his sixty-nine, pink, low to the ground caddy parked at the curb. “No, they don’t,” his raspy voice bellowed through his mask. “They tellin us they know but they got little more than a clue.”      “First White Guy. “You don’t seem to be hurtin.”      “Yea, Poncho’s got the luck of the Irish.” They laughed.  "Say, ya’ll want some coffee?” Black offered.      “Why not. Knew Ponch had something goin on there,” the First White Guy smiled at Poncho.      Black took out his cell phone. “This virus thing is goin bad in other countries too. What d’ya think?”      “Depends on the leadership … how they handle it." Poncho’s voice was raspy. "Three sugars Black.”       “What about Africa?” First White Guy      “Good question. Don’t know about leadership outside the U.S. … actually you never know,” Black retorted, half on his cellphone.      Poncho cleared his throat, “Man, this crap’s gotta be bad for them and all people of color … our status quo looks like a “B” movie as it is and a bad one at that.”      'T' had come from the laundromat across the street and settled near the caddy’s fin. “Like Black said squares, it rests on our leadership. Point is, there’s risks go with leadership and I’m not sure our cats today are addressing that. Real leadership takes commitment ..., conscientious total commitment … personal interests take a back seat.”       The First White Guy grinned, “I’m sorry 'T', where did you say you got your degree from?”  The guys chuckled.      “You mean that “Martin Luther King” kind of commitment. What do you think he’d say about this?”  The Second White Guy added.      Off his phone, “Coffee’s comin.” Black gestured up to the window. “Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X showed us how it’s done. Freedom is not now, nor was it ever free.”      From the second window, “Democracy’s got to be earned and re-earned.” Second White Guy looked up from his Big Red and peered over his reading glasses. “Those were real men. They lived it right. And they didn't die in vein  … not a small thing!”      'T' leaned on the caddy’s rear fender. “Them cats led by example. This leadership now …” 'T' sighed and shook his dark face side to side. Straightened his navy blue Potential hat cocked sideways, … tan suede baseball jacket over a navy crew sweater and jeans. “Nobody wants to lead. They all looking for excuses for their liabilities and ways out of being responsible for stuff ... callin it politics.”      First White Guy, “The important thing is that … Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X were successful … that's the key.” 
      Poncho adjusted his seat to the sun bouncing of the windshield. “You hit a high note there Paul. What you think about that Black?”      'T' brushed some lint off his jeans "… about M, N and M being successful and these cats today ‘half steppin’? Yea, what you think about that Black?”      “Yea, an what about the future?” Second White Guy.      Black: “You have to look at the lives of Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X and understand that they invited to them and us the information that was crucial to a correct and purposeful “leadership mindset” and they did that by example, through the way they lived. They lived righteously and for a purpose that was greater than they were. It became part of their "religion" and by consciously accepted their calling they invited the things that were necessary for our growth. In other words, the things we needed were gifted to us through them because they walked in the light and were forthright. And the proof of their position, and this is important, was that they were always willing to be questioned … and were always accountable for what they said and did.”      “And they lived and died with great purpose. Hard for today’s leaders to say or do … with honor and respect throughout the world. Ain’t none of our leadership doin that now .... least it seems.” ‘T'’ waved his hat.      Poncho lowered his face mask, “Those are our examples right there, M, N and M, so people can know how it's done. So we know what a true, complete commitment looks like and how to walk through the fire. People need to remember how those cats did it.”      First White Guy; Didn’t that author cat have a chapter in his book “Potent Enterprise” about leadership?”       Black: “Yea, … and a few subchapters on what to look for ...”      Second White Guy was looking at a “Big Red”, “Called one of them, ‘Living in the Light or the state of Nirvana’ or something.”      Black: “Ethics … think it all had to do with ethics … you know him!”      Poncho watched a black Chevy Suburban pull up alongside ... “That was quick.”      “Not far away.” Black said motioning to the Uber driver to set the paper bag on the ground. “Yep, got to be said, cats today want all the glory without making honest, hard choices; without the risks … or to have to answer for what they do.”      “Shucks, they want that money. Bringing back slavery too ... how’d the hell that happen?” 'T' looked at his watch.      “It’s in the Bible ... What d’yall say to that?” Black leaned back on the steps leading up into the building.      “It’s referenced to in the Bible, not advocated as a solution there, boss … read it carefully.” 'T' looked at Black and the White Guys in the windows.
      "The answer I was lookin for. Thanks 'T'.      “Didn’t that author cat write a piece on the Bible too?” came from The First White Guy.      “Yea, kinda interesting. Didn’t dispute anything, didn’t question anything written or prophesized …but somehow raised some possibilities I'd never thought of.” Black was still leaning back. “Yep, quite interesting. I read the piece before he pulled it … a while back.”      “Well, anyway you look at it fellas, we got sold out! An it’s not who you think it is … “Poncho squinted slightly at the sunlight still glaring through the window.      “What’a you mean?”

      “Ain’t no way the man’s gonna bring back slavery and destroy the entire world economy … east or west; first, second or third world …” 'T' turned to Poncho, “Shucks, we doin it to ourselves.”      First White Guy interjected, “It’s not only the minorities ... affecting Irish and other whites and nationalities too.”      “Maybe, but not in the same proportions it’s affecting Blacks.” ‘T’ looked at Black … “An once someone submits or becomes a, quote slave unquote, you can get them to do anything … and I mean anything.”      Black’s voice was low, “Idea does speak to a certain purpose … It also seems they got one or two establishment cats on their side too but basically all that’s true … and it's not who we all think it is. Make a car though slavery for five thousand overseas, identical to one that we make and sell for fifty-five ... Same thing with clothes, appliances, airplanes and shuttles to the moon. That’ll undermine the world economy and everything.”

Much reverence and admiration for the late great Langston Hughes whose artistry I humbly attempt to replicate for this … our defining hour. His gifts and form helped us before, maybe they can help us today. 

"T" kept going back and forth into the laundermat. Few knew he had a small office in the back. Further that the gent in the peach colored Bently occasionally stopped in ... Interesting!

My pubications may be viewed on leslielox.com