Grace after Midnight

Grace after Midnight

4.4 37
by Felicia Pearson, David Ritz
     
 

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While Felicia is a brilliant actor in a truly chilling role, what's most remarkable about "Snoop" is what she has overcome in her life. Snoop was born a three-pound cross-eyed crack baby in East Baltimore. Those streets are among the toughest in the world, but Snoop was tougher. The runt of the ghetto showed an early aptitude for drug slinging and violence and thrived… See more details below

Overview

While Felicia is a brilliant actor in a truly chilling role, what's most remarkable about "Snoop" is what she has overcome in her life. Snoop was born a three-pound cross-eyed crack baby in East Baltimore. Those streets are among the toughest in the world, but Snoop was tougher. The runt of the ghetto showed an early aptitude for drug slinging and violence and thrived as a baby gangsta until she landed in Jessup state penitentiary after killing a woman in self-defense. There she rebelled violently against the system, and it was only through the cosmic intervention of her mentor, Uncle Loney, that she turned her life around. A couple of years ago, Snoop was discovered in a nightclub by one of The Wire's cast members and quickly recruited to be one of television's most frightening and intriguing villians.

While the story of coming up from the hood has been told by Antwone Fisher and Chris Gardner, among others, Snoop's tale goes far deeper into The Life than any previous books. And like Mary Karr's story, Snoop's is a woman's story from a fresh point of view. She defied traditional conventions of gender and sexual preference on the hardest streets in America and she continues to do so in front of millions of viewers on TV.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

Pearson, who stars in HBO's The Wire, was born ill and underweight from her mother's drug habits, and later worked for a crack dealer in East Baltimore. At age 15 she killed a woman in self-defense and wound up in the Jessup State Penitentiary. She got a wakeup call when the notorious dealers she called "Uncle" and "Father" wound up respectively dead and imprisoned for life. Once out on parole, Pearson took an assembly-line job and "didn't give [her neighborhood dope dealers] a second glance," but after repeatedly getting fired because of her rap sheet, she returned to dealing before a chance meeting gave her a way off the street for good. This isn't a light celebrity bio, but a powerful story of someone trying to find her way in a dark world, realizing she can still choose her life's direction even in tremendously difficult circumstances. Pearson's narrative is spare, even poetic, rendering traumatic moments all the more powerful. (Nov.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
VOYA
Felicia Pearson, dubbed "Snoop," was born addicted to crack. Her youth was spent on the tough streets of East Baltimore, where she proved that she was capable of the violence it takes to survive. Despite the love of her foster parents, her real mentors were sophisticated drug dealers who saw something special in the small but ferocious girl. By the time she was barely into her teens, Pearson was charged with murder and locked up in the penitentiary. But after her release from prison, Pearson landed a role on the television show, The Wire, playing a street assassin in the same Baltimore neighborhoods of her youth. Entertainment Weekly described her performance as, "perhaps the most terrifying female villain to ever appear in a television series.ö Pearson's memoir is written in street dialect, which might appeal to some readers but offend others. Pearson offers an abundance of unsettling insights into the mind of a young girl who is surrounded by few opportunities beyond the lucrative drug trade. She is frank about her attraction to women. One of the most genuine parts of the book is when Pearson describes her horror at the movie, Boys Don't Cry. As numb to violence as she seems, Pearson was shocked by the way society treats "a girl who feels like a boy." Although Pearson's story may be too gritty for a mainstream teen audience, it should be well appreciated by urban fiction readers and fans of The Wire. Reviewer: Diane Colson
Library Journal

Pearson, an actress in the TV drama The Wire, was born a crack baby in Baltimore and raised in a foster home. Here, with collaborator Ritz, she chronicles living on the streets, dealing drugs, and ending up in prison for killing a woman in self-defense. (Xpress Reviews, 10/21/07)


—Ann Burns
Kirkus Reviews
Pearson's memoir is even more horrifying than the cold-blooded killer she portrays on The Wire. Born a cross-eyed crack baby in East Baltimore, the author was soon in foster care. Her mother paid infrequent visits (locking her in a closet and selling her clothes to buy crack during one of them) and then stopped coming altogether. Her doting and religious foster parents did their best, but their neighborhood was riddled with drug dealers, and Pearson, an industrious but fidgety tomboy, couldn't resist the siren call of the streets. She witnessed her first murder in sixth grade and soon acquired the moniker "Snoop," a personal arsenal and a rep for being dead-eyed crazy. At 15, she fatally shot a woman who came after her with a bat; she got a relative break with a sentence of only five years. In prison, Pearson got her GED and stayed out of trouble. She even had a moment of revelation when the workings of the universe were at least briefly made clear. Her loving relationship (of a sort) with a prison guard provides one of the narrative's less-expected moments, and the subject of Pearson's homosexuality is handled with surprisingly unconventional directness. With the help of veteran co-author David Ritz (Faith in Time: The Life of Jimmy Scott, 2002, etc.), she tells her story in prose that has the same laconic, hypnotic clarity with which she delivers her lines on The Wire. Having been dealt such a raw hand by life, Pearson's happenstance discovery in a bar by an actor on the show makes a welcome end to this captivating, brutally honest tale of a life that came perilously close to being a complete waste. A hard-luck tale that never asks for pity.
Ebony
"A gripping story about overcoming obstacles in the face of great adversity and finding hope in the most unlikely place-television."
Allhiphop.com
"A remarkable book about a remarkable lady...will encourage anyone who aspires to be bigger and better than what they are...an awesome book to give to a young person as a Christmas gift."
Essence
"This is no rage-to-riches story. In fact, it reads more like a miracle."
Giant
"Read her intriguing life story...it's a short, punchy ride of a book."
author of Black Pain: It Just Looks Like We'r Terrie M. Williams
"Raw and thought provoking...told with a bitter sweet elegance...the story of a child who buried her pain and then filled her life with violent behavior. But Snoop's journey is now a rainbow shining in the light of hope and wellness...and is a gift to us all."
NBC's Heroes Jamie Hector
"Felicia's story is a reminder to me that through the depths of the worst unforeseen circumstances, that life can sometimes bring, the 2 things that we must never lose sight of, GOD's Grace, and Hope. Felicia is a perfect example of one who learned this the hard way and will now, never lose her way again."
From the Publisher
"Raw and thought provoking...told with a bitter sweet elegance...the story of a child who buried her pain and then filled her life with violent behavior. But Snoop's journey is now a rainbow shining in the light of hope and wellness...and is a gift to us all."—Terrie M. Williams, author of Black Pain: It Just Looks Like We're Not Hurting"

Felicia's story is a reminder to me that through the depths of the worst unforeseen circumstances, that life can sometimes bring, the 2 things that we must never lose sight of, GOD's Grace, and Hope. Felicia is a perfect example of one who learned this the hard way and will now, never lose her way again."—Jamie Hector, NBC's Heroes"

Pearson's memoir is even more horrifying than the cold-blooded killer she portrays on The Wire."—Kirkus Reviews"

A gripping story about overcoming obstacles in the face of great adversity and finding hope in the most unlikely place-television."—Ebony"

A remarkable book about a remarkable lady...will encourage anyone who aspires to be bigger and better than what they are...an awesome book to give to a young person as a Christmas gift."—Allhiphop.com"

This is no rage-to-riches story. In fact, it reads more like a miracle."—Essence"

Read her intriguing life story...it's a short, punchy ride of a book."—Giant"

Apowerful story of someone trying to find her way in a dark world, realizing she can still choose her life's direction even in tremendously difficult circumstances. Pearson's narrative is spare, even poetic, rendering traumatic moments all the more powerful."—Publishers Weekly

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780446500982
Publisher:
Grand Central Publishing
Publication date:
11/01/2007
Sold by:
Hachette Digital, Inc.
Format:
NOOK Book
Sales rank:
463,459
File size:
1 MB

Read an Excerpt

Grace After Midnight


By David Ritz Felicia Pearson Grand Central Publishing Copyright © 2007 Felicia Pearson
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-446-19518-8


Chapter One BABY GIRL

I was born in Baltimore twenty-seven years ago, and then I died-twice. I died both times because my mother was filled with drugs and so was I. Crack babies are messed-up babies, and, according to what the doctors were saying, I didn't have a prayer.

But they brought me back from death's door. Someone or something keeps bringing me back from death's door.

I don't understand it, but maybe writing this book will help me see who I was and who I became.

Sometimes I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine myself back then:

A little-bitty baby small enough to fit into the palm of the doctor's hand, no bigger than a puppy or kitten; a baby who has to be fed with an eye dropper 'cause her mouth is too small for the nipple of a bottle; a baby born cross-eyed due to the drugs running through her system.

A baby born to die.

But that same doomed-to-die baby finds a way to live.

How?

Why?

Sure wasn't because of Mama. Mama was Loretta Chase. The woman may have wanted me-I can't know that for sure-but I do know that she couldn't care for me. Later I learned that Mother was the kind of lady that always kept a drug dealer around to fill her needs. She could do that because she had a pretty face, long wavy hair, and a fine figure. Men flocked to her. My daddy ran from her-or she chased him off. I never did get the story.

I didn't get a lot of the stories about my real parents. They're ghost figures in my childhood. I saw them in my dreams when I was a little girl. Sometimes they creep back into my dreams now that I'm a grown woman, but they're always covered in mystery.

The mystery was heavy because as soon as I was born I was put into a foster home owned by two people who had a row house in the toughest neighborhood in East Baltimore. Their names were Cora and Levi Pearson and their place was on East Oliver Street, three doors off the corner of North Montford. That's where I grew up. Oliver and Montford is where it all happened.

When I arrived the Pearsons were already in their early sixties. Sweet folk. They took care of me, but I still wanted my mama. And when I heard that Mama was calling for me, I got happy all over. I wanted to see her.

All little girls wanna see their mothers. All girls need their mothers. The earliest dreams I can remember are dreams of my mother. I'd see her standing there before me, holding out her arms, hugging me tight, putting me to bed and tucking me in.

"You're my precious baby," she'd say.

I'd smile at her, close my eyes, and fall asleep inside my dream.

THE CLOSET

My memories of Mama's visits are like dreams.

During the first two visits we were at the park. I remember clouds and rain, I remember a dark sky, wet grass, and plastic slides in the playground. I remember Mrs. Simms, the white social worker, who held my hand until, from behind a tree, a woman appeared. The woman was beautiful. She ran to me with her arms wide open. I didn't move. I didn't know what to do.

"It's your mother," said Mrs. Simms. "Go to your mother."

I let the woman embrace me. She smelled of cigarettes and perfume. Tears ran down her cheek. I didn't know why she was crying. She held me tight and said words I don't remember. I imagine that she said she loved me. We walked for a while. She, Mrs. Simms, and I went to a candy store where I got a soda and a little bag of M & M's.

"You and your mother look just alike," Mrs. Simms said.

I loved hearing those words because I knew my mother looked like a lady in a magazine.

The rain stopped-I can't remember if this was the first visit or the second-and children were in the park. My mother said something about my pigtails. As a little girl, my hair was done up in little pigtails.

"If you let your hair grow out," she said, "it'll look like mine."

She let me touch her wavy hair.

"Can I bring her to my house? Can I be alone with my daughter?" she asked Mrs. Simms.

Mrs. Simms said, "Maybe. Maybe next time."

Next time came soon. The night before I was too excited to sleep.

What would my mother's house look like? I was sure it'd be pretty because she was pretty. I was sure it'd be big. The house on Oliver Street had three floors and three bedrooms, but I knew my mother's house would be bigger. The house on Oliver Street had all sorts of people living there-grandchildren and cousins to Mr. and Mrs. Pearson. But I was my mother's only child. I wouldn't have to share the house with anyone but my mother. Maybe I could live with her forever.

I always hated dresses, but I wore one to visit my mother because I wanted to look pretty. I wanted to look like my mother. My dress, lavender and embroidered with white lace, was brand new. My foster mama had bought it for me to wear to church.

My excitement built as Mrs. Simms drove me to my mother's. But when we arrived, I was sure she had made a mistake. It wasn't a house at all, but a tiny one-room apartment with a small kitchen, and a couch that opened up into a bed. The room was messy and didn't smell good. This couldn't be where my mom lived. But it was.

When Mrs. Simms left us, my mother sat down on the edge of the bed. Something was wrong. She was crying and shaking. I didn't know why. She didn't hug and kiss me like she had in the park. She didn't even look at me. I just stood there.

Then her mood changed. She got up from the bed and told me to take off my clothes. I didn't understand why. I wouldn't do it.

"Do it!" she cried.

She screamed at me until I did it. I took off all my clothes, dropping them on the floor.

"Now get in there," she ordered, pointing to the closet.

I tried to run but my mother caught me. She pushed me into the closet and locked the door behind me. I began wailing at the top on my lungs.

"Stop crying," she said. "I'll be back."

Then the sound of her leaving the apartment.

The darkness.

The fear of being locked in.

Naked fear.

Baby girl fear.

Pure terror.

I carried on. Kept crying. Kept screaming louder, but no one heard. Cried so loud and long that I cried myself out. I finally fell to the floor and started kicking. I had to get out. Someone had to hear me.

I don't know how much time passed, but when I heard the voices of Mrs. Simms and my foster father, I screamed my head off. They broke open the door and set me free. I was hysterical.

"Imagine that," I heard Mrs. Simms tell my foster father, "selling her little girl's clothes to buy crack."

I was never allowed to be alone with my mother again.

Sometime in my childhood my mother reappeared at the house on Oliver Street.

Each time the visit was short, and with each visit she looked less beautiful. Her eyes were crazy. Sometimes her dress was dirty and worn. She'd come into the front room and just look at me. She'd try to smile, but the smile wouldn't come. She'd cry and leave.

Her visits became more infrequent. Finally they stopped.

That's when Mrs. Pearson became Mama and Mr. Pearson became Pop.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Grace After Midnight by David Ritz Felicia Pearson Copyright © 2007 by Felicia Pearson. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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