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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781463449827 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 08/30/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 1 MB |
Read an Excerpt
TOO MUCH BLUE!
MEMOIRS OF A MISSISSIPPI DELTA VILLAGEBy PERRY CARTER
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 PERRY CARTERAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-4984-1
Chapter One
Blue Storms
Memory is a shelter during life's raging storm, those storms that forever rage when there is too much blue. I stand in awe of this balancing effect as once again the rain subsides, and the blue skies return with even more enchantment, and the sun and the rainbows of promises made welcomes me again as long lost friends do. A theatrical scene that no actor can duplicate, I succumb to the unrelenting power of this performance which invokes a sense of tranquility and mood into my psyche. Those beautiful things; those natural things; those blue things; So much in a shared, yet borrowed world that seduces and imprisons my mind and soul to surrender to authority as does the things of blue. I stand arrested and helpless. The feeling of serenity, and order, affects me to the core, and though some days are gray, the sun will shine through, and blue once again will the oceans below be.
I've oftentimes wondered how something so perfect in origin, so wonderful, so beautiful in its primary form, could somehow evolve into a state of despair from which there is no return. Could it be that the doors of our souls are locked as to prevent passage from either side, or maybe the reflections of what was, or what could be, has somehow been misconstrued or deflected by our avarice for individual preservation? The shades of blue as we see them, and feel them, are a matter of perception.
"Too Much Blue" depicts the childhood experiences of author, members of the Lake Providence High School graduating Class of 1981 and their purposeful ambition to return home to their small town during their 30th class reunion to give back to the community. The undertaking is eventful and triumphant, in that an endeavor of sorts had never taking place before. The story is told and depicted through the eyes of the author, Perry Carter, a fellow classmate and President of the class. Mr. Carter presents a non-fictional account of his younger years, senior year, and his motivation to orchestrate such a peculiar reunion.
Like a quilt of many pieces, none matching, nothing whole, knitted and woven together to form a complete garment, so are our lives. Outsiders call it art, but I call it, "pieces of me". It's antique, it's colorful, it's beautiful, but most of all, it speaks.
A quilt is woven in every life, none the same, and each telling its own story. The things we say, the things we do. My quilt tells a history of good times and bad, and can only be appreciated by those of us who have worn the pieces.
The story of the Lake Providence Senior High School Class of 1981, as I saw it, cannot be told by decorated pieces of events, but rather all pieces, whether ragged, torn, or new. The tensions experienced, the failures undergone, and the triumphs achieved, cannot be denounced or overlooked, but rather flavored into the history of a group of young black adults who made the most of what was given, enough so to share.
Graduation from high school or college tends to provoke the utmost satisfaction of accomplishment in the hearts and minds of those successful enough to reach such a goal. The years of studying and sacrifice, by all involved, including parents, family, and friends, culminates into feeling of achievement almost unsurpassable. Clothed with knowledge, skills, but most of all confidence, we set out on a journey to conquer the world.
As the years pass, we find that the world we sought has somehow moved, or rearranged itself, as the starting point can still be seen as we push toward our destination. Before long, it is apparent the world we were seeking is the same as the one we left, minus the guest of honor-you". We ask the question, "What did I see and, what did I find"? In a small voice from the depths of your soul, you hear ... me, I found me. It soon becomes apparent that your diploma or degree that you toiled so for, the monies spent, and the time invested, was not for the sole purpose of becoming rich, but to better yourselves by bettering others. As were the case with the LPSHS Class of 1981 and other classes before and after, the longing desire to "be grown", rich and independent has always been a welcoming incentive in the high school graduation effort. Although the road of life's journey can be full of obstacles, hardships, and pain, the steps taken by the first, pave the way for the rest to follow.
Chapter Two
Solace
It was July, 04, 2009. My wife Elizabeth and I had spent the day in Fort Worth, Texas at a family barbecue. Liz's mother, Lou Ella had prepared her regular feast of dishes as usual, as the family prepared to eat their way into oblivion. Brenda and Sandra Faye, my sisters- in law had made their small contribution as always, but my mother-in-law mostly performed the work. Because my mother and family, with the exception of my brother Percy and I, lived in Louisiana, I often made the trip to the in-laws and extended family to celebrate the holidays when circumstances prevented me from going home. As is always after dinner, the conversation turns to past events experienced in our hometown, Lake Providence, Louisiana. Before long, the home is filled with hometown residents and friends who made the move to Texas, in search of better life. I looked around at former friends and family that I have known for most of my life, and I too, soon became entangled in the stories of childhood. Of course everyone has their own version and details of the things that really happened, but we all agree that the incidents took place. The traditional assembling at the home of parents with large families was something everyone did, mainly because of the contacts made by the children of the home. My mother's home was also one of those designated meeting places. It was a southern thing. Strangers, friends, and just about everyone was welcomed as family, especially on holiday occasions.
Holidays had been extremely hard to celebrate over the years as the thought of family gatherings without my son Forrest, was somehow a betrayal of sort. For the past 28 years, my family, Liz, Sentel, Chancellor, Forrest, Phillip, and Lang always celebrated holidays together whether in New Orleans, Houston, Dallas, Monterey California, or anyplace that we happened to be- we were together.
Forrest had been killed on March, 19, 2006, in Addison, Texas at a Homewood Suites by Hilton, in an effort to prevent the assault and killing of his cousin, Dominique. The boys had been coerced to attend a Spring Break birthday party where gang members unaware to the boys were present. Because Dominique was wearing a red shirt and the boys were Black, the gang members assumed that they were members of the Bloods Gang; at least that is what the newspapers and police report depicted. Mistaken identity is a word often used as a defense for crimes committed against Black males to justify criminal actions taken against them. Notwithstanding the possibility that some, if not most young black males come from good families, with great upbringing? They perchance are upstanding citizens or college students with bright futures? I have constantly sought an answer to the question, "Why are the intentions of black males always called into question"? Of all the races in the world, the Black race has always somehow appeared suspect to the rest of the world. Despite a history that all have read or heard of, any man that breathes, bleed, and dies the same, cannot be that much different in his wants and needs.
Over the years the scene of Forrest's death had played out over and over in my head, and my efforts to fight and bring to justice all parties involved, including the assailants and the management of the Homewood Suites by Hilton for allowing the incident to take place had become my mission. I had been met by one defeat after another. The entire experience was now taking toll on the entire family, especially me, because I was at a crossroads and the direction that I would take had no scenic route on either path, but despite my choice, I would still have to proceed. My entire life was based on a premise that I knew God, and that he owned me and my decisions despite all of my shortcomings. Although I felt so alone and forgotten on that most tragic day, I distinctly remember, despite the pain and anguish, walking in a realm where footsteps do not touch the ground, and trivial thinking and things are blocked from memory.
After unsuccessful attempts to bring awareness of my plight to the mass media, I took it upon myself to write a letter to the many national children organizations and media outlets voicing my concerns over the plight of teenagers in an age of corporate dominancy:
To Parents and Children,
My wife and I are the parents of five sons: Perry, Chancellor, Forrest, Phillip, and Lang. Our family has been inseparable for over 27 years. The struggles we have encountered through the years have been many, but the love and happy memories have surpassed all shortcomings. We have served our country, our community, but most importantly Our Lord. As most fathers know, a son is a replica of himself, encompassing his spirit, and all attributes which have culminated to define his manhood. For mothers, a son is a manifestation of her husband's youth and vigor, wrapped in her obedience. No one knows what a day brings forth. Given an option, the sane would choose life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. However, the same options are pursued by those who wish to capitalize on the manipulation of said choices just to profit. The avarice to capitalize on the powerless makes for an extremely unforgiving world, but the world is a mixture of many. We are products of both parental and community rearing, but the elders have shunned responsibility for the sake of profit. Our communities are void of light for this one reason, whether affluent or depressed. The world stage that we view is presented by small men who want to rule. Adorned with self-righteous principalities and power, they pit the young, naive, and less resourceful against each other, while they reap the benefits from their civil wars. For all young adults contemplating your life's worth, read further, and after reading, decide if you want to be part of a solution to your community, or part of the problem that causes pain and suffering. You can adopt a Christian methodology of being your brother's keeper, or choose the alternative, either way, you will choose. If I could save one son or daughter from the trap of corporate greed and deception, I would have saved many, as knowledge breeds knowledge so as the generations go.
The Incident
On March 19, 2006 shootings occurred during a spring break birthday party at the Homewood Suites in the 4400 Block of Belt Line Road in Addison, Texas. My son, Forrest Carter(18), his brothers Chancellor(19)and Phillip(16) were shot in the back during an attempt to prevent their cousin Dominique (17) from being killed by an Asian gang of 15 or more who opted to target them for wearing red. Because my sons knew that a prior argument had ensued between their cousin and another party goer, they attempted to leave the hotel, but their keys had been stolen and hidden to prevent their departure. Forrest was killed and my sons and nephew were rushed to different hospitals. The hotel had previously rented the room to a patron(18) who was under the legal age to register, which at the time according to hotel policy, and the front desk clerk, was 21. We never knew our sons had gone to a hotel party. We had called our sons numerous times because they were not allowed to be away from home after 11:00 o'clock with the exception of Chancellor who was in college at the time. We received the call at 1:15am notifying us that Phillip who was 16 at the time had been shot. Panic had set in, but I tried not to let my wife know for fear of her losing it. So I reassured her on the 20 minute trip to Parkland Hospital as the rain pored like never before. When we arrived at Parkland hospital where our sons had been taken, we were notified that Forrest had been killed and that Phillip and Chancellor were in surgery clinging to life. Little did I know that the rain that poured down in Dallas on the morning of March, 19, 2006 was washing away a chapter in our lives that we had read over and over again, but now we had to confine the words in memory forever. We started to learn more information in the following days regarding the incident. The police and coroner refused to allow us to view Forrest's body or even identify his body for three days. They gave us conflicting information on where his body was kept. We found out later that he was actually at a morgue next to the hospital (Parkland) where the other boys were recovering all the time. When Chancellor and Phillip came out of surgery and were able to speak, there first words were "Where is Forrest"? The most unexplainable question I ever encountered was asked. I recall the morning that we were summoned to the hospital, I rushed through the emergency with my wife following. I heard Forrest's voice, calling. Not knowing that he had passed, I thought that he knew we were on the way, and he was waiting nearby to tell us about the boys. Forrest's brothers were unable to attend the funeral as they were hospitalized. The funeral was standing room only, as Forrest's and the boys knew just about everyone in the community. You see, people know you by your children.
Although young adults make mistakes along the way, adults and establishments should not enable their careless decisions, as in the case of the Homewood Suites by presenting a venue for underage teens to break the law through drinking, partying, and drugs. They were never cited as from my understanding by any state agency for their violations. The police list the time of the tragedy at 12:45, but the incident had gone on for hours before the shooting. I was surprised that the coroner listed Forrest as legally drunk, although none of the other boys were. Forrest was always the more sensible of the boys when it came down to it. All of the partygoers that I spoke with stated Forrest was not drunk.
My wife and I worked for the Hilton Hotels Corporation at the time, and we were fully aware of the policies regarding teenagers renting rooms. It was a forbidden policy, especially enforced during spring break to prevent the liability of underage drinking and partying by patrons. The hotel accommodated the party of underage patrons as young as 16 totaling 30-40 guests in one suite by giving them a room on the far side of the hotel. There was extensive drinking, drugs, and noise, as several hotel guests called the front office to complain. The front desk clerk ignored all complaints which started pouring in 3 hours prior to the shooting. My son's keys to the car was never found or recovered by the police station, which was less than a mile from the hotel. The hotel had no security like they boasted on their website. They even attempted to rid themselves of all of evidence by compiling the drug residue and alcohol containers in a bag and giving it to the teen that rented the room instead of the police.
I could have lost three (3) sons and one nephew in one night because of the greed and reputation of small minded cowards who seek power. The room cost only $76.00. Even after working with the Hilton for over 23 years, we never received a sympathy letter nor an apology. The front desk clerk on duty that night was never interviewed and has since left (I was told after requesting to speak with them). The hotel did send representatives to the call center to enlist our help to boost sales for their hotel. I soon learned after being threatened with job loss (although time was approved for us to take care of our two injured sons, Phillip and Chancellor and to bury Forrest), that a manager had put a disciplinary statement in my personnel file stating that I thought the company owed me something for the death of my son, although this statement had never been relayed to anyone within Hilton by myself nor my wife). They were compiling a case to fire us due to the circumstances. I was eventually constructively discharged.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from TOO MUCH BLUE! by PERRY CARTER Copyright © 2011 by PERRY CARTER. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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