The Real Generation Gap: King vs. Malcolm

"These were the young radicals who saw Dr. King as another "Tom" giving into the establishment by not taking up arms against the oppressors. They formed groups like Students Nonviolent Coordinating Committee ...The Black Panther Party and molded the Nation of Islam into a force for change."

HUDSON, OH -- There are many reasons why being a black family in the 50's and 60's was difficult. As a child of those years most of the challenges were hidden from us by well-meaning parents and a distilled media. But there were many signs that the two Americas were moving along on different paths and at different speeds.

The Civil Rights Era coexisted with the Beat Era and the Vietnam Era, the Drug Era and about a half-dozen lesser periods of history. Yet the problem of segregation and inequality predated and outlasted anything that so moved this country.

Inside those families that the movement affected most, families like mine, there was a different kind of argument. It could be summed up like this: nonviolence or by whatever means necessary. Generally the older generation followed the words, actions and teachings of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., the only Black American honored with a true national holiday. But the younger tended to hang on the words of Stokely Carmichael, H. Rap Brown, Bobby Seals, Huey P. Newton and Malcolm X. These were the young radicals who saw Dr. King as another "Tom" giving into the establishment by not taking up arms against the oppressors. They formed groups like Students Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (often forgetting about the second descriptor), The Black Panther Party and molded the Nation of Islam into a force for change.

There was hardly a unified front among those demanding equality.

To this day there are some who revere Dr. King, and rightly so, while secretly wishing the revolution had taken place. What revolution? The one openly called for by these men and women who let hatred and anger distort their view and pervert their intelligence - many were quite intelligent - the impatient ones.

As The Last Poets once proclaimed: The Revolution will not be televised, it will be live.

And so it is. Again, you can argue, but borrowing from Dr. King's famous words we are more likely to be judged by the content and quality of our character rather than the color of our skin. We are, finally, closer to being a unified America dealing with economic, health and the microscopic battles of living and working with others. A black president is a real possibility and white America is on the verge of becoming just another minority in a nation of minorities. There are still strata of privilege and power and there always will be. There are the poor and the oppressed of all races, but there is also compassion and opportunity. There is the struggle and the road ahead.

And there always will be.

Dying Mad

"And if his last breath should come soon he will use it to scream at a nurse or doctor or aide who is trying to help him. Such misery is no life, but it just might be his fitting end."


PINELLAS PARK, FL - I am writing this in Florida. Not the good Florida, the fantasy land we all dream about right around mid-February, but the trailer park, aimless youth, flea market and dingy strip mall Florida. The kind of place where even sunshine seems to smell like generic cigarettes and scratch-off wax under the fingernails; where being tat-less and body puncture-less means you are old and just trying to stay below the radar else those with destructive appetites notice you and make you a victim.

In other words, this is no Disney vacation. I haven't seen anything close to a beach in the days I have been here and would love nothing more than to see my breath condensing as I warm up the car after a 10 hour day in West Akron. I am serious.

So why am I here? Many of us are gappers, that is we fall between generations. One is just getting their footing, if we are lucky, and the other is on their last leg. We are here because of the latter.

Two things have been reinforced on this trip. For one, my wife Monika is a saint - not an angel, she does not bear the burden softly - and my 98-year-old father-in-law remains mad at the world, perhaps to the bitter end.

Even getting up when he should have known better while in nursing care and slipping on his own waste is somebody else's fault. Breaking his hip and being rushed to emergency is someone else's fault. And if his last breath should come soon he will use it to scream at a nurse or doctor or aide who is trying to help him. Such misery is no life, but it just might be his fitting end.

My mom died two years ago in December. She was not angry nor frightened nor remorseful. She was 92 and if she could have predicted it, her last breath would have been a laugh; a good old fashioned belly laugh.

I don't know how much time Danny has left. I would like to think he has enough time to recapture the charm he can show others and the determination that afforded him nearly 30 to 40 years more life than the average American man. We were ready to bring Monika's mom home with us to Hudson and leave Danny in the capable hands of the long-term care professionals. That has changed. Monika cannot leave him with such uncertainty and I will return alone on Tuesday.

There are lots of ways we are dispatched from this life. And few of us have a choice or a chance to choreograph the event. If I learned anything from the gracious and accepting people I have seen in their final moments it is this: don't stay mad at the world.

Exit laughing.