What Really Matters [Darryl King]

Hola mi gente,
About a week ago, a former colleague, Darryl King, passed away. Actually, he was more than a colleague he was also a friend. I missed his wake and funeral because of my job search and some freelance work I had to do. I’m bummed about that. And I must admit that in the past few years, we had slowly lost contact. Still, Darryl was someone special. This is how I remember him… 

In Memoriam

Darryl King speaking at our annual "Break the Chains" event.

The first time I met Darryl King, we really didn’t hit it off too well. I was interviewing for the case manager position for a program Darryl had conceptualized and was heading, The Developing Justice in South Brooklyn Project. Julian Brown, someone I had met when I was training trainers for

Developing Justice: (from l-r) Kim Clark, Julian Brown, Darryl King, and myself.

STRIVE, was really pushing hard for me for the position though I was a bit reluctant at first. In any case, right before the interview, Julian tells me, “Look, don’t worry about anything, you got this. Just don’t go talking too much.” I used to have a problem with talking too much during interviews. 

I wasn’t that worried. Initially, I had my doubts about the project and I was fine where I was working. In fact, my boss at the time, Lizzette Hill Barcelona, was putting together some funding so that she could better use my talents. So I went to these interviews somewhat reluctantly and not at all nervous. Still, Julian offered me more money and a chance to be at the beginning of something new where I could use my creativity and experience to create a case management model.

So what happens? Darryl and I get into a “debate” during the interview! He asked me a question about what I would say to a participant if he expressed a desire to become a lawyer. I responded that if the individual didn’t have a GED, that first I would encourage him to get a GED before I encouraged anything else. What Darryl heard was that I would encourage the person, which wasn’t what I said at all. So we went back and forth on that.

I walked away thinking, “Well, I won’t be getting that job!” LOL And, in fact, I found out that Darryl voted for some white guy who had never even been arrested, something I never let Darryl live down. For years, I always teased him about that! “Yeah, you were ready to hire some white dude over me, bro, get outta here,” I would remind him from time to time. And Darryl would bow his head and start laughing. We all laughed.

Darryl was good to me. He encouraged me to use my creativity and my strengths. Whenever I would come to him with an idea, he would patiently listen to me and usually his response would be, “So, what do you need to make that so?” And that’s the kind of person he was. He was always asset-based, man. He was about making it, whatever it was, happen. “How can we make that happen?” he would ask. Or, “What do you mean we can’t make that happen?” he would demand.

I remember once being at a meeting with Darryl, Julian Brown and our executive director at the time, Brad Lander (who’s on the City Council now), and we were talking about creating a leadership development workshop. The goal was to create a cadre of formerly incarcerated people with the intent of getting them involved in our organizing/ advocacy efforts. This was over 15 years ago, before anyone else was thinking in this way.

Truthfully, I was initially against the leadership workshop. What my people needed was workforce development training and jobs I argued, not volunteer work in organizing. How the people (“my people”) on my caseload could be expected to lead if they can’t even get a job, I reasoned. I lost the vote, 3-1 that day, but it was cool. Later, Darryl came to me and said, “What are you worried about? We’ll help you recruit participants and you’ll be the one running the groups.” Then he smiled. That was his way of telling me that he would support the creation of a leadership model that contained both -- to a degree.

And that’s what I liked about him -- he was always supportive. He was also generous to a fault. Darryl would literally give you the shirt off his back. I found this amazing, especially for a person who served 25 years for a crime he didn’t commit. I mean, I did a fraction of the time he served and I did what I was accused of doing. I was a low level drug dealer who sold drugs to support my habit. And sure, with the right lawyer and connections, I probably wouldn’t have done any time at all. Still, I sold drugs. Darryl had his whole young adulthood and more ripped from him for something he didn’t do. Whenever I would ask him how he managed to stave off the resentment and bitterness, his answer was that the only thing they couldn’t take away from him was his humanity. What a powerful message -- a message he embodied.

One year, I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to book us as presenters for a four-day workshop at a national convention taking place in my ancestral home, Puerto Rico. He came into my office one day all excited and asked me, “Do you think you can translate two workshops into Spanish?” I nodded yes that I could given enough time. With a big smile, Darryl said, “Then get to working because we’re going to Puerto Rico to do workshops in English and Spanish!”

So, off we went to Puerto Rico, everything paid for, rooms at the Caribe Hilton, and doing workshops that totaled maybe four hours total. The rest of the time we spent under the Puerto Rican sun and doing some sight-seeing. At one point, he got pissed because I insisted that he couldn’t wear dress socks with sandals. LOL Darryl loved gambling and he disappeared until Julian and I searched him out. Oh yeah, we also were paid to do the workshops. For years after, Darryl, whenever we were going through a rough time, or having a difference of opinion, would say, “What other boss would get you an all-expense paid vacation to Puerto Rico and also make sure you got paid for it?!” and he would laugh. I created a video from the photos we took on that rip, but I can’t find it right now. I wanted so much to post it because he’s smiling in all the photos.

And that’s the thing that I remember most about Darryl: There was a lot of joy and we laughed a lot. Yeah, we worked hard and we were very conscientious about the work, but Darryl always had this sense of humor about it all. When he would see me stressing out, he’d call me into his office and tell me to take it easy. He would remind of where we came from and what we were doing. This spirit is what held that project together in the beginning. Later, both Darryl and Julian would leave the project to do other things and

Citizens Against Recidivism Awards: Darryl King (2nd from left)

eventually I would become the project’s director. But I would never fail to mention Darryl’s name whenever I spoke at a conference or at a radio or TV appearance.

The last time Darryl and I hung out together was in 2011 or 2012 when we both were recipients of Citizens Against Recidivism awards. It says a lot about Darryl that when he saw me, he hugged and he beamed when I said, “How you doing Jefe.” That was my nickname for him, El Jefe and I could tell he used to like that. His health wasn’t too good and he had been going through some challenges, but he still was the same Darryl. His spirit was too strong, though he seemed weary. We promised each other we would keep in touch.

I wish I could say we kept in touch, but we didn’t. I miss him. I certainly could use his spirit now and maybe that is Darryl’s greatest gift. Maybe his legacy is that no matter what, no one can take away your humanity. Maybe his gift to the world is that the good things -- the things that matter the most, can and must be done.

You did good Darryl. You’re still El Jefe.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

First as Tragedy, Then as Farce...

I promised myself I wouldn’t post this again. It's been said that history repeats itself -- first as tragedy, then as farce... and that is all I see today, farce. If we really want to honor those who perished on this day, we should start by calling out the shameless bastards using 9/11 to advance their selfish political and economic agenda.

* * *

-=[ Remembrance ]=-

I am certain that after the dust of centuries has passed over our cities, we, too, will be remembered not for victories or defeats in battle or in politics, but for our contribution to the human spirit.

-- John F. Kennedy

I refuse to watch the obscenity that has become the remembrance of 9/11. to me, it’s porno for the masses. I find it repugnant.

Most of us experienced the events that transpired at the World Trade Center vicariously through television.

I didn’t... I was there.

I lived in the vicinity of what is now called “ground zero” since 1969. When the towers collapsed, my building shook. I watched from the roof of my17-story building in horror as people jumped from the Towers.

I heard my neighbor’s horror-filled scream as she stood next to me and watched people who chose to plunge rather than burn. I saw, with my own eyes, that horror, something my mind refused to accept at first. I thought -- I wanted so much to believe -- those little dots was debris, but they were humans.

I walked in silence with the throng of humanity that marched through the streets of lower Manhattan, a mass shrouded in white ashes. The day was a beautifully clear day, the sun shining, as thousands walked in silence, ashen heads bowed.

I saw a woman wander aimlessly, in shock, bleeding from a wound on her head. I saw another limping, and as I heard her whimpering to herself, my heart broke -- again. I saw bits of human beings mixed in with all those billions of bits of papers and files...

I lived in the shadows of the towers all those years. I used to party there every Friday when I was a young man working at the nearby Woolworth Building, almost across the street from the “World Trade,” as I used to call it. When I was 14-15, I took a summer job as a messenger at a printing company where my uncle worked, and I would deliver blueprints to the architects at the World Trade site. At the time I had developed an interest in architecture and Frank Lloyd Wright, and I thought it was pretty cool to see the architectural monstrosity rise (let’s not allow too nostalgic indulgence warp the truth: The Towers were pretty much bland-looking).

I even had sex in the shadows of the WTC -- a youthful impulse early one hot summer morning in the throes of a passionate summer love. Once looking up on my walk to work, I saw a man climbing up the outside one of the Towers – “Spider Man!” blared the headline the next day. In the 70s, a famous tightrope walker walked across a cable stretched between the Twin Towers. There was a lot personal history there in those towers. At least for me, anyway. I also had many friends who worked there, at one time or another. I remember that no matter how drunk I got, all I had to do to make it home was look up to the night sky and point myself in the direction of the Towers.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I had just started working at my current job and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I worked from 12-8. Annoyed that I had no milk for my coffee, I went out in my pajamas to the corner store and when I looked up I saw the back end of a plane sticking out of one of the Towers. I thought it was fucked up, but this is New York, things happen all the time, weird shit always happened at the Towers.

On the way back home, I felt the second plane hit. I felt it. That’s when I knew something was wrong. I won’t retell that tale, we all know it... we saw it replayed on the TV countless times (was it really necessary?)

I took the elevator to my 17^th floor apartment and watched... I watched from the roof, where some of my neighbors had congregated.

I saw thousands of people walking silently, heads bowed, covered in white ash. It was strange to see so many people in one place and feel that silence. I saw people helping one another, stores giving away free water, others helping the wounded. A priest and I helped some who were walking around in shock. That day, I witnessed the nobility of my fellow New Yorkers. I experienced the true potential of the human spirit that day, even in the midst of all that carnage and ugliness.

It was what I saw immediately after that scared me. And as it turns out, I had every right to be scared.

That day, I saw the religious whackos in full force before the dust had settled (literally), handing out pamphlets proclaiming the end times. I saw people buy right into that. It was a scary time, and people were confused, easily swayed.

I saw hatred.

The next day, there was a call for volunteers to escort Muslim women and children because they were being attacked. I saw a lot of anger and fear and I feared that there were forces that would use that tragedy to exploit, to manipulate. I witnessed a bellicose and washed up mayor resuscitate his political career while literally standing on the charred bodies of the dead. He has since made millions from the events of 9/11.

I saw an incompetent president take us to a meaningless war and the shredding of the Constitution -- all in the name of all those dear dead people, in the name of my fellow New Yorkers, all who stood bravely and came together when it was most needed. I saw our leaders take that nobility and turn it into something ugly, something for hatred and greed.

I smelled, everyday, that strange smell emanating from the charred pile that was once the Towers. It was hard ftp describe -- like rotted meet mixed with something else, something unidentifiable. I coughed what we began to call the “downtown cough.” My lungs have never been the same since that day... Through various degrees of separation, everyone one in New York was connected somehow to a death in those towers and I heard the many stories, I experienced the sadness...

We must never forget those who died that day, those nine years ago. We must never forget human spirit that arose that day -- that one sliver of light in that day -- where we all came together as one. But we must also never forget that some used that to lead us into darkness.

If we forget that, then all those people will have died for nothing...

Eddie

The Human Spirit

¡Hola! Everybody...
Been busy...

* * *

-=[ Remembrance ]=-

I am certain that after the dust of centuries has passed over our cities, we, too, will be remembered not for victories or defeats in battle or in politics, but for our contribution to the human spirit.

-- John F. Kennedy

Most of us experienced the events that transpired at the World Trade Center vicariously through television.

I didn’t... I was there.

I had lived in the vicinity of what is now called “ground zero” since 1969. When the towers collapsed, my building shook. I watched from the roof of my17-story building in horror as people jumped from the Towers .

I heard my neighbor scream hysterically as she stood next to me and watched people who chose to plunge rather than burn. I saw, with my own eyes, that horror, something my mind refused to believe at first. I thought -- I wanted so much to believe those little dots were debris, but they were humans.

I walked in silence with the throng of humanity that marched through the streets of lower Manhattan, a mass shrouded in white ashes. The day was a beautifully clear day, the sun shining, as thousands walked in silence, ashen heads bowed.

I saw a woman walking, obviously in shock, bleeding from a wound on her head. I saw another limping, whimpering to herself. I saw bits of human beings mixed in with all those billions of bits of papers and files...

I lived in the shadows of the towers all those years. I used to party every Friday there when I was a young man working in the Woolworth Building, almost across the street from the “World Trade.” When I was 14-15, I took a summer job as a messenger at a printing company where my uncle worked, and I would deliver blueprints to the architects at the World Trade site. I had just finished reading Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead and had developed an interest in architecture and Frank Lloyd Wright, and it was pretty cool to see the architectural monstrosity rise (let’s not get too nostalgic, The Towers were pretty much bland-looking).

I even had sex in the shadows of the WTC -- a youthful impulse early one hot summer morning in the throes of a passionate summer love. I once looked up on my way to work, and saw a man climbing up the outside of the WTC. In the 70s, a famous tightrope walker walked across a cable stretched between the two towers. There was a lot personal history there in those towers -- at least for me, anyway. I also had many friends who worked there, at one time or another. I remember that no matter how drunk I got, all I had to do to make it home was point myself in the direction of the Towers.

I had just started working at my current job and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I worked from 12-8. I went to the store to buy coffee and I looked up to see the back end of a plane sticking out of one of the Towers. I really didn’t think much about it. Things always happened at the Towers.

As I was returning home from the bodega, I felt the second plane hit. I felt it. That’s when I knew something was wrong. I won’t retell that tale, we all know it... we saw it replayed on the TV countless times (was it really necessary?)

I took the elevator to my 17^th floor apartment and watched... I watched from the roof, where some of my neighbors had congregated.

I saw thousands of people walking silently, heads bowed, covered in white ash. It was strange to see so many people in one place and feel that silence. I saw people helping one another, stores giving away free water, others helping the wounded. A priest and I helped some who were walking around in shock. I witnessed, that day, the nobility of my fellow New Yorkers. I saw the world unite with us in spirit. I saw the true potential of the human spirit that day, even in the midst of all that carnage and ugliness.

It was what I saw immediately after that scared me. And as it turns out, I had every right to be scared.

I saw the religious whackos in full force before the dust had, handing out pamphlets proclaiming the end of the world. I saw people buy right into that. It was a scary time, and people were confused, easily swayed.

I saw hatred.

The next day, there was a call for volunteers to escort Muslim women and children because they were being attacked. I saw a lot of anger and fear and I feared that there were forces that would use that tragedy to exploit, to manipulate. I witnessed a bellicose and washed up mayor resuscitate his political career while literally standing on the charred bodies of the dead. He has since made millions from the events of 9/11.

I saw an incompetent president take us to a meaningless war and the shredding of the Constitution -- all in the name of all those dead people, in the name of my fellow New Yorkers, all who stood bravely and came together when it was most needed. I saw our leaders take that nobility and turn it into a force for hatred and greed.

I smelled, everyday, that strange smell emanating from the charred pile that was once the Towers. It had a strange smell -- like rotted meet mixed with something else that was totally unidentifiable. I coughed what we began to call the "downtown cough." My lungs have never been the same since that day... Through some degree of separation, everyone one in New York was connected somehow to a death in those towers and I heard the many stories, the sadness...

We must never forget those who died that day, those eight years ago. We must never forget human spirit that arose that day -- that one sliver of light in that day -- where we all came together as one. But we must also never forget that some used that to lead us into darkness.

If we forget that, then all those people will have died for nothing...

Eddie