“Mr. Brown, we have a problem.”
It was the kind of call, I dread. Leslie Gill, CEO
of Annie Malone Children and Family Service Center was
on the line. The social service agency
has allowed the Sweet Potato Project to hold classes on its premises. It was
Tuesday and we had just wrapped up our day with a visit to a social engineering
firm in midtown St. Louis. Thankfully, I have three senior students and an
intern with vehicles. So we usually split the group up and have made frequent trips throughout the summer.
There were three students in my car when Gill
called. Apparently another three had
returned to Annie Malone. That wasn’t unusual, some go back to the center to retrieve
their belongings or to get picked up by a parent or friend.
“Someone stole a laptop from the
office next to your classroom,” Gil went on. “She left her office for about 15
minutes and there were only three of your kids here at the time.”
Damnit! In six years of operating
the program, I’ve only had one similar incident. A kid stole a volunteer’s cell
phone from the Catholic school pantry where we held classes at that time. The
student eventually fessed up and we worked out a situation where he could redeem
himself by working a week for free in the pantry. It worked out. the young man and I still chat every now and then. But the initial
feelings of betrayal and lost trust was something I never wanted to experience
again.
Those feelings returned after I
heard about the stolen laptop. Of the three suspected students, I instantly
knew the culprit. He’s often late, he makes up excuses to miss or step outside
class. I’ve had to talk to him about his work ethic.
Still, I gave him the benefit of the
doubt. After all, there were two other possible suspects, one boy and one girl.
I sweated bullets that night grappling with the best way to get the thief to fess
up, return the stolen item and rebuild trust for our program.
“I told you all a few weeks ago,
that two things I can’t stand and will not tolerate is a thief and a liar,” I said
surrounded by the students that Wednesday morning.
When I went into detail, the
students became as angry as me.
“Aw, man, whoever it was makes us all look bad,”
one student responded. “Exactly,” I continued. “One of you did it and perhaps
one or two more know who did it. This is unacceptable and we have to make
this right.”
Everybody, including the kid I
suspected, swore they knew nothing about the laptop. I told them the
police had been called, they took fingerprints so the culprit might as well
confess. I was embarrassed as hell when two Annie Malone staff members came
into the class to talk about the ramifications of stealing their property. The
workers explained that the matter would be dropped if the laptop was returned.
The thief had until the next day (Thursday) to bring the laptop back or there would
be hell to pay.
One of my senior students, Marquita,
asked if she could call out the bandit. She suspected the same student as I,
in fact, most of the students did. I told her “no,” the kid had until the next
day to confess and redeem himself.
My funky mood intensified that evening.
To be honest, I was hurt. This has been a good year for the Sweet Potato
Project. A nice donation from David Steward of World Wide Technology, Inc. allowed
me to focus on the kids and not spend every summer day trying to raise money to
pay them, like the past two years. It’s been a pure joy working with this group.
Yeah, some have real problems, a couple are rock heads or jokesters but they were
opening up. Their essays about the things they’ve learned, the entrepreneurs
and professionals they’ve met and our conversations about reclaiming and
revitalizing disadvantaged neighborhoods had given me (as corny as it may
sound) hope.
You see, I have the honor of working
with young people who live the reality behind sensationalized headlines or
soul-crushing stereotypes. Most know poverty, most have lost a loved one to
senseless violence or treatable illnesses. Most are children who've been hardened by broken educational, criminal justice and economic systems.
They’re ability to navigate chaos while still dreaming big dreams simply amazes
and humbles me.
I had the kids submit sentences or paragraphs
for a collective student pledge. Their creative use of the words “unity, dignity, community
and self-sufficiency” had convinced that they get it, that they’re open to the
impossible. For me, the pledge and our mission had been sullied by this one
deceitful act. The fact that we might not be trusted in the
building angered me immensely.
Their creative use of the words “unity, dignity, community and self-sufficiency” had convinced that they get it, that they’re open to the impossible.
I dreaded the next day even more.
Nobody was going to admit anything, I suspected. By morning, I had decided that
the whole class would have to chip in to replace the computer and I’d fire the
suspected thief, even if he didn’t confess.
As I walked into the center Thursday
morning, the receptionist motioned me into his office. As I opened the door, he
pointed to a laptop on his desk. He told me the name of a female student who had
returned it. She came to class early, he said, remorseful and crying. Something
in her soul, he said, repeating her words, compelled her to return the
computer. She also told him she would not
be returning to class. She was too ashamed.
I was floored. I’d heard the student
had issues at home but she seemed so attentive, engaged, and personable in
class. Besides, one of Annie Malone’s staffers had driven her home that day. Surely, the worker would have noticed a laptop in her possession or some sort
of shady behavior.
The first thing I did Thursday
morning was talk to the boy I immediately suspected of stealing the laptop. I
told him the name of the real thief and apologized for indicting him. His response shamed
me: “Mr. Brown, I remember that day you said you couldn’t stand thieves. I ain’t no thief!”
I thanked him for his honesty and told
him why I thought he was the culprit.
“This is going to happen to you again in the real world unless you step up your
game and stop taking shortcuts.” He promised he would.
I was sorry to hear the offending girl
was not returning. I felt she had redeemed herself. I wanted to use the
incident as a teachable moment. I’d find some way for her to pay a penance but
she would not be fired.
About a half hour later a car pulled
up and the girl I was told had stolen the laptop jumped out. As she headed for the
front door, I called her name. She came over. I said, “thank you for
returning the computer.” She looked at me as if I had cursed her mother. “Returned
what…I didn’t steal anything!”
“Wait, what? I was just told that
you’d came in early, dropped off the computer and apologized.” Again, I got that look. “I just got here. It wasn’t
me,” she insisted.
I went back to the receptionist. He
now realized he'd made a mistake. The girl who brought the laptop back was
not my student. I ran upstairs but it was too late. The poor girl had already
gone up to class where word had spread she was the perpetrator. She walked into
a room of dirty looks and not-so-subtle indictments. I quickly made the announcement
that she had been wrongly accused. Thank goodness, she seemed to understand the
mishap.
We had a “neighborhood walk”
scheduled along the Cherokee strip that day. My mood had improved
significantly. Gil had called me upon arriving to fill me in on the details of
the mysterious theft. Two girls, claiming to be new students of the Sweet
Potato Project, had gone upstairs, and stolen the employee’s laptop. Whatever,
it wasn’t one of my students.
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| Outside Red Guitar Bread on the Cherokee Strip |
After we visited a couple of businesses on the strip and talked about the upswing in the neighborhood and the heavy Latino influence, I took the kids to La Vallesana restaurant and ice cream shop. “Get yourselves a snack,” I jubilantly told them. As I watched them sitting out on the veranda, chatting, writing notes, nibbling ice cream or Mexican food, I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude.
They didn’t betray me. What I’ve seen in them is real, and our pledge means something after all. Everything was as it should be.
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| Snacks on the veranda of La Vallesana on the Cherokee Strip |
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