IBO, Brian R. Lundin [the ebook reader .txt] 📗

They passed on to the board the resident’s complaints and suggestions. Mrs. Robinson was a third generation resident and she received a fifty percent discount on her rent for serving as the Director of the Robert Taylor Homes Local Advisory Council.
Mrs. Robinson was a large woman, but attractive. She was always well dressed and was sincere in her concerns about the residents. Her youngest son, Ricky was fourteen when gunned down by a rival gang. At her son’s funeral, three of the gang members who killed her son came into the funeral parlor during the services and shot him three times while he lay in the casket. Before they could escape, they were caught by Malik, Cinque and two Simbas. Their bodies were never found. Mrs. Robinson welcomed the idea of a party and told Malik she would get some of the women to do the cooking. Malik contacted the Commander of the 2nd District Police station and he agreed to have his beat officers give the area special attention.
Before the fourth the CHA sent cleanup crews to the Robert Taylor Homes. The crews removed the bottles, crack pipes and hypodermic needles that covered the grounds. All the garbage in the dumpsters was emptied and the fire lanes wash down. The CHA iron shop made five-gallon barbeque pits that could hold ten slabs of ribs and a local hardware store had donated four Weber Grills. The State Street Boys had purchased all the food, games and soft drinks. All of the residents wanted to participate in the event and they donated greens, corn bread, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, pies and cakes. Men and women gathered around the grills preparing and cooking the meats using their secret recipes.
The smell of barbeque ribs, chicken, sausages, hot dogs and hamburgers permeated the Robert Taylor Homes. The young children who were usually not allowed in the playground swung on the swings and slid down the sliding boards. A boom box played the latest rap music and the teenagers danced to the beat. Young people, men and women gathered in small groups displaying their latest rap songs. Uniformed police officers walking through the crowd, were served food and drinks, and for the first time in a long time did not have to worry about being attacked.
Pops closed down the drug operation and the dealers and their crew was huddled together through the development. Pops had instructed Cinque to station his Simbas in strategic locations for security. Malik invited Reverend James and his congregation to the event. The reverend blessed the food and stayed for a long time. Pops and Malik sat on a bench and watched the activities.
“It’s good to hear children laughing and watching them have a good time,” Pops said.
“Yep, it sure is, they have so little to be happy about,”
“This was a great idea, my man, great,” Pops said giving Malik the gang sign.
“It good to give something back, to make friends with the people, to let them know someone cares about them and like you said it’s good public relation.”
“Right on.”
The partying lasted until late in the evenings and a good time was had by all and thanks to the police, and the Simbas there was not any trouble.
After the shooting Pops decided that they should lie low for a while but Malik continued to sell drugs from his spot until he received a letter from Harvard, the University had accepted him into the program. The letter instructed him to report for freshman orientation on the August 24, 2005 in two weeks.

Chapter 22

Malik was met at the airport by a tall lanky light skinned black man wearing a pair of brown slacks that needed pressing and a Harvard sweater over a white shirt.

“Hi, I’m Hussan Ali, Welcome to Harvard.”
“Thank you sir, I’m glad to be here.”
“I understand you‘re from Chicago, I grew up in the projects in Virginia Beach.
“Really, I grew up in the projects in Chicago.
Malik liked the young man who talked his language and seemed to be street smart.
“I know you've been to the campus before for your interview, but if you are not too tired I’ll give you a brief tour of the campus and show you some of the sights. Harvard University is one of the most esteemed and oldest institutions in the United States. John Harvard of Charleston, Virginia founded the university in 1636. Harvard, the college first benefactor, was a young minister who died in 1638, and left half his estate to the university. During the early years the only curriculum offered was a classical curriculum based on the ones given to the elite in England, modest but consistent with puritan philosophy. Many of the early graduates became ministers although the university has never been formally associated with a specific religious denomination.
You will share a room with another first year student, in Harvard Yard, during your first year. Each hall has a dining facility, library and classrooms. During your sophomore, junior and senior year, you can pledge for one of the 12 residences known as houses. Each house named in honor of a distinguished alumnus or administrator accommodates approximately 350 students. The dorms are nice and run by the master of the house usually a faculty member and his wife. The rooms are big and have two beds, two computers, and two desks, everything you need to get a good start. There is a lot of history here at Harvard; six presidents; John and John Quincy Adams, Theodore and Franklin D. Roosevelt, Rutherford B. Hayes and my favorite, John F. Kennedy were all graduates of this institution.
Ali took Malik on a tour of the campus grounds. He pointed out the Harvard Library whose system is the oldest in the United States and has 13 million volumes, manuscripts and microfilms. He pointed out Harvard Stadium, the home of the Harvard Crimson football team which seats 38,000 fans who root loudly against their arch rival Yale University.
The grounds were spotless, no paper, beer cans, or broken bottles had ever touched these grounds Malik thought.
Most of the students were walking and talking in small groups or riding their bikes, some were sitting on the grass reading books. One very attractive black young woman was playing classical violin, and he also noticed how they all seemed to all know Hussan Ali judging by the hellos and waves he received wherever they went. Shortly they pulled in front of the dormitory. It was a huge brick three-story building. It looked freshly painted and sandblasted. The driveway and lawn looked as clean as the rest of the campus, spotless. On each side of the driveway was a flower garden, which reminded him of the scene from the Wizard of Oz. When they arrived at his dormitory a distinguished looking, black couple greeted them at the door.
”Malik, I would like to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Gates, they are the masters of the dormitory,” Ali said.
Mr. Gates welcomed Malik, “Welcome Malik come on in,” he said as he shook Malik’s hand warmly,
“Do not worry about the luggage we will have someone bring it up to your room, welcome to your new home,” Mr. Gates said.
Hussan Ali says to Malik as he was leaving, “Ok Malik, you're in good hands now, I’ll see you later.”
“Thank you sir for the ride and the tour,” Malik said shaking Ali’s hand.
As Malik enters the dormitory, he notices the pictures on the walls of the six United States Presidents who attended Harvard.
“Come on Malik, you're in luck, your roommate hasn’t arrived yet, so you get first pick of the beds,” Mr. Gates said smiling.
The room was as Doctor Ali described and shortly a young man brought Malik luggage to the room.
”Malik meet Bill, he's the caretaker of the house.”
Bill shaking Malik's hand said, “Nice meeting you Malik, if you need anything let me know.”
Mr. Gates tells Malik “I’ll let you get unpacked and organized, dinner is usually served about 6:00 pm, but if you’re hungry I’ll have a sandwich sent up.
“No thank you sir, I ate on the plane,” Malik said.
“What does Hussan do around here? Malik asked.
“He’s the dean of our Black History Department, a very interesting guy, I would suggest you take one of classes,” Mr. Gates responded.
Malik sat on the bed and looked out of the window. It was a nice day warm but not too hot. Everything was neat and orderly, the grass was cut and the hedges trimmed. He noticed two young white men sitting on a bench playing chess, another young white man and woman were sitting on the grass laughing and talking, and three young girls were sitting on the grass whispering and laughing about things only young girls whispered and laughed about. There were no gunshots, no drug hawkers, no dirty children running around, and no police sirens. He felt for the first time in his young life, safe and relaxed, he dozed off.
Malik was awakening when Mr. Gates came into the room with a tall, very dark skinned young man with sharp facial features and a big smile on his face. He was wearing an expensive three-piece suit of pin-stripped blue flannel, a brown fedora, cocked at a jaunty angle. In his left hand was a black leather attaché case. As Malik got up from the bed, he stumbled, for his legs had gone to sleep also. The young man grabbed him and hugged him snugly, beneath the expensive shirt and pants Malik could feel the muscles and the strength of the young man.
“Smiling, Mr. Gates said, Malik, meet your roommate Dikimbo Montovo.”
“Nice meeting you Dikimbo.”
“Please call me Diki, nice meeting you Malik, I hear we are going to be roommates.”
Diki had a big smile on his face that lit up the room with two rows of the most brilliant, perfect teeth he had ever seen they seemed to sparkle like a television commercial.
“Yes it does,” Malik said.
“It is my honor to share this room with you my brother, I’m sure we will learn from each other as well as from this fine university.”
Mr. Gates tells Diki and Malik, “I'll leave you two to get acquainted, Dikimbo your bags will be up shortly, and dinner is in an hour.”
Dikimbo embraces Mr. Gates in a big bear hug and thanks him for everything. Shortly after Mr. Gates left, Bill brought up Dikimbo luggage; he had to use three luggage carts. Malik notice the expensive looking suits, shirts, and pants as Diki got them out of the suitcases.
“Look likes your closet to small,” Malik said.
“You think I have enough clothes,” Diki said smiling.
“Yeah, I think so, here put some of them in my closet,” Malik said, helping Diki hang his clothes in the closet,
“Thank you my brother,” Diki said.