Crime and Justice • [Extra]Ordinary People

In 1985, I presented an anti school-bullying/anti racism speech at Cleveland inner city high school. The Ohio school was so notorious for student violence, the Principal who had hired me suggested I park in fenced-in teachers parking lot, met by, escorted in by school security guard.

The high school was predominantly black, and after my hour of insightful stories many students approached my table to see the objects related to those stories. The black students said they had never heard a white man speak so passionately, compassionately about bullying, but especially racism! I had responded “I’m a humanitarian who desires America to live its pledge of ‘All men being created equal!’”

After my speech, the security guard helped me carry my presentation materials to my car. Not long after he parted, down through the cars came a black youth with hands in coat pockets, walking rapidly toward me. He had suddenly pulled out a pistol, aiming it at my face! He in a shaky voice demanded “Give me your money!” “What money?” I asked. “The money you got for that speech!” Looking past the gun into the youth’s uneasy eyes, I sighed “My speech was free.” My words stunned him. I’ve worked with many troubled kids and could read in his timid uncertainty and reluctance, he was new to this life of crime. “What ya got in your wallet?” I pulled out my wallet and said, “I have twenty-five bucks and need five for gas to get home…so I’ll make you a deal…” “A DEAL!?” He scoffed. “Just listen, I don’t think your heart’s in this and that being an old gun, here’s the deal. If you let me buy the gun, you get twenty bucks and it’s not a robbery; it’s a business deal!?” He slightly lowers the gun. “What the Hell ya talkin’ about? Why would ya want the damn gun?” “Cause as you just heard in there, I collect stories and objects to represent them. If I buy the gun off someone so they don’t have to rob me, IT’S A GREAT STORY!” The gun slowly moves off me. “You’re crazy man!?” “No, I’m not crazy; I’m a humanitarian in a crazy world…SELL ME THE GUN?” The puzzled, but bemused youth looks to the side, and back at me shaking his head in disbelief. “GIVE ME THE DAMN TWENTY!” I give him the ten, five and ones, which he holds out front of him for a few seconds as looks me in the eye… then hands me the gun. “Damn thing ain’t loaded and don’t even work if it was!”

Stuffing the money in the pocket where the gun had been, he slowly turned and walked back through the cars. At fence he had climbed inte the teachers parking lot, the youth turned for one last look at me, shook his head, before climbed fence and disappeared over it.

Ten years later, I was in my yard working on my Temple of Tolerance, when a young man approached and said to me “Are you still telling the story about buying a gun from a would-be robber?” He had this wry smile on his face. “Yeah, you like that story?” “Love it, THE ROBBER ROBBED OF HIS ROBBING WAS MY BROTHER!”

He told me he had come to explain why his brother had tried to rob me that fateful day in Cleveland. “He was no bad kid, we were poor and our little sister was sick and needed this operation and you were the first person he’d decided to rob with Gramp’s gun to get the operation money. You Jim, buyin’ that gun and way ya treated him, ended his life of crime before it got started! Thought you’d like to know this, Jim.” I asked him why hadn’t his brother come himself and told me this? “He’d told me in his last letter he had planned to once he was home from the war in Iraq. but he was killed a decorated soldier over there! So I decided to come and tell you for him; and thank you for what you did for him, for what you had done for our whole family!” We hugged and parted.

Next day at a Lima, Ohio high school, I told THE GUN STORY… feeling that youth had been up there on that stage with me!