I Analyze Where I Rest My Eye's.

Toni Morrison told me whenever I write, think of my audience.

Well she ain't never said it to me directly. But she said it.

I thought of these words when I read Bill Maxwell's account of teaching at Stillman college, an HBCU. My muse, texas truth, sent this article to me.

And I have felt a few ways about it. You know. A Black teacher talking about
Black students, is bound to trigger some emotions. Smell me?

I think of this when I read John McWorter and friends.
More about John later.

I present to you The Good, The Bad and The Scandless.

The Good
He believes in HBCU's.
He found the tenacity of the students inspiring.

The Bad
Some of the students look kinda trill.

I became apprehensive when I noticed about a dozen male students wearing baggy pants, oversized white T-shirts, expensive sneakers and assorted bling standing around shooting the breeze. At least two had "jailhouse tats" on their arms, crude tattoos suggesting that these young men had spent time behind bars. They carried no books or anything else to indicate they were on a college campus.

Before the 1964 Civil Rights Act, these schools were the ticket to the good life for blacks. But integration gradually siphoned off many of their best kids, and HBCUs now enroll just 12 percent of all black college students.

Students REFUSED to buy the books.

Unlike the majority of my students at Stillman, though, I was an avid reader. Even at age 13, I knew that I wanted be a writer. I was determined to learn my first day at Wiley, which I attended from 1963 to 1965

The Scandless.

The room was noisy, and two who had been in front of King Hall were horsing around. I put my books on the table and raised an arm for silence. When only a few students paid attention I raised my arm again, and this time I yelled.

"All right, knock it off! Take your seats and be quiet!"

I could not believe that I had to yell for college students to behave in a classroom. This is not going to be a good experience, I thought, unfolding the roster and preparing to call the roll. When I could not pronounce the second name on the list, I knew for sure I was in big trouble. As I fumbled with the strange combinations of alphabets and apostrophes, the class roared.

Cats got jealous of his cake.

By the beginning of my second year, I would find myself alienated from most of the senior administrators and most of the longtime staff members who were responsible for the day-to-day operations of the institution.

My alienation, a colleague told me, was the result of a disease found at most HBCUs: professional jealousy. The college president hired me as the "scholar in residence" on a 10-month contract for a modest salary. Some professors resented the arrangement because they had been there for several years and were earning the same or less.

The Disheartening

At 20 minutes past the hour, a white colleague peeked in and saw me in the otherwise empty room.

"You must've had a serious assignment due?" he said.

We had a big laugh. But it was a painful laugh.

"It's the Stillman way, " he said. "A lot of these kids won't attend class, and, when they do, they walk in late. They're on CPT (Colored People's Time)."

Although I laughed with my colleague, I was ashamed that a white person so easily joked about CPT.

"They don't have intellectual curiosity, " I said. "We weren't like that at Wiley or Bethune-Cookman."

Intellectual curiosity is cultivated from ages 0 months to 5 years.

By the time you get to the kids at 17,18, 19 years old, they are who they are by then.

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It is one thing to be pretty. Its whole nother thang to catch a jawn cuz he think you smart. It is ONE OF THE most affirming feelings ever.

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