Blood on the Leaves Part 35

Reynolds descended the steps of the humanities building and stopped at the bottom to observe a campus divided by walkways and magnolia trees and race. He watched groups of blacks and whites move in different directions, oblivious to the conditions that perpetuated their invisibility to each other. He proceeded down the path that would lead him away from the university and closer to a shared fate Matheson had attempted to disavow: In the end, we are all our brother's keeper. And when we deny that, we lose hope and so much more.

For some strange reason Reynolds recalled a hymn composed by Duke Ellington. Perhaps he'd last heard it sung at the Reverend Matheson's church ages ago: "Lord, dear Lord above, G.o.d Almighty, G.o.d of love, please look down and see my people through."

He never felt the tear leave his eye, nor did he notice it fall to the ground to be quickly absorbed by summer's arid earth. This time there'd be no trace that justice had wept-only the burning desire to relinquish the pain.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

This has been a long and interesting journey from Harlem to Marina del Rey. There are many people I've met along the way, to whom I owe much.

I offer my grateful appreciation to Rick Horgan, vice president and executive editor, Warner Books, for his support, a.s.sistance, and willingness to test his own a.s.sumptions.

Many years ago, I chose to attend a small state-supported college rather than accept invitations from a number of more "prestigious" private inst.i.tutions that wanted me, not for my talent, but for my racial profile. My experience at Framingham State College brought me into contact with some of the most dedicated, idealistic, and decent people I've ever known. I want to thank them for giving me their guidance and the motto "Live to the Truth." I've tried my best to find it and to share it with others, whether they wanted it or not.

To my friends and colleagues in the Ma.s.sachusetts State College system and at the California State University, I'll be forever grateful to you for your kindness, support, encouragement, and love. I regret I had to leave education in order to be an educator; perhaps I can return one day.

In the mid-seventies, the students of the Black Artists Union at the Ma.s.sachusetts College of Art taught me the importance of the artist and, through their sacrifice and courage, inspired me to say "no" when saying "yes" would have been so much easier. To Brenda Walcott, Ricardo Gomes, and the students who never compromised their values or distorted our history, I'm eternally in your debt.

To those actors, directors, artistic staff, and most importantly, audiences, who made each of my plays live-both on and off the stage. Their support has sustained me through the most difficult moments and made it possible for me to enjoy and more fully appreciate the best of times.

At an early age, I discovered and devoured everything James Baldwin ever wrote. I never knew, nor did I expect, to join his honored profession. It was simply enough to follow his vision of how the world might be if we lived with integrity, compa.s.sion, and love. I owe him my respect and admiration, and I apologize for taking so long to finally pay the price of the ticket.

To my friends from Natick High, some of whom I've recently rediscovered, thanks for convincing me I could sing, when all I really could do was dance.

To the Los Angeles Black Playwrights and Los Angeles Actors' Theater Playwright's Lab, both no longer in existence-but, for me, never gone-thanks for helping to develop the craft and nurturing the pa.s.sion.

Lastly, to those who offered love, and allowed me the privilege of loving them back; especially my family, in particular, Raoul, Troy, and Anwar-they're the only heroes I will ever need and the princ.i.p.al reason I have dared to dream.

end.