Samson LeBlanc, the Black son of a field worker father and a maid mother, was drunk on the arrogance of perceived acceptance and blinded by the blazing promise of equality.
He raised his cup with the elite rowing crews at Princeton, Harvard, and Yale and bonded with the offspring of billionaires, presidents, statesmen, and celebrities.
His hope for the future was boundless, and his ambition was an endlessly accelerating rocket.
Continue reading “Varda May Atkins by Frederick K Foote”
My mother told me, “Clovis Clayton Holiday, you gonna be the death of me with the way you do the things you do.”
My father instructed me, “Clovis, son, sometimes you have to go along to get along, you understand?”
My older sister, Nora, scolded me, “Clo, Negro, you can’t just go and do anything you want to do. You got to follow the rules.”
Nelda, my younger sister, declared, “Clo, You, too weird to be my brother. I disown your Black ass.”
Continue reading “Clovis Clayton Holiday by Frederick K Foote”
Ruston Walker
“How are you, cousin?” That’s what I said to the tall, willowy, aloof blonde, the only other passenger on the elevator that morning,
Continue reading “Somalia by Frederick K Foote”
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