“I’ve had enough,” the 64-year-old entrepreneur said in a fatigued voice.
“I don’t need this. Enough is enough.”
For as long as I can remember, the retailer had serviced customers at his Northside store with a smile and quick conversation.
The neighborhood youngsters found him to be an easy mark for a free candy bar—which he usually provided with a lecture about the importance of education or respect for adults.
And neighbors could get an occasional handout or hand up when they had no other options.
The graduation photos of neighborhood youngsters which adorned the wall behind the cash register attested to the business culture and its longevity.
For the stately Black entrepreneur, his shop was more than a business. It was a meeting place, a church, a fraternity hall, and a fireplace.
Residents of a nearby senior complex would stop by to say hello or chat about current events.
Neighbors would detour to the establishment to catch up on the latest gossip or to converse about personal achievements or setbacks.
Even when an Arab/Indian entrepreneur opened a competing business a couple blocks away, the African American entrepreneur didn’t fret; his customers were loyal and would continue to utilize and purchase from him even if the competition was cheaper.
It’s not merely prices that draw people to the institution. It was customer service as well.
The businessman, a year away from being eligible to draw Social Security, had planned to stay in business as long as possible.
It wasn’t a matter of money, but the communal comradery, the opportunity to impact a few lives that drew him to work each day.
In fact, running the store was never considered ‘work.’ It was more of a hobby.
That commitment, however, was cut short last week.
For the second time within a year, the shop owner faced a gun, and as he now says, “Who needs it?”
Moments after opening up on a recent Saturday morning, two men entered the story, one of whom temporarily occupied the owner’s attention while his partner crept up behind him.
As the Black senior turned to assist the first man, the second pressed a large semi-auto to the back of his head.
It was not the first time the brother had been robbed, but something about these two men sent chills down the entrepreneur’s spine.
Maybe it was the desperation in their eyes or the tone of their voices. For a second, he feared for his life, not because he would be stupid enough to resist or try to disarm, but because there was little money in the cash register, and excuses may have led to a shooting.
In any event, the incident was enough to convince the lifelong businessman to accept the reality that it was better to accept the safety of retirement then to continue until the next time he was held up at gunpoint. The outcome may not be the same as the previous hold-up.
The horrific experience did what hard times, a pandemic, and changing cultural norms could not.
The robbery upset the brother to the point he would now live on social security and the few dollars he had saved over the years.
Having worked since childhood, the senior brother was accustomed to being active. The thought of watching television, planting gardens, or even doing volunteer work didn’t excite him. But at least he would be alive.
I relate to this incident for two reasons: The entrepreneur assumed a unique role in our community; he was both a griot and an advocate. He was a cornerstone, and his departure will create a void that will not be filled, even though we can understand his rationale.
Losing a community institution is like losing a member of your immediate family; it hurts.
Secondly, the incident invoked several emotions that may last indefinitely.
“I’m angry. I’m frustrated. And I’m jealous. I’m angry that I spent most of my life living in an area where I had to look over my shoulder.
“Angry because I have to spend a percentage of my check on burglar alarms instead of a college fund for my children.
“I’m angry because I was forced to pay for private schooling for my children when there are government schools all around me, albeit schools where teachers had low expectations, didn’t offer culturally relevant educational modes, and were more interested in the welfare of the adult than the child they were created to serve.
“I’m angry because many churches have to use the offerings for security.”
And I’m damn furious not only because this friend is the latest ‘statical victim,’ but also because as sure as God’s grass turns green in the summertime, nearly every community resident will be victimized by crime during their lifetimes.
I’m also perturbed because it wasn’t solely as an avenue for a father/son comradery that I enrolled my sons in karate training at Sabir’s Kempo Goju.
It was also because I wanted to provide them with the ability to protect themselves and their families.
I’m angry because I felt safer in Vietnam than in some areas of our community. And I will face the same challenge of pulling the trigger.
Frustration is swelling within me because I don’t know what else to do.
I’ve taught. I’ve preached. And I’ve beseeched.
I’ve dedicated time to the community I should have for my family. I spent my entire adult life working for a small Black business for which there are few rewards.
Unlike the African American senior, I don’t, and actually can’t, think about retirement. And the older I get, the more I reflect on what happened in my life and what should have happened.
I’m frustrated because when I moved into my first home, I could leave my front door open and my mower on the lawn without fear of it being stolen.
I’m frustrated because I ran into a friend recently who offered to sell me a computer, and If I could have proven it was hot, I would have been forced tocall the police on him.
I continue, baffled by the stupidity of people who buy hotgoods.
Obviously, they know theiractions are fueling crime. Is itbecause they don’t care or feel itis part of our culture? And if so,what does that mean for our culture? (Which we don’t evenbenefit from, let alone OWN!)
Don’t they realize I would beforced to do serious bodilyharm if I ran into the personwearing my wedding ring,stolen from my house? (Don’task me why it wasn’t glued tomy finger.)
And I’m aggrieved becausewe are losing more Black businesses than we are growing.
We had a major grocery store,two banks, dozens of dry cleaners, and gas stations not longago.
Now we are forced to leaveour community to get basicneeds. Pick N’ Save is the onlymajor grocery in our community. No department stores,movie theaters, or auto dealerships.
And I’m completely takenaback because drugs are asreadily available as those red-dyed hot snacks at the cornerstore. There are enough guns inour community to arm the Ukrainian army.
I’m jealous because I hearsome people can live in safeneighborhoods. I’m also jealousbecause I wasn’t born in a different time or place wherepeople cared about each otherand refused to allow their communities to deteriorate orpeople (usually our own folks)to terrorize them.
One more Black merchantwas forced to give up hisdream. Another robbery in theBlack community adds to ourstatus as the worst city for African Americans in the UnitedStates of America.
Take note if you feel compassion or concern about where weare headed.
When the cornerstones leave,the foundation weakens. Unlessreinforced, it will soon collapse.
Hotep.
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