Maroon White Me at Morehouse’s Music Party

Introductory note: My writing is composed like a crossword puzzle of sorts. Intended to bring out the creative juices in the reader. And honoring Emily’s injunction: Tell all the Truth but tell it slant –

Maroon White Me at Morehouse’s Music Party
by o’xman (without any editing whatsoever here)

What is it about what’s going on, not going on at Morehouse without me?

There It Is
by Jayne Cortez

And if we don’t fight
if we don’t resist
if we don’t organize and unify and
get the power to control our own lives
then we will wear
the exaggerated look of captivity
the stylized look of submission
the bizarre look of suicide
the dehumanized look of fear
and the decomposed look of repression
forever and ever and ever
And there it is…

Doesn’t matter, not at all, that my politics and yours aren’t aligned. For what I’m about, bottom line, is not replacing white rooks with red ones, or black bishops with green pieces. Rather, in the educational realm and beyond, I’m only focused on upsetting the uneven, toxic game board which we’re playing on, on which many say we’re being splayed.

Act I

The Music Party I want to propose to the powers that be in the Political Science Department of Morehouse is something that I’ll put aside for the moment… hoping to be invited to engage with core people in that quarter in person. Such a rendezvous is really the only kind of setting which allows for in-depth Q&A, the kind which is necessary to truly… seriously… consider something unprecedented. Which what I have to offer. I have a background in Dramatic Art, and so this paragraph suffices as is for me for now… as kind theatrical curtain… setting up my audience for Act II.

No one brings up Morehouse in my presence without Dr. Martin Luther King resonating. Deeply. For I was at Riverside Church in ‘67, already 24… already with over two years of university teaching behind me. With students from Bronx Community College in tow along with former students from Rutgers - The State University of New Jersey, I absorbed something which has never left me.


I returned to helping students at so-called institutions of higher education nationwide to avoid the draft. What a bad boy I was.

But speaking of Rutgers, I should underscore that — in my core — I don’t often think of Rutgers these days without Paul Robeson coming to mind. For I was at Peekskill in 1949 too… where I met Pete Seeger and his family for the first time. And where I saw Eugene Bullard almost beaten to death, not far from where Paul Robeson was trying to… stay alive.

Well, he remains alive… in me. And elsewhere, I’m sure. But among a dwindling number. And it’s my mission for all that’s glorious, all that was given to me courtesy of Lorraine and Jimmy and Josephine and August and Paul and Martin to NOT go down the Memory Hole.

I spoke with someone from Morehouse today who wasn’t sure who Howard Zinn was. Howard, the supreme alternative historian without whose works Morehouse’s new Peace Studies library will surely suffer, MUST be part of whatever Morehouse is contemplating with their program. A former prof at Spelman, his roots alone warrant inclusion, but… I’m in a position to not only donate ALL of his collected works, I could curate the collection.

All else being equal. Which is, granted, rarely the case in life.

Which is my point here, perhaps.

That I can bring light to a very dark fact. What I was born to do at Morehouse.

Et Facta. Est Lux.

Act III (”No Peace Without Justice… and Sustainable Lifestyles)