Professor Elam

2 responses to “The Passion is in the Risk”

1. 

   Ruben Medrano, Sr

   December 18, 2012

   The Passion Is In The Risk: As art, the written word, life, love, romance (not the same as love if you ask me) and everything else in life is about interpretation, let me say that the words “The Passion Is in the Risk” brings memory of just that. (By the way, the blog was interesting and I do remember a time when Austin had more than one train station but the one I remember most was the Amtrak Depot. At some point north of it traveling thru dry counties require that the bar-car close and all drinks be consumed or thrown away. I don’t drink so that is not a problem for me.)
   Back to risk. As a young teen living in the Glen Park subdivision of Gary Indiana, I saw many popular and big gangs kill each other daily, in fact we often talked that we knew what war torn cities were like because we went to bed every night with the sounds of unrelenting gunfire and explosions going on unstopped. If it was not gang versus gang it was gang versus law enforcement of every kind. As it became progressively harder to live safely in the city (Gary ranked murder capital city for many years), people did what they had to do to survive. The stories I can tell you that the newspaper and TV news covered daily made us aware but also scared. It was a horrible way to live.
   When I was 14 years old and attending Lew Wallace High School, I met a man and his wife, Bill and Pat Crowe that ran a local bible study every Wednesday from a little building that used to be a bakery. It was here that they introduced Christ to me and not long after I asked Him to be my Savior. I would go back every Wednesday and helped with the little 6 to 10 year old kids as bible study was held. I eventually made my way to their neighborhoods, talked and played games with them, served cookies and Kool-Aid and even helped with reading, writing, and homework. Eventually I grew up, married, and made my way back to Texas where I was born.
   Ten years later I had to make a trip back to Gary to take care of some personal business at my mom’s house (we had left many things stored in her basement that needed to be moved away because the insurance adjuster would not renew her policy until it was). One evening I decided to go for a walk, something no one ever did voluntarily as crime and danger had greatly intensified even more than when I lived there before. I walked too because I did not drive to Gary, I had no car with me…I arrived there by Amtrak. My mom pleaded that I not venture out, especially into the area I said I was going to visit.
   As I arrived into that area, I saw some very huge, tall, and very muscular black men standing in front of a few houses limiting access to the sidewalk. I say black men because Gary at that time was reportedly over 90% African American…this is not an exaggeration and there were some 20 fellows in the group. It had been known (like the Indians honoring men that showed courage and bravery) that one should not show fear and that crossing the street to where no one was standing would cause attention upon yourself and anger anyone standing on the sidewalk, black men or otherwise. Yet the chance and risk was whether they would honor your bravery by continuing on into their paths undisturbed. I honestly do not remember being scared because as we all know when a person is in their 20s they feel invincible. A part of that was pride. However I can admit that sizing up the risk, calculating risk and non-risk levels flowed thru my brain lightning speed. Perhaps it was human instincts to think that way but my pride would not think otherwise. And as I got closer and closer, the men became more like giants and my small 5’3” frame, 123 pounds wet, was no match for even one muscular arm. It was too late to change my mind I was upon them.
   The passion is in the risk.
   As the young and proud men allowed me to pass because I showed no fear and after passing them by a few feet, it was then that I felt fear; not much but it was fear. I did not get far before a noise was made but it was not a noise. I was being called out by name. I turned to find “all” of the young men racing toward me smiling and reaching out for an embrace. These were once the little boys from the bible study.
   The non-fear is in the risk.
   I spent hours visiting and we talked and talked and they listened to me like I was still their helper, their preacher-boy they used to call me, plenty of “yes sirs” and “no sirs” to go around. Respect deeply rooted, fear unfounded. I did notice that among the group there seemed to be one little boy (which is how I remembered them) missing. When I asked I was told that he was murdered when only 12 or 13. I spent many days and nights wondering what if I had never moved away, could I have kept them all away from trouble, guard and protect them as the brothers I knew them to be. I knew better, but I still felt bad.
   I am glad I took the risk because even though I do not know where any of them are to this day, that day and the days when they were little boys was a risk worth taking, a passion I feel to this day.
   Truly the passion is in the risk.

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2. 

   Dennis Elam

   December 18, 2012

   Ruben
   Your reflections enrich the blog, thanks for a great personal story!

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