The Hobo: Black Fields declares, “Real men wear pink!”

A photo of a pink ribbon in front of a dark pink background.

James Palinsad / Flicker

PREVIOUSLY: Black Fields had to try many psychiatric medications before he found something that helped more than it hurt. Even once he settled on something, Medicaid covered less than half of what Black found he needed each month. Just as he was running out of this month’s supply, his mother called to say she may have cancer. A mammogram had discovered two tumors. He panicked… 

The revelation that Black’s mother may have breast cancer evoked memories of him being lured into participating in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure 10k by the manager of the Starbucks he panhandled outside of. 

The fact that Makeeba, the Starbucks manager, was married didn’t curtail his attraction. It wasn’t his desire to participate, but he was so enamored with the woman that she could have asked him to accompany her to Hell and he would have followed. 

Makeeba picked him up that morning at the Anacostia Metro station. The entire ride she blasted Notorious B.I.G.’s song “Things Done Changed.” Her antics mimicked someone getting amped for a Title Fight or Championship game. She had even looped the last verse, “(bleep!), my momma got cancer in her breast / Don’t ask me why I’m mutha(bleep!) stressed, THINGS DONE CHANGED!” 

There was a booth set up at the starting point where Black was bombarded with pink accessories and informational pamphlets concerning the disease. Not only did he learn about the victims, but he also learned about the four stages of breast cancer and the medical advancements in treatments. 

There was a video playing and he immediately recognized Sandra Lee, the host of the culinary show his mother watched religiously. “They giving out recipes, too?” Black asked the booth attendant. 

“No, she’s beat the disease and now is a spokeswoman for finding the cure,” the young attendant answered. “This is an HBO documentary that chronicles her treatment, ‘Rx: Early Detection, a Cancer Journey With Sandra Lee.’” 

Black was blown away when he found out about the notable individuals who have overcome the disease: Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Janice Dickinson, Shannen Doherty, Sandra Lee, Rita Wilson, Joan Lunden, Giuliana Rancic, Andrea Mitchell, Wanda Sykes, Peter Criss, Christina Applegate, Sheryl Crow, Cynthia Nixon, Melissa Etheridge, Edie Falco, Jaclyn Smith, Suzanne Somers, Carly Simon, Olivia Newton-John, and more. 

“Peter Criss...?” he questioned. That’s when he learned men are susceptible to breast cancer. 

Black picked up a pamphlet filled with photos of notable figures. He had no idea that the “big C”  had torn down impressive women such as Nina Simone and Elizabeth Edwards. 

Memories of his rendezvous with Tina came to mind when he saw Nina Simone’s photo. Black dated Tina when he was 19. She was 22 years his senior and held the title of “Sugar Mama” for more than three years. He never had to worry about how he was going to get the newest Air Jordans when he was with her. Nina Simone’s Greatest Hits CD was always in Tina’s rotation.   

The image of Elizabeth Edwards reminded him of the evening he and Tim were in an alley off Mississippi Avenue smoking a dipper and listening to Majic 102.3. The broadcast was interrupted by the news flash detailing her illness. The two immediately sidestepped discussing her illness to banter about the infidelity of her husband John Edwards, then a U.S. Senator and presidential hopeful.  

More photos included Fannie Lou Hamer, Ingrid Bergman, Bette Davis, Hattie McDaniel, Linda McCartney, Rosalind Russell, Lynn Redgrave, Naomi Sims, Vivian Vance, Dusty Springfield, Marianna Komlos, Rachel Carson, Srividya, Gloria Grahame, Susan Strasberg, Audre Lorde, Patricia Roberts Harris, Julie Ege, Syreeta Wright, and many others.  

“Hattie McDaniel…?” he read aloud. He always felt contrasting emotions of pride and shame when watching her perform in “Gone With The Wind.”  

As the race got underway, Makeeba walked much faster than Black and soon left him behind. He laughed when he thought about deviating from the race at 7th and Pennsylvania. Being as though he had no other interest in the benefit, he bent the corner on D Street, and walked to 2nd Street, to the CCNV homeless shelter. 

There was an open air drug market where, on any given day, nearly a hundred people would be congregated buying, selling and smoking K2, “synthetic marijuana” sold under many different names. They had “Reggie,” which was not that potent. For veterans like Black, they had “Salt and Pepper” that was very potent and, in some cases, lethal. One hustler revealed that his recipe was parsley, charcoal and bath salt. 

[Read more: Continued overdoses drag synthetic marijuana into spotlight]

Black’s intention was to smoke a blunt and meet back up with the race participants. However, he never made it back. He walked to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial and sat on the wall of names of officers killed in the line of duty. The last thing he remembered was firing up the blunt, but that’s it. 

He woke up hours later, still sitting on the wall. His pockets had been picked and his North Face bag was gone. When Makeeba asked him the next day what happened, he said, “I got in the Poop-out van.” This was the vehicle that was in place for individuals who didn’t have the stamina to finish the race. 

As the impact of his mother’s avowal set in, he reminisced about the summer of ’92, when tragedy struck. He had always heard the cliché that “…death strikes in threes.”  

First, his uncle Harold died from an heroin overdose. A few weeks later, his cousin Polo was found riddled with bullets on 52nd Street, NE. His government name was Jamal, but he gained the nickname Polo because he only wore clothing designed by Ralph Lauren. To this day, no one knows who killed Jamal or why. 

These were major disappointments, but he wasn’t really close to either. So moving on wasn’t difficult. The third death was a much more traumatic experience. 

One of Black’s favorite relatives growing up was his “Auntie” Josephine. She was actually his great-aunt on his mother’s side. She was a vibrant and athletic woman, who always took Black on excursions that would include activities such as bike riding, basketball, and swimming. 

Some of his fondest memories were occasions when he would sleep over. He and his cousin Chipmunk, would stay up past midnight playing the original Nintendo NES system. “Tecmo Bowl,” Mike Tyson’s “Punch-Out!!” and “Double Dribble” were the favorites.  

Chipmunk was Josephine’s grandson. Chipmunk’s mother was polysubstance dependent and usually M.I.A. To prevent Chipmunk from being entered into foster care, Josephine took over custody of her grandson. 

Taunting isn’t a strong enough word to describe their antics. Some of the most original trash talking was born in Chipmunk’s room. Black doesn’t know who was the loudest, him and Chipmunk or Auntie Josephine. 

“Y’ALL NEED STOP MAKIN’ ALL ‘DAT DAMN NOISE – I’M TRY’NA GIT SOME SLEEP!” she’d yell periodically. The threat always followed, “IF YOU DON’T, I’M TAKIN’ DAT DAMN GAME AWAY FROM Y’ALL…WATCH!” 

Sure enough, they would hear her heavy footsteps stomping down the hall before she burst through the bedroom door. The ruckus would be silenced as Josephine pulled and tugged at the wires and cords as she removed the Nintendo from the room. “Y’all lil’ (bleep!) gotta git ‘n bed – RIGHT NOW!!!” 

They would always awaken to the aroma of Smithfield Cherrywood bacon and the sounds of WHUR 96.3, or whatever ‘80s R&B she was feeling at the moment. Patti LaBelle was a favorite. 

The bacon, scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, and fruit topped pancakes would always be exquisite. “Ya‘ mama can’t burn like me – can she, Black?” she’d joke while they devoured their rations. 

Josephine and Black’s mother frequently spoke over the phone. He could remember all the chatter surrounding her diagnosis of Stage 4 breast cancer. Soon after, her health and appearance began to deteriorate. 

His heart was shattered the first time he saw her after she had begun radiation treatment. He found it difficult to maintain eye contact. She had lost a significant amount of weight and her long and pretty gray hair had fallen out.  

The last few months of her life were the most difficult to watch. The cancer had spread and the physicians had thrown in the towel. The pain she experienced was constant and consistent. She was put on a round-the-clock morphine drip and given a death sentence of six months or less. 

She always spoke of “bouncing back.” These aspirations would never be fulfilled. In less than two years, the fight was loss and she passed. Black hoped his mother wouldn’t suffer a similar fate.  


To be continued. This is an excerpt of Duane Foster’s manuscript “The Black Fields Chronicles: THE HOBO.


Issues |Health, Physical

information about New Signature, a Washington DC tech solutions and consulting firm

Advertisement

email updates

We believe ending homelessness begins with listening to the stories of those who have experienced it.

Subscribe

RELATED CONTENT