What's Newark Got To Do With It?

MY ESSAYS ON BEING FROM AMERICA'S MOST NOTORIOUS CITY (Note: The photo is of my alma mater, Arts High School, in Newark, NJ. America's first visual & performing arts high school) Many older people associate the city of Newark, NJ with the riots of 1967. Like many of the nation’s older industrial cities, Newark is a city of many contrasts and contradictions. Newark boasts being the location of a number of major corporate headquarters, including Prudential Financial, the world’s biggest insurance company, Audible, the world's largest producer of downloadable audiobooks and Mars Wrigley, the world’s leading manufacturer of chocolate, chewing gum, mints, and fruity confections. Newark, established in 1666, is the nation's third-oldest city, behind only New York and Boston. Newark's Branch Brook Park, designed by the Olmsted Brothers, was established in 1895, which makes it the nation's oldest county park. Branch Brook Park also has the largest collection of flowering cherry trees in the U.S., some 4,300 in all, as compared to the 3,800 or so planted around D.C.'s Tidal Basin. Opening in 1928, Newark Liberty International Airport is the nation’s oldest airfield and home to the nation’s first commercial airline terminal. Famous Newarkers, such as the author Philip Roth, painted an idyllic, heart-warming vision of the city when he was growing up in the 1940’s and 1950’s. Another famous Newarker, the author and playwright, LeRoi Jones, from the same generation as Roth, wrote similar stories about growing up there, early in his career. Roth moved out of Newark as a young man and Jones remained, later to become Amiri Baraka, Newark’s Black revolutionary artist and political leader. These essays are of my life as a Black male born in 1953, raised in Newark and whose life continues to be informed by the wonderful and turbulent times spent in and around this dynamic American city. Roger C. Tucker III

[whatsnewarkgottodowithit]

Me and Doug in our PAL uniforms in the early 60’s.

Entry no. 4

Early Sports

Not sports, like Doug. I really was a very poor athlete when it came to anything that required a coordinated skill, like throwing a ball, shooting baskets, etc.. Why it seemed so effortless for him and such a challenge for me was always very apparent. It was never a big deal. Big Reggie would practice with us, give direction, and/or give praise, but never any harsh pronouncements as to why I was so sad and Doug was so good. It just was how we were. I did better in school and art. Doug naturally excelled in sports. And he could draw too.

Along with Doug I joined the local PAL (Police Athletic League) baseball team when we were around 10 and 11 years old. We had green and grey uniforms and played in the field down the street (and later, from another apartment; across the street) from our house. Big Reggie bought us baseball gloves, bats and baseballs. We practiced throwing, hitting and catching on the weekends when the family went to Branch Brook Park for picnics. Or we practiced in the yard attached to the house. Keep your eye on the ball when catching fly balls, following through with your pitching and/or throwing the ball from the outfield to the infield, step back a little from the plate when you’re at bat, place your glove on the ground in anticipation of catching the grounders, etc.. Basic stuff.

I was relegated to playing left field. Left fielders usually had weaker arms and they do not have to throw the ball as far to prevent the advance of baserunners. I remember praying that the ball would not be hit out to me for fear that I would not be able to catch it on the fly or retrieve the grounders and throw them back accurately and quickly. I played for at least one season and no one demanded that I be thrown off the team or anything as embarrassing as that. I always forgot there was usually someone on the team who was worse than me.It was hard for me to believe then, but no one was giving me too much attention for my poor skills. I just knew that I’d be the near the last ones chosen when teams were being picked for local sports, in and out of school.

Pop Warner football was a big deal when I was in elementary school. I decided that I’d try out as a tackle. No catching or throwing required. Just strength and the ability to know/remember which hole the runner or the quarterback was coming through so that I’d be there to take down the defensive tackles heading towards us or break the line of the other team to take down their quarterback or runners.

Grueling practices and punishing scrimmages to see who would make the team. I went home sore and tired after practice but I was determined to make the team. When the day came for the announcements who made the team I was surprised and proud to find out I made it. That was enough for me. I didn’t return to practice the next day to prepare for playing for the upcoming season. I turned in my equipment and told the coach I had other commitments that would not allow me to play on the team.

Doug was outstanding on the Pop Warner team he played for. A terrific receiver and runner. He was fast and fearless. It was great cheering him on at Newark School Stadium which was across the street from our elementary school, First Avenue. He made the papers. Doug was headed for greatness when he graduated and went on to our neighborhood school, Barringer High.

I chose another path. I found out, from whom I’m not sure, that the city had a special high school for students interested in either Art or Music. And those courses would be integrated in a college curriculum that would prepare you for college. You had to take a test, either for art or music, and a general studies test for English or Math. Some of the city’s smartest students from all of the wards in Newark took the test. I went for art and was accepted on the first attempt.

Not that I was going to be an artist. Nope. I’d get to study art, that I loved, but I was going to be doctor, most probably. It was pretty well expected within my family that I was smart and the smartest students in any family, especially a working middle class family like mine, were expected to attend medical school or law school after graduating from high school.

Opportunities in corporate professions were not fully understood in my family or among my best friends. We didn’t have family relatives or friends of theirs that worked in corporations or other institutions that were at the top of our career lists. Sure, there teachers and principals but we could dream beyond these careers associated with the early part of the century for poor people. The civil rights battles and subsequent wins of the late 60’s and early 70’s gave us permission to dream higher.

[whatsnewarkgottodowithit]

Entry no.3

A Case of Mistaken Identity?

The North Ward’s First Avenue Elementary School: My initial episodes entering the forth grade at this new school, included a couple of fights in the playground with one of the school’s toughs, Robert R. He insisted on calling me a nigger. We punched, wrestled a little and were pulled off of each other by some of our classmates. We later became friends, sort of, and the name-calling was pretty much relegated to my classmates’ older siblings. Like when we were playing touch football on the lawn of the school and an older brother of one of the guys says “Why are you playing football with these niggers?” One of our friends says something like “Oh, they’re not niggers. This is Roger and his brother Douglass.”

My brother and I were in the minority there. Like 1% of the total student population, K-8th grade. 

Things in the classroom were fairly decent. I realized that my skipping into the fourth grade wasn’t much of a disadvantage, not with my grades being the highest in the class. One of the guys, possibly Robert R., whispered during a test “hey Tucker, what’s the answer to number 4?” I whispered, like the geek I was, “ I can’t tell you that. This is a test.” 

My first opportunity to really shine beyond the academics was to show the class my art talent. 

And the opportunity presented itself when Ms. Kaplowitz handed out some drawing paper and asked us to draw a portrait of our neighbor, who in my case was Stephen D. We started to draw and I decided a profile of Stephen was the easiest. My drawing of him was good. I didn’t pay much attention to how he was doing drawing me until he held it up and asked me what I thought. 

The portrait on his paper, that was supposed to be me, looked like a cartoon. Jet black, big white lips and, the kicker, a bone in my nose! How the hell did he come up with this shit? I snatched the drawing out of his hand and went up to show Ms. Kaplowitz what the stupid and offensive drawing he made of me. She could barely hold back a laugh and then, with an appropriate scowl she said, “ Roger, I don’t think Stephen meant to be mean (or something like this).” She took the drawing and returned it to Stephen. 

Where the hell did he get the idea that I looked like that? Then, later, at home, on the Saturday morning cartoons, I saw that same character running across the TV screen with other similar looking characters wearing grass skirts, pursued by a lion. So, Stephen never really saw what I looked like. Or, when asked to draw me, or anyone else who was Black, he fell back on the cartoon images of what was supposed to be Black people. It wasn’t funny or inappropriate to him. It was upsetting and unforgettable for me. 

[whatsnewarkgottodowithit]

Entry no.2

Learning how to draw better…

              Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we               grow up. ~Pablo Picasso

As long as I can remember I liked to draw and I was often told that I drew well. So, around the 5th or 6th grade I figured that I needed to take this talent to the next level.

On the cover of a matchbook was the drawn profile of man with the words “Draw Me” above it. On the back of the matchbook it said that if you entered the sketch of the drawing and if it was picked by a group of judges you’d win a couple of hundred dollars towards a commercial art course and you could also win a scholarship to the college of your choice. Sweet!

I made a couple of attempts at drawing this guy and they weren’t very successful. I asked my Mom if she could help me. With a couple of strokes she completed the drawing that was dead-on to the drawing on the matchbook! She broke the drawing down to a few simple strokes for me to follow. I then mailed my best attempt to the address provided and received a letter in the mail some weeks letter that I was the winner of the contest. All I had to do was to add hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars to my $250 winnings to receive a scholarship to the school of my choice or, for learn-to-draw art lessons from their company. No cash winnings would be forwarded to me. This was my introduction to the “bait-and-switch” kind of advertising that continues to be offered today. Oh well.

What I discovered, more importantly, was that my artistic talent came directly from my Mom. I never associated her dress making, drape making skills, etc. with those of an artist but I do now. We never had discussions about our mutual talent. It was just a matter of fact that I drew well and that art would be a talent that I would always enjoy and employ throughout my years in and out of school.

[whatsnewarkgottodowithit]

Entry no.1

Many older people associate the city of Newark, NJ with the riots of 1967. Today it is listed as one of the 10 most distressed large cities in the nation. Like many of the nation’s older industrial cities, Newark is a city of many contrasts and contradictions.

Newark, established in 1666, is the nation's third-oldest city, behind only New York and Boston. Newark's Branch Brook Park, designed by the Olmsted Brothers, was established in 1895, which makes it the nation's oldest county park. Branch Brook Park also has the largest collection of flowering cherry trees in the U.S., some 4,300 in all, as compared to the 3,800 or so planted around D.C.'s Tidal Basin. Opening in 1928, Newark Liberty International Airport is the nation’s oldest airfield and home to the nation’s first commercial airline terminal. Audible.com, the world's largest producer of downloadable audiobooks, is based in Newark.

Famous Newarkers, such as the author Philip Roth, painted an idyllic, heart-warming vision of the city when he was growing up in the 1940’s and 1950’s. Another famous Newarker, the author and playwright, LeRoi Jones, from the same generation as Roth, wrote similar stories about growing up there, early in his career. Roth moved out of Newark as a young man and Jones remained, later to become Amiri Baraka, Newark’s Black revolutionary artist and political leader.

These essays are of my life as a Black male born in 1953, raised in Newark and whose life continues to be informed by the wonderful and turbulent times spent in and around this dynamic American city.