On God, Faith and 40 Projects, Queens, NY

She was one of nine; light complected, slim and beautiful. Pictures taken of her, back in the day, remind me of Dorothy Dandridge. She definitely looked like a movie star. She was the eldest daughter of a Baptist minister and "sharecropper", (another word for tenant-farmer). It meant that she and her family were allowed to live on the landowner's land, as long as they agreed to work his fields and harvest his crops. Her family members were devout followers of the Baptist faith.

He, on the other hand, was dark and strong with wavy hair. He was the only child of a broken marriage, and he dreamed of life in the fast lane. He too had been raised in the Baptist faith. Both of them had come to New York from South Carolina looking for a better life. She had come from Greenville, he from Aiken. She didn’t know when she married him that he had a fondness for heroin. She also didn’t know that this fondness would become a lifelong battle for his soul. But, she did know that she was carrying his baby and he made her laugh.

When I was born, we lived in the upstairs apartment of a two-story two-family house in South Ozone Park, Queens, New York. Before my second birthday, the couple downstairs was murdered. Or rather, he killed her and then himself. I was too young to understand this, and had not yet begun to question God, or my family’s faith. We moved shortly after that.

I remember the first night in our new apartment, in the South Jamaica Housing Project. They called it "affordable housing for low income families." It was 1962. I was three-years old. I still smile when I remember the highly polished yellow-flecked brown tile on the floor. That first night, with very little furniture, I spent hours sliding from wall to wall in my socked feet. It was a small apartment, but it seemed like heaven to me at the time.

Our building housed the management office for the complex. It was on the first floor. So, the first floor of our building had only five apartments. The remaining six floors each had eight apartments. The complex itself was comprised of several three, four and seven-story buildings. So there was no shortage of kids to play with.

There were more than twenty kids within four years of my age living in my building alone. I made new friends, it was great. My friends and I played on the monkey bars in the park behind our building. We hid in the cement barrels and chased one another through the wooden maze. We climbed trees and played skelly on the ground until dark. Life was good, until it all changed.

** On a personal note, shout-outs to Butch, Dave, Jo-Jo, Billy, Jerome, Calvin, Cornell, Marty, Sabrina, Lori, Astralin, Penny and the twins, The Johnsons and Teasleys, the Lightbournes, the Evans family, the Elmores, the Simms family, the Barretts, the Mullins family, the Harris sisters, the Williams family, the Kellys (my extended family) and a host of others on the block and around the way), including Kim and Curtis Walker, cousins of Joyce (who also lived in the building). Curtis, known to me as "Moochie", later became the rapper known as Kurtis Blow. To these folks and my family, I was known as “Wendell” (if you are not a childhood friend or family, don’t call me by that name, I won’t appreciate it). **

Eventually, he lost his job. He got a new job, and then lost that one. He no longer made her laugh. Things started disappearing from the house. First it was a hand-held radio. Then it was a clock radio. Then it was her jewelry and my toys. There were arguments. It seemed like everyday there were arguments.

His friends would come over and three or four grown-ass men would huddle into the little 7 ft. x 9 ft. bathroom. Mind you, that little floor space was also occupied by a tub, a sink, a toilet and a hamper. I would wonder to myself, "what are they doing in there?" And, "why does it always smell so bad in there when they leave?" I would learn over time that heroin causes even husbands and fathers to neglect their hygiene.

She was crying more frequently. He was spending less and less time at home. One day, when she was pushed down in her bedroom and cut her leg on my tricycle, I found her on the floor crying and bleeding. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the butcher knife from the drawer and ran back to her aid. I pointed the knife at his groin (which was about as high as I could reach at the time) and told him; "Don't hit my Mommy again!"

I was five. He took the knife from me and left the house for a few days. Shortly after that, my sister, Karen, was stillborn. I had still not yet questioned my faith.

South Jamaica Houses was two blocks deep and four blocks wide, and a city unto itself. It had its own police force and its own rules. It was bordered on the south by the Long Island Railroad, on the west by South Road, the north by 160th Street and on the east by 110th Avenue. At 160th Street and 109th Avenue, just north of the projects was Public School 40 or "P.S. 40," as it was commonly called.

This is how the projects came to be known as 40 Projects or simply "40" to those who had heard the stories.

As I grew older, I realized that this place I had once thought of as heaven was anything but; it was a war zone; a nightmare; a jungle; all of the above; and yet it was home. Life in 40 was fraught with fear. Even those who smiled and seemed happy feared what the next moment might bring. Death and destruction were literally on every block. It was hard to hold onto faith, or decide which way to go.

Who should a confused kid model himself after, the naïve, but faithful mother, the drug addicted father he had to cut out of handcuffs at thirteen? There were many examples, but each was somehow problematic.

There were the pimps, like Diablo and Spoon, and knockout artists, like Dalou and Hardrock. There were stick-up men like Big and Muscles. There were walking nightmares, like Tripp and Pender. There were dare-devils like Joey and Cookie. There were winos like Sonny and Bennie. There were Coke dealers, like Corley, Supreme and Fat Cat. There were enforcers like Kilo and Crusher.

And, there were dope fiends, so many dope fiends. At times, you literally had to walk around them, and sometimes over them to get where you were going. And, as if that weren’t enough, there were assorted other murderers, robbers, rapists, child molesters, boosters and outright crazies, from whom you never knew what to expect. But mostly, in the mix, were the hard-working, law-abiding, hopeful and faithful who were just trying to survive.

Before I escaped from 40, after twenty-plus years, I witnessed the deaths of thirteen people. That is “witnessed” in the sense that either I saw it happen, was in the vicinity of it, and witnessed the aftermath, or it was someone whom I knew personally. I left 40 with plenty of questions for God.

I had regularly attended the Baptist church, and was raised in Baptist traditions. But, I found myself questioning the existence of a creator, his reasoning and plans, and whether religion as a practice made any sense at all.

I went to college (SUNY: Purchase), looking for answers. I started with the study of psychology, then ancient, modern and existential philosophy, and ended with sociology. There I sought answers, but found even more questions. I made new friends and acquaintances (among them Wesley Snipes, Ving Rhames, Stanley Tucci and Steven Weber, the school was well known for visual and performing arts). I also met my wife (lucky me). But, as far as I was concerned, God still had some explaining to do.

In the years after college, I explored the teachings of various religions and philosophies. And, in the process, several apparent truths began to take shape.

I determined that God, if present at all, was clearly not directing traffic. An all powerful, all knowing God, capable of all things, was not responsible for rapes, murders, fires, landslides, etc. It was apparent to me that if there is a God, capable of stopping these things, then somehow, these things must somehow be ok.

I concluded that if God is everywhere, aware of all occurrences, then God is not only “beside” me, but “inside” me.

I decided that if God has laid down law for all to follow, it would not be just carved in a stone or written on a page, subject to editing and manipulation. Such laws must be readily observable to everyone, in everything, at all times.

I decided that if God is the source of all creation, then the essence of God is in all things, and all forms of life, as before God created, nothing else could have existed.

Upon these findings, only one understanding could be reached: God is law and existence itself, and is observable everywhere.

Therefore, all that is me is God. All that I choose is God. All that I do is God. All that I want is God. All that I have is God. Every path I go down is God.

I can have all that I desire because God can. I am not God, but God is me!

All that matters is that I live by God’s law, evidence of which is everywhere. When I am unhappy, I have not been aligned with the law. When I am ill, I have not been aligned with the law. When I do not get what I desire, I have not been aligned with the law. Misfortune in life is a reminder to correct the path, or the method, I have chosen.

I survived 40 to manifest answers to my questions, to find new faith, a new philosophy.

“Trust in the observable laws of the universe.”

Today, that is how I translate the phrase “Seek first the kingdom of God.” When I feel lost, today, I look inside not out, not in my thoughts but in the quiet instruction of my being.

Today, keeping my faith and choosing the right path, is much easier. If I want it and it seems right, not just for me, but in general; not just for me, but for many; not just by my standard, but by most; if it feels good and makes me happy; if it harms no one, but helps several; then it is right and I should do it. Today, it’s just that simple!

A Point of Reference

The following video is of 50 Cent visiting 40 Projects for 40 Day/Family Day (I understand that 50 also grew up in the area).

The video opens with the camera angled southeast, looking down 160th Street. As 50 crosses the street, the camera turns northeast on 107th Avenue, facing Union Hall Street and Guy Brewer Boulevard. The camera then pans northwest toward the other end of 160th Street.

The building under renovation (with the blue scaffolding) is the building I grew up in.