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Thanks for the like. I always respected CBS the home of “60 Minutes and intrepid Ed Bradley who died in 2006 age 65 from from complications associated with chronic lymphocytic that he most likely contracted from Agent Orange while reporting on the Vietnam war, America’s first TV war, trucking through the jungle alongside Marine infantrymen. Ed Bradly was born a year after me and was the coolest black man seen on nationwide television. I wanted to be Ed Bradley; he had an earring on, on television, in the early 80’s! Both he and “60”Minutes get a respectful treatment as I introduce him to Denny, the son of the black detective in my novel Duped in America, and is later inadvertently killed by a cop during a stolen car chase. Ed Bradley once interviewed Lena Horne on “60 Minutes” and it was a wonderful telecast showing black peopl seemingly falling in love right then with each other other, she was still beautiful, had dated Joe Louis in his prime, and Ed, a dapper confident handsome young reporter. They dazzled on the screen, remarkable kismet!

Brotha Troy, that has long been a knock against us as a collective. Strangely, it has survived for much too long. I do admit that it so convenient as I have used it on countless occasions to force home a point. Honestly, as much as I hate to admit it, but I barely read. Sure, I read snippets here and there. In this fast-paced, I have become a browser whereas I was once a fierce reader. Yet, there is a blanket exception to this rule because brrothas in the joint READ! Inside reading is fundamental. Inside, if you wants news, you have to read about it because, of all places, televised news is blase. News rarely affects prisoners so more time is spent watching sports and videos. When I was in the pen in Atlanta the first time, there were guys there that had well-stocked libraries in their cells. My crime partner and I were among the youngest there, and I was forever reading as I was hardly without a book or a magazine. The old heads noticed this and they would bring me books to the dining room where I worked. I had my own table where I read. Guys that were old enough at the time to be my father, supplied me with a mind-boggling array of books----all serious literature. I recall sitting at my table reading Freud. The next day, an old white convict gave me a book about Carl Jung. Reading the ART of War got me editions of books by Clausewitz and Otto Von Bismarck and Machiavelli. It was truly like guys would walk past my table to see what I was reading,and then they would bring me something even more in depth. And now, I barely pick up a book. That's sad. Now, we want info on the go, so we fall for fake news or second hand news or worse yet no news. Trying to keep up is so time=consuming that if you don't hear through the grapevine, it didn't happen. I conclude with an admission. Of all the things I get down on myself about is the fact that I never stopped to teach a close friend how to read. Damn, we were in prison for ten years together and I never taught him to read. I wrote all his letters for him, but I could have taught him to read. I was once chastised by another friend who told me that I was wrong for not teaching this guy this read, but I was too busy writing my books. I was so convinced that I was writing the next best novel that I was so caught up that I never taught my friend to read. It wasn't that I never thought about it. I did. I even planned to write stories about him to use to teach him to read. The sad thing, Brotha Troy, is that I knew what to do becaause on an earlier stretch in the joint, I was at a prison where they wanted to teach inmates to read, but they knew they just couldn't put anyone in charge so it was decided to use the Muslim community to spearhead the program. They knew how well respected Muslims were in the joint so they taught us so we could teach the rest of the population who didn't read. They knew the guys would trust us. We were taught what was called The Laubach Method and this is the text we taught from. I had no excuse. Just think, I blew the chance to give someone the gift of reading. Wow......I don't think I will ever live that down, but I have made up my mind. I am going to find him one day and apologize. The man was my cellmate for 10 long years and I never taught him to read, and I pray to God that I am never so selfish again in my life.