Tina Toler-Keel: God Said What?

Tina Toler-Keel is a Mom to four children ranging in ages from elementary to high school. As the teens began to set in, Tina saw the need to find a way to help her children and their friends to better balance themselves to deal with the realities of life in our society.

In her first book, “GOD SAID WHAT?” Mrs. Toler-Keel brings the word of God to today’s teens. Instead of using stories of the past, she talks about issues teens face today, such as rape, alcohol, drugs, cheating, relationships, and other important challenges. She doesn’t preach, but tells of God’s love and acceptance in a way teens can understand.

 

You began the writing process by writing stories about your grandfather for yourself as a way to cherish your memories of him. Tell us how that evolved into writing books for teens.

Through writing, I was able to express and deal with emotional issues that were locked deep inside of me  “ some I wasn’t even aware of. The stories about my grandfather get to the heart of the issues as well as tell a story that hopefully will be passed down throughout generations in our family. Teens always have a story. Sometimes they are great and happy ones, but often they are deeply disturbing. They go through so much and often adults fail to recognize that. Through stories and books, they can find comfort, help, guidance, and entertainment and know they aren’t alone. I didn’t wake up one day and say, I am going to write for teens.  It just evolved into that. In fact, my first novel is an adult thriller. I am still revising that, and although I love the story line, my heart belongs with my teen books so they get top priority.

 

How is it that you can connect with teen-aged minds so well?

Several reasons. 1. I am a parent of three teens. I have seen first hand their struggles and fears. My kids and I talk a lot and they trust me, so I know a great deal of their pain and difficulties. I feel very blessed my kids turn to me. Now, that doesn’t mean I know everything about teens, or about them. I am sure there is plenty I don’t know, and probably don’t want to know.

2. My kids have a lot of friends and they tend to migrate to our house. Often we are sitting around on the porch at two in the morning and they are telling me very personal things about their lives. I have heard about their family troubles, issues with self-harm and suicidal thoughts, molestation, rape, drug abuse, etc. Their stories range from the everyday drama that all teens seem to go through to the really horrid things life sometimes brings. They are very open with me. I have also had friends my kids have gotten to know from other states through Facebook who text me out of the blue asking me for advice on serious issues. Not long ago, a girl I barely talked to on Facebook wrote me asking for help to stop cutting. I think it helps I am willing to stay up all night talking to them if I need to. I don’t talk down to them, nor do I minimize their problems. For teens, something adults think is trivial and something not to worry about, such as a break up, is a huge deal to them and can hurt them to the core. It is important adults really listen to them, and above all, care for them.

3. I was a teen and I remember what it was like. I think this is the most important one. Although my life was relatively good, and even great in many ways, it wasn’t perfect. I remember feeling alone, unloved, lost, confused, scared, and even suicidal at times. I had family issues. I was raped at seventeen. After high school I dabbled in alcohol and drugs. I went through a spell where I was somewhat promiscuous. I’ve been there, and I remember it. I remember simple, unimportant things could drive me over the edge. I remember thinking there was no way I could have a good future and I remember feeling like a horrible person. I also remember during those times I had good friends and I had fun. One did not always exclude the other.

Working with the kids while getting her hair done

Were your children and other teens involved in the process at all? Did you ask them for feedback as you wrote, or did it evolve directly from your experiences from watching, talking and living with them?

My two oldest kids were definitely involved. They read each story, helped me format the order of the sections, etc. They were invaluable. Also, my three oldest and a few of their friends were the models for the pictures inside the book as well as the cover. It was a lot of fun working with them on such a big and important project.

The story ideas came from things my kids have gone through. They have definitely questioned their faith and God, and I used that as a guideline. I also watched other teens and used their questions and situations. Looking at their lives, I studied each thing and picked the most popular and most important issues to discuss. I also took stories from my own life as a teen as well as things my friends went through years ago. It is really a collaboration of stories.

I was raised believing if I did anything wrong I was going to hell. I lived in fear of that and could never relax or enjoy myself. I want kids to know that yes, they will mess up, but that doesn’t mean they are doomed. God is still there and He still cares. He isn’t going to turn His back on them because they don’t use good judgment occasionally.

 

 

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Sean Fosdick – Highlands Athelete

A conversation with Sean Fosdick about the Highlands Games
click to play.


Sean Fosdick

Highlands Game Athlete


He was thirty-eight when he and his family happened to find out about the Highlands Games.  Little did Sean know that the visit to this event would change his whole entire life.  At this one event he found his heritage, his culture, his passion and his internal strength.  He began the arduous training to become a Highlands athlete.  He participated in his first games this year at the age of forty.


“Everyone looks good in a kilt!” He says as he shares his passion for the games with us. Participation in the games is diminishing and he’d like to see that turn around.
All age groups, male and female are welcome. They have master competitions for even 60-year-olds.


Take a listen, maybe you can envision yourself as a Highlands athlete and will want to undertake the journey!

More info on the Highlands Games http://www.saaa-net.org/

Background music by The Rogues of Texas: http://therogues.com/

Sean says that “Everyone looks good in a kilt!” Here are two sites where you can get one.
http://www.neokilt.com/
http://www.sportkilt.com/

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Richard Weaver-Bey – The Loss of a Community Icon

Richard Weaver-Bey, affordable housing developer, radio station owner and civic leader died unexpectedly on May 17, 2008.  He was 63. Richard did a lot of good things for a lot of people. He provided affordable housing, helped create jobs for people, sat on a number of boards for organizations and gave of himself and his money freely.  Hartford, Connecticut lost not just an icon, but a wonderful human being.  In 2003, I had the privilege of sitting with him to write a profile of his life’s story.  That story is here.  There’s much we can all still learn from him.

Richard, peace and blessings to you.  – Tomaca


Greater Hartford Realty Management was listed as the top grossing minority business in Hartford, Connecticut, in 2002, topping the charts at $6,000,000 in business volume.

Richard has four children.  Sons, Terrence and Rajah, ages 29 and 35 respectively, work with at-risk children.  Kevin (age 32) lives in California and holds his own as a successful musician.  The baby, his daughter, Sydney, currently 15, hosts her own Saturday afternoon teen talk show on WKND with a friend.

The Story of Richard Weaver-Bey

When you learn the story of Richard Weaver-Bey, it’s as if each major step in his life was a well-designed plan.  But, Richard doesn’t see it that way.  His strategy has always been to actively look for his next opportunity.  He feels he has been blessed to have crossed paths of the individuals that he has in his life and is truly grateful for all of the opportunities that have opened up for him.

In 1944, it was a novelty for an African American family to move from the City of Hartford to Bloomfield, Connecticut, then considered the country.  The African American population at that time was less than 2%. But, John and Mamie Weaver-Bey were called by it,  the fresh air, room for their children to run and play, and quiet nights filled with the music of crickets every aspect of the country appealed to them.  They purchased a small house at the end of a dirt road.  That little dirt road leading to their house became well traveled.

Roads in Bloomfield were unpaved and town officials placed stones on the sides of the roads, hoping to keep people from driving on the grass.  Despite this effort, Richard remembers all the tire tracks on the grass of their property.  The Weaver-Beys had a huge extended family and all of them and their friends would come often from Hartford to visit.  The Baileys, the Pittmans, the Copes – they all came.  People drove up in pick-up trucks and would open the back gate and sometimes as many as eight kids would climb out of it.  Richard reflects.

There were many parties and cookouts.  On hot summer weekends the voices of twenty or more children running around the huge yard playing tag, jump rope, hide and go seek filled the air, all while the barbecue grill kept the burgers coming.  Sometimes you would find young Richard playing with his many cousins and friends, but, more often than not, you would find him where he was most comfortable, hanging around the adults – aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and his parents.

The adults did what adults do.  There were card games and hours upon hours of conversations and laughter until the wee hours of the morning. Richard was always fascinated with his elders’  conversations about relationships, work, business, and life in general.  It was how a young man of fourteen would become older and wiser than his years. He hung onto every word, clung to each story, situation and resolution. He took advantage of the richness of the adult knowledge and experiences that were all around him during his youth.  This habit developed within him the ability to hone his listening skills and to unconsciously apply what he had learned.  These were the conversations he would replay in his mind throughout his life during the times he needed to draw on wisdom and experiences of his elders.  Reflections of these conversations have guided him in understanding how people resolved varying situations and relationships, and that has helped him achieve his phenomenal success.

Richard was the seventh of eight children.  Due to the closeness of their ages, John Weaver-Bey often took Richard and his brother shopping together.  They were separated by less than two years.  One of his father’s most profound lessons was to be learned during a shopping trip when Richard was eight years old.

John’s two boys needed sneakers and father and sons went to the shoe store on Albany Avenue. When the boys had made their selections, his father waved to the owner and told him that he would see him in two weeks.  After they stepped outside of the store with their bags, a puzzled Richard asked his father how they were able to get new sneakers when he hadn’t given the man any money.  His father explained that people knew he was a man of his word and that he paid his bills on time, all the time.  The store owner let him buy the shoes on credit.  To Richard, this was profound – “and this wasn’t the first time I had observed this kind of thing.

“When I give my word, I keep my word.”  When my father said that, it was very striking and it always stuck with me – that people would know that when you are going to do something that you did it.   Both his parents were conscious of being very creditworthy.  And Richard explains that being creditworthy is nothing more than keeping your word.  That means keeping your word whether you’re talking about something that has specific monetary value or something that does not. That’s how they were and that’s how I try to be.

His parents’  strong sense of morals and character derived from their own upbringing and their devoted faith and practice of Islam.  They followed their faith religiously.  Every Friday and Sunday the family attended prayer services at the Moorish Science Temple of America.  In fact, the name Weaver-Bey is Moorish in derivation.  John Weaver-Bey traced his family’s origins and found that his ancestors originated from Northwestern and Southern Africa.  Many Africans that were brought to America as slaves practiced Islam.  John’s ancestors managed to maintain their original family name and their religious faith throughout the slavery period in the United States into the present time.

Faith continues to play a strong part in Richard’s life and he believes that all religions are universal in that it gives a strong sense of purpose and connection with all human beings. He maintains this open-minded perspective in his dealings with all people, whether they are tenants, business partners, or those engaged in charity work.

John Weaver-Bey had a sensational reputation of being a strong, upstanding, honest man.  He worked for over thirty years for a Simsbury company that sold business supplies in the summer and fuel oil in the winter.  My father worked tirelessly.   You could set your clock by his coming and going to work.  He left every morning at 7:15 a.m. and came home at 6:00 p.m.

He was the only African American employee at the company.  His co-workers were jealous because John drove the company’s only 18-wheeler oil tanker from Hartford to New Haven.  It was a big, shiny truck to which all the other small delivery trucks paled in comparison. There were dinner conversations between husband and wife that made Richard aware of the other employees’  jealousies. And it was these dinner conversations where discussions about race, prejudice, discrimination, and obstacles facing people of color, including his father and mother, would take place.

His father experienced a great deal of racism in his day.  But he was strong and steadfast. Richard never observed his father changing who he was or diminishing as a man because of it.  He continued to set and reach his goals and treated all people in the same respectful, peaceful way.  He was, and is still at 92, a wonderful, proud man.

There was something that Richard had always noticed about how people treated his father from a very young age.  He seemed to command a sort of quiet respect from others.  In fact, both parents did.  They were highly revered by family and friends.  As Richard grew older and listened and observed the adults around him, he began to fully understand just what kind of people his parents were, why they were so deserving of respect and why he wanted to be like them.

Richard describes Mamie Weaver-Bey as a work-at-home mom.  He recognized at a very young age how hard she worked in the home.  She worked harder at home than a 9-5.  This was significant to him.  He was fully supportive of his parents and respected them greatly.

Their house was small and tight quarters for eight children, but incredibly well kept.  It was painted when it needed to be painted, anything that became damaged was immediately repaired, and it was clean. And of course, each child was required to help maintain the home and yard in this exemplary manner.  Richard remembers his personal frustrations with having to cut the lawn with a hand mower. It was a combination of crabgrass, regular grass and weeds.  It was hard to cut just like real nappy hair is hard to comb.  And though he couldn’t understand why they couldn’t get a power mower, he got the job done time and time again by hand.  The grass was cut in the specific way that his father wanted it.  His father would explain that you have to do the best you can at everything you do.  Thus another valuable lesson for his son.  And like each lesson, Richard incorporated this into his being.  Both of his parents, in fact, exemplified conscientiousness for any task.

The elder Weaver-Beys were also very strict disciplinarians.  If mom didn’t dole out the punishment, Richard would have to wait nervously for dad to come home.  He knew he would have to go outside and find the perfect switch for his own spankings.  He stayed in line as much as he could to avoid being disciplined.

When asked about childhood inspirations, it was difficult for Richard to name specific individuals besides his parents, simply because there were so many.  His inspiration came from exposure to things and people in his surroundings, especially those casually and quietly listened upon adult conversations.  When Richard talks about his own successful relations with his employees, tenants, business partners and others he explains that it was important for me to hear how people moved through situations they found themselves in.

Richard’s entry into the work force began the same as it did for many Connecticut teenagers.  At fourteen he joined the ranks of the workforce as a tobacco worker.  Earning money for the first time opened up the world to him.  It taught him the value of working for money and even better, he could now help his family financially. He purchased clothes for himself and his younger brother and made other small contributions to the household. His father was the sole provider and his family’s income was modest. Richard was proud to be able to contribute.  He remembers that whenever his father purchased a car, it was a used one, but it was a big deal and one that the family celebrated heartily.

Doing physical labor made Richard feel good. He always enjoyed being outside and working with his hands.  In the tobacco fields he didn’t mind getting wet and dirty, though all the other teens complained about it.  Even today he says he would prefer to go drive a truck and clean buildings rather than to sit down and write a proposal.  He simply finds great satisfaction in working with his hands.   This obviously came from his father.  John Weaver-Bey was a skilled craftsman and built furniture and did all repair work on his home himself.  “He did everything from building walls to moving bathrooms from one side of the house to another.  The son is much like the father.   Not just in standards and values, but in work ethics and the gifted ability and enjoyment of working with his hands.

Richard was smart with his money.  He bought his own car when he was sixteen.  But understanding the ability to earn money had more than the effect of being able to buy material things and contribute to his family, enabled him to broaden his perspective on life. Having a car allowed him to go places and visit friends.  Most of his friends’ families had more than his did.  They had larger homes, bigger yards and more material things.  But because Richard had a solid upbringing by parents who instilled within him the things that truly mattered “ love, respect,  worthiness – he never compared himself and what he had to others.  None of these things were important.  He concerned himself with matters of the heart and looked beyond the material.

Richard was a freshman at Bloomfield High School in 1959.  During that time, the African American population was rapidly increasing in Bloomfield. Fortunately, because his parents had open and honest conversations at the dinner table, Richard was prepared when he began to hear derogatory comments about African Americans at school.  Thank God that this was part of the things mom and dad talked about during dinner.  In his heart though he was very disappointed. People want you to believe that race doesn’t matter  — then all of a sudden race matters.   He took these experiences with a grain of salt and continued to be who he was and continued to treat people the way he wanted to be treated.

When Richard was sixteen, he would enter the world of the Berkowitz family.  His association and employment with them became another powerful component in the development of a Richard Weaver-Bey who has received numerous awards and recognition for accomplishments not just in the business, but also in humanitarian fields.

He worked part-time for them three days a week. The Berkowitz’s were merchants and had substantial land holdings.  Though they were an extremely wealthy white family, Richard was impressed because they never flaunted their wealth and worked side by side with their employees and just as hard, if not harder. It was equally important to him that they never treated anyone differently because of their color.  They took an interest in people as human beings. They were kind enough to allow Richard and other teenagers in their employ to take time off to participate in after-school activities and sports and still allowed them to work Saturdays so they could have some spending money in their pockets.  All of the Weaver-Bey children worked for the Berkowitz’s at some point or another.

At what is now known as Copaco’s Shopping Plaza in Bloomfield, the Berkowitz family had farm animals, a fruit stand, grocery store and a slaughterhouse.  Richard’s job was that of a “gopher” and it kept him in all three areas.

Grocery shopping at Copaco’s was a Thursday evening ritual.  Every week Richard enjoyed accompanying his parents or usually his mother on this excursion.  For the ever-absorbent young man, grocery shopping was fun and each trip proved to be a valuable learning expedition.  His parents taught him the art of choosing the right foods with the right pricing for the right reasons.  Why a fruit was good or bad, why what seemed to be a bargain was not really a bargain, etc.  In addition, as always, he took delight in being in the company of his favorite adults, mom and dad.

Mami Weaver-Bey was a great, resourceful and knowledgeable cook.  He would listen to his mother explain to friends and relatives how to cook different cuts of meat.  For instance, a chuck roast is tender and has to be prepared differently from a bottom round, which is tougher.  Simply from listening to these conversations, young Richard, who was just an average student in school and who found the work in high school incredibly boring, had learned everything about meat, from how different cuts where made, to the best way to store it and to prepare it.  After he graduated from high school, because of his immense knowledge, the Berkowitz’s hired him as a freezer consultant.  All other employees had to go through a training program to learn these things that Richard had absorbed simply by listening and observing.  Richard was able to hit the floor running.  It was a sales position that a young man who always treated people the way he wanted to be treated exceeded in. He was sought after by clients.  He helped customers make decisions about what meats to stock in their freezers and then instructed meat cutters down to the letter.  The other employees were much older but respected him because he knew what he was talking about. He was paid based on sales volume and Richard was making more money than many of his friends that had graduated from college. Since the purpose of going to college is to get a job to make good money, I wasn’t going to interrupt making money to go to college.

Being the generous person that he is, Richard used most of the money he made to make others in his family happy.  He was always concerned about pleasing someone with what he could do with them or for them.  He sent his parents to the West Coast to visit his brother; frequently went to New York to visit his sister and bought new things for her apartment; and his father, the master craftsman, could always use another tool.  Having the proper tools makes the work easier, he says with a smile.  And, of course every eighteen-year-old should have a shiny new convertible with a leather top!

Richard was then, as he is still  – full of ambition and always seeking the next opportunity.  So when Union Meat offered him a position as a wholesale freezer consultant, he accepted.  This position introduced him to the man who would change Richard’s entire life.

Harold Rothstein owned a trucking company.  He knew he could rely on Richard to make appropriate accommodations so his delivery trucks could come to Union Meat to unload quickly and be able to maintain their tight time schedules. Harold recognized Richard’s exemplary work ethic, admired his genuine, caring nature and was impressed with the way he dealt with people.  He knew I was willing to do anything necessary to get the job done.

Just by being himself, and having incorporated many of his father’s strong, positive characteristics as his own, Richard had impressed one of Connecticut’s wealthiest men. Richard didn’t know this, but Rothstein was looking for a way to use Richard’s talents. Richard was equally impressed by Rothstein and said that Harold treated people in an incredible giving and very generous way.  Though Rothstein was white, unlike many white Americans during the racially charged 60’s, he didn’t see people in terms of color. He must have seen himself in Richard as they were both tough, hard-nosed businessmen when they needed to be, but always genuine, honest, hard working and highly respected by others.  In time, Harold was to become Richard’s mentor and very much like a second father to him.

Harold owned many buildings (including the one leased by Richard’s current employer at that time – Union Meat), a development company and a construction company.

In 1969, Harold was developing housing in the City of Hartford.  As part of a federal program for the National Alliance of Businessmen, Harold saw a way to create employment and training opportunities for minorities and people from the community.  He developed a construction trades training program and asked Richard to manage it.  Any of the contractors that worked with Rothstein had to hire minority trainees and the trainees went to work during the day and attended classes at Prince Tech in the evening. If the trainees and foremen had any problems Richard would be the one to mediate.  If any of the men failed to come to work on a given day, Richard had to go to their homes and find out why.

Richard was amazed that Rothstein cared about people and that he looked to find a way to use a federal program to provide skills and training to help people, especially those that were disadvantaged.  His company built and renovated moderate-income family homes in Hartford.  No one else was doing this in the north end of Hartford.   This was a very wealthy man who didn’t have to work if he didn’t want to, and who didn’t need to be concerned with whether the disadvantaged and poor had housing or not.  But he chose to be and to do for others.  Richard had been given far more than a job, he was given an opportunity to work with a man that he would grow to love and who would give him the benefit of learning everything that he could teach him about people, business, real estate, construction and management.  Richard also noticed that everyone that Harold Rothstein came in contact with, worked with or negotiated with beheld him with tremendous respect.  Not a single person had anything bad to say about him.  Every holiday season, Harold would make sure there were hundreds of turkeys to be distributed to those who needed them.  What also astonished Richard was that Harold never designated who should get them and who should not.  He left it up to Richard and others to distribute them as they saw fit.

Rothstein spent a lot of time and a lot of money helping people – and a lot of different people, whether they were Jewish, non-Jewish, Hispanic, African American, or European.  He has helped many people and he does it so quietly.  Many of the things he has done, people are just not aware of.

In 1974, after five years of association with Harold Rothstein, Richard took it upon himself to arrange an award dinner and testimonial to pay tribute to him.  He originally thought it would be a small affair of 100 or so people.  To his astonishment, 500 people wanted to attend.  If this wasn’t enough that the man had over 500 people interested in attending an award’s dinner,  when Harold found out about it, he asked Richard if any surplus proceeds from the banquet could be donated to his foundation at the University of Hartford.   I couldn’t believe it!  I worked for this man for five years and thought I knew everything there was to know about him and here it was, he has two foundations at the University of Hartford:  The Rothstein Family Foundation and the Feinberg Scholarship Foundation (from his wife’s family).  These foundations specifically benefit minority students from Hartford that choose to attend The University of Hartford.”

Property management was a natural progression from building and renovating housing.  Rothstein established the Greater Hartford Realty Management Company with Richard by his side.  Rothstein changed his life.  The work was harder and more focused because it was intense.  If there were any problems, whether it was with a property or a tenant, Harold did not let any issues lie.  He would make sure he focused enough attention to resolve it.

Eventually, Harold and Richard began buying properties together.  When Rothstein retired, he sold Richard all of his properties.  And what better man to assume the reins of Greater Hartford Realty Management, than the one that worked side by side with him for years  Richard Weaver-Bey.

In the company’s thirty years, not a single property has gone into foreclosure.  This was challenging because Greater Hartford Realty did not develop housing for high income families, so the clients were not high net worth and funds for maintenance were not abundant.  Rothstein’s goal was to provide decent housing for people of lower income.  And he did that religiously. Richard has maintained this philosophy.  He remembers his own parents and how they had little financial means but always maintained their property.  He is doing what he observed his parents doing and what he saw Rothstein do.

Maintaining properties via proper fiscal management and physical management is significant.  However, it’s probably the smaller portion of the job when compared to dealing with the people issues.  Greater Hartford Realty employs 55 people who perform jobs from grounds’ maintenance, carpentry work, to office staff and rent collectors.  Richard feels strongly that employees are accountable for their own employment opportunities. He expects the best efforts and work ethics.  Those that rise to the occasion are recognized and rewarded.

The company also prides itself on being a fair and honest landlord. Resolving tenant issues is par for the course for the man who treats people the way he wants to be treated. Richard’s sharply honed people skills are called into play frequently.  He deals with tenant situations and finds amicable solutions that work for the benefit of everyone involved. Sometimes families need help and Greater Hartford Realty may need to get involved with a family’s social network.  The majority of their properties are in the north end of Hartford, and the area, though full of many hardworking, responsible people, suffers from lot of negative stigma from the media.  Richard states that it is very rare that there are instances when the company has to intervene on legal levels and involve police.  More often than not, there are little things such as someone not paying their rent because they want a room repainted, or they refuse to remove an old vehicle that just sits on the property.

Greater Hartford Realty tries to make the surroundings pleasant for their tenants by keeping the properties well maintained. Units are kept up to date and in a current state of repair.

Back in 1981, Richard and a group of close associates, purchased the radio station, WKND  1480 AM.  It broadcasts from Windsor, Connecticut.  Richard is president and managing partner.  The group purchased the radio station because they felt that media is an important vehicle.  It is especially important because African Americans, throughout the entire United States, only own 2% of all media.

The station covers a broadcast radius that covers Hartford and some of the close surrounding suburbs. miles.  They feature African American music of all venues (jazz, gospel, hip hop, R&B) and feature a number of talk shows, one of which Richard’s daughter hosts.  Other programming includes the mayor’s hour, an urban agenda show, and health programs.  All of the programs are designed to allow people to express their points of view.

The station has several limiting factors. When it was licensed forty years ago, discrimination was prevalent, and the station was given daytime-only operation time.  It’s location on the dial is 1480 AM, and the area of coverage is not substantial.

When WKND appeared on the airwaves in the early 80’s, it captured the ears of most of the people of color in the area.  The station has sponsored many events over the years and broadcasted live from numerous locations, the past annual Harambee Festivals, the annual Family Day in Keney Park, new store openings and others. Disc jockey Eddie Jordan, who had been with the station since its inception, was a very popular local celebrity.

Other talent that has aired on WKND includes daughter of the great saxophonist Jackie McLean, Melonae, and international vocalist Kenny Hamber.

WKND has been a celebrated mainstay in the community for over twenty years.  Though the station operates at a loss, the group feels that is extremely important for African Americans to have their own voice. WKND is here to stay.  They have no intention of selling the station or closing it down.  It is a stable communication vehicle for African Americans in the greater Hartford area.

In 2001, Richard held a ceremony to honor his dear friend and associate, Harold Rothstein.  Rothstein is a great person.  He did so much for so many people and never carried on about all of the great things he did.  The ceremony was held at Greater Hartford Realty on Garden Street in Hartford and was attended by several hundred people including many Connecticut politicians.  A plaque of Harold graces the entrance of company’s headquarters and was unveiled in Harold’s presence amidst remarks of congratulations, thanks and cheers.  As Richard shows photos from the event, one can sense his strong emotional feelings for this great, honorable man, Harold Rothstein.

What defines success to a man whose net worth is in the millions?  Richard believes that success has to do first with who you are your own personal values, your education and your understanding of economics.  We know all about his personal values and what kind of people he came from.  We also know that he was an average high school student who found school quite boring.  He was educated through on-the-job training true hands-on work. He gained wisdom from listening to adult conversations when he was young.  He had the tremendous fortune of learning by working side by side with a wonderful mentor.

Richard feels that who you are connected to is also crucial. He surrounds himself with very positive, honest people like himself – those that dare to move beyond wishful thinking when it comes to success.  He has many partners who have taken on business ventures with him and whom he shares time with.  They have a wonderful positive connection and serve as a support system for each other.

Richard is very well known throughout Connecticut for giving of himself monetarily and time wise above and beyond. His connections run deep in the non-profit area.  He has worked on boards and supported institutions and organizations such as St. Francis Hospital, The Artists’  Collective, The Amistad Foundation, and the list goes on and on.  He has often been asked to lend his name to various events and organizations because his name alone draws attention and support from the community.

His natural demeanor is just so caring and giving and people have recognized that quality in Richard throughout his life. He has received awards and honors over the years.  So many, in fact, that he has lost track of just how many there are. He maintains a very low profile and doesn’t believe that accolades are necessary, but feels that all the awards are a nice acknowledgement that he is doing the right things with his life.  People are unaware of many of the contributions and donations Richard has made.  The walls of his office are lined with plaques, framed newspaper articles and trophies all indicative of his humanitarian nature and his pursuit of excellence.

Richard continues to catch many people by surprise by defying their expectations and doing what he says he will do.  It is why he is so highly acclaimed and respected by everyone he comes in contact with.

The back hallways are filled with photographs from Richard’s encounters and associations with the likes of Hartford’s former Mayor Carrie Saxon Perry, Lionel Ritchie, formerly of the Commodores, the group of people who established WKND and other famous artists.  His collection shows highlights of Richard’s professional life and all of the associations he has made.  For certain, photos of the recent ceremony to honor Harold Rothstein will also grace the walls.

For inspiration Richard attends conferences for entrepreneurs and other business conferences.  He enjoys the opportunities to network with people to develop relationships and new ideas.

Stress is inherent in the position of CEO for a six million-dollar corporation.  How does Richard deal with stress?  He seeks the relaxation of a short trip.  The opportunity to get away for small pieces of time. God is great therapy.  Most weekends find Richard biking in Central Park with friends.  The group gathers together almost every weekend to bike throughout Westfield, Mass., Old Saybrook, CT or for lunches at a partner’s house.  He enjoys taking in the peaceful views of nature; they soothe his soul.  God is great therapy.

Don’t ask Richard Weaver-Bey about retirement.  He laughs giving you the impression that you just asked the most ridiculous question one could ask.  There is no such thing. I’ll retire when I take my last breath.  He feels it is important not just to be useful to others, but to be useful to yourself.  He plans to continue to enjoy life and to work to help others.  His hope is to inspire others to follow suit in an effort to create a better world.  He doesn’t see himself as a leader, though. He instead has a strong sense of purpose with other human beings.  He tries to be fair with all people that he encounters, remembering there is a humanitarian side to all of us.

Apples don’t fall far from the tree, and John Weaver-Bey at the golden age of 92, has had the privilege and honor of watching his son grow successfully in all of his endeavors.  He is proud of his son as we all are.

Commentary from people who knew Richard:

“We got to know each other on the sidewalk, working on some of the toughest, low-income rental situations,” Perez said. The two became friends and Weaver-Bey was one of the mayor’s biggest campaign supporters.

“He had to be personally engaged in everything he did,” Perez said. “He did it in a low-key way. But when Richard was in the room, you knew he was in the room, and you know he was very passionate about issues he was involved in.”

Weaver-Bey was well-known for his civic pursuits. He was the first African American president of the elite Hartford Club; he was on the state board that oversaw the city’s public schools in the late 1990s.

Nancy Roberts, president of the Connecticut Council for Philanthropy, knew Weaver-Bey through his civic board involvements.

“He did not flaunt his leadership at all. He was very much an elegant guy, I don’t know how else to describe it,” Roberts said. “He was there for people, and just a lovely man.”

Suzanne Hopgood knew Weaver-Bey from an Outward Bound trip they did together in Colorado  more than a decade ago. Weaver-Bey used to say that she — much smaller than he — dragged him up the mountain.

“I learned from him how important listening skills were,” said Hopgood, a business consultant. “He treated people with enormous respect. Not everybody is like that. In fact, most people are not.”

The seventh of eight children, Weaver-Bey grew up in Bloomfield. His parents, both of whom are deceased, were religious — the suffix Bey reflecting membership in the Moorish Science Temple, the original American Islamic group.

In a 2004 commencement speech at Bloomfield High, Weaver-Bey spoke about the importance of education and economics.

“Education and economics are the only things that are going to make a real difference in your life,” he said.

“When you got a pocket full of legal money, legal money, legal money,” Weaver-Bey said, “you can go wherever you want, do whatever you want. You feel real good about yourself.”

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Vangie – I Am Just Getting Started

Vjange Hazle has her own publishing company, is a published author with her third book coming out this  Spring 2008. Vangie has also traveled a long road and will have her master’s degree in May 2008. Her goals going forward?  Watch and listen!

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The Protector

A SHORT STORY

I have never seen him do it, this practice of more than 30 years. I have seen it done on TV and in movies by strangers who meant nothing to me and who weren’t real anyway. I watch him ready the needle and tighten a tourniquet around his arm. He looks at me from the shadow that is now his face, all but his flesh and bones eaten away by AIDS. “Are you sure you want to see this, Sis? he asks. I want to say no, to yank the needle from his hand and throw it 30 years away. But after so many years that have left him dying, stopping no longer matters.

He looks at the veins in his arm realizing that none are useable.  I knew they wouldn’t be any good, Sis, but I thought it would be easier for you to watch.  He moved the tourniquet to his thigh and again searches for a vein. Then he wraps the other leg, his hands shaking now. If I had not been watching he would have quickly used any part of his body, his stomach, his groin, anywhere to hurry to take him to where he needs to be. I am touched that he still wants to care for and protect his older sister. The drugs and illness have not taken that away.

Lying in the casket a few months later, the coroner had restored his face so it was no longer sunken. His wasted his body which aged him beyond his 46 years, appeared to be healthy. His death is the first of the 10 siblings.

Our mother looks at his body lying so cold and still and quickly holds a tissue to her eyes. She is escorted by another son to the car as she tries to hide her tears. That brief moment will stay with me forever, the look of the unbelievable pain of a mother burying her son.

What made him begin such a practice of leaving the world for a while only to leave it again? Watching him drain the needle does not help me understand this stranger who is my brother. It must have been easier when he was sixteen and his veins where young, fresh and healthy, eagerly swelling to accept the poisonous sting. Which needle was the one that infected him, causing his body to waste away and his life to draw short? My brother who I never really knew is dead. With him goes part of me.

My brother was the family protector. Fear from his reputation kept others from attempting to harm us. Once our youngest brother was threatened by a man in a building our bother managed. Word went to the protector who rose from his illness. Forgetting the sister who drove him was standing near, the protector raised the man by his collar and held him against a wall. The protector told him what would happen if any threats were carried out against our youngest brother. My sister, seeing the fire in the protector’s eyes, worriedly spoke his name. The protector looked around as if shaken from a dream. Sorry, Sis, I forgot you were there.

The protector spent several years in prison for two armed robberies and finally gutting a man in a fight. It was a violence I could not understand. I also knew his drive for cash to fill the needle he needed to feed into his arm drove him. In prison he thrived, taking control, exacting payment from his fellow inmates on commissary day. Men followed his orders, no matter how brutal they may or may not have been. Now they will spend the rest of their lives in prison. They will die on cold metal lonely beds while the protector died in his mother’s arms.

At the funeral, family and friends gather in the stillness. There were three flower arrangements two from my job. After kissing his lifeless cheek, I sit beside my mother and stare at my little brother, wondering what he had thought of his life. He was a Christian, a Lutheran by faith. He was dyslexic. Despite being a high school graduate he learned to read in prison. He struggled to read his Bible daily. He was the father of a son he missed seeing grow up and the son of a father who missed seeing him grow up. He was a poet who poured his soul in colors on paper and in the end apologized for all he hurt during his life.  He was an artist whose paintings should have hung on gallery walls.

He gave me a little stuffed penguin the day I was injured. He ran down the stairs to hold me and to tell me he was about to go to correct the men who injured me. He checked on me as I rested, always the protector watching out, caring, loving.

I knew the last time I visited home would be the last time I would see him alive. I held him longer than usual and refused to let him see me cry. Then I walked away from him, from his pain, from the needle marks on his body, from the life draining out of him.

The night I return from the funeral I look out my kitchen window. There was a big glowing full moon. Airplanes leave a trail of smoke making a cross in the sky and I know my brother is home in heaven with our father. I keep a wooden sign that reads next to the penguin. The sign has never fallen, but on the night the cross showed in the sky it did so. The protector is there, still watching over me, still my brother.

Written by:
Dr. Nancy Ayo Nelson

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While Waiting for My Husband

A SHORT STORY

I was to have a husband; that was known from the minute of my birth, a 6 lb. 3 oz. brown baby girl with glistening black curls. As I came screaming, with tightly clinched fists, my parents envisioned a wedding and the laughter of grandchildren. Fantasy, play and dreams prepared me for my established future. I was my mother’s eager little apprentice, learning to cook, clean, and sew. Sears catalog cutouts provided the furnishings for my future home. My house, as I dreamed it, would be pale yellow with a white picket fence. Roses of every color would line the front of the

My son would learn to build birdhouses using saws, hammers and nails. With his father he would camp, fish, and watch sports.

house. The backyard would be for my children to play their grass-destroying games. The dog, a wondering mutt brought home by my son (Can we keep him, Mom, please?), would run off with the children’s balls, disrupting their play while I laughed from the kitchen window. We would invite our neighbors to barbeques to show off my husband’s grilling skills.

My husband, tall with smooth Hershey candy bar dark skin, would be the school principal where I taught first grade. I would stop teaching when we married to be a housewife. My house would be spotless. The laundry would be clean, perfectly ironed, and neatly put in place. Every meal would be prepared from scratch and served piping hot when my husband walked in from work. Our marriage would be perfect and our love deeper than any ocean.

As I waited for my husband, I worked low paying jobs that would end once he came along. I would give birth to three children. The first, a son, would be named after his father. The next two would be girls whose lives would be enveloped in pink. My son would learn to build birdhouses using saws, hammers and nails. With his father he would camp, fish, and watch sports. My daughters would help me in the kitchen. I would teach them to bake sugar cookies and to embroider table dollies as my mother had taught me. My family would be perfect in our yellow house with the white picket fence.

When I am old I would have grandchildren to brighten my eyes. They and my children would stand by me as my husband is laid to rest. My son and son-in-law would help me rise to walk back to the long black limousine.

As I waited for my husband, I traveled, staying in cheap college dorm rooms with shared baths.  Once married, I would stay in five-star hotels and eat in fine restaurants. With my husband I would travel the world over, taking our children to museums, art galleries, and theme parks. I would teach them about great artists and art. They would smile, squealing, “Look, Mom, look at that!”

Waiting for my husband, I moved from place to place, dated man after man, hoping he would be the one to sweep me away. But after lying naked and wet in their arms they would leave, forgetting my name in their rush to dress. I would go through my closet and remove the clothes I bought to please him because the next man wanted a different type of dress with slits and shimmers.

My husband would run for city office. I would take care of designing the pamphlets, schedule engagements, and host political events. These events would be graced with the sparking crystal and the beautiful teacups I would have decoratively stored in the china cabinet. When he gives his acceptance speech I would proudly stand behind him and a little to his right.

While I wait for my husband, I do things for the men I meet because they may be the one and, because of them, I now must not dream of a man who wants to run for city office because of the past I am forming.

When I am old I would have grandchildren to brighten my eyes. They and my children would stand by me as my husband is laid to rest. My son and son-in-law would help me rise to walk back to the long black limousine. My hands would shake with age but my memories would be so loving and wonderfully beautiful with the husband I waited for to give my life to.

At 40 I go to school, but when he comes my life will begin. I enroll in college. There I

At 50 I looked around and realized that, as with my life, my house held no sign of a man – a husband – just me.

looked for him but instead of finding him – I graduated. I go to graduate
school, a better place to find my husband. Again I graduate instead. And then a Ph.D., still looking; still sure he will come and I will have a yellow house with a white picket fence, roses and teacups like the cups I remember that were in my grandmother’s house.

While I waited for my husband my time was running out to have children. I would have two children, a boy and a girl who would grow up to go to college, marry, and have children.

At 50 I looked around and realized that, as with my life, my house held no sign of a man – a husband -just me. I worked as a professional woman in a meaningful job. I bought a yellow house with a white picket fence. I planted a rose garden and filled my china cabinet with sparkling crystal and beautiful fine china tea cups. I travel and sleep in five star hotels and dine in fine restaurants. I no longer wait for my husband.

I adopt a daughter with big round brown eyes and shiny dark pigtails tied with pink ribbons. Her skinny arms encircle my neck as she kisses my cheek with a touch so soft and light. I name her Dare and teach her to live life and to not wait for a husband.

Copyright 2008 Dr. Nancy J. Nelson

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But I Didn’t Have Time

A SHORT STORY

She wanted to tell me about her grandfather, a fine dark brown skinned man, a major figure in history with so much memory collected in his house, the family home now becoming a museum in honor of him, to document and display his place in American history. She wanted to tell me, but I didn’t have the time.

I had to get back to work to papers piled high on my desk, to phone calls that needed to be made, and to emails that needed to be read and answered. I had to get back to the ringing phone and constant interruptions giving me more important work to pile on my desk into a dizzying mess.

She wanted to tell me about her brother who, as a child, dreamed of being a concert pianist, which he did, traveling the world over to make the piano flow with such beauty tears welled in eyes. He taught college students to make piano keys dance beneath their fingers as they looked into his approving smile. She wanted to tell me, but I didn’t have the time.

I had to grab groceries and stop by the cleaners to pick up my now clean clothes and drive home to cook dinner, then to write papers that needed to be written for the next day, water the roses and to nod off in front of the TV playing some meaningless nonsense and then to bed because tomorrow would be busy again.

She wanted to tell me about her brother-in-law, dressed all in blue, always all in blue wearing a sparkling butterfly pin. His Ph.D. from Harvard came as a surprise to those who saw him draw deep into himself to tell stories to people lost for a time until the tales end, when he becomes himself again all dressed in blue with a butterfly pin. She wanted to tell me but I didn’t have the time.

I saw her in the drugstore and ducked so she wouldn’t see me with her bright smile ready to talk as if she had all day which maybe she did but I didn’t. And then I would have to walk slowly beside her as she moved with her cane. I needed to get home to feed my dogs and change clothes to be on time for a dinner with
people I pretended to know and pretended to like.

She wanted to tell me about her sister who traveled world wide with her blue wearing husband, about her working as an archivist in the Harvard Library, knowing the feel of crumbling ancient papers and books neatly stored in cool shadowed rooms.


She wanted to tell me, but I didn’t have the time.

She seemed to appear everywhere I went inviting me into her stories but with work and writing and caring for a house and a yard, surely she would understand that I have to
get to the cleaners before they closed. Next time I see her I will stop to talk but my ride is waiting to get my car from the shop to run to the mall for something I wrote down to remember but lost the paper.

Awaking from the sound of crushing metal and shattering glass, screams and cries piercing through the night’s stillness like a streak of lightening. She sat in her seat belt, head fallen to one side, her mind floating above her attached to nothing and no one, no breath, no heartbeat, no stories of history or of the present, no stories laced in blue with a butterfly pin, and no stories of the musty smell of yellowed papers.

She wanted to tell me about scholars and poets she had met during her life, many names and rainbow faces, published works, oral histories, library shelves all bringing the brightness of knowledge and dancing, lost now in the scattered glass of darkness, all because I didn’t have time. I sit beneath a tree near where the wreck happened and stare ahead with the sun warming my face. My body relaxes as cars hurry by and I imagine her laughing eyes. Now I have time.

By:
Nancy Ayo Nelson, PhD

http://AyosStories.com

Photos by

http://RonThompsonPhotos.com

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