Book Review: Allen Jones and Mark Naison’s The Rat That Got Away
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
“A Public View of a Bronx Life”
Allen Jones and Mark Naison’s The Rat That Got Away
“…I stopped by the East Side Center to let PJ know how I was doing, and during the conversation he said to me. ‘I kno w you don’t tell those white folks where you are from.’”
“Of course, he was wrong about that, but his comment reinforced something I already knew instinctively: how important it is to be proud of where I come from. A lot of black people who cut ties with their past to be accepted in the white world end up belonging nowhere. Though I was no historian, I was becoming a pretty good student of history, and I concluded that without a sense of your past, you can lose yourself. Once I became conscious of this fact, I decided to claim everything I did, for better or for worse, and keep in touch with my street side, even when I was hanging with the rich and famous.
“My conversation with PJ…helped me understand who I was.”
The Rat That Got Away
Allen Jones’ story is the type of inspirational, “coming of age” account that inner-city teachers, youth workers, and scholars clamor for. From growing up poor in the South Bronx’s Paterson housing projects, Jones finds economic and social success in Europe. A well-known New York City schoolboy street basketball standout, in adulthood he transitions into an accomplished German banker. And after several years as a local drug dealer, and participating in the emerging gangster culture of the late 1960’s, Allen shifts his attention back to the moral foundations that were central to his childhood: family and=2 0ch urch. The events of Allen Jones’ life point to20redemptive possibilities that can be achieved in spite of early life mistakes and obstacles. In this way, knowing who he is, can help today’s young people know who they can be
But the totality of Jones’ years is more than a collection of life lessons which end result is an interesting memoir and a cautionary tale. The Rat That Got Away provides a narrative with a richer historical lens, and a deeper social meaning than pure “factoids” can provide. Emanating from the Bronx African American History Project's oral history research, Naison and Jones provide an account which is historically true but also intensely personal. The elements that make his memoir so powerful are the poignancy of his experiences and the complexity of his journey. What we learn about the South Bronx and its residents is powerful.
Allen Jones’ life in the projects dramatically alters the standard perception of public housing. The projects have become synonymous with the concept of urban decay, and its residents with the underclass—with both placing the blame on the people in public housing for the literal and figurative deterioration of its space into “ghettos. The South Bronx, who according to Jill Jonnes' South Bronx, Rising
has the highest concentration of public housing in the United States of America, becomes emblematic of this plight.
The Rat That Got Away
successfully resists and complicates that stereotype. Jones’ tells readers of a time when Patterson Projects was a site where families believed they could thrive. The Patterson Community Center, local churches, public schools, and the Police Athletic League ran an assortment of programs that sent kids like Jones “home exhausted” and without “the energy to get into trouble.” A group of mentors and professionals all ran these centers and programs. Most importantly, Jones tells us how these people and institutions were of and for the community; all located either inside or in close proximity to the housing projects, and ran by local residents.
The memoir’s valuable contribution is its insight on how neighborhoods and communities change. Jones life trajectory brings readers through the complicated and tumultuous decade of the 1960’s. Chapters like “The Summer of Unrest: 1964” and “The Streets are Alive: Summer of ‘65” allude to a well-documented time of strife and turmoil the country endured, and Jones’ story tells us how the hardships of the Vietnam War and proliferation of heroin use and sale are among the most devastating hits New York City’s Black and Latino communities take. The 70’s were no different, if not more extreme, as Jones narrates the tragic toll “Bitch Queen Heroin” takes on places like Patterson; and about people being “unable to resist the forces that were tearing apart black neighborhoods in the 70’s.” Most sharp is his observation on the matter: “America was killing us, but we were also killing each other.” Allen’s stories of selling and using drugs attest to this.
But it is here where the book’s strength emanates: the social commentary and personal reflection that accompanies the timeline. Allen Jones provides a memoir which speaks to the particular world-view, political consciousness, and life outlook of a Black man who lived through one of America’s most significant periods. After traveling through several European countries as a professional basketball player, Jones sees the place race occupies in other social environments. Upon his return, he juxtaposes his U.S. life with his Europe experiences, and with brutal honesty shares his thoughts:
“The home I was returning to had treated me, along with all my black brothers and sisters, both living and dead, like slaves, outlaws, second-class citizens, and worse. I knew that part of the reason for this was the history of our country. America had been founded by brutal, self-serving men who were concerned only about gaining wealth and didn’t care how they did it. They killed the Indians for their land and enslaved Africans to help them build their empire, and…I was seeing the long-term effects of what they did…Indians were not even seen in most American cities, and the vast majority of black people, when they were working at all, were doing the lowest-paying jobs. Racism was a way of life in America.”
This is an exemplar of The Rat That Got Away
’s shining light: Jones' candor.
This frankness also unveils some of Jones’ shortcomings. When forced to recount his criminal endeavors into drug selling, robbery, and mugging, the author provides detailed reports of his exploits; and we the readers learn of a drug and crime culture very different from that which pervades every aspect of media today. Yet while being so giving of the details to his criminal activity (as should be expected in any memoir building itself as “honest”), Jones does not give us a full account of his personal decision-making process. He recounts how in his childhood peer pressure and the desire to be accepted by older “down brothers” pushed him to mischief and petty crimes. But those choices, and the serious ones that follow, are often clouded and subverted by claims of a “street code:”
“While I can’t defend my actions from that point, I can try to explain what was behind them. My way of thinking had become shaped completely by the street. I knew the rules I was l iving by and had gotten to the point where I didn8 0t question them. I knew that Gotham might seem like a high place, but it can become very small when you owe someone money on the streets. And I knew the maxim: ‘You pay or you die.’”
Does the way of the street engulf and envelope a person’s cognitive processes to the point where nothing outside exist? For those who have been completely immersed, bred, and nurtured in this lifestyle, perhaps. But for those, like Allen Jones, who’s frame of reference goes beyond this, and is steeped in parents, Christianity, and a family that taught him “good table manners and basic social graces,” the code of the street explanations are not enough. Much like Malcolm does in his autobiography, or Richard Wright’s depicts through Bigger in Native Son, the decision making process for Black men and their wrong choices have a greater context.
This is where we as scholars, social workers, community organizers, conscientious citizens, and all the sort need to incorporate The Rat That Got Away
into our work. The parallels between what faced Allen Jones then and what faces young, poor people of color today are too strikingly similar. How do we cultivate young athletes beyond their physical activities, while also preparing them for their academic and social responsibilities? Can community institutions that train and employ its reside nts help k eep a generation of young people on task and pointed towards success? How can we create organizations and maintain networks that provide assistance, mentorship, and guidance even when adolescents and teenagers stray down the wrong path? And are the prospects for success so dire for Blacks in our current urban landscape that leaving the community where you are from is the only option for success? This memoir gives plenty of fodder for us to delve into these profoundly important and pressing questions.
For these issues are not just important for those looking to “fix the South Bronx.” They are crucial for the creation of a more just, equitable society. Jones’ life gives testament to the redeeming power that determination, perseverance, and repentance can play in navigating through impoverished circumstances; and to the quite vital role that family, mentors, and community institutions play in shaping the lives of young Blacks. But his remarkable individual story is the impetus for questioning why such extraordinary feats are needed for not just success, but for survival; and not for just anybody, but for our society’s most racialized, stigmatized, and marginalized. The Rat That Got Away
forces us to think about how to make this American society a more just place.
For about The Rat That Got Away
For about Mark Naison's work and the Bronx African American History Project visit:
and contact: firstname.lastname@example.org
An Additional Note on the Contemporary Implications of The Rat That Got Away
The nuggets and information that comes forth from Allen Jones' life are nothing short of remarkable when made to be looked at along with contemporary society.
As now critical race theory and anti-racism work has attempted to break from analysis that portray race and racism as a Black/White binary; and stories of multi-racial, multi-cultural folks like Barack Obama are being symbolized as showing how the U.S. is supposedly now a multi-racial society; the story of Allen Jones having a half-Cherokee/half-White father, a mother with St. Lucian up-bringing20and French heritage (and culture), and living in a South Bronx hou sing project where White kids were among the toughest and most respected in the neighborhood---it all reminds us just how wide-ranging our heritage can be, and it did not originate after November 2008.
Yet it is equally amazing how despite this testament to how much racial and cultural "mixing" (for extreme lack of a better word) have been present in America, the hierarchy that racialization takes is still rigidly Black or White (R.I.P. the late Michael Jackson). Half Cherokee, half-White still equaled BLACK in the deep South. And one's socio-economic position not only was pinned on where you fall on the Black/White binary, but also determined where you landed on the life expectancy binary: a have, or a have-not.
In less dramatic ways, other nuances to Jones' life are parallel to life in the Bronx and in Black culture. Students in public schools who fail classes still have to go Theodore Roosevelt High School right across the street from Fordham University-Rose Hill. Morris High School is still located in close proximity to Forest and McKinnley Projects; still located in the same economically under-resourced, socially marginalized section of Morrisania where you recently wrote about Hetty Fox and Bronx Defenders' interns commenting on the area's lack of community centers, park space, and increased vacant lots.
And many young Black NYC basketball players who either can't academically qualify to play on their High School team (let us not mention if whether getting a quality educatio n to compete in a increasingly knowledge-based economy even enters this "academic" decision); can't get the assistance and support they need; or are in serious danger of allowing the perils of street life drag away their athletic dreams, still attend elite Prep schools in New England or small prep school/church-based institutions in the South. But unlike Allen Jones, far too many don't make it out; don't successfully transition to even college ball; and haven't obtained the academic skills to continue a normal-track education.
So when vocational professions, service sector employment, and low-wage jobs don't quite fulfill the dream of moving your mother out the "hood;" are not as readily available and accessible as many conservative commentators and analyst like to say; and don't provide adequate health care or a livable wage for one person (much less a family) to survive in New York City, we can use our imaginations to conjure the other options these people are forced to choose from.
This was the reality of Allen Jones in the 1960's and 1970's. As someone from the South Bronx, formerly in public housing, and have spent almost a decade of my brief life working in youth programs and in a mentorship/counselor capacity, all during the 1990's and 2000's...the situation is still the same. And for me, that is very, very scary.
But the BAAHP gives me hope. The amazing young folks who are striving,20determined, and achieving extraordinary things with the goal of improving their community give me hope. And the experiences shared in The Rat That Got Away reenforce that community minded, justice orientated, and exceptionally committed, informed, astute people have always existed. And they do the work, everyday, often with little acclaim. The social workers, teacher's aides, and after-school tutors are among the many trying to forge their way to calling the individual and the group; the cultural and the political; the academic and the organic intellectuals; the elected and the volunteer, all to really, really change this society.
With that hope, I too hope the BAAHP continues to allow for voices to be heard. And for the work to keep being done.