by Jerrold Ladd
Vanessa knows her daddy, and we are finally getting the chance to do all the things that a father and daughter should do. There’s so much I’ve gone through with her mother in trying to be a responsible father. I missed the first two years of Vanessa’s life dealing with Tammie. The court recognized me as Vanessa’s father and I’ve been given visitation rights. It was pure torture getting Vanessa adjusted. Even to this day, I feel that Tammie’s keeping Vanessa away from me and making things difficult was the most undeserved thing that ever happened to me. In the present, Tammie remains uncooperative about the.whole arrangement. But Vanessa and I don’t worry about that.
After returning from Florida A&M University—the school would only support my education if I majored in journalism—I reenrolled at a community college here in Dallas, planning to someday major in psychology and economics at an area university. I have incorporated a small company, to produce quality film, music, and literature for African Americans, and I intend to develop a finance company in the near future, to develop business and industry in the black communities. And I’ll continue writing.
I regret so much that I was unable to offer my friend Keenon an alternative. None of us can give him his flowers now. But I hope we can one day give redemption to all of our young black men and women who have died without ever living. This redemption will come only when we tear down the factory of destruction that produces the mass death of our young.
I hope all the adversity I have suffered in life and what I have gained from this benefits you in some way. While writing this book, I opened my heart and died for you. So please do your part for us, however small it may be. We, the black race, need you to stay faithful and strong, and to never give up on us.
AFTERWORD
by
Fahim Minkah
At age forty-nine, I was just coming out of several years of rest, having been a freedom fighter all my life: I founded and chaired for several years the Texas State Chapter of the Black Panther Party based in Dallas. During my younger years I was a devout follower of Malcolm X, and a student of Mao Tse-tung, the leader of the Chinese revolution. I spent my life fighting for the freedom of oppressed people, and had spent several years in prison. After I entered my forties, I was forced into exile, a time when I concentrated on developing a business and supporting my family.
But in 1988 there were dangers on the horizon which threatened to eliminate the black race in America. It was then that I saw the absolute effect of drug dealers taking over neighborhoods, and then that I learned of the unprecedented potency of new drugs like crack cocaine. I was amazed at the new kind of inner city crime, the drive-by shootings, the gang activity, how these elements were chipping away at communities in Dallas we once had organized. As the father of seven children, I had no choice but to come from my exile and rejoin the battle.
It was around this time that I first met Jerrold Ladd, and I knew immediately there was something special about him. He and his friends attended a speech I was giving, and Jerrold stared at me the whole forty-five minutes without saying a word. He was really thin looking, but sturdy, and had a book in his hand. He also had a gleam in his eyes, the kind that illuminates greatness.
Over the next few years I would grow close to Jerrold, and come to know him and his unique ways very well; he eventually would regard me as the closest person to him.
Without a degree in anything, Jerrold has become the master of many things, all self-taught. His writing style is completely original. As a storyteller, he excels as a natural of the African guru fashion. He is able to describe characters in a way that leaves the reader feeling like you met them yourself.
From the many books we’ve exchanged I have witnessed his love for reading. He can read all day, and he won’t let you disturb him either. I have seen him research and acquaint himself with technical subjects within hours. He has a passion for the law, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he added a law degree to his résumé. I’m proud to say that this young black man is on a path to making a mark on America, not just as a writer, but in whatever else he chooses to engage in.
What can I say about Out of the Madness, except that it is a work of true greatness. In this, I do not view Jerrold as a “black writer,” but as an up-and-coming contemporary American writer whose future holds great promise. And his book will teach us to love and cherish every drop of black blood in our bodies.
However, no one will benefit from these lessons if we continue to let ourselves become engulfed in bitterness, turn into thieves and dope dealers, and keep despising one another. There’s nothing redeeming or glamorous about selling drugs, because this act is capable of destroying our entire race. So any attempt to sell or distribute drugs should be viewed as an act against the people, especially in places like the projects, and in other such communities where the enviroment has a marked destructive impact on black families, male and female alike.
But Jerrold says to us, your enviroment alone should not determine your destiny. No matter how dire the circumstances a person encounters, he or she can make correct choices, develop inner strength, and choose the right path. Look at Jerrold and his brother and sister, a family of kids who have, under some of the most trying and torturous circumstances, endured. This says that we all can.
Social scientists may be tempted to say that Jerrold “fell through the cracks” after reading about the environment of despair that he grew up in. But this is not so. Jerrold must be given all the credit for his deliberate struggle, for keeping his sanity, and excelling as he has done. Ultimately, he must also be praised for calling for the awakening of the black spirit. And she must answer.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I sincerely wish to thank the following people for their part in my life.
The majestic power, God, who shall lead his flock out of bondage. My mother, Carol Morgan, the unhomed queen, whose true wisdom was never known, and whose imperishable kingdom was never found. My daughter, Vanessa Jacqua Ladd, who is a blessing to her father and made in my image. My brother and sister, William Paul Ladd, Jr., and Sherrie Lenette Greer, who also endured the fire.
My nieces and nephews, Fatima and Shakara Greer, Marcus Greer, Jr., Akeema Rena Ladd (Poo-Pahna), and William Paul Ladd the 3rd. Sherrie’s husband, Marcus Greer. My extended family, especially my aunt Felisa Evans. God knows your hearts. I thank my grandmother on my father’s side of the family, Frankie Ladd, who did try to help us once when we were small.
The black women who showed me kindness: Angela Norton, whose sweetness is a blessing to the world, Cassandra Hill and her mother, Mrs. Ialine Burch Hill, who took me into their house and loved me. Shontina Nicole Rachelle Mack, whose life was more horrible than mine, but who is a fine, determined young woman; Shontina will always be my special friend. Edwina Sullivan, Christina Samuels, Markesha Beal. And Vanessa Collins, who believed in me enough to type the first rough drafts of this book in 1990. You are so special.
Barron and Kevin Smith, Johnny Nutson, Michael and “Buddy” Carter; everybody I know from west and south Dallas, and Dixon Circle, where I lived in the four-bedroom; Elgin Glenn Young, who is an inspiring writer; and Ricky Dixon, a professional football player from Dallas.
I also thank Mr. Fahim Jabari Minkah (formerly Fred Bell), who is the most brilliant black leader in Texas. Bob Ray Sanders, who has been a special friend and mentor, and who gave me pointers throughout my work. Doug Owen. Charles R. O’Neal, the publisher of the Dallas Examiner, where I held my first reporting job. Charles has uncompromising love for his people and is the best editorial writer in America. Irwin Thompson, the brother who took the cover photo. Chris Kelley, Brooks Egerton, and others at the Dallas Morning News. Mr. Joe Black. My attorney, Michael Sean Quinn, who has the most logical, brilliant mind I know. And Vince Ackerson, my business partner.
My agent, David H. Smith, who believed in this book when no one else would. My editor, Mauro DiPreta, who has always treated me with special respect and good humor; I hope we can work togethe
r on every project I write.
And everyone I failed to mention. I thank you all.
* * *
“I KNEW I HAD WON THE FIGHT FOR MY SOUL….
NOTHING, AND NO ONE, COULD EVER STOP ME FROM
LIVING AND DYING AS A STRONG BLACK MAN.”
* * *
His mother was drowning in a sea of hopelessness and addiction. His community was decimated by violence, cut off from the American dream. As a child, he was forced to steal for his food, dodge bullets on his way to school. Twenty-one years later, Jerrold Ladd emerged. How he did so is a story of perseverance and courage virtually unparalleled in the literature of modern, urban America. A devastating portrait of our racial divide and those caught within it, this moving, inspiring, and important true story challenges us to see a young black man growing up poor in west Dallas—as well as ourselves-in a brilliant new light of honesty and hope.
“AN IMPASSIONED MEMOIR AND UNPRETENTIOUS SURVIVAL STORY.”
—ESSENCE
“[A] POWERFUL, FIRST-PERSON ACCOUNT.”
—USA TODAY
“A REMARKABLE YOUNG BLACK MAN WHO HAD LED AN EXTRAORDINARY LIFE…MR. LADD…SHOWS HOW INDIVIDUALAFRICAN AMERICANS—THROUGH AN EFFORT OF SOUL—CAN BEAT THE ODDS, AS THEY HAVE DONE IN THE PAST.
—NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW