Los Angeles: Actor Will Smith rented a Learjet so he wouldn’t have to miss work the next day on the set of “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.” “It was important for me to go because I wanted to be a part of blackmen loving one another,” said Smith, who has a 2-year-old son. Former"Crip" Charles Rachal and former “Blood” Leon Gulette took a commercial flight home together–sharing ideas for getting other young hoods to get away from gang life. Rathal and Gulette had both hung up their colors after the 1992 riots, and both had gone into housing projects to recruit gangbangers to come with them to Washington. “You can’t imagine what it was like to see opposing gangs hug each other at the march,” said Rathal. He addressed the crowd briefly himself, “basically apologizing to the families of the young men who are gone now because of gang violence.” His speech lasted only 45 seconds–but Rathal says that he, at least, will always remember it: “It motivated me to keep on doing what I’m doing.”
The march meant just as much to some who stayed home–and some who weren’t even invited. About 60 wives, mothers and daughters huddled together in the dark of L.A.’s Leimert Park last Wednesday night, waiting for the buses to return. Many belonged to a group called Black Women Behind the March, which raised $3,000 to send their men to Washington in the hope that they’d come home better husbands, sons and fathers. As their excitement mounted in the pre-dawn chill, they talked about the strained relationships between black men and black women. “Things have gotten so bad in the community that any hope we can latch on to is enough to get us through another day,” said 43-year-old Ceila Winston, waiting for her husband, Larry, and their son Darwin. “I think that the march will last us a while. I really think the brothers got the message this time.”
Owen Collings, a 50-year-old plumber, was waiting for his son to return. “We both couldn’t afford to go, and I figured he had a lot more to learn than me, because the mistakes I made I can’t change,” Collings said. “My son is only 25–he still has time to have a healthy family.” Carlotta Pinto was still beaming about the phone call she’d gotten from her husband, George, the night of the march. “He called and began telling me how much he loved me and how much he wanted to make what we had work. He hadn’t said that to me in years . . . I haven’t heard him this happy in a long time. You wouldn’t think one day would do that, but it did.”
Around 3 a.m., word came that the men were still hours away in Nevada, and the small crowd went home for the night. By midmorning, when the buses finally pulled in, most of the women had gone to work. Carlotta met up with George later that day–and he did seem to be somehow different. George, an aircraft mechanic, picked the kids up from school for the first time in years, and he agreed to give marriage counseling a try. “I made the appointment real quick so he won’t have a chance to change his mind,” Carlotta said. “I don’t know how long this will last, but I’m going to ride it as long as I can.”
Atlanta: Thomas J. Miller couldn’t sleep the first few nights–Louis Farrakhan’s words were ringing too loudly in his ears: “Every one of you must go back home and join some church, synagogue, temple or mosque, and join organizations that are working to uplift black people.” Miller, 32, did more than that. He turned over the day-to-day management of his tea-distribution company to his wife, and volunteered to work at the Southern Christian Leadership Conference full-time. Like other old-line civil-rights groups, Martin Luther King’s former organization has had trouble attracting young men in recent years. But last week the SCLC got 100 calls like Miller’s. “It’s mind-blowing. It normally takes us three months to get 20 new members,” said SCLC staffer Deric Gilliard, as he scrambled to match incoming volunteers with the work the group has to do.
Miller was assigned to SCLC’s public-relations office, spreading word of the group’s gun-buyback program ($35 for each handgun turned in, $75 for each working assault rifle) and recruiting march veterans to mentor troubled teens. Miller vows to work with the organization “TFN–till further notice” because it seems more important than his business right now. He’s been a successful entrepreneur, he says, but the march convinced him that he needs to do more. “My customer base is predominantly black, and it’s profitable, but when you see how the community is run-down and degraded, you can’t ignore it anymore.” While Miller was coming home on the bus, it occurred to him that other black men were looking for ways to help the community, too. “A lot of brothers just don’t know where to go. One of the things I hope to accomplish is to give these brothers a sense of direction.” That may help Miller sleep better, too–at least for now.
Detroit: Mayor Dennis Archer came home from the march ready to take on the Devil. By longstanding tradition, the night before Halloween brings out mayhem in Motown. Last year vandals celebrated “Devil’s Night” by setting more than 100 fires throughout the city. This year Archer appealed for calm in the spirit of the Million Man March. By midweek, 15,000 people had called into the city’s help line, volunteering to prevent fires, combat violence and enforce a municipal curfew. Community leaders have given the event an optimistic new name: they’re calling it “Angel’s Night” this year.
Craig Strong, a criminal-court judge, started working to improve his world as soon as his bus rolled into Detroit. On Tuesday evening, he met with a local community group and “adopted” 30 kids for Christmas, pledging to buy them new clothes for the holidays and to meet with them through the year. On Wednesday morning, he did 25 sit-ups, because the march reminded him to shape himself up as well. When Strong saw another black man drop a hot-dog wrapper on the street, he politely told him to pick it up. And when he passed the homeless man he usually gives money to, this time Strong gave him his “One Million Strong” button from the march. “I said, ‘Instead of asking people for a handout, ask them to help you get a job’.” Strong promises to meet each month with the other men he got to know on the bus; among other things, they plan to save and invest money together. He also hopes to organize a mini-march for young blacks in Detroit. “I am still marching,” he says.
Thomas Woodhouse, principal of the Fredrick Douglass High School, was opposed to sending a student delegation to Washington–after all, he’d been working to turn wayward boys into responsible men for years. But teachers at the school believed passionately in the march, some grant money was available and Woodhouse figured it wouldn’t do any harm. The 15 lucky students chosen came home with countless rolls of film–and a whole new attitude. “I learned that education is the key–as the world becomes more technological, I can pass it on to my children,” said Jason Stepp, the student-body treasurer. “It made me realize that a family needs a father. Never run out,” said Corey Andrews, the student-body president. “It changed my mind about a lot of things, like voting,” said sophomore Kevlin Jackson. Farrakhan “didn’t specifically say so, but you shouldn’t fight with your hands, fight with your mind.” “It made me learn to control my mouth,” said freshman Joseph Bolding. “Respect everybody around you.”
“Parents have been calling to thank the school,” says guidance counselor Mary Rice. The boys plan to raise money for the United Negro College Fund. Each of the 15 says he is determined to go to college now, to respect women and to act more responsibly at home. Woodhouse says that’s the same message he’s been giving the boys for years. But the speakers in Washington “just said it over a megaphone, so they heard them better.”
