By Victor C. Kirk
I did not intend to go on and on about Vice President Harris last week. My thoughts were seized by the murder of a 20-year-old whose funeral I attended last Sunday at Antioch. My first funeral in Monroe of a young person beloved by his grandfather for sure. I was saddened and must admit I cried silently. To see grown men cry and throngs of youngsters both male and female file past the casket crying openly tore me up inside. His grandfather put on display the grandson’s saddle – he loved to ride horses on the family property and in formal events such as parades and other community celebrations. To my surprise a second event of note to me, was the-mile-long train of cars heading to the grave site. Surely this young man was loved and held in high regard by his peers.
Crime in Monroe. You can sit in your house in your personal conclave oblivious of the struggles in another neighborhood thinking whatever happens is God’s plan. I think however, even God has been disappointed in our behavior towards each other. We are long past the days when a disagreement ended with a meet-up at the recreation center on Friday night. A fist fight with crowd control. Woke politicians sponsoring boxing events where your anger and steam could be displaced are either no longer alive or retired with a belief that they did their part. It is a shame; this young man lost his life by accident. One person’s anger became an unfortunate reply to shoot everyone in the car. My God have mercy.
I returned home nearly two years now after being away for 50 plus years. Among the apparent changes that greeted me was the number of deaths at the hands of children which threw me off guard. Reading either the News Star, Dispatch, or Free Press there was a death recorded almost each day of the week. I commented to my wife that to my surprise, in Baton Rouge the drive by shootings and drug deals were in Black neighborhoods. Here, however, it seemed that white women from West Monroe commanded the headlines for murders, shootings, domestic violence, and drug sales. Graduating from Carroll High school in 1967 was a time of huge expectations from students at Carroll. Under the leadership of Henry Carroll, we were led to believe we could accomplish the impossible and were only limited by our imaginations. [VK1]Despite rumors that the “powers that be” wanted to convert Carroll High school into a ninth-grade mega center. No one believed it was remotely possible not while the “Black Godfather” lived and while living continued to have inroads within all political and economic circles in this state. He ruled with an iron fist dispensing justice as he saw fit but forever reminded you with each school behavior infraction that he knew your parents and they would be surprised to find that you are spending your time here” acting like a plum fool”. He swore he would tell them, and many times did on a call to tell them to come get you from school – you were suspended, often until he decided it was time for you to return. The parents were not spared from his scolding either – he was their teacher at the old Monroe Colored High, so he knew them well enough to challenge their rearing practices. On occasion he had a few choice words for the adults within his immediate reach – the faculty. He not only controlled jobs in the area but where you lived. He either owned or managed nearly all available housing for rent in and around the school for sure. No one would dare buck his authority.
My memories are classed as “fond” now but were not so back then. My brother, Kenneth and I thought that when Mr. Carroll got bored, he would summon us to his office. We were frequent “guests’ of Mr. Carroll, deservedly. He seemed to beam when he asked the same old question – What is the name of this school? We would reply Carroll High School – his response – there is not a “K” in Carroll is there? We would of course say No. His reply, that is right this is not KIRK high school, but CARROLL HIGH School and my name is want??? We would reply – Mr. Carroll. I need say no more. We went back to our respective classrooms a bit shaken but thankful that our indiscretions did not have us sent home. Mom would kill after a fourth suspension.
