College Boy

In my final year at Metro there was a lot of pressure on me to choose a University. I got the feeling constantly that I was a “star,” a success story, and that my accession to a major University was a sort of example to the other students. Elise Slifkin was particularly interested in helping me, and she offered to help me gain entry to UCLA. My opinion of the whole thing? I was scared. I did not feel I was ready to go to a Major University. I didn’t believe my experiences at Metro, or with L.A.’s public School System had prepared me for University Life. I made a decision that would change my life once again…

I arrived at L.A. Southwest College in September of 1978. LASC was built on the ashes of the Watts Riots. It was one of those places City Fathers liked to point to as an example of progress in the Ghetto. Just a mile or so from Washington High School, LASC was supposed to be a bright shining star in the neighborhood. To some it was. When I first saw it, it reminded me of what the infamous Maginot Line in Pre World War II France must have looked like. It consisted of four buildings sitting on top of a hill, and some older prefab building that resembled aircraft hangers on the lower campus. The main buildings were multi storied concrete affairs with tinted windows that resembled slots in fortress wall. The building had the look of a fortress. I guess someone decided that if there were more riots, this was one place that would not burn.

There was a big practice football field, but no gym and grass was sparse. It was not what I imagined college would be like. I enrolled with a Journalism Major, and my first day in class, I got a big surprise. I walked into the journalism department and came face to face with an old friend… Well at least an acquaintance… Jeff Sneed was a guy I knew in Jr. High School back in my Bethune days. He was smart, athletic, and had the kind of looks girls drooled over. If you can remember Dr. J, Julius Irving of the Philadelphia 76ers, then you have an idea of what Jeff looked like. Jeff was the kind of guy who was so good looking even guys said he was good looking. “Yo man, don't I know you,” I said, upon encountering him. He looked at me and smiled. “Yeah man, we went to school together at Bethune.” I laughed, “No shit. Small world. So you are studying Journalism too?” He nodded his head, and we started to rap. That was the first day of a friendship that would last for years to come. Jeff and I would become best friends, competitors and eventually enemies. But neither of us knew this at that moment, and we were both just happy to see someone we knew in a new place.

Life at LASC was interesting. It was the first time in my life where I did not have to go to school. I was an adult now, and going to class was a choice, not an obligation. My father died in February of 1978 of complications from cancer, and I was pretty much on my own at that point. Leti and I had broken up over the summer, and I was flying solo. LASC was a good choice for me. I don't think my head was on right to be starting UCLA at that particular time in my life.

When we arrived at LASC, the journalism program had a new professor, Mark Day, a 30-something writer of some note, who was a kind of social activist. Mark was as Liberal as they came. A Jewish dude who was obviously suffering from “Liberal Guilt,” and who gave us way too much damned control over the campus paper. Truthfully, Mark seemed to be a bit intimidated by us. Especially Nita, the reigning editor of the paper when I arrived. Nita was this tough little black chick with a short afro, tight body and even tighter jeans, he he… She would have been “tight,” if not for the fact that she had a so-s0 face, and the butch haircut gave her a quasi lesbian look in my eyes at the time. She was also a bitch at times, but she was a good writer, if not that great an editor. It was the campus paper that gave me the sense of mission to get up everyday and go to school, even when I didn’t have to, and I jumped in with a passion. By the end of the first Semester, Nita was out. She and Mark had gone at it on more than one occasion, and she did not hesitate to play to race/sex card. If she didn’t get what she wanted, it was, “You just don't respect a woman Mark.” Or “You just can’t handle a strong black woman Mark.” Mark had his issues, but any objective observer could tell the man was bending over backwards to be accommodating. I was named Executive Editor of the paper the second Semester, and began a program to improve the quality of the paper. Jeff was named Managing Editor, and we began a partnership that would last for years.

We completely scrapped the look and feel of the paper, and executed a new design. We added a cartoonist, hired an old retired man from the neighborhood to sell advertisement for the paper. We grew the paper from four pages to eight and eventually to twelve. We broadened the scope of the paper to cover community events, movie reviews and strong editorial content, which was my focus. And the paper started to get noticed. If the first year was about “evolution,” the second year would be “revolutionary.” I didn’t date much while at LASC. The paper was my lady, and I really didn’t have time for much of a social life.

The one person I did hang with in my two years at LASC was Cheryl, believe it or not, the Captain of the Cheerleader squad. Cheryl was this Big, leggy, big chested, honey colored black girl, with a beautiful smile and a fun loving nature. We were never really, “official,” but we went out a couple of times. I think the reason Cheryl dug me was because I was not intimidated by her. She was a big girl, tall, athletic and strong. And she was aggressive. I think most of the Brothers at LASC were intimidated by her, although I don't think too many would have hesitated play quarterback/cheerleader captain with her. The truth was, I wanted her sexually, but she did not really turn me on intellectually. Perhaps that is why I never put too much effort into moving the relationship forward.

Since I wasn’t focusing on dating, I took the time to improve my writing, and to focus on winning the paper some respect. During the second semester we attended a regional Conference for journalism students. During the conference we met students from all over Southern California, but made friends with one group in particular, Golden West College. Golden West was a Junior College located in the heart of Orange County, probably one of the most conservative, and “whitest,” counties in all of Southern California. We could not have been more different our two schools, and yet we hit if off. We spend two days partying with them at the conference hotel, and on the second day of the conference, we took our first award in school history. We were awarded Best Small College Newspaper in Southern California. It was a tremendous honor, and a validation of all the hard work we had put in improving the paper. That weekend was about buzz, and the buzz was that there was a new player on the scene, and that our program would get some recognition out of it. Mark Day took the opportunity to use the award as a resume booster, and took a job at a more prestigious school. We really didn’t care. Mark had very little to do with the success of the paper anyway. My last words to him… “Fuck you Mark.”

Mark was replaced by Jack Matcha, a someone famous writer from Hollywood. Jack had written for the, “Good Times,” TV show, and was as good they get in writing fundamentals. Jack was old… Very Old, when he came to teach at LASC. He was this little hunched over man who walked with a cane, suffered from the worst dandruff I have ever seen, and had nose hairs that looked like a freakin’ forest. It was hard looking at the old dude, but damn could he teach!

Jack was a little conservative at times, but he mostly stayed out of the way and let us do our thing. By my third semester at LASC, the paper was generating enough ad revenue to pay for itself. We were making a difference. The paper was respected in the community, recognized by the student journalism community, and important enough to the school that I actually felt like I had a little bit of clout. It was 1979 and Disco was all the rage. I like most people my age, were Donna Summer Fans, and I actually got an interview with the Disco Diva. Unfortunately I never got to meet her in person, but I submitted a list of questions and she answered them. I also learned it was good to be a journalist, even a student one. I got to attend a number of concerts, movie premiers and what not, with a press pass. It was pretty cool shit.

Jeff and I worked hand in hand on the paper, but there were occasional clashes of egos. There finally came a time when I had to tell him that I was the boss, and that our friendship had nothing to do with business. It was an uncomfortable conversation, but one that needed to be had. We would not have another conflict like that one for a couple of years.

In our last semester, we attended the State Journalism Conference. This time we would not win best paper. But we didn’t totally wash out. I won an award for Best Sports Feature Story, and we received much acclaim as one of the best college papers in the State. Jeff and I both applied to the University of Southern California and were accepted that Spring. Neither of us were accepted into the Journalism Program as there were no slots available. We both decided to study Political Science. In may of 1980, I graduated and began the adventure of my life.

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