Who is my brother?
Last Update: 30Jan98
The setting is in the early 1970's. The Jeffersons TV show is coming on (a spin-off from All in the Family). The theme song is playing in the background. I am talking in an animated fashion to my mother about some current event in the news. My brother is in the back room reading or working on something by himself, probably his ham radio stuff.
I always considered myself like my mother. We like to talk, argue, debate, demonstrate our verbal skill. The thrust and parry of the match of sharp wits is invigorating. I cannot speak for her, but I saw my brother as slower than us. Smart, but not bright, a thoughtful, quiet person. A follower by nature, someone who mostly acceeded to the demands of others. Certainly in the matters of our household, our debates and discussions and vis-à-vis myself or my mother.
As we all grew older, my brother and I came to see the George Jefferson character with ridicule. Especially my brother refined for himself the bugeois concept for blacks who were obviously not used to their new wealth. The first I know of this term from the French Revolution used in this context is from W.E.B.DuBois who wrote about the black bugeoisie. The ostentatious displays, the stylin', and high sidin' (my father's term) of the nouveau riche could be easily contrasted with the sadate, almost blasé nonchalance of accustomed wealth. I think of sauntering down the green on the back nine to find my ball, trying to figure out a deal to make some money next Monday. To us, Darren on Bewitched was a good caricature of this other life.
Readily evident examples included the many black athletes who we knew who gained fame and fortune, but who were obviously uneducated or unworldly. The rich, dumb, physically talented country boy was a lampoon act to us. Of course, part of its' appeal is a rags-to-riches story. We discussed for years O.J.'s improving ability to emote as a football analyst for NBC. And we were amazed at how he was characterized (in the black community) as learning to talk white at early points in his murder trial. How else could he succeed?
Also, the Poitier film about Dinner (1963). The most amazing part of that film was not that (we were always told) it was the first time a black man kissed a white woman on the big screen, or that Sydney later married her or that he played a doctor on TV. The story line seemed (seems) completely implausible to us that her parents had to make their decision quickly because he was only to be in New York for the night so he could fly on to Zurich! (We finally went there in 1997.)
A black man that could be characterized as urbane?!? The contrast with the ball players, singers and preachers of that time (and this) is quite stark.
So, against this backdrop we began to make our way in the world at large. I pursued my career, exploiting my love of mathematics with vigor, abandon and some success. My brother held electronics jobs and various technician positions. I got my B.S. after the Air Force but my brother never went to college even one day! This was a continual bane of contention in our family because my mother felt education was the only path. Her background is heavily rooted in formal education and certainly education provided keys to open doors along my journey. But my brother never took that path. Even though he had begun to do what was essentially engineering hardware design.
About 10 years ago, his job prospects were not good, so he came to live with me, to learn and do computer work. In my latest (all failed) independent product effort.
I believe that we both viewed this with trepidation, since we did not get along well when we were young (mostly due to my behavior), and this was a new area that he believed to be very difficult (software). I said (and still say) that it is hard and requires non-trivial effort on my part, although this also helps make it enjoyable for me.
Now, prior to, and subsequent to, him working on my project, we had discussed the concept of:
These discussions always revolved around my activities. Some examples: reading CICS source code and debugging MVS system dumps or reading the Mac application design guide when it first came out without having a development system (i.e. strictly theoretical). And we would always laugh it off as "maybe you are 301, or 151, or 76th on that list".
And later, if I told him of some weird occurrence in my life or career that contradicted what our parents told us was possible, he would say "That's OK sir, they can tell that you are 301!"
So, 7 years ago, after my brother went back to New York, he got a well-paying job installing Windows and other software. He was extremely nervous before (and I presume during) the interview until the end when he asked the hiring manager, "Is this all that you want me to do?". And he told me later, that what they were paying good money for, was a lot less than what he had learned working for me. And this was his first glimpse, and maybe mine to.
Of what? His confidence, his ability, his power over a set of events. I had felt my own power for a long time. I was taught how to develop it by a group of very strong people (my former managers). It was (is) intoxicating and he could perceive what it felt like.
We became closer. One big reason for this was that he could begin to understand what I used to talk about. Even I now agree with his (old) contention that I need to do some writing about office politics (not even technical issues). I do believe that I have been taught by some of the masters!
So, his salary and responsibility steadily increased along with his confidence (I assert that these are correlated), and we discussed whether he was an overachiever. At times, he would consider that he had progressed beyond his station in life. The slow, quiet, plodding, serene, good listener, was now being asked, and sometimes expected, to speak, to answer, to present, to emote. Everyone knows that stress normally accompanies power, and he experienced (experiences) this also. Afternoons "throwing up your screwdriver with the other technician" were a thing of the past, not just figuratively.
When he was approved for a real estate loan late last year, I could not have predicted the sequence of events. It still seems incredible. I always said I would come back to the City at 35 years old.
He started through the process. He decided to look in Manhattan. Several open houses each week. "What is the difference between a coop and a condo?... How do they treat you when you walk in and they see you are black?... Are there any other blacks viewing the apartments at the same time as you?" I have no experience with this, and I wanted to know.
He tells me that he is looking on the East Side. I have only vague images of 68th, Sutton Place, 79th street. I am thinking brownstone, but "can you really get a place in the City for $250K?". I know that it is not Park Avenue, but what is the story.
Our father says, "you are stupid to give money up front to get someone to help you find a place! They will red-line you anyway!". Our mother says, "have you looked in Westchester or the West Side?". His long-time friends say, "you are crazy to give up your place in Peekskill!". Our uncle says, "you need your head examined if you want to live in Manhattan!".
His more-recent friends who own in the City and elsewhere say, "do it!". His landlord says, "it's a good idea.". My boss says, "say your original offer again!". I say, "man you are becoming a 301 guy!".
This past December, I was traveling to NY, so we went to see the apartment in the building on 79th, east of 2nd Avenue. It was a big surprise for me. The doorman, the big chandelier in the lobby, the view (of part of the Chrysler building) from the bedroom window on the 23rd floor, the area with kids running around at night. It did not feel like the City, more like a neighborhood (not "the 'hood"). We went into a bar around the corner to eat and Steve tells me that the people do not even look twice at us (I have trained myself to mostly ignore all of the people staring at me for my entire life). He says, "to them we are just a couple of educated blacks."!! This is from the guy who defied my mothers' mantra and spent his entire career figuring out how to respond to the question, "So…where did you go to school?". Of course, by now he had figured out that people were asking this as a compliment. And this was not asked by any of the participants of the process (mortgage bankers, lawyers, RE agent) until closing day, by the sellers' attorney.
So, he closed 2 days ago, and I am not sure what to make of it all. I mean, who is my brother?. The stock answers seem obviously inadequate. "An overachiever; my greatest achievement; a triumph over lack of formal education; a tribute to tenacity; a quiet high-side guy; a bugeois guy masquerading as urbane; my hero!.
And when I talk with my mother about what has gone before us, I cannot help but think that we flatter ourselves by marveling at how far he has come. Certainly I do if I call it my greatest achievement. Because maybe what has come the farthest is our view of him. Maybe our underestimation and previous incorrect assessment is the main thing that has been debunked by this event.
Then I remember that his favorite subject was economics. When he was 38, I found out that when he used to cut school, he used to go the library to read econ books. He turned me on to Forbes and The Economist. He invested in some property (Forbes Park) long before I thought about any kind of investing. I thought he was a poor guy trying to act like a rich guy.
Switching to a different mortgage company (after Citibank hit a beauracratic snag) took a deftness that I was not sure that he had. I bought a condo in Virginia in 1980 (since defaulted), but I was surprised how many things could go wrong in this process (but did not).
So my brother is a 301 guy. Now, I am sure. (The building number is 301 East 79th street.) And this is the result of some very good jeans (sic), some imparted knowledge (from my mentors thru me), his belief in himself. But more than anything, the human spirit is indomitable, and incomparable. I think that I agree with G.B.Shaw who said, discouragement is the only disease!.
R.F.Williams San Jose CA