Lonnie digs the plaque from his mementos and places it on the table. "Six months later, I was fired," he says. He'd been experiencing chest pains and difficulty breathing; his doctor attributed the symptoms to work-related stress. Lonnie's request for time off caused a serious clash, and the director eventually let him go.
But Lonnie wasn't idle long. Jim Brown, who had met Lonnie through Spencer Haywood, suggested he take over the fledgling Colorado branch of Amer-I-Can. The non-profit, which runs on foundation and corporation grants, as well as fees charged to institutions and schools, had already met with success in twelve other states.
Amer-I-Can targets at-risk youth and young adults, although it generates the most headlines for its work with gang members. It focuses on teaching decision-making and life-management skills--from how to prepare for a job interview to taking personal responsibility for one's actions. "There is no 'we,' there is only 'I,'" Lonnie explains. "No 'my homeboys did this or said that.' Only what 'I' say or do. There are no excuses. No blaming racism. No saying, 'Someone didn't give me the job because they don't like that I'm a Muslim.' No saying, 'I committed a crime because my dad used to whup me.' Okay, so you got obstacles. Now, how are you going to overcome them?"
The gangbanger who comes into the program complaining that he doesn't want to work for minimum wage when he could make a hundred times that selling cocaine gets a quick economics lesson from Lonnie: "I tell them, 'Okay, let's look at this. Nobody goes on a lifelong crime spree. Sooner or later you get caught. Then the IRS comes in and seizes your BMW, your house and your boat. Then they put you away for three years--so how much a day are you earning there? Nothing?'"
Much of the program is geared toward analyzing motivations. "We try to get them to understand that you do the right thing because it is the right thing to do. And it is its own reward."
The message sounds simplistic, but that is exactly how these kids need to hear it. They never got that message at home, Lonnie says. Nor do they get it anymore at Lookout Mountain, which he accuses of "warehousing kids, preparing them for graduate school down in Canon City. The only problem is, they got to kill someone to get there."
The Amer-I-Can handbook expands the group's message into Ten Commandments for parents, including:
--I shall teach my child respect for all other persons.
--I shall impart a desire to love and honor this country and obey its laws.
--I shall teach, through my example, the importance of participating in community affairs and local government.
But the Denver Amer-I-Can program hasn't done as much for the community as it might have over the past two years. Not because Lonnie doesn't work at it, but because funds are limited. Competition with other programs that claim to work on the gang problem is heavy, but Lonnie refuses to participate in any backbiting. Perhaps he's ill-suited for begging corporations and foundations and school districts for funding when he thinks the need is clear. "I will not crawl on my knees when all they have to do is look at its success in other states," he says.
But to be honest, as Lonnie is fond of saying, after Val's death he didn't have the heart to pursue those contracts. "I try not to question the will of God, but I was puzzled for Malone's sake," he says. "I am still puzzled by his loss. For a long time, all I wanted to do was lay on that couch and do nothing. But I got to thinking about Val, about how strong she was, even when she knew it was over. She had a calming effect on me and was always telling me to change the things I could and not worry about the rest. So I got up."
Lonnie pulls out four posterboard charts that he made while still at Lookout Mountain. They're covered with newspaper clippings about gang shootings and arrests--and snapshots of boys who are either dead or soon could be.
"There's Pernel Hines," Lonnie says. "He's wanted by the Denver police for murder.
"That's Duran. He got out and was beat up by two guys in Pueblo. They put him in a coma. When he recovered, he killed one of them."
"And there's Clemmy," he adds. "He was killed three weeks after he got out. His mother called me screaming. She said he should have never stopped being a gangster--that he let his guard down and that's why he died."
Lonnie pauses a moment, then says, "He still had his baby fat on him."
Danny's little brother stares at the posters. One photograph shows a homeboy, Peanut, with his throat slit by the Crips. "I've kept this from him because of that," Lonnie says.
The gangster tears his eyes away. "I've seen stuff that bad before," he says. "I'm a lot closer to this than other people."
