Latrobe Epps
The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds,,expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives. Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities. While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books. This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.
Passing Through The Pain Latrobe Epps
It was a bitterly cold Chicago winter night. The Windy City Hawk was racing around corners cutting like a knife through anything and anyone unfortunate enough to be outside at 11:56pm.
At that precise moment on February 27th as snow drifts were billowing about the sky a surprise baby with a unique name was born at Mt. Sinai hospital not far from my current residence at the Cook County Jail but we’ll save that story for another time.
I refer to Latrobe “LT” Epps as a surprise baby not just because my birth was unplanned but more so because my father was 56 when I was conceived and my mother who was 36 had no intentions of having another child.
I was told that once my father found out that she was pregnant he jokingly said to her “just because there’s a little snow on the roof doesn’t mean there isn’t any fire in the furnace.” She was not amused, Armitta Wilson was divorced with three small children aged 2,3, and 4 when she met my father.
Now that might have been an immediate turn off to many men but no to Willie James Epps. Just like his name insinuates he was an old school cat and also very family oriented. He was totally smitten by her almond skin, shoulder length hair, witty sense of humor and fierce ambition.
She was also 20 years his junior. There was no way he was going to let something like a few kids be the reason why he let this PYT (pretty young thang) slip through his fingers. They “courted” as the old folks would say for a while and were married shortly thereafter.
When my father proposed to Mickey, which was my moms nickname since she was young, he not only asked for her hand in marriage but also to legally adopt my older siblings Veronica (Ronnie), Burkett (Buck) and Kim and give them his last name. My mother couldn’t be more ecstatic. My brother and sisters adored my father and his kind loving demeanor. He reciprocated that love and adoration exponentially, especially doting on the youngest of the three, my sister Kim. He was laid back and easy going, the polar opposite of our staunch Christian disciplinarian mother. This is what they liked the best. Brother Epps as everyone called him was a throwback blue collar man's man.
He worked hard to make my mother happy and provide his family with everything they needed and as much of what they wanted as he could. On payday he brought his check straight home to his young wife.
It wasn’t because he was whooped, he was just keeping it real. She was better at managing the family's finances and he knew it. She wasn’t in accounting at Ryerson Steel for nothing. In return and out of respect for him she pulled strings from behind the scenes.
She always let it appear that she followed his lead. She was old school too. She was never going to be one to emasculate her husband and the head of their household. They were truly a dynamic duo.
Things were going pretty good for the Epps Family as the years passed. Brother Epps and Mickey continued to work hard, improve their standard of living and enjoy life. They met and lived out west but had kin all over Chicagoland, that they visited for family dinners, barbecues and card parties.
Uncle Dave and Auntie Earlene on North Avenue and Leclair. Uncle “Bud” who kept a clean Cadillac and aunt Ruthie in the 100’s. Grandma Cleola on 67th & Greenwood. Uncle Pete over east on 84th & Manistee. One of the only Black Families the Mexicans welcomed into the neighborhood at the time. Aunt Eva in Park Forest who was a sister and best friend to my mother and many more.
n, Ohio, and back down south to Mississippi They also went on trips to visit family in Wisconsi about to get better. My parents had been where they both were from. Life was good and getting older and into their teen years they living in apartments and as their 3 children were e together. decided it was time to purchase their first hom
They both had been working and saving money and seeing that my father was an army veteran they felt help from his G.I. Bill would seal the deal, they were right.
They found a large white stucco house with chocolate brown trim with plenty of room for the whole family at 1135 N Latrobe. It also had a huge backyard with plenty of space for Brother Epps to grow a nice sized garden of tomatoes, carrots, string beans, and herbs with plenty of space left over for Mickey to plant marigolds and other flowers of her liking. In the course of getting the great news about the house they also found out they were pregnant with me.
After the initial shock wo re off my mother struggle d with coming up with a out of the ordinary. As yo name that was u can see she settled on naming me after the stree had recently moved on. t the family
We constantly got our asses cooked like a pot of gumbo because of those names. I’ve been called every street in L Town at some point. What up Lemington? What's the word Lockwood? I think you get the picture.
I a nd h er brot l l my e he B urk et w e n t a nd L a t th r o u g tr o b e S hw it h o M D H . Y ur m o o n ik u m ig h t th i ers b ut nk y ou c y ou ha v e n o a n im a g in e id ea th .
With my sisters having names like Veronica and Kim I always wanted to ask my mom, “Hey what the hell, did you want all girls or something?” But her response would have been to promptly stomp my ears together so I suffered in silence.
W he n I was b o rn m a n a lo y fa th gy a n er w a d I do le t s j u s ha p n ’t w a n st sa y p ie r t h t to e n he w a an a s d my s over ss… W b u jo y e d d d in g ho a w w it h b a w r it e l l th a ing ca e in g b ts a n r ee r b lessed in a p p e ropria w it h h fore it te a v in g g e t s starte a you n g so d so n.
d nd woul u o r e e a ha t h m d rt ote cline t y re dl ro u re e n p g e . H so u p e v ei a r ec s p e d u n io a fo r a tr o c k s n a n ’t h a s a . d l u es e n I c o a ll h g a m Eve g . c n s o i e b r h fr ra n o t iv id l y c h c u e s p t a v p ep e w e re . I nd w a r & e t l a Th y w h t sa n d . s ly r a u e v e o i u n e h is r a s o e l ig r k n c i pi tte n d d n ’t u a l ir cha e wou t ,h th a of scalp k c b a o h is e t h t k in of c i p p o et th e h t g on s d u s it d d l u ha n o e l Iw tt y li m if
s it
He would bring me home a cupcake or candy bar every night after work like clockwork. I would sit in the window anxiously waiting to see him walking up in the driveway with my treat. That drove my mom insane. I remember helping him pick vegetables in the garden on warm summer days. Weekends were the best because on Saturdays we did my favorite, cut the grass. IN my youthful naivety I actually thought I was the one pushing the lawn mower. There were regular walks to Zack’s Store on the corner of Laramie and Division to pick up his carton of
Kool Filter Kings and a Chicago Tribune. It was almost certain that I was going to ride back on his shoulders straddling his neck with some delectable treat in one of my hands.
Life couldn't be any better. Sounds like a pretty wonderful story right? Well of course it does. Guess you know just about what time it is then. You know when you’re at the highest part of a roller coaster just before… yeah the fucking bottom falls out and like does a 180. Remember those Kool Filter Kings that I told you about. In my tale of childhood bliss I guess I left out the part where my dad chain smokes using the cigarette in his mouth that he’s smoking to light the next one in his hand so that he doesn’t miss a single puff in his nicotine binge. He’d repeat this routine until a pack was empty.
All of a sudden my memory bank’s slideshow of fun activities is replaced with trips to the VA hospital and to the sobbing whispers of my mother and other adults discussing the plethora of medical ailments that my beloved father is suffering from when she thinks I’m asleep. I wish at this point I could present some prolific praise report about prayers for recovery being answered but I can’t. Just like that windy City Hawk that ushered me in late that winter night, cancer swept in hard and swift for Willie James and ushered him out.
The last memory I have of my father is actually not a memory of him at all. It's the day of his funeral. It was a crisp but sunny day in October right before the pro cession was about to leave from our home. I was only five years old.
As I stood facing the street in my brown sweater and chocolate slacks, my mother knelt down in front of me, placed her hands on my shoulders and asked me if I wanted to go to my fathers funeral.
I remember shaking my head and telling her “No, Mommy.” Damn!
My mother honored my request and left me home with one of our family members. For most of my life I have always felt that this was the first decision that I made in my life that I regret. I dearly wish I knew why I said no. I feel like I robbed myself of one lasting memory of the most important person in the world to me.
I wish that I could tell you that the seeds of love and unity that my parents planted in our hearts, home and minds were able to continue to flourish in the decades that followed without him, but then I’d be lying.
My mother did the best she could but to no avail. We’ve been plagued by addiction to drugs, alcohol, gambling, violence and experienced more than our share of death. However, still we soldier on.
I can’t tell you what I want you to take from this story. I can tell you what it did for me. It afforded me the opportunity to pour out a cup of my pain and share a slice of my soul and in as such lighten my load. You could have been anywhere in the world, yet you chose to share a portion of your most precious commodity, your time, with me. For that I am eternally grateful.
Latrobe Epps I Am From I am from Latrobe and Division, where my young headrest Teenage summers on the southeast side slamming the 5 cross my chest I’m from John Hay Academy at the end of the block Passing dope fiends to get to that free breakfast Early mornings mom had to punch that clock I’m from LaFollette Park pool, where I almost drowned After that I kept my narrow ass on the playground I am from that white stucco house with the chocolate brown trim Big bro out front hollering “On Vice Lord”, this was way before “On foenem” I’m from King Buck, my brother that taught me the hustle game And Rev Epps who tried to keep the lord on my brain I am from church all day with my mother trying to get my soul right Then contradictory from my brother bagging work while she worked overnights I’m from Remy and Rose with a splash of pineapple Trash talking is mandatory whether spade game or scrabble I am from don’t throw rocks and hide your hand I’m from where a plan for failure is a failure to plan I’m from being raised christian, thinking muslim and acting catholic There’s a greater power than me is the sum of my mathematics I am from the delivery room of Mt. Sinai, right up the street Soul of a warrior, heart of a lion, This is Chicago shorty.. I AM NOT FROM DEFEAT
Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright
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