Advantage Disadvantage (2 page)

After he shut off the water, a guard with a digital
camera snapped body shots of each prisoner from head to toe. He
took six photos of Marcus’ body, the least of the twelve prisoners
in the room. The guard with the camera called out each scar and
tattoo found on each “guest”, which was then documented into each
arrestee’s record and used for further analysis. For Marcus, only
the scar on his knee required notice. Police analysts were
developing some of their best gang reconnaissance using this tattoo
documentation. Information gleaned from these reports developed
into family trees and gang organization charts. After photographing
the prisoners, they put on the prison-issued orange jumpsuits.

Already sentenced prisoners, from other
jurisdictions, moved directly to the permanent cellblocks and
assigned roommates. Those who waited for bail hearings or
arraignments moved on to large cages rimmed with permanently
mounted metal benches. Two guards monitored each cage. They mostly
ignored the men until one of their attorneys showed up for a
conference or a judge summoned a prisoner for a hearing. Guards sat
across from each other playing cards or watching television until
called to action. When a captive needed to exit the cage, one guard
cautiously opened the cell door while the other stood back with
firearms drawn.

Marcus entered one of these holding cells. There
were several inmates already sitting inside the cage on the
benches. This was a terrible place to find one’s self. How could a
loving husband and decent father end up in this Chicago
hellhole?

Chapter Two. The Imari’s

Marcus Imari was born thirty-five years ago to an
unwed teenage mother. Despite her own academic shortcomings, no one
valued education more than this young mother did. She was
determined to guide Marcus to become the first descendent in her
African-American family’s history to attend college. Her
perspective was nothing short of remarkable because she had zero
understanding of any college experience. Instinctively, she
presumed that Marcus’ quality of life would advance if he attended
college. Living in the south side, Robert Taylor projects was
dangerous and tough. Losing groceries or newly bought clothes to
the building’s gangbangers was common. Marcus’ father dropped out
of sight when he was a toddler so his Mom began working several
jobs to make ends meet. She started out as an assistant at her
church’s day care center so that she could be with her son as much
as possible. She often worked evenings cleaning apartments in
Chicago’s Gold Coast and Hyde Park areas, alternatively swapping
babysitting duties with her neighbor across the hall. Perhaps
working for upper-middle class white clients with college-bound
offspring inspired her desire for Marcus to become educated.

Marcus’ inner city grade school was sub-standard.
Half of the teachers could not substantiate their teaching
credentials if the Chicago Board of Education bothered to enforce
its own rules. With his mother’s guidance, Marcus was out of place
in this poor classroom: he had an inspired lust for learning, and
did not mind doing homework. His mom was usually one of the few
parents who bothered showing up at school open houses or
parent-teacher nights. Other than his daily trek to school and
organized after-school activities, Marcus mostly stayed inside the
apartment to avoid the harsh gang-tainted realities of the Chicago
projects.

Marcus’ mother allowed him to play organized
baseball and basketball. After a few futile years, Marcus
completely lost interest in baseball, but he loved basketball. He
was a decent player in his project’s peewee leagues, but never the
best on his team. He did not excel until his first year of high
school when a growth spurt propelled him to six-foot one-inch tall.
Suddenly, he lost his baby fat and blossomed into a terrific high
school athlete. In his sophomore year, he earned a spot on the
school’s varsity squad. His mom demanded that he never permit his
sport to get in the way of his college goals. When he was a high
school junior, a few Midwestern colleges expressed interest. His
height ultimately topped out at 6 foot 3 inches. One college coach
asked to meet Marcus’ mother after a basketball game. These coveted
home visits gave the coaches a chance to sell the family on the
college’s merits and reassure them that they would meet the
player’s off-court needs. This was a promising time, and the Imaris
enthusiastically anticipated using basketball to fulfill Marcus’
educational destiny. The coach was not so concerned that his
inner-city education was stereotypically sub-par. He promised
tutors, study halls, and personal curriculum counseling to ensure
Marcus’ collegiate success.

Disaster struck in his senior year when an
out-of-control opponent crashed into Marcus tearing the ligaments
and cartilage in one of his knees. At the time, the repair of an
ACL meant the surgeon ripped open the knee and rebuilt it on a best
effort basis. The operation was problematic for wealthy people
using the finest doctors. For patrons of the Robert Taylor Clinic,
the quality of care and the results were predicatively much worse.
Arthroscopic surgery was on the drawing board, but not approved.
Rehabilitation involved hard work and a low chance of recovering
complete range of movement. After his surgery, the limping Marcus
missed the rest of the season. More importantly, he could not
regain his quickness and his college scholarship opportunities
evaporated.

Graduating from high school was an anti-climatic
event for Marcus and his mom. Overwhelmed with the disappointment
of losing his “ticket” to college, he made plans to enroll in
Burnham Junior College. He could live with his mom to save money
and perhaps play for Burnham’s team. This was like trying to make
lemonade out of a lemon. His mom was able to get Marcus a kitchen
helper job at one of her housecleaning clients’ restaurant. He
spent all summer working the dinner shift for low wages to save
money for school. During the daytime, he was in the park trying to
get his basketball legs back. He worked hard at both.

The junior college coach knew he was enrolling and
invited him to walk-on tryouts. Marcus made the team, but he was
definitely slower than the other guards were and not big enough to
play forward. Six-foot-three players needed to be quick, even on
the junior college circuit. Academically, he struggled. Without the
bright lights and advantages of a Division I school, he was on his
own without tutors and academic advisors. Despite his advanced raw
intellectual capacity and above-average IQ, his weak primary school
education had taken its toll. It was hard to keep up with the
better-prepared students in his classes, and he had become a
practice player landing ninth on the team’s depth chart. Marcus was
put in games only after the outcomes had been determined, otherwise
known as “garbage time”. He dreaded the day he had to tell his mom
that their dream had ended. He dropped out of junior college and
began looking for a job.

***

He walked around the tall buildings in Chicago
trying to secure employment. With his high school certificate in
hand, he was out of place in the bustling downtown Chicago area. He
was imposing, but soft spoken. The Board of Trade was located at
the base of LaSalle Street, in the heart of Chicago’s financial
district. He wandered in to use the bathroom and followed the rope
lines to the guard station. Before he could ask about public
washrooms, he noticed a posting entitled, “Now Hiring”. The list
below had several job descriptions. He did not know what most of
these positions meant, but when the guard behind the desk offered
to help him, Marcus said he was there to apply for a job. He called
someone on the phone and after a couple minutes directed Marcus to
an elevator bank taking him to the Human Resources Department.

He was so nervous he almost wet his pants. Sitting
across from a person who reminded Marcus of his junior college
teachers, he reviewed the openings: Mailroom and Security Guard.
The HR recruiter liked Marcus’ gentle demeanor and was conscious of
his large body frame. He offered Marcus a job as a security
guard.

“Of course you’ll have to pass a background check.
Then, we will send you to the county’s firearm training session.
Assuming you pass this course, we will get you outfitted with a
uniform and secure a firearm, handcuffs and other tools of your new
trade. How does that sound young man?”

“Outstanding,” Marcus replied without hesitation.
“When can I start?”

***

He quickly cleared the background check and easily
passed the firearms training course. He worked the same guard desk
where he first stumbled in looking for work. Marcus was the first
contact that traders saw every morning as they entered the coliseum
of commodity trading.

“How ‘bout them Sox?” he learned to say to the south
side traders.

“This is the Cubbie’s year, right?” he said to the
north side folks.

In the fall or winter he would ask, “When are we
going to get a QB for ‘da Bears’?” or “Did you see how many points
Michael scored yesterday?”

Many employees traded sports barbs with Marcus. He
became so beloved that around Christmas time he had the most gifts
and holiday tips of any employee at the Board. He occasionally had
to break up heated disturbances by angry traders in the pits. He
was big enough to split the combatants and he got along with
everyone, so when he intervened, the temperature of the fight
dropped right away. He enjoyed the attention and took his
assignment seriously – turning away vagrants and unauthorized
patrons. Members really came to like his friendly disposition.

One of the members of the Board of Trade was Jon
Handelair. He was an entrepreneurial immigrant, originally from
Holland, who found his way onto the Chicago Board of Trade. As a
young man, Jon made a fortune trading wheat futures during
President Nixon’s export embargo to the Soviet Union. He stopped
trading futures contracts after he had accumulated substantial
wealth, and was now working as an administrator at the Board of
Trade. Mr. Handelair knew most members either from trading days or
as a department director. He was certainly an executive, but he
made it a point to know people by name. Exchanging hello’s before
the day began was a normal ritual between Marcus and Mr.
Handelair.

No matter the weather or economic conditions, Mr.
Handelair greeted Marcus by saying, “It’s a beautiful day to trade
today!”

And Marcus, paying homage to the ever optimistic
hall of fame Cub player Ernie Banks, would respond, “Let’s play two
today!” Both laughed and high-fived each other to start each
day.

***

A few years later, the Board of Trade administration
decided to sponsor a recreational basketball league at the Chicago
Club to foster after-hours fun with member firms. Fighting to buy
and sell wheat, corn and pork belly contracts daily was a high
stress, physically challenging way to make a living. Many market
participants were ex-athletes, or at the very least, had
competitive personalities. It was no accident that most traders
were under forty years old. Rigors of trading shortened most
members’ careers. The purpose of the basketball league was to let
the member firms blow-off steam and establish sportsmanship that
might spill over onto the trading floor. Jon Handelair asked Marcus
to play on the exchange’s staff team. Marcus was flattered to be
included in an otherwise good-old-boys culture consisting of
high-income traders and well-educated staff members. Marcus had a
sense of his place on the team and in the league. Although he was
easily the best player in the league, he decided to play half-speed
just for fun and exercise. He purposely would not show off in front
of the members or staff on the hard-court.

The official scorekeeper for the Board of Trade
league was Jon’s daughter, Elizabeth. Although Hyde Park was close
to the projects where Marcus grew up, Elizabeth Handelair did not
attend any of the local Chicago Public Schools. She was bright, and
more importantly her family was rich. She attended the University
Of Chicago Laboratory High School where she developed an idealistic
attitude along with her privileged classmates. Elizabeth fit in
well with the elite Hyde Park crowd, but was not completely
comfortable with her social status. She volunteered in a program
sponsored by the mayor’s literacy program to help inner city kids
develop reading skills. She felt good about her volunteer
participation and it caused her to reevaluate her family’s
materialist dispositions. Her conservative parents travelled with
the south side “in crowd”. They watched Elizabeth evolve from her
inherited spoiled affluence to a socially conscious young
woman.

Upon graduation, her friends made plans to attend
largely conservative, Midwestern schools such as the state
universities of Illinois, Iowa, and Indiana, or private
institutions including Northwestern, Chicago, and DePaul. Elizabeth
had other ideas. She chose to attend Haverford Liberal Arts College
near Philadelphia over her second choice, the University of
Wisconsin (otherwise known as the Berkley of the Midwest). Her
Haverford peers were similar to her in many respects. They had
wealthy parents, well-prepared academic training at excellent high
schools, and an introduction to living well. These students did not
want for much. The difference between Elizabeth and her new
classmates was that she arrived on campus with her father’s middle
class values: hard work, academic study, and a clannish dedication
to his family.

Haverford cemented her drift toward liberal
approaches to life. She thought that some of her father’s values
were understandable, but ideals of the past generation. During
college, not only did she evolve with her political and social
philosophies, she blossomed into a beautiful woman. She was tall,
and her natural blond hair color was consistent with her genetic
Dutch tendencies. Elizabeth also had access to family money.
However, she neither wanted to become a “trust fund baby” nor was
she prepared to lower her standard of living.