D.A. Rhodes
Reading that will make you forget you are reading
Welcome to the World of D. A. Rhodes
D.A. Rhodes was born and raised on the south side of Chicago, Illinois on November 2. Her interest in writing was fueled by her love of reading and an over active imagination. As a child, she read early and loved books. Throughout her adolescence, she devoured the written word. In 1995 she graduated from Columbia College in Chicago with a B A in Journalism.
Her first short story, “No Sense Cryin’ Now,” was inspired by personal dissatisfaction with an early professional experience.
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D.A. Rhodes
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Preview of 'Why?'
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Chapter 1
Sunday, May 5, 1963, life as my family knew it changed forever. At 6 p.m. my father walked into The Corner Bar on 55th and King Drive in Chicago in search of his baby brother, Do-Man. My father found him perched on his usual bar stool in the corner by the big plate glass window at the front of the bar. When Daddy walked in and saw Do-Man sipping his Gin and Tonic, taking long slow drags from his Kool 100's, laughing and talking with the other regulars, Daddy froze. The rage he had been carrying around for the past two days, made him crazy.
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One of the female regulars looked in my fathers direction and knew that something was wrong. She stopped laughing and quickly turned back to Do-Man. "Do, baby, aint that yo brother standing over there by the door looking like he bout to kill somebody?"
Before Do-Man could put his drink down and tell my father to join him, my father was standing two feet in front of him with a 38 Smith and Wesson pointed at Do-Mans head. After about ten seconds of silence, someone yelled, "Damn! Dat nigga got a gun!" Feet started shuffling; tables were turned over, people started screaming and running for cover.
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Then, BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Daddy unloaded his 38 on Do-Man. Do-Man fell back on his stool crashing into the wall. Blood shot from his chest, mouth and forehead. My father stood over his brother's body, a hot gun dangled from his curled fingers as his hands dropped to his sides.
The police were the first to enter the bar with their guns drawn. They stood at the end of the bar and yelled at my father, "Drop the gun nigger!" Daddy did as he was told and put his hands up. The police put the silver metal bracelets around his wrists and the paramedics rushed in to take Do-Mans vitals. They discovered what everyone else in the joint already knew. Do-Man was dead.
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At the trial Daddy showed no remorse. He showed no emotion what-so-ever. Not once did he even look at the jury of his peers; nine white men, two white women and one old black woman. At the end of the three day trial, Daddy was found guilty of pre-meditated murder. But the judge went easy on him and gave him twenty years.
"Will the defendant please rise?" the bailiff ordered.
"Mr. Boxx," the judge began, "You have been found guilty by a jury of your peers. Is there anything you would like to say before I pronounce sentencing?" My father slowly raised his head, stared the judge in the eyes and said, "My biggest regret is that I only killed him
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once." Surprised, but not shocked by my fathers response, the judge replied, "Lee Otis Boxx, I do hereby sentence you to 20 years in the state prison. Not becoming eligible for parole before serving at least ten years."
My mother let out a loud scream. My sisters and I sat and wept in silence as we watched our father be led away. Right before he crossed the threshold that would take him away for the next ten to twenty years he stopped, turned around and looked at his family, as he knew it, for the last time. Before he could take it all in, everyones attention was drawn to the back of the courtroom to the loud voice of a very small woman shouting, "Fear thou not, for I am with thee: Be not dismayed; for I am thy
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God; I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." I recognized her as that crazy lady from East St. Louis who stood on the street corners screaming Bible verses to all the sinners passing by. We were all stunned to see her standing in the back of the courtroom. What was she doing there?! The judge struck his gavel and ordered a bailiff to escort her out of his courtroom. Before the bailiff could reach the woman, she turned around, walked out and disappeared. We turned back to my father only to hear the steel door slam shut.
A part of me blamed my mother for what was happening. Had she not been so greedy and insistent on
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working to have the latest of everything, she could have protected me from Do-Man. Im sure my mother blamed me for my fathers going to prison. She never said anything, but her actions and attitude towards me turned for the worse.
My family and I rode the CTA (Chicago Transit Authority) bus home in complete silence. What would happen to us now that Daddy was gone? My mother sat staring out the window. Her high yellow skin now a dusty shade of ash. She had no regard for anything around her. Twenty minutes into the ride I saw her close her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She opened her eyes and caught me looking at her. Ashamed, I lowered my eyes.
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Had I never told my father about Do-Man sneaking down to our apartment and into my bedroom while my parents were at work, none of this would have happened, and my father would still be with his family instead of locked up in some prison.
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