Writings by LaRoyce L. Smith

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MEMOIR

I remember waking to the screams of her voice.
I remember the punches, the kicks, the black eyes,
the bloody noses, and the busted lips.

I remember her warm tears against my scalp
as she cradled me in her arm,
saying “everything is going to be alright!”
I remember every crack in her soft voice reassuring me.
I remember her touch.

I remember telling her, “I’ll get him when I’m grown.”
I remember him abusing me,
Me screaming; “wait till I get older”:
Her pleading; enough is enough.”
Pleading,
Always pleading.

I remember a butcher knife.
I remember her saying; “you better not touch him again”,
Him, back peddling like the coward he is/was.
I remember her between us, stopping me again,
excusing him because of his drug habit.
I remember wanting to leave.
She would always say; “where will we go?”
I remember the sweet spot of my baseball bat
ringing against his ribs and head.
I beat him for all the wrong he did to me and her.

I remember the shiny black .38 revolver he pulled,
the night he kicked me out at 13,
“Don’t shoot”, she plead.
Always pleading.
I remember my first pistol, the .357
I bought to kill him for all the abuse.

I remember her telling me to come home,
“he’s gone”, she’d whisper.
I remember her embrace, holding me
as if to shelter me from our past, and protect me
from our future.
Above all,
I remember her motherly love.

(Dedicated to Johnnie Mae Smith)

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MY LIFE

My name is LaRoyce L. Smith; I’m a 35 years old; a black male; born in Dallas, Texas at Saints Paul Hospital. Much of my background I have buried beneath the pain I endure. It is very difficult for me to speak of my past. Also, there is much that I haven’t quite come to terms with in respect to my past. Though at birth I feel I inherited love without security, I developed age without the truth of how one should age, I inherited friends whose only needs were their self-greed.

In the beginning I inherited most dangerous potential, which I think made me a product of society. I did not inherit the merit of winnings. I understand that this doesn’t give you a clear understanding of who I am, and why I am in such a situation. Though I am to the best of my ability to give you an understanding of what is inside of me. I think, I feel, I see, I cry, I hear, and I have my own story. Try to think of being without shelter or warmth on the coldest night of the year. Now imagine how it would feel not to have the resources to replace even the simplest items, such as soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, or shampoo. Imagine, if you will, how it would feel if you had no one, and nothing. It is probably unfair of me to ask you to try imagine such a life, for often no one cares enough to do or say anything about it simply because they, themselves are not faced with such a problem. Yet, I tell you, life on the streets in a cold, hungry and often violent world. Most of the time we live in a world apart from the mainstream, ignored by those around us, and forced by necessity into a daily scramble just to survive at the most basic level. Though I do have hopes and dreams, it is just unfortunate that I will get the chance to fulfill them.

Whites and blacks will never be punished equally, by white rulers. Much of white America still regards black life as meaningless. The Justice System symbolizes for most black Americans the century of segregation, poverty, political disenfranchisement, and legal repression they have suffered. Many blacks have a constant reminder of the crude words of a Southern police captain spoken nearly a half century ago: “If a nigga kills a white man that’s murder. If a white man kills a nigga, that’s justifiable homicide. And if a nigga kills another nigga, that’s one less nigga.” This is the perceptions white America have. Even in death, there is no justice or equality. We blacks are born at white hospitals, and buried at the white cemeteries. So, asking the white man to be reasonable in morbid. Blacks must free themselves through education.

A new lexicon of words and phrases has crept into the popular language to depict black Americans as alienated, hostile embittered, and often violence prone. Under the pretence of fighting crime and drugs (mostly inner-city), the police militarization and power has grew, so has police abuse and killing of blacks. The dehumanizing of black Americans has had a terrible consequence. The problem of the twentieth century is a problem of the color-line. The racial breach has been allowed to persist, and has split society irretrievably. White institutions created ghetto poverty, white institutions maintain it, and white societies condones it.

The death penalty serves no useful purpose, another life is taken in the name justice. But killing is killing no matter who does it. I don’t know what’s going to happen with me, my freedom seems so far away because as far as the system goes, I’m a nobody. My life has no value as far as the system is concerned. Sometimes I feel sure I’m going to be free, then there are times I lose all hope. If people knew, or knew about the individuals on death row, actively or by doing nothing.

One day I pray we will celebrate no more of the death penalty the world over.

Sincerely,

LeRoyce L. Smith

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