Philanthropy, chapter 2

Tonya sat nervously across the small table from Dennis Franks. Reverend Billy sat to her left. She sipped nervously at the grande frappucino latte Franks had bought for her. Reverend Bill was sipping a bottle of mineral water, and Franks thoroughly enjoyed his latte. He had bought the same kind as Tonya, in an attempt to make her feel at ease.

But his mannerisms were those of a businessman with a task to accomplish. He didn't waste a lot of time beating around the bush.

Reverend Billy was also there to put her at ease, and to provide moral support.

"It ain't often that a rich white man comes into south side Atlanta to have coffee wid' a black girl." She looked at her coffee cup as they spoke, stealing occasional furtive glances at him.

"Yeah, well," he said, sipping at his latte, "I've never done it before. Reverend, you ever seen it happen?"

Reverend Billy wasn't as quick on the draw as his two companions. He just looked blankly from one to the other.

"So," said Tonya, "why are you here, Mista Rich White Man?"

"First of all," responded Frank, "I don't want to hear any bullshit about white man's guilt or southern shame or white privilege. If you start throwing that around, then I'm out of here and you can finish that latte by yourself."

"I didn't --"

"No, but you were going to. I'm not here because of that. You're a smart girl. You graduated from Douglass High with a 3.43 grade-point average. You ran for three years on the cross-country and track teams, and lettered every year. You were on the debate team your sophomore and junior years. And you were in the National Honor Society for four years. You were planning to go to college. What happened?"

Tonya swirled the coffee in her half-empty cup and answered in a flat voice, still not looking at Franks. "I was gonna go to Yale or Harvard. You know, Ivy League schools. I had the grades to do it. My teachers loved me, and the counselors thought I was gonna be a real feather in their cap. Then, the week before school started my senior year, a boy talked me into sleepin' wid'im. He said he was wearing a condom, but I didn't see one. Anyway, before Homecoming came around, I found out I was pregnant.

"I talked to Reverend Billy about what to do. He convinced me not to get an abortion. I didn't want to give up the baby, so I decided to keep it. Because I was pregnant, I dropped out of running. And I was so busy trying to get ready for the baby and keep my grades up, that I had to quit debate. I wasn't gonna quit high school, though. That's the one thing I didn't quit."

She sighed, took a sip, and continued. "Little Sarah was born the week before graduation. I almost couldn't walk across the stage to get my diploma, but nothin' was gonna stop me. But after that, I had to take care of my baby, so I got a job at Waffle House and I been workin' there ever since. My mama watches the baby while I'm at work, but she's an alcoholic and so sometimes I get home and the baby's in the same diaper she was wearing when I left."

She sighed again. "Ain't no way I can go to college with that kind of life hangin' round my neck."

"Where's the father?" Franks asked quietly.

"You mean the sperm donor?" she retorted angrily. "Last I heard, he was hustlin' something down on the Gulf Coast. I ain't seen him since graduation. He tried to sleep with me again after a graduation party, but I told him, number one, I'm still healin', and number two, don't you remember what happened the last time we did that? He was never a boyfriend, just a boy." Her voice trailed off into sadness.

"So, are you planning to work at Waffle House for the rest of your life?"

"Yes, unless I can get a job at Denny's instead." She looked up at him through her eyebrows, smiling at her little joke.

Franks smiled softly in reply. Then he took a long drag on his latte and said, "What if you could get a second chance at going to college?"

She snorted softly. "Do I look like I got a fairy godmother?" she asked her coffee cup.

"You might. I have a proposal for you. Have you ever heard of the Pinecone Foundation?"

Franks waited for a response and, not getting one, continued. "In a forest fire, all of the trees are burned and die, right? Well, the heat from the forest fire causes pine cones to open up, and their seeds drop out and get buried in the ash on the forest floor. Then the next spring, after lying there and soaking up water all winter, they sprout and grow into new trees. It's like the forest gets a second chance.

"The Pinecone Foundation exists to give kids like you a second chance. Tell me: what were you going to study at Yale or Harvard?"

"Accounting," she muttered to her cup.

"They told me you were good at math. How were you going to pay for your education?"

"A lotta hard work." She chuckled sadly, even though it wasn't really a joke.

"I don't think you can work enough in four years to pay for those schools."

"Yeah well, it's all a mute point now. I ain't goin' anywhere." She leaned back in her chair and fixed him with a look of despair and apathy.

"Moot point," he said.

"What?"

"Moot point, not mute. It's a legal term. It means something that's fake, or something that doesn't matter anymore."

"It sure doesn't."

He caught the wit in the reply. "You've got a sharp mind. An accounting degree from Yale would serve you well. You could get a job as a CPA anywhere. Or you could go to business school, get an MBA, and get a job as a junior executive somewhere."

"Somewhere, like where?"

"How about Procter & Gamble, in Cincinnati?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Ooh! I ain't never been to Cincinnati!" Then the sparkle died, and she slumped in her chair again. "And I ain't never gonna get there, either."

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. Although she hadn't looked at him much, his eyes had never left her during the entire conversation. Reverend Billy sat on the side, content to be a spectator in this exchange.

"I want - the Foundation wants - to pay for your schooling. We will pay for tuition, books, Internet access, rent, utilities, groceries, diapers for your little one, day care, a computer, even a cellphone. We'll even pay for you to come home and visit on the holidays, if you want."

Skeptical, Tonya asked, "What do I gotta do in return?"

"Get accepted. Pass all your classes. Graduate. And be a good mama to your baby. That's all."

"Uh-huh. And do you get to be my sugar daddy? Do I have to sleep with you?"

Franks smiled. He wasn't offended; in fact, he had been expecting this question. He shook his head and said, "You get your own two-bedroom apartment. The only person you have to sleep with is your own little girl."

"I ain't never had my own apartment. Hell, I ain't never even had my own bed."

"I'll introduce you to Charmaine. She's 25, and she works at the foundation. She'll teach you how to cook, and clean your own apartment, do your laundry, and do your grocery shopping - in fact, she'll go shopping with you until think you can handle it on your own. She'll take you clothes shopping before school starts, because you're going to need a new wardrobe."

Tonya's eyes started to glaze over, as she allowed herself to believe this was true. "Wait - wait. There has to be a catch. Nobody's this generous - not to a total stranger, and def'nit'ly not to a black girl wid' a baby from the South Side."

Franks stared at her, not moving. Then he asked, "So, is that a yes or a no?"

She looked to the preacher: "Reverend Billy?"

"Remember what Cuba Gooding Junior said."

She furrowed her brow, thinking hard. "What? 'Show me the money'?" She laughed, but the laughter was a mix of puzzlement and crazy hope. "Mista Franks, show me the money."

He smiled and waggled his eyebrows. "First, you get accepted at a school. Then I'll show you the money." He watched the crazy hope fade away. "Yes or no?"

Franks was rather disappointed. He had been expecting a more positive reaction. Tonya swirled her empty cup slowly on the table in front of her. "If I say yes, what happens?"

"Well, applying for college is hard work. So we'll help you do that. Tomorrow morning at 9, Charmaine will pick you up and bring you to the office. You can bring your baby if you want. We have several secretaries who are grandmothers, and they will fuss over her for hours. They'll pass her back and forth, and you won't have to worry about her for a minute. You and Charmaine can sit at a computer, decide which schools to apply to, and fill in the applications."

He paused, then said, "It'll take more than one day. You might need to quit your job."

"But I can't do that!" Tonya exclaimed.

"Nonsense. Getting into school is now your full-time job."

"But I need the money!"

"Tonya, let's talk for a minute about want versus need. Yes, you need the money. But do you want to go to college?"

"Well yeah, but I can't quit just for a couple of days of applyin', and then weeks of waitin'! What if they say no? Then I got no school and no job!"

Franks smiled gently. "You still don't understand. That's okay. You will have the money. We'll give you $120 for every day you spend at the Foundation, researching schools and filling out applications. We will pay you $120 for every day that you are out with Charmaine or someone else, buying clothes and supplies, and learning how to drive."

"Drive?"

"Well, if you're going to be independent, you're going to need a car."

The girl gasped.

"And if there's still time left over, we will offer you a job at the Foundation. We have a lot of work you can do."

Her eyes started filling with tears, and then she blinked them back. Her lower lip started to quiver, so she bit it. She stared at the logo on the coffee cup she was holding, as if it were the most important thing in the universe.

"So, yes or no?"

"I really don't have to sleep witcha?"

"Really."

She glanced at Reverend Billy. He finally spoke.

"Girl, what are you waiting for? Why are you even questioning this? Think of little Sarah! Don't you want something better for her? Think of all the dreams you had in high school, the ones you gave up on. What if you could make all those dreams come true after all?"

He continued, "Do you know how much MONEY they're offering you? This is tens of thousands - a couple hundred thousand - dollars! And all you have to do is be good, and do what you do best! Don't be a fool, girl! Say yes to the man."

Tonya looked past Franks and fixed her gaze on the windows on the other side of the coffee shop. Her eyes started filling with tears again, and this time she didn't blink them away. Her lower lip trembled, her chin seemed to disappear, and her eyes got lost in the flood of tears that poured down her cheeks and on to the table top. Unashamed, she sat there, shoulders convulsing as she wept silently, having realized what was being offered and the changes it would bring.

Franks didn't move. To move would have broken the spell.

Reverend Billy, taking his cue from Franks, didn't move either. When he started getting fidgety, he played Four Tops songs in his mind, taking care not to hum aloud. He had finished "Ain't No Woman (Like the One I've Got)" and was halfway through "Yesterday's Dreams" when Tonya's sobbing subsided, she dried her eyes and the table with a Starbucks napkin, and looked Dennis Franks in the eye.

"Yes," she said faintly.

One side of Franks' mouth smiled. "You're sure?"

She took a deep breath, smiled a huge smile, and almost shouted, "Yes!"

Then the other half of his mouth smiled. "Charmaine will pick you up at 9 tomorrow morning. Don't be late." He stood up, shook Reverend Billy's hand, and stuck his hand out for Tonya to shake. She looked at his hand, then slowly stood up, wrapped her arms around him and embraced him tightly.

She let go of him and whispered, "Thank you." He smiled at her once more, then turned and walked out the door.

Philanthropy, chapter 1

David Franks looked around the table. Everyone else looked very uncomfortable, despite his efforts to put them at ease. They were picking at their lunches, even though they had all ordered delicious items off the menu - and he was picking up the tab.

His guests were the principal at Frederick Douglass High School, three of the counselors from the school, the chairs of the mathematics, science and English departments, and the Reverend Billy Brown, from the Mount Olive Baptist Church.

"So," he began in the modern fashion, "as I told you all on the phone or in email, I represent a charitable foundation that exists to help single mothers break the poverty cycle. I need your help finding a candidate for a scholarship." That evoked a mix of reactions from his guests. Some of them made excited "ooh" noises at the prospect that one of their young charges might be eligible for a scholarship. Some of them rolled their eyes, muttering, "We've heard this one before." And two of them, including the Reverend Billy, started to get angry.

Reverend Billy spoke up first. "Wait a minute. You come down into black Atlanta, loaded down with your white man's guilt and a lotta white man's money, to try to lift some of our black sistas out of their lives of misery? You don't think we can do that ourselves? We are a community. We don't need you!"

The principal said "Shh! Reverend Billy, let's hear what the man has to say" - but one of the counselors muttered "Amen, Reverend."

Franks had expected this reaction, and he had already decided to use the nuclear option to deal with it. "Okay." He said. "I'll find another school that can help the Foundation spend its money - maybe up in Powder Springs. Lunch is on me. You stay here and enjoy it. I'll pay the bill on my way out the door." He picked up his phone and his tablet and stood up, pushing his chair back.

Before he could take a step, the women in the group were hissing at the Reverend to "keep your mouth shut" and to "let the man talk", while the principal half-rose from his chair at the other end of the long table, reaching towards Franks and saying "W-w-wait, don't go yet. The rest of us want to hear what you have to say."

Franks froze, and silently looked deep into the eyes of everyone at the table. He had already determined that if he saw antagonism or opposition in any of them, he would in fact leave. After a long 60 seconds, he sat down again.

"Now, then. Twenty-five percent of your students drop out every year. This is not the fault of the school; I understand that. Of those twenty-five percent, half of them are girls who are teen mothers. Ten to twenty percent of the girls who graduate in any given year are either pregnant or already have children. Many of these graduates and dropouts are girls who were planning to go to college, but because of the challenges of teen motherhood, they are forced to abandon that dream.

"When they drop out, they are still officially your responsibility. Unofficially, you already have enough to do, just keeping the roof on the school, and therefore many of these girls fall through the cracks. When they graduate, they are officially no longer your responsibility. However, most of them graduate totally unprepared to raise a child or get a job --"

The counselors started to protest.

"-- in spite of all of your admirable efforts to train them and prepare them for the Real World."

The counselors were mollified.

"I need your help. The Foundation wants to start something new. We are prepared to offer a full four-year experience at a nationally-ranked college or university to a single mother. If, after two years, it looks like she is making progress, we will make the same offer to two more single mothers - and two years later, to four more single mothers, doubling it every year until our accountants tell us that we are at the limit of the Foundation's endowment.

"The problem is, a white man prowling around in a black neighborhood, looking for and asking about single mothers, is asking for trouble --"

This brought smiles to all of the faces at the table. Some of them tried not to smile, but their mouths betrayed them.

" -- so I need your help identifying likely candidates. At this point, I'm not interested in academic qualifications, extracurricular activities, or any of the usual bullshit." He leaned forward, placing his palms on the table. "I'm interested in any girl who was college-bound, who could have made it, who deserved a shot but had to give it up for the baby. Those are my criteria."

One of the counselors interjected, "Then you're looking for someone who's no longer at our school."

Franks nodded. "That's right. You probably thought I was going to ask about your current student body. No, I'm asking for your help because you know all of the former students."

The Reverend Billy Brown spoke up, thoughtfully this time, "So why am I here?"

"Reverend Billy," said Franks, "you know these kids on a personal level. You know their families. You know their situations. You may be more acquainted than these educators with some likely candidates."

The math department chair spoke up. "Who decides who gets this scholarship?"

"The Foundation decides," was Franks' reply. "It's their money, and so they get to decide how to spend it. There is no application process. There is no bureaucratic waiting period. What I need from you is names. Right now. If you don't like these terms, then I'll just go up the road to McEachern High School and see if there's some upper-middle-class white girl who got herself in trouble and who needs a little help."

Franks stood silent once more. Speechless, the group looked around at each other, and then they started talking animatedly. In less than ten minutes they had come up with a list of over 20 girls' names, whittled it down to four, and then they spent the next 30 minutes telling Franks everything they were permitted to tell about the girls, their high school careers, their families, and their current situations.