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A Mother’s Day Gift: Jada Lifts A Heavy Burden At The Red Table

Jada Pinkett- Smith bestows a Mother’s Day gift by opening up about her mother’s parenting skills as a young addict in the presence of her daughter Willow. Look at the video above and see Jada lift a heavy burden that’s been carried for years as she talks truthfully to both her mother and daughter at The Red Table. The revelation is truly moving

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    Posted 2 years, 5 months ago.

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    No Victory, But Justice For Paris Whitehead-Hamilton

    “I got justice today, but no victory. I’m numb because lives have been changed today. Now we just have to move forward.” These are the words of Shenita Williams. Shenita and her family’s world was changed on April 5, 2009 when her 8 year old niece was killed as she slept in her home.

    Paris Whitehead-Hamilton was hit once in the upper torso about 2:20 a.m. Sunday as more than 50 bullets from a semiautomatic rifle poured into her home in Bartlett Park, a neighborhood south of downtown St. Petersburg, Florida. See Gunfire Kills 8 Year Old Girl As She Sleeps Inside Her Home

    Dondre Davis, Duong Nyugen and Stephen Harper were found guilty of the first degree murder of 8-year-old Paris Whitehead-Hamilton, and were sentenced to life without parole this week.

    Nyugen’s lawyer had said he was falsely accused and Harper’s attorney said he should face a lesser charge because he never fired a gun.

    The prosecution successfully argued that they were all involved in the drive-by shooting that killed the little girl and should each be found guilty of first degree murder.

    Paris’ cousin, addressed the three defendants, “We have prayed about it, and we have forgiven you all. We did not agree to take a life for a life. We spared your lives, although you took our loved one from us.”

    The judge sentenced each of the defendants to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

    There was no victory, but there was justice for Paris Whitehead-Hamilton.

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      Posted 2 years, 11 months ago.

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      Funeral Arrangement Set For Former Chief Judge Eugene Hamilton

      Former Chief Judge Eugene Nolan Hamilton

      The family of former D.C. Superior Court Chief Judge Eugene Hamilton has scheduled a public viewing and funeral service.

      The public viewing will be held on Sunday, November 27, 2011 at the Hines-Rinaldi Funeral Home. The time for the viewing has been set for 2 PM to 4 PM and 6 PM to 8 PM. Hines-Rinaldi Funeral Home is located at 11800 New Hampshire Avenue, Silver Spring, MD, 20904

      Funeral service for family and close friends will be held on Monday, November 28, 2011 at 11:00 AM at The Lutheran Church of St. Andrew. The church is located at 15300 New Hampshire Ave., Silver Spring, MD, 20905.

      Judge Hamilton died Nov. 19 at Montgomery General Hospital in Olney, Maryland of a heart attack at the age of 78.

      The Memphis born son of a domestic worker and a postal employee rose to become chief judge of the D.C. Superior Court in 1993, making him the second Black American to hold that position. H. Carl Moultrie of whom the court building is named was the first.

      During his seven years as chief judge along with his three decades on the bench, Judge Hamilton established a reputation as a strong advocate for children in the Washington Metropolitan area. Both Judge Hamilton and his wife, Virginia became heart loving foster parents for more than 50 foster children. They also adopted four of the children. Some of the foster children were severely handicapped.

      After stepping down as chief judge, he remained active as a senior judge. In that capacity, the last major case he heard on November 18, 2011 involved a 10-year-old boy from Prince George’s County abandoned at a Children’s National Medical Center psychiatric ward. The child was ultimately moved to a long-term-care facility near Philadelphia thanks to Judge Hamilton who worked diligently to resolve the matter in the best interest of the child.

      Known as someone who remembered his modest origins, Eugene Nolan Hamilton was born Aug. 24, 1933, in Memphis, Tennessee. Judge Hamilton received a bachelor’s degree in mathematics in 1954 and a law degree in 1958, both from the University of Illinois. Before moving to the Washington area in 1961, he served in the U.S. Army Signal Corps and the Judge Advocate General’s Corps.

      Prior to receiving an appointment to the in 1970, he worked in the Justice Department’s civil division. After taking the bench, he worked in all of the divisions of the D.C. Superior Court before becoming chief judge.

      During his tenure as chief judge, the D.C. Superior Court began a pilot program for juvenile nonviolent offenders, called Urban Services Corps. The program combined a boot camp-like training program with months of supervision and job training.

      In 2000, Judge Hamilton stepped down as chief judge a year before the end of his second term and after 30 years on the bench.

      “I always set my mark for 30 years,” he said in an interview with The Post at the time.

      In addition to his continuation on the bench in a senior status, Judge Hamilton taught as an adjunct law professor at Harvard and American University. At the time of his death, Judge Hamilton was teaching a Trial Advocacy Workshop at Harvard Law School.

      Judge Eugene Nolan Hamilton was a man amongst men and a man of integrity. May he rest in peace.

      Febone1960.net offers condolences to his survivors which includes his wife of 55 years, Virginia David Hamilton of Brookeville; nine children, Alexandra Evans of Ashton; Steven Hamilton of Santa Clara, Calif.; James Hamilton of Bowie; Eric Hamilton and David Hamilton, both of Tampa; Rachael Hamilton of Columbia; Jeremiah Hamilton of Silver Spring; Michael Hamilton of Brookeville; and Marcus Hamilton of Wheaton; 15 grandchildren; and one great-granddaughter.

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        Posted 2 years, 11 months ago.

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        An Original Stick Pony Forever And A Day

        Patricia Robinson Murphy

        Original Stick Pony is how Angela described us as we gathered to provide support to Pat. We all emerged on her childhood home after learning of her mother’s death.

        Pat was almost 5 weeks shy of her eighth birthday when I became a life in being. We must have bonded right away for I can’t remember a day that she wasn’t in my life.

        When the older kids where out riding their bikes, she would put me in the basket attached to the handle bars of her bicycle and we would ride with her friends.

        We all grew up on the southeast of town and attended the same schools at different times. In the particular block where I lived, we also attended the same vacation bible school. When we weren’t riding our stick ponies, we played rolling bat in the street, and hide and seek in the back yards. We also roller skated in the streets, hoola hooped, twisted to Chubby Checker, boogalooed, mashed potatoed and jerked to James Brown and the Motown sound. No MTV or BET for our in crowd. We grew up in the age of Ed Sullivan, Hullabaloo, Shindig and American Bandstand. Soul Train would eventually come years later.

        Pat was special to me and I always wanted to follow her everywhere she went; pouting when I was not permitted to do so, which was often.

        As she became a teen, she abandoned her stick pony and other child’s play to gather with her girlfriends. Boys, fashion and becoming a majorette was now her new focus. I would watch her as she gathered with Miriam, Fay, and Jeanie on the corner. Sitting on the big rock, they would converse to what seemed to me to be hours. As the street light illuminated, a familiar call would ring out from her mother. Pronouncing each and every syllable sweetly and deliberately, her mother would call out “Patricia, it’s time to come in!”

        I would watch as she walked up to her house and ascended up the stone steps of the two story white house with green shutters and awning. Sometimes she would sit on the porch, and sometimes she would go inside. Sometimes my mother would permit me to sit with her if she was on the porch. When the call for me to come home would ring out, she and her dog Rex would walk me to my door. After conversing briefly with my mother she and her chow would return home. Making sure she got back safely, my mother and I would watch until she closed the door to her house. Rex who was the neighborhood alpha dog was not going to let any harm come to her either.

        Ms. Dye was in charge of the cheerleaders, majorettes, and dance group at the all black James B. Dudley High School. Pat attended Dudley where her mother also taught. As a majorette, Pat was a Ms. Dye girl. In my community that meant she was an all-American girl. Although she had become a popular teen, she still made time for the little snotty nosed, skinny kid across the street. I can remember her showing me how to twirl the baton between my little fingers. Although she was fantastic and patient with her lessons, it turned out that I was much better at dribbling a basketball.

        It wasn’t long before she was off to college. I was sad about her imminent departure until I found out she would come home for holidays. She would matriculate to her father’s Alma Mater, North Carolina Central. Eventually she would give in to the Aggie spirit that permeated our black community and transfer to N.C. A&T State University. That made me happy. It also made her happy because that’s where she would meet the love of her life. Of all her boyfriends, Butch was the only one I liked. She and Butch would eventually marry and spend their lives in the military until Butch retired as a Colonel. Together they raised two beautiful daughters.

        I wasn’t quite old enough for my driver’s license when Nik, their first born arrived. Eventually I would get my drivers license and my first car, a Volkswagen. Saturday mornings, I worked a weekend job at Mom’s Variety Store near A&T. Butch had started his military career and was away. So I would drive Pat, and Bobby ( the husband of another original stick pony) to work. I would drop Pat off at Thalhiemers Ellis Stone Department Store. Bobby’s destination was The Slack Shop. Both stores would not hire blacks in sales jobs a decade before. This however changed as a result of Patricia’s participation in the sit movement which started in downtown Greensboro, N.C. on February 1, 1960. In her quest for equality for all people of color, Pat was arrested for her civil disobedience. She was my shero.

        Eventually they would move to Fort Bragg. On a few occasions I would drive her there after she would spend the weekends with her mother. I was still in high school and she was now a wife and a mother.

        I knew Pat would be a good mother. I also knew how lucky those girls would be. Although she was a no nonsense person she always exhibited a special patience to my immaturity. I couldn’t imagine her not having the same patience with her own children. Pat, Butch and the girls never knew it, but their photos rested in a frame on my credenza in my law office.

        Eventually through college, graduate school and law school, maturity set in.

        Our fathers, including Angela’s father died the same year. Pat’s mother who was also Angela’s sorority sister would depart this earth a few years later. It wasn’t long after her mother’s death that her first grand child would arrive. This would be the same grand child who would some years later email me to tell me I rocked. This occurred after she viewed her participation in the Febone1960.net Black History Month Calendar. I smiled for days after reading that email. I even found my middle aged self saying with a fist pump “I rock!”

        Over the years it was established that Pat was like my big sister for I was closer to her than my own biological older sister. As a result, her counsel I often sought, as well as her validation which was never withheld.

        Playing the role of the big sister so well, she never disappointed me. I learned a number of valuable lessons from her. The most important lesson I learned is that people often become angry with you not because you’ve wrong them in some way, but because you happen to be convenient.

        Of course we had our differences as well as our moments, but the bond we had established so long ago could not be broken. Not even by distance. We would stay in touch by phone throughout the years. We talked almost daily during the Obama campaign. She also kept up with my Blogs. We would see each other either during homecoming or on one of my trips to the Washington metropolitan area. I would drive out to northern Virginia to see both Pat and her family.

        I had planned to see her on one of those trips last fall but it wasn’t in the cards. My Patricia transitioned unexpectedly but peacefully last fall.

        Although she is no longer here on earth the bond is still strong within my heart. Not only was she a big sister but she was an original stick pony and will be one forever and a day.

        I’m remembering you on your birthday and dedicate the video above to our childhood memories. Happy Birthday Original Stick Pony and may you REST IN PEACE!

        PS: Thank you Paula and Butch for helping me to find closure.

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          Posted 3 years, 6 months ago.

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          The protest in Libya is all over the news. The poverish citizens have grown tired of the iron fist ruling of veteran leader Muammar Muhammad al-Gaddafi and his spendthrift sons.

          We are appalled at Gaddafi’s use of force. Defying demands to step down, Muammar Gaddafi ordered air-strikes against the Libyan protesters.

          American citizens now watch in horror as the protesters fight for democracy unfolds. Similar to the civil rights movement in the United States the protesters have taken to the streets demanding democracy.

          Because of our democratic society here, we vote for our government officials. As a result, we are under the impression that such barbaric behavior displayed by the defiant dictator would never be considered here.

          If Americans think that such barbaric behavior couldn’t happen in our country, think again. We are still learning about the horrors of the Jim Crow era where racial etiquette was and still is the rule of the day.

          The latest revelation is the medical crime perpetrated against 5 year old Vertus Hardiman.

          Imagine being a 5 year old black boy who is subjected to a radiation experiment that leaves your head deformed. Imagine that the high volumes emitted also leaves a hole in your skull. That exactly what happened to young Vertus.

          A film has been made of his ordeal. Entitled Hole In the Head: A Life Revealed Vertus Hardiman, it explores the ugly secret of Hardiman’s experience with an unethical medical profession. Vertus was one of ten children, experimented on with radiation by a county hospital in Indiana during 1927. All attended the same elementary school in Lyles Station, Indiana. The experiment was misrepresented as a newly developed cure for the scalp fungus known as ringworm. In reality the ringworm fungus was merely the lure used to gain access to unsuspecting children whose parents signed permission slips for the treatment blindly. No doubt racial etiquette influence their decision to use these children as guinea pigs.

          Vertus Hardiman was the youngest victim and now at age 84, unburdens himself of an incredible story of this stark medical crime. The crime had severe physical complications for Vertus – namely, a harshly irradiated and malformed head, with an actual hole in the skull.

          Remarkably, not one person in Vertus’ community had ever been aware of this situation – because he always wore a wig and woolen beanie right up to the time he made the disclosure.

          During filming Vertus reveals his secret and in his own words says, “For over 80 years only four individuals outside a few medical specialists have ever seen my condition; I hide it because I look like some monster.” Over his life he was criticized, teased and scorned by those who had no idea what the wig hid for 80 years.

          Four additional survivors of this horrific event had astonishing similarities, but none as far-reaching and severe as Vertus.

          This documentary also shows that the Lyles Station experiments were not an isolated event. One such example involved radiation experiments performed against one hundred thousand darker-skinned immigrant children in Israel in 1951, a tragedy financed by the United States Army. Amazingly, many of these victims arrived on U.S. soil in cages for further study, an attempt to determine human reaction to over-exposure to radiation.

          This story should encourage at high levels a hunger for education, especially for an accurate all inclusive account of American history. Never again should the Jim Crow atrocities be permitted to occur in this country.

          Take a look at the trailer above. If you are not a registered voter, after seeing the trailer, you should run out to nearest Supervisor of Elections office and register. Those who are registered should learn about your candidates and vote not by block delivered by some poverty pimp, but judiciously.

          Remember just like Gaddafi, Jim Crow had children, and grandchildren who are now public officials riding the Tea Party Express.

          We should no doubt support the protest in north Africa, but we should also stay vigilant of threats to democracy in this country, cutting them off at the path. Remember, Never Again!

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            Posted 3 years, 7 months ago.

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