When I reflect back on my father, I remember his deep base speaking voice. It was melodic and rhythmic and filled with compassion. He had a love for oratory. He used to have me memorize speeches. He would have me give orations that he had prepared and then judge my performance. He would go through them with me line for line, dwelling on the choice of words, the turn of phrase and the potency of inflection.

When we had finished, Pop and I would sometimes play checkers together. On a few occasions he would graphically talk about his early youth as a slave. And those memories haunt me to this day. He taught me that I had a responsibility to our race, but also to care for all people who were unfavorably treated. He said whites as well as blacks helped him in his escape to freedom.