My boyhood home was an unpredictable, frightening place where love was routinely conflated with alcoholic violence. Where all gifts - including food and the beds we slept in - were really loans with vig that compounded hourly, even on paid balances. Traumatic violence was a regular part of my childhood, the memories of which left me emotionally isolated and adrift in adulthood.
If not for my grandfather William, I might have given up on family and surrendered to the demons of my upbringing.
"Gifts From Prometheus" represents a two-year journey to document the hidden truth of our family, including the social and family circumstances that drove my grandfather from Georgia to Boston in 1917 during the "Great Migration" and the insidious forms of racism that forced him to pass for White in 1929 when he joined the Boston Police Department.
Documenting my grandfather's life led me to Georgia, historic railroad towns of the Piedmont Airline route, Augusta's segregated "Golden Blocks," Cypress swamps on the Savannah River, forlorn cemeteries, and the neighborhoods of my native Boston. These places were long ago imprinted in my DNA, but now are forever installed in my memories.
The book helped me understand - now with a stakeholder's perspective - the blunt reality of race in mid-century and contemporary America . It forced me to confront my own childhood complicity in bigotry and challenged half-truths we were taught about the moral righteousness of Boston on matters of equality.
Paradoxically, "Gifts from Prometheus" is really a story about love. By discovering the unknown heroes in our family history, I finally found peace through the redemptive, healing power of family.
This book is relevant to any non-fiction reader interested in themes of self-discovery, family heritage, racial equality, mid-century American history, and Boston Massachusetts history.