He was pencil thin and walked with a limp. A thirteen year-old boy with huge yearning eyes who was always an unlucky patient on
children's floor of hospital where my youngest daughter was all too often incarcerated.Curtis had sickle cell anemia, an incurable, painful and terminal disease that plagues young people of African descent.
I would meander into his room to spend a little time with rebellious loner and would often end up refereeing a screaming match between him and one of nurses. The street-wise Curtis would usually win.
Over course of a few years (the hospital was always my home- away-from-home), I eventually learned of horror of his upbringing, sad reality of his current life and apparent dimness of his future.
My experience as a volunteer in Big Brother-like program in our local Children's Aid Society was that a small dose of interest and some one-on-one attention could go a long way to helping a kid who was in trouble with law, failing school and in Curtis' case, a social outcast.
So, when my time was over with last boy I was involved with, I asked CAS if I could hook up with Curtis, albeit 'unofficially' this time. Problem was, I was in process of selling my drycleaning business while building a music production studio (for my next career) and my time was too much at a premium to commit to a structured arrangement. They agreed, and I began to hang with Curtis.
I learned in very short order that among his survival skills was tendency to cajole, cleverly manipulate and even outright steal. Although always kind, I had to have a second set of eyes when in his presence and was forced at times to be, well, curt with Curt.
Also during this time, I was involved in a major lawsuit after having had a song of mine "lifted" by a one-time friend and co-writing partner in Los Angeles, who had become a 'hot' producer of major recording acts. On one of his multi-million selling records was core of a song of mine he had heard and we discussed in my presence during one of my frequent music trips in 1980's. I was a little more than hurt and felt I deserved not only royalties for my creation, but also credibility that went along with a "cut" of that magnitude by a name recording artist.
I retained a highly regarded entertainment attorney in Detroit (he represented many of athletes on professional sports teams in Detroit as well as one of all time greatest boxers and even some famous civil rights icons) who just happened to also be a truly wonderful and giving human being.
It was in a meeting with this man that I casually mentioned Curtis and my desire to do something very special for him. See, in my heart, I had a feeling Curtis would not live for too many more years. Sickle cell sufferers often died in their early twenties, or even before, a decade ago. I wasn't expecting anything from my lawyer in this regard, but next day phone rang and I was instructed to have Curtis "dressed up" and at Palace of Auburn Hills at a specific gate number one hour prior to a Detroit Pistons game later that week.
He was a huge basketball fan. His hero of heroes was Isaiah Thomas, captain of Motor City NBA Champs prior two years. But I didn't let on to Curtis where we were going that night. Just that we were hanging out. I just asked his foster mother (and I use term “mother” very lightly) to have him dressed nicely with his birth certificate in hand by a certain time.
Curtis was on time, eagerly waiting on his rickety porch when I pulled up. But to my utter dismay, he looked as disheveled as he always did in his overbaggy, tattered clothes. And of course, good ol' foster mom couldn't find his birth certificate. Now, can you imagine fancy dancin' I had to do at U.S. Customs having this 'gang looking' teenager with no identification trying to cross border in my new BMW? Well, fate and some silver tongued talkin' prevailed and we were soon racing up I-75 to The Game.
I tried to make idle conversation with excited but slouching teenager. All Curtis could do was hound me. "Is it a ballgame? Is it a concert?" "Rick, where are we going?" I love to tease. Finally, he glimpsed landmark dome of arena from freeway and knew he was going to get to see his favorite team play.
