One of the ironies of the Ferguson story, and all the stories like it, is that it's always the losers, the thugs, the young dead black hoods, who get all the attention and sympathy.
One of my older relatives was a private piano teacher. And she hosted other teachers. She had a local painter teach students.
She also had a classical guitarist come in. He was a black musician.
After his last student left for the day, he'd wait until her last student left for the day. He'd continue to play guitar in the other room until she was ready to leave.
Why? He was protective. He waited until she got safely into her car and safely out of the parking lot before he left.
He was probably more street savvy than she was. More alert to the dangers after dark in that part of town.
Later he moved away. I think to a big city back east.
Somehow she found out a few years later that he was murdered. Shot dead on the streets.
These are the blacks you never hear about. The unassuming heroes.
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