I know that in my time at Duke, I have written seditious and bitter things. I also know that many students at Duke may not like or respect me; my flamboyant and progressive ideas; or the perspective that, through my angry words, I work to bring to Duke.
Today's perspective will make you hate me more.
This year alone, there have been countless articles in The Chronicle and dialogues on campus criticizing and lambasting students for the way in which we treat our employees.
But I wonder how many of these students carry worthwhile and respectable relationships and friendships with the other side of Duke--the Durham side, the employee side, the "I-cook-your-omelettes-and-fry-your-cheeseburgers," and the "I-clean-your-toilets-and-showers" side of Duke--that they push for other students to get to know.
A good friend of mine died a couple weeks ago. And this anger that many of you criticize me for having was aggravated by how few people knew or appreciated this friend of mine.
His name was Jeff Allen. He worked at the Marketplace. And he died of a heart attack. He had children. He had a wife. But what I remember most about this friend of mine is that he always had a smile.... And he always read my articles about table dancing and "barely-there" Gucci tops. He called me "dancer" and made me crib-walk for him whenever I came in.
We often talk about racism at Duke. We talk about how blackness is seen as a collective, and how we often don't recognize or distinguish one black man from another; or, worse--as one letter to the editor clearly outlined--one black woman from another black woman. My "black" friend Liz says that I better say "Hi" when I see her on the BC walkway, lest I be one of "those girls"... one of those other ones, that is.
Because Jeff was a black man--but perhaps more importantly because he was a working-class black man--I felt that many students passed by Jeff and didn't really distinguish him from the others that worked at the Marketplace. In fact, you may have confused Jeff with another friend of mine.
Wallace.
Wallace is my best friend at the Marketplace, and Wallace is an amazing artist. He draws with oils to create surreal images of life and reality. Both literally and figuratively, Wallace adds his two cents of color to a black and white Duke.
Wallace keeps a portfolio at the grill where he works and makes conversation with what would appear to be a disinterested Duke student body. You see, Wallace knows and feels that the students he talks to often dismiss him. But like Jeff, Wallace keeps smiling.
You should talk to Wallace sometime. Talk to him about his daughter, Kharisma (pronounced "Charisma"). She just had a birthday. Or about his wife.... She works for Mary Kay.
For Jeff's memorial service, for the students of Duke and for Jeff's family, Wallace painted an amazing portrait of Jeff.
Beverly, another Duke employee, helped me to create a poster to celebrate what Jeff did for Duke.
Anthony didn't know what to say, but his silence said more than enough.
Tracy lamented on how she lost a dear friend.
Curtis did what he does best... he chuckled, except that his otherwise charming and bees-knees smile was tainted and bittersweet. If you looked closely you could see him pucker.
Robert tried his best to look on the positive side of life, and not about how unfair life can be and how unfair life has been to him lately. At a time when he was so sad, what is perhaps sadder is that through watery eyes he came back to the Marketplace, and he saw Duke students so nonchalant about what had happened to his dear friend.
It was business as usual.
Talk is cheap, and being courteous or civil to those people who serve you is different than being thoughtful and forthcoming. It is my hope that the students of Duke will--more than crossing the racial lines that divide us--one day cross class lines as well.
Wallace, Beverly, Anthony, Tracy, Curtis and Robert are my friends. I go to them for advice, for help and even to gossip. I miss them when I don't have time to eat at the Marketplace, and they worry if I don't show up. I feel like a bitch when I only have time to pass by them and not say more, or not ask how they are doing. And I am scared that I will become one of "those girls"--those other ones--who dismisses Duke's employee population.
Every "thug" needs a lady... but he or she also needs a friend.
Shadee Malaklou is a Trinity freshman. This column did not run in its normal spot last Wednesday because of technical difficulties at The Chronicle..
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