Free Brother West by Cornel West

with famous last names. Some spent their summers touring Europe. Some had already published poems or started political magazines in their high schools. It was daunting.
    But I felt ready. I had felt ready for Harvard, in fact, since I had read that Theodore Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy had gone there. I was too naïve to see the obstacles in front of me. I had too much support behind me to worry about failing. I hated leaving home but I loved leaving home. California was home—Mom, Dad, Cliff, Cynthia, and Cheryl. Shiloh Baptist was home. Reverend Cooke was home. John F. Kennedy High was home. I was secure and happy at home. I had people rooting for me at home.
    But home wasn’t enough. I remembered that even Jesus had to leave home and follow his calling. Jesus said turn from your own kinfolk and do what you got to do. In a sense, I was doing that. I was following what seemed to me a mandate to grow in wisdom and love. My folks were loving enough—and sophisticated enough—to realize that I had to go. Mom reminded me of that song, “Jesus Be a Fence All Around Me.” She said, “That’s your song, son. That’s your protection. That’s the reason you never have to be afraid.”
    And I wasn’t.

PRT II

A PHILOSOPHER
WITH A GROOVE

ALBERT EINSTEIN
AND MALCOLM X
    M Y FATHER BROUGHT ME TO H ARVARD. When we flew to Boston, it was my first plane trip. When we drove to Cambridge, it was my first look at the oldest university in the country. I had seen it only in books. The college dated back to 1636, and some of the buildings looked it. The place was imposing.
    Dad dropped me off at the dorm and said, “I’m going over to Roxbury to see where the black folk live.”
    Three hours later he came back and said, “They got some problems over there. When you get settled here, son, go over and see for yourself. Don’t want you to get lost up in here. Far as Harvard goes, the competition will be rough, but you’ll do fine. God gave you a good mind. We don’t care if you make all A’s. Three C’s and a D will keep you here. Know this, son—you’re loved and respected by the people who know you best, the people who raised you. Just remember that I’m more concerned with the kind of person you are than the kind of grades you get.”
    After a few days at the Holiday Inn on Massachusetts Avenue, Dad said that it was time for him to go. We hugged, and he was gone.
    Alone. For the first time. Me on one coast, my family on the other. More excited than scared, I hit the books like a madman.
    Then Harvard said, “We know you’re a terrific cross-country runner. We want you to go out for the team.”
    I said, “I didn’t come here to run. I came here to read. Came here to learn. I’m through with running.”
    Scholarship said, “We’re paying part of your college costs, but you have to work.”
    I said, “I’m used to working. Work don’t scare me none.”
    Work meant cleaning the toilets two hours a day freshman year—we called it dorm crew—and delivering mail at Mather House in later years. No problem. I loved campus. Loved the library. Had never seen anything like it. The stacks went up to the ceiling and I was ready to climb on up to the very top. The course offerings were staggering. I wanted to take them all at once. I jumped in with Hebrew. Had to learn that language. Jumped in with philosophy, the heaviest subjects taught by the heaviest professors. But I also took Dad’s advice and went out to see what was happening in the neighborhoods.
    I hooked up with the local Black Panther Party. Still wasn’t going to join because I still wouldn’t—and never will—turn from Jesus. But I liked their breakfast program for needy kids and got up early every morning to go over there and pitch in. That’s something I did for the length of my undergraduate career. It was more than serving those wonderful children hot meals. Because of the inferior schools they attended, the kids also needed tutoring, especially in