Morning light streamed onto the tree-lined street outside the old brownstone in Hyde Park, on Chicago’s South Side. Still, the detailed work on the building was visually captivating. Early sunlight filtered into one of the second-story windows on this street.
It was a small, warm room. On the walls hung posters of the Jackson Five, Sidney Poitier, and the Harlem Globetrotters. On the floor, an unpacked suitcase sat with a J.J. Walker doll inside and a Camp Arapahoe sticker adhered near the handle.
A local radio DJ broadcast through a bedroom radio, “W.V.O.N. Cicero. This is Herb Kent, the cool gent. It is seven twenty-eight in the morning. Zam! Saturday, June fifth, 1976. It is four weeks until America’s Bicentennial. What are you doing? Come on out and experience the Harlem Globetrotters. We’re giving away tickets. Bam! Who am I talking to?”
Yvette, fourteen, was a well-poised, confident, smart, black girl with braided ponytails who slept soundly, though she couldn’t stop moving, shaking her foot endlessly. But someone was in her room.
“Jacqueline,” said the radio listener.
“What did you want to hear,” the DJ asked.
“Move on up’, by…”
“I know who it’s by,” the DJ responded.
Someone in the room moved close as she slept.
Then.
A trumpet blew!
Yvette was jolted from a deep sleep and tumbled onto the floor to the sound of Theodore’s laughter. Theodore, nicknamed “Mayhem,” was her mischievous thirteen-year-old brother. Theodore, “Mayhem”, was her thirteen-year-old brother, with cropped hair, a Camp Arapahoe T-shirt, and globetrotting underwear. He was cocky, competitive, and acted out all day.
Downstairs in the brownstone was a small family room and a simple monochrome kitchen with mismatched furniture. The kitchen doubled as a laundry room with an ironing board. Mayhem and Yvette sat at the kitchen table. Mayhem wore a black cowboy hat and a white T-shirt, while Yvette dressed in a pink shirt and red pants. Their grandmother was an energetic, hearty black woman wearing office cleaning clothes. She served them fried eggs and collard greens.
“Theodore, take your hat off.”
Yvette made a cute face at Mayhem as he removed his hat.
“Can’t we just have cereal? And why are you still in your work clothes,” Yvette asked.
“You need the protein. It’s a long ride to Michigan. I got off work only a few hours ago. I sat down in my chair and fell asleep. Until that trumpet woke me and gave me a heart attack.”
Mayhem laughed.
“I’m going to bed,” she said as she cleaned up.
“Aren’t you going to drive us to school and see us off to camp,” Yvette asked.
“It’s only four blocks.”
Mayhem chimed in, “Then don’t bring so much. When Grandma says walk, we walk.”
“Shut up, Mayhem.”
“Nickel in the jar,” Grandma demanded as she pointed to the pickle jar labeled, Shut up jar, written in crayon.
“Dad never made us pay,” Yvette insisted.
“That’s because he swore the most,” Mayhem joked.
Grandma kissed them on their foreheads, “Have fun. Behave yourself, Theodore. I don’t want to receive another phone call this summer.
Mayhem and Yvette walked to the front door. Grandma stepped up at the base of the stairs, but her right ankle cracked as she climbed the stairs.
“What are you doing to do while we are at camp?”
“Throw a party. Have a fun two weeks.”
Yvette and Mayhem stood at the open doorway. Mayhem held his duffle and his trumpet.
“Will you hold my bag,” Yvette asked.
“You packed it, you carry it.”
“Mayhem!”
“Okay, hold mine. Get the door.”