Writing
Take a look at Gary’s writing portfolio
Memoir Writing Phase I
Here is a portion of the memoir that I am creating about my life, family and relationships that I would like to share. This is the first installment of a story about my brother that I call “Searching for Jocko”
Searching for Jocko – Gary Hines
A Current and Backward Look at a Man of Mystery
It was Christmas morning, and I immediately knew something was wrong. My brother hadn’t called. On a normal day, I would have suspected that Jock, short for Jocko, had gotten busy as he often did or that calling slipped his mind. Lots of things had been slipping his mind over the years. But something about him forgetting to call home that day seemed off.
Jock being distant was nothing new. When our Mom passed in 2007, just three years prior, I was not sure I would be able to locate my brother and get him home for the funeral. Jock wasn’t around when my mother’s health started its downward slide. Maybe it had to do with the weight of our two sisters passing several years earlier. That kind of loss leaves you raw, and the rapid decline of our mother over six months certainly opened old wounds with new ones. “Pomp and Circumstance” could be heard throughout West Philadelphia High School, marking an important milestone for seniors. About 1,200 students came in as sophomores and only a lucky hardworking 800 were poised to cross the stage that day. Jock was one of the missing. He’d earned his diploma, but the event itself was too much. I remember what he said: “Mail it to me. I am out of here.”
Right before that graduation, Jock packed a light bag and headed to the Trailways bus terminal for a cross-country trip to places unknown. At least unknown to his family. My mother and father were frantic with their oldest son leaving home at 17. Jock would not be 18 until that October. But it was the 70’s and parents were trying to understand their rebellious children and trying to respect his wishes. Other boys in the neighborhood were going off to the service in Vietnam, so what was a cross-country trip compared to that? My parents and I couldn’t help but be happy and hopeful about his future. Even my moments of worry or concern were overtaken by the thought that I suddenly had more of the house to myself and did not have to share much of anything. Oh, to be thirteen.
I was 13 when Jock had just graduated from high school and wanted to see the world. He was so anxious to leave, and he didn’t even stay for his graduation ceremony. You may have heard of the expression “Born too late”. He was an old soul type, and although he was born in 1952, the 20’s and 30’s of Harlem and Chicago would have been perfect for him. I can see him jamming on the trumpet in some back-alley juke joint with other Harlem Renaissance legends like Richard Wright and Langston Hughes. But with his youth relegated to the ’60s, Jock took a stand against the war and was all in on the Black Power movement. I think he wanted to be Huey Newton. He looked like Huey Newton.
Despite his wanderlust and passion for higher causes, my brother always kept in some form of communication after he left home at 17. When a missed call on Christmas of 2010 turned into silence up to New Year’s, my worry turned to panic. I told some close friends that I had not heard from him and that he had not responded to my emails or phone messages. They hadn’t heard from him either. Was he in trouble or killed by the FBI or the mafia for being a revolutionary back in the day? A million other crazy thoughts ran through my mind.
My brother needed to get out of Philadelphia to find himself. In 1970, the mood of the country was dampened by the war. Some may have been lucky enough to find good government jobs or work in business. Some went off to colleges, as getting colleges integrated was a big deal. The 60’s and the 70’s were a time for rediscovery. Jock asked himself the central questions of the time; Who am I as a person? Who am I as a Black man? They were also going through my mind, and that is why 8 years later, I left Philadelphia also. I really was following in my brother’s footsteps as I too boarded a bus for a cross-country trip, but I had a destination in mind. Although my brother left to wander, I went to sunny California to live with a friend. I think my brother was searching for himself for a long time.
Prior to that historic moment in June of 1970, Jock had written a book based on his experience with the Black Panthers in the 60’s. The book was entitled Guns and Butter and was rejected by a New York publishing house. The title came from an expression about how the government spent money on wars abroad and food at home. Jock told me later that the title was really about the dual nature of life. “Sometimes things are soft as butter,” he said, “and other times, hard as guns.” My brother wasn’t dumb, that’s for sure. Eventually Jock was able to get it published by a radical small press somewhere and got several copies sent to Chancellor Street. He participated in some marches and demonstrations and hung around with some radical people. He wore a beret and dark sunglasses for that real militant look. He was listening to jazz- mostly Miles Davis and reading books by Franz Fanon, Che Guevara, and Castro. He might have been the first person I knew to become radicalized and caught up in the movement.
At 13, I had heard about Malcolm X and the book “Black Skin, White Masks by Franz Fanon. My brother had that book as well as Soul on Ice by Eldridge Cleaver. But he saw the revolution in music too and patterned himself after Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Eldridge Cleaver, and Huey Newton. He wanted to be all those people. Thanks to Jock, I got an intro to jazz at an incredibly young age.
With my brother doing all these amazing things as a teenager, I guess it only seemed natural that he would be restless and bored in Philadelphia on 55th and Chancellor Street. I’m sure he struggled with finding out who he was, and now I can’t help but think I missed the signs. Was the militant activist and revolutionary a cover for his real personality, or were they truly him?
What happened with Jock has made me question my own identity. I wondered how personal identification is manifested in young Black men, particularly those from the inner city who grew mostly middle-class with a solid family structure. Our family had the “American Dream”—home ownership, a car, employment, and values that pretty much mirrored white America. But the 60’s and 70’s was also a time of much civil and racial unrest. No one was happy. It really does remind me of today’s current situation. History is repeating itself, again. At that time, the country’s Black voices were being seen and heard in groundbreaking new ways—in sports, politics, art, activism, and entertainment. There was a reckoning of sorts in this country, and it began to foster serious recognition for not only Black folks, but women, the LGBTQ community, and the Latino population. Religious and sexual freedom were opening the doors to new possibilities. Things were changing, and you could feel it in the air—much like in today’s world.
I say all of this because so many people were searching when Jock left. My brother recognized the changing tide and mood and decided he was not going to fit into the mold that had been carved out by earlier generations. Priorities such as getting a job, going to college, getting married, and buying a house. Those things did not seem important to him, and Jock had no intention of following that narrative.
As our family adjusted in those first few years that Jock was gone, and we heard from him on occasion. He at first went and joined some sort of traveling carnival or circus, and Lord only knows what he was doing there. Eventually, he joined the Merchant Marines which was a much more acceptable occupation than some circus-carny life. Jock seemed to have this fascination with the sea and being out in the open air. He talked often about being on the water and the feelings it gave him. As kids, we would vacation every summer for 2 weeks in Wildwood NJ, and you would have to pry me and brother from the beach and out of the water.
This fascination with the sea turned up again when he decided to join the official U.S. Navy in the 80s. He told us this was a way for him to travel and see the world. He seemed to have put the writing on the back burner for the time being. I do not know if he enjoyed being in the military, which seemed like a departure from his former revolutionary persona. At one time, Jock despised the government, the military and anything with authoritarian rules and regulations. For him to be involved in the Navy was a surprise, but now this identity thing keeps coming back to me.
I cannot remember if my brother was at my father’s funeral in 1985. I think he may have been “at sea” but that time was hazy—it was a time of great dysfunction. My older sister was having major challenges as her drug addiction was spiraling out of control, and my other sister seemed to be involved almost exclusively with her immediate family. With Jock gone, my mother came to depend on me to take care of bills and make sure things were taken care of financially. My sisters and I helped as much as possible while trying to lead our own lives, but again, they lived in their own worlds.
