The Old Kinship

"I'm just glad I was born when I was born," said Mitchell, who grew up one of five boys in Tyler and Mount Pleasant, Tex. Whites used to talk to his parents like they were children. He was attending Langston University when he was drafted to serve in Vietnam. He lives in Upper Marlboro with his third wife, 18 years his junior.

"I'm talkin' 'bout they got peer pressure to make you buy $199 tennis shoes," Mitchell said. And youth culture is violent and intolerant, the bowlers agreed. There is no room for a simple "I'm sorry" anymore.

Another plague: "The penal system is putting men in jail for no reason," Mitchell said. "They got caught instead of getting rehab."

Hodges picked up on that. He leaned forward. He's frustrated with the back-and-forth with no call to activism. He turned their venting back on their group, their generation, their responsibilities. The conversation quickened. Their words grew more intense.

"But we accept that," Hodges said, balling his fists. "Our generation, we don't stand up for nothing! We know they're locking black people up in droves. Why aren't we outraged and forcing some kind of change?"

"If it don't touch us, we're not outraged," said Mitchell, palms up, fingers spread.

"That's our problem; we don't come together," said Garrison, twisting his lips.

"We need a leader. An MLK or Malcolm X," Thompson interjected.

"We've got so-called leaders, but I'm talking about action," said Hodges, agitated.

"Back then, our goals were more defined," Thompson said. "We were demonstrating for a reason. Now, everything is so cloudy and unclear."

The men went quiet for a moment.

"Integration brought on a whole set of problems that we didn't have before, when we were all connected," said Hodges, his voice rising with emotion. "If you're afraid of pain, you're not going to stand up. But if you don't stand up, you get what you deserve."