By the time they finished, David figured that a good twenty-five percent of the students in the audience had been captivated enough to at least pay attention. Not bad. If five or six ended up applying, he’d consider it a good day’s work.
They stayed around after the presentation ended in case any of the students wanted to speak with them one-on-one, but it didn’t surprise David when only a couple came forward. In North St. Louis, where drugs and gangs were rampant and academics wasn’t always valued or supported at home, few students would publicly acknowledge an interest in a program like Uplink. Those who decided to apply would follow up without fanfare, in confidence. David understood that and didn’t push. That first step took courage, and he considered it a good barometer of genuine interest.
As he thanked the two students who had accompanied him, David turned to find Charles Elliot approaching. The man took David’s hand in a firm grip.
“I appreciate your coming today. I expect you’ll hear from a few of the students.”
“I hope so. I understand that we’ve had a couple of students from here in the program every year since its inception.”
“That’s right. I’m a great believer in Uplink, and I talk it up whenever I get the chance. Can I walk you out?”
“Thanks.”
David reached for his leather jacket, which he’d slung over the back of his folding chair, and slid his arms into the sleeves as they headed toward the exit. The assembly had marked the end of the school day for the juniors, and they’d cleared out with a speed that rivaled a race car in the home stretch. The rest of the students had been dismissed ten or fifteen minutes earlier. The two men’s footsteps echoed hollowly as they walked down the long, deserted corridor toward the exit.
A classroom door opened as they passed, and a woman in a paint-spattered smock, her short black hair a mass of tight curls, spoke when she caught sight of them.
“Oh, Charles…I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a second to sign that exhibit application?”
“Of course.” He turned back to David in apology. “I’ll be right with you. Sylvia is the art teacher, and she’s trying to get some of our students’ work included in a traveling exhibition sponsored by a national company.”
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
While he waited, David examined some of the artwork that hung in the hallway near the classroom door. A variety of mediums was represented, and many of the pieces were impressive. He stopped to examine a striking abstract watercolor, then moved on to a pen-and-ink sketch of a mother and child, caught by their poignant expressions of disillusionment. But it was the next series of three black-and-white photographs that mesmerized him.
The first was a portrait of an older woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses, her close-cropped black hair peppered with gray. She sat in front of a window, a bit off center, at a chipped, Formica table, one side of her face in sharp relief, the other shadowed. One work-worn hand rested on the Bible in her lap, the other lay beside a daffodil on the scratched surface of the table. Behind her, the paint on the walls was chipped, the windowsill scarred. Part of a calendar was visible, and the photograph of the month featured a quiet, peaceful country lane bordered by apple trees laden with blossoms. The photographer had titled the photo “Beauty.”
The next photo was just as powerful. Two small children in mismatched clothes sat on a concrete stoop. The low angle of the shot drew the eye upward, past the broken windows of a dingy tenement to the open expanse of sky above. The children’s raised faces were illuminated with an almost transcendent light as they gazed at the clouds drifting overhead. It bore the title “Imagine.”
The last picture also displayed a masterful use of light and a stellar aptitude for composition. There were no people visible in the shot. Just the shadow of a man, his hand extended toward another smaller shadow that was reaching up to him. The dark outlines stretched across a good part of the frame, covering the broken bottles and garbage that littered the foreground. They were poised at the base of a flight of steps that led upward and out of the frame to a higher, unknown and unseen place. The camera had caught them as they prepared to ascend. It was titled “Together.”
Though the images were stark and bleak at first glance, that wasn’t what caught David’s interest. While the subjects were different, they shared a powerful common theme—hope. Captured in a simple, but dramatic and symbolic style. David was overwhelmed.
Until Michael had discovered his talent for photography, David had never paid much attention to that art beyond the occasional fuzzy family snapshots his mother sometimes took. But as Michael pursued his passion, as he learned to work magic with a couple of lenses and the striking use of angle and light, David had learned to appreciate the potential and power of a camera in the hands of a master. Like the photographer of these images, Michael had had the ability to touch hearts, to communicate messages that continued to resonate long after people put the photo aside. It was a great gift, one that had allowed Michael to find his true calling. And the photographer of these photos seemed to share that gift.
“They’re pretty amazing, aren’t they?”
Charles had rejoined him, and David turned to the principal. “Amazing is an apt description. Were these done by a student?”
“Yes. Jared Poole. They were part of an art assignment for Sylvia’s junior class.”
Looking back at the photos, David shook his head. “I hope he plans to pursue his talent.”
When the other man didn’t respond, David turned toward him again. Charles’s face was troubled, and he gave a resigned sigh before he spoke. “Jared has some…problems. He got involved with a gang a couple of years ago, and he’s had some minor run-ins with the law. Nothing too serious—yet. But he’s headed in the wrong direction. Truancy has also been an issue. He has a lot to offer, including very strong writing skills, but he just doesn’t make school a priority.”
“That’s too bad. What’s the family situation like?” Since taking the job at Uplink, David had already learned that without support at home, there was little chance that problem students would buckle down at school.
“Not good. He lives with his grandmother. That’s her picture, in fact.” He indicated the photo of the woman with the Bible. “His father disappeared before he was born. His mother died of a drug overdose when Jared was about eight. It’s just been him and his grandmother ever since. I’ve met her, and I know she loves him very much. But she works nights, cleaning offices, so Jared is on his own a lot. The gang became a surrogate family for him. I’ve tried to talk to him, but I don’t think I’ve gotten through. I did hear through the grapevine that he’s trying to break his gang ties. But even if that’s true, it’s not easy to do.”
In his brief tenure at Uplink, David had heard any number of similar stories. They always left him feeling helpless, wishing he could do more. But he knew his limitations. He couldn’t take a personal interest in every troubled teenager he ran across. The best he could do was pour his heart and soul into Uplink and hope that his efforts would make a difference in at least a few lives.
Charles led the way toward the front door, sending David off with a firm handshake and another thank-you.
“Let me know if any of our students contact you. I’ll be glad to give you my thoughts on whether they’d make good candidates for Uplink,” he offered.
“I’ll do that.”
As David stepped outside,