"You don't know how much I have thought about this day for the last few months," he said. He talked about having to keep a low profile, about having to stifle his urges to "pillage the natural resources" and talk to the local ladies, for fear of revealing himself in an inopportune moment.
"You can't live like that, waiting for the axe to fall," he said. "I just wish it had fallen later rather than sooner."
Strangely enough, the merits of Fred Hampton's vision of the perfect African-American private school cannot be denied. His ideas appear to be academically sound. The long school days, the emphasis on innovative technology to teach children, the Fridays dedicated to language and the arts have all been tried in his previous schools. Some parents reported good results in Houston, for example, stating that their children's attitudes and grades improved under Hampton's unique curriculum.
But it is clear this school has become a compulsion that spurs him on despite the trail of failures. There must be a school like this, he said in earnest. It is his calling, his mission in life. He said his quest has its origins in his childhood. He was a precocious child, with a high IQ, but he never really excelled in school. He went his own way, falling into troubles and scrapes. But he eventually came to realize the importance of education, and hit upon a plan for the perfect school. It would challenge and advance students, but at the same time bolster their self-esteem through Afrocentrism.
(Hampton's parents, contacted in Milwaukee, confirmed their son was indeed a precocious--but academically lazy--child. They said his desire to run a school stemmed from a childhood incident in which a teacher told him he'd never be able to figure out algebra because he was too stupid. Young Fred Hampton later transferred to another school, where a sympathetic teacher succeeded in teaching him algebra. From then on, Hampton believed that everyone deserved a chance for the best possible education.)
Dallas Preparatory School, as Hampton sees it, is his last chance. It's a chance to make up for wasted time. Without it, he may end up dead.
"It's a rematch with the past," he said. "I'd rather die--take cyanide, go drive into the woods somewhere--than not to prove what can really happen."
And yet, why did he leave his schools, particularly the one in his hometown of Milwaukee? Hampton said he was ordered to leave by the district attorney--at midnight--by "The Man" himself, at a hotel where Hampton had taken up temporary refuge before checking out of town. The school was "a political football," he recalled the district attorney saying. The district attorney called Hampton a smart man with great ideas, and said the DA's office had uncovered nothing criminal in Hampton's actions at Milwaukee Preparatory School. Get out of town and try this somewhere else.
(When asked about this tale, Milwaukee County Assistant District Attorney Fred Matestick laughs. "That sounds like something from a bad movie," he says. None of the assistant district attorneys--and certainly not the district attorney himself--has ever met Hampton, Matestick adds. The only person who met with Hampton was an investigator, "and he didn't tell him to leave town.")
The key to making the school work in Dallas, Fred Hampton said, is to keep Fred Hampton out of it. He will oversee the curriculum and the basic planning of the school. But the business end--the money--will all be handed over to the parents. Although, he admits, that hasn't happened yet. He was still holding the thousands of dollars in nonrefundable application fees.
Time, he said, will vindicate Fred Hampton--and his extraordinary vision.
"I need just one [school]--then I'll have my way," he concluded. "This is the last hurrah in life. You're fighting for significance, because if you don't do it, then how are you going to be able to help your sister, or make amends to your mother and father?
"All I need is one really great school. That will show everybody how it can be done. Then, that will give them something really to talk about.
