fountain
John W. Fountain biography
A native son of Chicago’s West Side, John W. Fountain is an award-winning journalist, professor, and author of the memoir True Vine: A Young Black …Read More
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Stand as a man, but walk with humility
I stand as a man, no greater and no less than any man. And yet, as a black man I stand having to walk that fine line between tiptoeing and buck dancing, always being careful not to offend. I stand having learned that to walk …Read More
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Parents always see the potential
My son’s primary school art teacher was about to catch our wrath. OK, so maybe not our full wrath. But his mother and I intended to get to the bottom of why, after scoring A’s on most of his second-grade art assignments a few years …Read More
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Dressing sharply transforms a man
It is my uniform: a brightly colored, solid silk tie against a starched white shirt with French cuffs and a dark, pinstriped suit. Black spit-shined shoes. Matching pocket square. A dimpled knot in my tie. Check. A dash of cologne — icing on the cake. …Read More
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As dads disappear, moms hold it down
I have seen her, moving with a certain determination and fearlessness in the glowing light of dawn, walking with her children in tow. Holding it down. Come rain or shine, I have seen her, wearing that 9-to-5 face. Standing at bus stops, at train stations, …Read More
Life moves along outside my window
From a downtown cafe window, I inhale the ebb and flow of life up and down Michigan Avenue 30 minutes before noon. A Lay’s Potato Chip truck inches toward Madison Street for a right turn, followed by two taxis. Smiling, a group of three ladies …
I haven’t found any perfect people yet
‘True character shines through men of faith like you . . . ” These were the words on the front of a handsome greeting card. I had retrieved the envelope addressed to “Prof. John W. Fountain” from my mailbox at work. The message inside the …
I stand cold over Jonylah’s coffin
Cold. I felt only cold, standing over the tiny casket, bearing the body of Jonylah Watkins, who, four days shy of turning six months old, was murdered by a cold-hearted, cold-blooded killer. Cold I felt, standing inside Leak & Sons Funeral Home with the knowledge …
Declare war to stop babies from dying
“If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” 2 Chronicles 7:14 The solution …
Keeping that light on in my son’s eyes
I was staring into my son’s brown eyes, proud of his accomplishment, and yet offering my critique of his performance during sparring for his black belt in taekwondo. That’s when I noticed a certain darkening in his eyes that moments earlier had shone like the …
‘Man laws’ say men don’t share dessert
So, a good male friend and I are sitting at a restaurant bar when he orders dessert — ice cream and pie, my Facebook posting went. “Would you guys like an extra plate to share?” the waitress asks. “Uh-h-h, no,” I say. “I’m good.” “Would …
Our nicknames for our children can have a bigger impact than we think
There was “Horsehead” — “Horse” for short. And “Blue Moon.” “J-Rat” and “Huckey.” A girl some of the boys teasingly called, “Wiggity-Wigs.” An older dude we all called “Cookie.” There was the big fat kid we called “Meat.” There was “Pokey.” “Pig.” And “Oink-Oink.” Such …
How many victims will it take to prove we value human life?
Hadiya Pendleton, 15, was fatally shot Jan. 29 while standing underneath a canopy at a South Side park. This is another in an occasional, yearlong series that looks behind the number of murders in Chicago. If it were Sasha and Malia, instead of Heaven and …
Aunt Mary’s lessons never get old
We stood at the front door in a circle, holding hands — a dozen or so children, watched over by my Aunt Mary, like a mother hen. This was our morning ritual on school days after a hot bowl of oatmeal, buttered cinnamon toast and …
Obama should lead fight for safe Chicago streets
I am almost too angry to write. Angry about the killings. Angry at this city I love. Angry at my people — fellow African Americans — over our nonchalant acceptance of the senseless murder of our children in the streets like dogs, and our defeatist, …
Murder tally’s biggest number: one
One. One bullet. One gun. One hot summer’s night. One death. One city. One dream. One funeral. One father’s grief. One community’s scourge. One mother’s tears. One child’s fears. One. One last kiss. One pastor’s plight. One hope. One fight. This is the first in …
Parents can’t ward off all danger
When things go bump in the night, I arise. Usually, it is the settling sounds and creaking of the house that make me climb out of bed to investigate. On the way, I look in on the kids — my teenage daughter and pre-teen son. …
Spirit of revival where it is needed
The summer night breathed with the sounds of a tent revival in the open air. Beneath the glowing big top a few years ago, members of the black Baptist congregation on the West Side sat in folding chairs. A fiery preacher spewed the word of …
The world’s ‘end’ is time to make a fresh start
On the day the world was supposed to end, I found myself near the Caribbean coastal town of Xcaret, Mexico, not far from where ancient Mayan ruins stand — blue waters gently rolling. I hadn’t necessarily planned to be here on Dec. 21 — the …
Baker moves like jazz man all night
“If a man is called to be a streetsweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry.” — Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The electrophonic sound of jazz and funk fuse with the sure, nimble fingers of …
Learning life’s lessons from a ‘master’
OK, first I had to get over calling another man “Master.” It didn’t hurt that this master could kick my butt and also put a few lumps upside my head — a la Bruce Lee. It was my son’s fault that I was even in …
