Word: antwan
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Crime and drugs are everywhere in America's inner cities. For Antwan, they were only a few yards away as the youngster floated high above his steamy ghetto playground on a turquoise-and-orange swing set. At the playground's edge two teenagers were selling vials of cocaine from a curbside stash. One dealer cut a score with a passing woman; looking over at Antwan, his partner spotted an opportunity...
Sauntering up to the youngster, the pusher demanded that Antwan serve as a hiding place for the stash or else face a beating. At first the child refused, then gave in. Business continued -- until the "Zone Rangers," an undercover Baltimore vice-and-narcotics squad that had the dealers under surveillance, suddenly sprinted into action. One team of Rangers nabbed the dealers; another pulled Antwan off the swing and confiscated the vials. By the time they reached the station house, the little boy had dissolved in tears...
...Then Antwan got his first break. A juvenile-services worker sat down beside him. "Are you sorry for what you've done this evening?" he asked the boy. "Yes," mumbled Antwan. "Have you learned a lesson?" he asked. Another soft yes. Alongside the boy stood his mother Syrita, 30, an attractive woman whose soft face belies the rugged ghetto life she has led. The worker decided to let Antwan go home -- he had no prior arrests -- so long as she brought him to court the next...
Syrita had tried repeatedly to warn Antwan of illicit goings-on at the playground. But such warnings carry little weight for a kid growing up on society's margin. Antwan lives in a storefront apartment just blocks from the drug-saturated playground. His mother and grandmother survive on public assistance, and his mother is battling depression with medication and counseling. His father is long gone...
...next day Antwan and his mom show up at juvenile court, which is crammed into the basement of Clarence Mitchell. The building's massive columns, vaulted ceilings and dimly lighted corridors conjure fleeting images of a dungeon. Children wander the hallways, a few in tears. The water fountains are too high for most to reach. Lawyers, their arms spilling over with folders, bustle about. Sheriff's deputies cast jaundiced eyes...