Role model for the role model

When well-grounded young black men emerge from a program of community mentoring, its director's pride in their success is worth more than a paycheck.

COLUMN GOSIER E-mail: Click here Archive

By ELIJAH GOSIER

© St. Petersburg Times,
published September 4, 2001

Life has too many variables for W.J. Bryant to assess numerically the importance of his job. He can't say with certainty that this kid went to college instead of jail because of him, or that that young man chose good grades over drugs because of him.

He just knows that in the eight years he has been on the job, a lot of teetering boys have become grounded young men after they crossed paths with him -- or his 127 surrogates.

That knowledge makes sleep come easily to Bryant.

That and the size of the job he does.

Bryant directs 500 Role Models of Excellence, a program within the Pinellas County school system that teams adult role models with black male students, who historically lead all categories of students in drop-outs, suspensions and most other adverse school-related behavior. Those, of course, translate to more serious and costly behavioral problems in adulthood.

The litany of the consequences is well known: Black males between the ages of 15 and 24 die more often from homicide than any other cause. Black men in general are murdered at a rate six times higher than other Americans.

Black men are twice as likely to be unemployed as white men, less likely to be around their children, almost 60 percent of whom are born out of wedlock. Black men can expect to live shorter lives than white men, due in part to the high rate of homicide and the high percentage of those who don't have health insurance.

But Bryant refuses to wring his hands over the bleak picture.

Each year, he influences the lives of more than 700 young people, many of them from circumstances that would seem to predict failure.

The formula, borrowed by now-retired school administrator Vyrle Davis from a program in Miami, is relatively simple: Pair malleable young men with solid members of their communities and challenge them to be successful.

Last year, Bryant had 128 role models working with students from schools. Bryant, who is forever recruiting new volunteers, says he won't be happy until each student has a mentor of his own. As the program works now, each role model has a group of eight children.

Many of the volunteers come from the police department, which has been a strong supporter of the program from the start. For Bryant, however, the love affair followed the marriage. "I didn't like police," he says bluntly.

Like many black males, including the students accepted into the role models program, he distrusted police. He had been the victim of profiling. He still jokes with his assistant, Barbara Rosales, that if they're stopped by police while riding together, she should jump out of the car immediately and in a loud voice say, "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Bryant."

Such quips are common between Bryant and Rosales, who is the only white person with direct involvement in the program. When the volume of one of Bryant's phone conversations gets a notch above moderate, she tells him to stop talking so loud, then jabs him, with a wink to a visitor in their Clearwater office. "It's a cultural thing," she says, feigning an explanation.

Although the two long ago gained each other's trust and have become comfortable enough to joke about matters of race and culture, both know such issues are serious, and they are adamant that the role models in their program be black. Key to its success, says Bryant, is students' being able to see "someone who looks like them" and has shared the same experiences. That lends credibility to the mentor's words.

The program will kick into gear this year on Friday when role models and their groups come together at the children's schools. For many, it will be the first meeting; for others, it will be a reunion. Some of the role models have kept the same group of young people together throughout their school careers.

During the year, the prescribed interaction is little more than two meetings each month between the mentor and his group. The sessions are the length of a class period. Involvement beyond that, except for organizational functions, is up to the individual mentors and their groups.

While the program came into existence as a response to the growing crisis among black males, students who are chosen for the program are not stigmatized as problem students. Because the program has become so successful, with participants over the years earning a reputation for giving and receiving respect wherever they go, students compete for the limited openings.

"We tell them they have been selected to be future leaders," Bryant said, showing the program's positive atmosphere. "It is true. Young African-American males are competitive. All we have to do is set the bar high, and they'll come up to it."

St. Petersburg police Chief Goliath Davis sees his involvement in the program as repayment of a debt. "Simply stated, all of us in our respective positions are where we are today because someone cared enough to give their advice, their time and their support." Serving as a mentor shows appreciation for that influence, he said.

While Bryant can't cite a bunch of numbers to say how effective his job is, one indicator of its success is that recruiting mentors is becoming easier as young men from the program are growing into role models and coming back as mentors.

Bryant would probably take issue with this assessment.

Not with the program's success. With the job part.

"This isn't a job. It's my life."

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