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timesleader.com
THE TIMES LEADER
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SUNDAY, JUNE 10, 2012
TOM MOONEY REMEMBER WHEN
Back in the day, those tiny treats were a big deal “L
MCT PHOTOS
Debraha Watson, president of the Wayne County Community College District Northwest Campus, has written a book titled, ’If Not For Dreams: Memoirs of a Foster Child.’ Below she holds a copy.
FOSTERING HOPE
Foster child recounts her path to college presidency By CASSANDRA SPRATLING Detroit Free Press
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ETROIT — Slices of white bread. That was all she and her baby brother had to eat some days. So she’d tear the bread in half, pick away the mold and share whatever was left. She was 5, maybe 6, and should have been in school, but she was home taking care of her brother because her mother was gone. Again. “Secret trips,” her mama called the disappearances that could last several days. So Debraha Watson changed her brother’s diapers, fed him whatever she could find around the house, read to him and comforted him as best she could. Never mind that she was a child herself. That was the beginning of Watson’s life, a childhood scarred by sexual, physical and emotional abuse. It only got worse at 7 when her mother died, and she and her brother landed in a series of foster homes, some lov-
Debraha (pronounced Da-BRAY-a) Watson, 59, of Southfield, Mich., is now president of Wayne County Community College District’s Northwest Campus and the health science provost. She tells her story in the riveting book “If Not for Dreams: Memoirs of a Foster Child” (Vision Works Publishing, $13.) The story of triumph over tragedy is attracting particular attention now because it’s National Foster Care Month, a time when child care agencies and advocates focus on the need for more foster parents and recognize those who are doing well. The book began as a journal aimed at helping Watson heal the hurt that endured even while she climbed the ladder of success and raised two children into adulthood. She had buried the pain — or so she ing, some not. When you meet Watson today, it’s difficult thought — until her brother, Sandy, died of to believe that the accomplished woman is AIDS in 1992. She’d become disconnected the same little girl who watched her little from him after they were placed in separate brother play with roaches because it was something to do. See FOSTER, Page 2B
MEET CHARLOTTE RAUP
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harlotte Raup is the president of the Wilkes-Barre Crime Watch Coalition and runs 15 crime watch meetings
throughout the city. Raup, 55, attended Meyers High School and Luzerne County Community College. She has a bachelor’s degree in philosophy from Wilkes University and became a master herbalist after studying at Dominion Herbal College in British Columbia, Canada. Charlotte and her husband, Gregory, live in Wilkes-Barre
CLARK VAN ORDEN/THE TIMES LEADER
with their four cats. How did you get involved with the Wilkes-Barre Crime Watch Coalition? “It all started 25 years ago. There was a rash of house break-ins occurring in Parsons, where I lived. The neighbors and I had enough. Pat Rushton created the Parsons Crime Watch at that time, and since I was the first one who
that month. We update people on what crime activity has occurred in an area and we point out recent trends in crime like when thieves are targeting copper and license plates. We have various speakers who come in and talk about a variety of topics. Our primary goal is to prevent crime and these meetings help. We do patrols overnight to help prevent crime and reassure residents throughout the city.” So you believe it works? “Crime prevention works. It absolutely works. We feel as if we have impacted people with the groups, meetings and social network interaction. You have to feel for the victims of crime as well. I was a victim. You never get a second chance as a victim. You just get a new normal, a new way of living. Crime and crime prevention is the most important aspect of a city. People need to feel safe.” When you are not patrolling the neighborhoods or running meetings, what do you like to do with any spare time you may have? “I love gardening
called him about the break-ins, he put me in charge of it. Through the years the coalition has gained members and the crime watches in the area now number more than 400 people. I was eventually elected to be the president of the Wilkes-Barre Crime Watch Coalition and I have taken the position very seriously.” Tell us about what the WilkesBarre Crime Watch does. “When the groups gather they are informed as to what is going on in their community See RAUP, Page 2B
ook at this,” said Alner, pointing to an item in his Times Leader. “Mayor Bloomberg of New York City is trying to ban big soft drinks. What’s with that guy? Is he a socialist or something?” “Old pal,” I said, “It’s just a sign of our times. I suspect the mayor has no more sinister motivation than promoting healthy dietary basics — quenching your thirst, not drowning your thirst.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” grunted Alner, turning to the baseball page. Well, needless to say, within minutes we were taking a walk down a Wyoming Valley street of about 60 years ago, thanks to my powers of metaphysical travel. “I notice you picked a really hot day,” smirked Alner. “Obviously you’re planning to get me thirsty so you can prove a point.” “You’re learning, Alner,” I grinned, ushering him through the screen door of a corner grocery store, one like every neighborhood had back then. A rush of delightfully frigid air struck our faces as I opened the big soda cooler. Inside, glass bottles stood in ice water that was about the temperature of the North Atlantic in February. “Look at this,” I said, pulling out a bottle of Acme orange. “That’s tiny,” gasped Alner. “It says ‘eight ounces’ on the side — barely a cupful of soda.” “Sure is,” I replied, grabbing a second bottle and pulling off the caps with the opener on the side of the soda case. “This is what people drank for generations. Now if you’re really desperate for a bigger swig, you can try a Royal Crown or a Nehi lime or a Hires Root Beer. They’re 12 ounces, the size of a can of soda in our time.” “That’s the biggest you can get?” Alner asked. “Well, no. There are some quart bottles in here. If you’re throwing a party you’ll bring home a single quart and serve everyone. “I wonder how all this super-sizing happened,” said Alner, a quizzical look on his face as he sipped his drink through a pair of paper straws. “I hope the sociologists know,” I said, “because I sure don’t. Hey, take a look in the dairy case over there.” “I see quarts of milk in glass bottles,” said Alner. “That’s all you’ll see,” I said. “The half-gallon container, the gallon container — none of that has been invented yet. We’re still in the era of modest proportions.” I thought I’d better appease the guy behind the counter by buying a couple of five-cent bags of Wise potato chips, using the 1950 coins I carry for such occasions. “Yes, they’re mini-bags,” I said to Alner as he stared. “But that’s all people expect here. It’s a little treat, not dinner or fodder to satisfy a nervous tic. And if you look in the ice cream freezer you’ll see pint packages — that’s pints, not half-gallons or industrial-size plastic pails with handles. In these times, Sunday dessert is a thin slice of butter pecan, and you’d wait all week for that.” “I wonder what happens when fast food arrives,” said Alner, downing his last potato chip. “It’ll be simple 15-cent hamburgers,” I said. “No double Monstrosos with triple cheese — not yet, anyway.” Alner raised his eight-ounce soda high. “Hey, I’ll drink to that.” Tom Mooney is a Times Leader columnist. Reach him at tmooney2@ptd.net.