INTRODUCTION | DENNIS L. FORBES

Family Life My parents were only seventeen years old when I came into their world. I was born Larry O’Neill Brown, Jr. on December 19, 1962, to Diretha Victoria Hall, my mother, and Larry O’Neill Brown, Sr., my father. Additionally, I had one older sister, Hilda, and one younger sister, Jacqueline. Both of my teenage parents were born in 1945, so we were a rare house of all baby boomers. We were also the typical struggling lower, middle class African American family surviving the climate of the 1960s and 1970s in blue-collar Baltimore City.

Diretha Victoria Hall, my mother, and Larry O’Neill Brown, Sr.

My father was a senior at Carver Vocational-Technical High School around the time I was born. He began his aspirations of becoming an artist by selecting commercial art as his trade, but after a few years of financial pressure and job prospect frustrations, my father made the decision to switch his area of study to printing. It was my father’s vocational training that eventually made it possible for him to transition into a job as a linotype operator at a few printing facilities in Baltimore. One of the Baltimore facilities was the Afro-American Newspaper. He was often the only person of color on the job working as a typesetter and linotype operator. He was later recruited by Baltimore City schools via a special workers equivalency program and transitioned into a career in vocational education teaching printing in several area Baltimore City schools. In addition to his printing career, my father was also a championship wrestler, who later coached high school and college level wrestling, cross country, and track and field.

I remember looking up to my father and wishing I had his talent and athletic abilities. He was a self-taught artist, and I grew up with his work all over the walls of our house. It was not uncommon for us to do small print jobs in our kitchen on a small platen printing press that he kept at the house. After a while I figured out that I actually liked printing. The only problem was I didn’t feel like my father wanted me imitating anything he was doing. It seemed no matter how much I tried to please him, I usually was criticized by him or ended up feeling rejected. It became apparent that much of this energy was because my father was a frustrated artist. There were few opportunities in those days for young black men to pursue art, or art careers. This was at the core of why my father shifted his area of study from art to printing. I’m sure these frustrations manifested in our creative interactions. Nonetheless, I decided at a young age that art was going to be my path.

From as early as I can remember, art was a part of my life. Looking back, it was apparent from an early age the way art drew me in. It may have been because I was born the son of a teenage parent who sacrificed his dream of being an artist to take care of his family. I watched my father, not knowing what he was actually going through, try to paint. It was always a mystery to me what he was thinking? How was he feeling? Where was the imagery coming from? I attempted to try to do the things I saw my father doing. As a young child, all I could do was imitate, like most sons, who aspire to be like their father. My father, on the other hand, was a frustrated artist, which I think made him become a little competitive instead of nurturing. I also think it motivated him to deter me from that dream because in the 1960s and 1970s my father did not have the outlet to be a successful artist.

At that same time, I experienced several opportunities to witness my father interacting with other notable Baltimore artists like Ernest Kromah, Robert Torrance, Thomas Stockett and various others. But something always seemed strange to me as a child. All of these wonderfully gifted black men were painting in their home studios and talked about their art as if they were dreaming to make it big one day. That confusion even followed me from grade school through college.

Role Models and Mentors After a while art became my silent friend. Being a loner and a middle child, who pretty much stayed to himself, it was so easy for me to time travel while drawing. It was a retreat for me. I drew Marvel comics, cartoons, or anything that I could identify with. As a child, I was a big fan of Batman, Casper the Friendly Ghost, Snoopy, and the Incredible Hulk.

In my elementary school days, after my family’s last big move from East Baltimore to West Baltimore in 1970, I was befriended by my big brother from another mother, Eric G. Tombs (Ricky). Ricky had quite the sense of humor, which got us into several harmless fights. Ricky would tease me just like any older brother would, but the one thing Ricky never joked about was my art. As a matter of fact, he probably was the first person who made me take my art more seriously. We often would spend hours drawing comic book characters. Eric and his older brother had the largest Marvel comic book collection I had ever seen. This was way before television sets in every room, computers, and video games. He was the one person and friend that was curious about my artistic abilities regardless of what I felt about them. Friends often see potential in you, before you actually see it in yourself.

My biggest memory from Liberty Elementary School was when one day my teacher asked everyone in the class to stand and say what they wanted to be when they grew up. Of course, we had a lot of lawyers, teachers, doctors, and an occasional astronaut. I stood up proudly and said, “I would like to either be a yellow school bus driver or an artist”. The room filled with laughter, as my teacher interrupted and said clearly “a bus driver is an honorable job.” I didn’t realize that the yellow school bus driver that passed me every day was driving a bus transporting challenged students. I just thought it would be cool to ride on the bus rather than walk to school. The most interesting distinction my teacher made was that an artist wasn’t even worth talking about. I thought the class was laughing at me because I said I wanted to be an artist. Of course, I sat down with much embarrassment and confusion. Mr. David Humphreys was my art teacher at Garrison Junior High School, and he was the first adult to stare me in my face and say, “Son, you need to start taking your art more seriously. Mr. Humphreys began forging me to believe in my art. He would give me school assignments to do. We had many assemblies at school, so he would first get me to do full artistic backdrops for some of the assemblies. Then he assigned me to do bulletin boards in classrooms, decorate display cases, for upcoming holidays, and for classroom doors and hallway decorations. I had a few people who were pivotal in pushing me in a direction of making me see my art in a different capacity. I also began to participate in many local art competitions. I had plenty of opportunities to compete against other students, where I began to realize that I had more going for myself than I thought. It gave me a lot of confidence at a time when I had so many negative interactions in middle school. I think I began to see my classmates react to me in a different way because of my talent.

By the time I got to senior high school, the way I was perceived by other students changed. I didn’t even realize that most of the bad experiences had disappeared. One, because I was so busy most of the time. Two, because I was beginning to blossom into really knowing who I was and answering those questions, “Who am I? Who do I want to be? Do I want to be my father and end up being a frustrated artist who has no real opportunity?” or “What do I want to be?” But at the same time, I had this ability that I still was keeping captive, and it wasn’t until I began to get opportunities being forced on me by teachers that I began to really grasp that I could do something larger

with my art. At that point, the desire to satisfy my dad began fading into the background. It was like the opportunities that were available for me began steering me in a completely different direction where I was no longer waiting for the validation of my father, as far as my art was concerned.

My high school years were magical because that was the first time I began to feel like I had my own identity. It was around that time that my mother and father separated. I was about 14 years old as I entered Carver Vocational Technical High School, which would surely change and save my life, at the same time. Meeting Chenal Alford was the most awesome experience that I can remember because here I was walking into a classroom with a guy that was 6’5”, with an additional 6” afro. His voice penetrated walls, and he would cast this shadow just standing in front of you. There was a level of respect extended immediately because he was a man’s man. Not only was he a man’s man, but he was also a pro-Black man’s man. Mr. Alford always challenged his students to challenge their brains. He challenged us to read, to seek out our history, and to understand that we were from royalty. As a matter of fact, the first thing he ever said to me was, “Son, you’re a descendant of the Kings.” And I thought to myself . . . “this man is crazy!”

On one occasion, Mr. Chenal Alford looked me square in the eyes and said, “The white man would never allow you to do the kind of art you want to do, so let me teach you how to letter and you will always eat.” I enrolled in his commercial art class, which taught hand lettering. The sign writing program

Chenal Alford, Carver Vocational Technical High School included design, layout and composition, perspective, light and shade, but extensive study of typography. It was a three-year program where students would work in the classroom their freshman and junior year, and in your senior year you would be assigned work study. Mr. Alford made me an apprentice under his teaching assistant Barbara Thomas, who had the reputation of being one of the quickest signwriters in the city.

I learned how to letter relatively quickly. As a matter of fact, I learned that I had a natural ability for it. Students normally would work up to their senior year in order to be eligible for work study assignments in their senior year. I actually picked up the lettering concepts in three months, during my freshman year. I was one of the first freshmen students they considered for work study at Carver Vocational-Technical High School. They took a chance on me and placed me with an alumnus of Carver Vocational-Technical High School by the name of Jerome Washington of Washington Signs, in Baltimore. I got my first job at the age of fourteen, which completely changed my life. At that time, I was still doing lots of art, mostly fantasy themed pieces. I knew nothing about Black artists at this time, so my work evolved into fantasy, and science fiction. My Black awareness was just beginning to appear in those early works.

Mr. Alford was challenging me on Black consciousness and Black history. He even posed questions about Jesus being white and blue eyes, the kings in Africa, civilization was birthed in Africa, the first man was found in Africa, and how the bible was really based on other cultural stories. I mean, this man really got deep into my head and deep into my spirit. He was the first person to have me sit down and compare things. He often would have me read passages from books by historians Dr. Yosef Ben-Jochannan and Dr. Ivan Van Sertima. This was my first true introduction into African and African American history beyond the cliff note versions of Black history I had been taught. It was also when I began to realize that this history thing just might have some merit. My mind was blown understanding the vastness of African civilizations and culture.

Chenal Alford, Barbara Thomas, and Me

Here I was in high school beginning to incorporate some of that new knowledge and new awareness in my art. Mr. Alford recognized I needed to continue going down that path of finding out who I was. He completely altered my thinking when it came to religion, history, blackness, and everything else that was soul searchingly expansive. He truly broadened my horizons. Now, if you can imagine getting that kind of horizon broadening, how it would affect your art. I went from drawing things that were representational of other cultures, such as comic book characters and white characters to suddenly doing Black characters and creating Black heroes. I stopped drawing Marvel comics and I drew my first Black character. As a matter of fact, on my birthday in the 11th grade year, Mr. Alford let me do a mural in the commercial art class and it was a depiction of a Black hero I created named Kronos, which I stole from my father, strangling the Hulk. If you were assigned a mural on one of the walls of our shop, it meant you were one of the top artists at Carver Vocational-Technical High School. My mural was displayed for about two decades at Carver. Those years were magical, but they were also full of challenges. Life was coming at me relatively fast. Chenal Alford realized I had one foot in the streets and one foot in the classroom, and at that time he was going to do whatever he could to save me from the streets.

To keep me driven and engaged Mr. Alford made me join the Vocational Industrial Clubs of America (VICA), a regional trade Skills Olympics competition. I entered each year and won two silver medals and two bronze metals with different commercial art disciplines. I was the first 10th grader to win a medal in that contest.

Mr. Alford was explaining to me why it was important to draw from things that you saw, work from your imagination and work from the basics. I think he began to feed more information and more techniques to me because he saw me grasping them so quickly. But I think he also knew that if he kept me busy, the likelihood of me getting in trouble was slim. He protected me all through high school because he was aware that I was experiencing a few developmental challenges as I was transitioning through high school. My parent’s separation really emotionally impacted me during that period of time. However, it was soon afterwards that I began to find my way and enjoyed doing what I was doing, but being a sign painter kept me busy. Not only did it keep me busy, sign painting kept me in a position to make money. Before I knew it, I was able to make a stream of income where most kids in my neighborhood were not even sensitized to working or were on the boundaries of moving into a bad life in Baltimore. Art saved my life several times because it actually kept me off of the street while most kids were doing their thing. I was in a corner somewhere drawing while kids were outside riding their bikes and creating mischief. I was in my bedroom drawing. When I was in class, I was drawing. Most children wished they had a secret power. I started to really believe that my secret power, was art. And so, I committed to it fully. And I began to see the rewards of committing to my art.

At that time, I had no idea whether I was good, whether I was above average or whether I was just average, but it began to come to me that maybe I was a little above average because I had a knack for learning quickly. If you showed me something once, generally I would get the concept and I would duplicate it and move on. And it wasn’t long before I started doing my own adaptations to what I’d been taught.

I had no intention to attend college. By the twelfth grade I was completely tired of school and was only willing to go into the work world. The trend when I was in high school was for everyone to go into the military after graduation. I wasn’t from a military family, so the notion of going into the military really wasn’t part of my plan. The idea of world traveling, on the other hand, sounded wonderful, but the fact of the matter was I had never even traveled outside of Baltimore. I was interested in knowing what was happening around the world, so traveling was definitely going to be a part of my future. My brain was totally screwed from the beginning with regard to ever being hired as an employee because up to that point I had met many African American people with entrepreneurial spirits who owned their own businesses.

Towards my senior year, I was still on work study, which cut my school days in half. Just before graduation I was informed