Carl Weber - The Preachers Son

First off, I have to thank God. Without Him none of this would be possible.

Thanks to all the book clubs and fans who have read my books. Its you who make this whole thing worthwhile and get me up at three in the morning to write. I know this story is a little different from the kind I usually write, but I think youll enjoy it.

To Karen Thomas, my editor and my friend. Youve taught me so much about the industry, more than you probably realize. Thanks. Ill always be grateful.

To Walter Zacharius, Steven Zacharius, Laurie Parkin. Thanks for believing in me and my dream for Urban Books.

To Robilyn Heath, my right hand, and Roy Glenn, my left hand, thanks for all your hard work and help with Urban Books. To my Urban Books family, you are some of the most talented people in this business. With a little hard work Im sure you will all achieve your dreams.

Thanks to Paul Chin, my attorney. Thanks for watching my back as I crawl through the maze of the publishing world.

Thanks to Linda Williams, Linda Gurrant, Valerie Skinner, Marlene Hernandez, and Ann Murphymy readers. You have been a help that I cant even explain.

Thanks to Maxine Thompson. I could not have done this book without your help. Good luck in all you do.

Thanks to Marie Brown, my agent and second mother. Youve done a great job, and I may not say it enough, but thanks. Your hard work and support are highly appreciated. Last but not least, Id like to thank all the black bookstores that helped to make my career a success. Id especially like to thank Gwen Richardson at Cush City in Houston, Texas. Gwen, I know it seems like every time Im supposed to be headed your way something comes up. But these things are really happening. I hope youll let me make it up to you and your customers.

Well folks, until So You Call Yourself a Man hits the stores next year, thanks for the ride. Its been great.

Oh, and if you get a chance, holler at your boy. UrbanBooks@ hotmail.com.

Family values Bishop T.K. Wilson paused for effect and looked down upon the crowd of people. He took a breath and repeated his words in his strong, baritone voice. Family valuesFamily values! Each repetition was more animated than the last. He was holding a microphone in one hand, waving a Bible in the other, as he moved back and forth across the stage in what he liked to call his preachers strut. What has happened to family values in this community? In this country? he shouted, then paused again, as if expecting a response from his audience.

T.K. Wilson was the pastor of First Jamaica Ministries, arguably the largest African-American church in Queens, New York. A tall, handsome man with chiseled features and a well-maintained salt-and-pepper beard, he was not only a very good minister and administrator, but a dynamic speaker as well. You could almost see him reeling in each and every one of the five hundred or so people whod flooded into Roy Wilkins Park for the free hot dogs, sodas, and balloons for the kids that his church was giving away. It was all part of First Jamaica Ministries voter registration campaign. This year the registration campaign was even more crucial, because it was also the year that their pastor hoped to become the next borough president of Queens.

Ill tell you what has happened to this country and this community, T.K. continued. Theyve gone to hell in a handbasket! Thats whats happened to them. And why have they gone to hell in a handbasket? He used his signature dramatic pause again, then emphasized his words with a wave of his hands. Because this community has no role models! No one to look up to. No one they can go to when theres a problem. No one they can rely on to make sure your children and homes are safe. And to be quite frank, no one who cares. He lowered his voice. Well, brothers and sisters, that ends today, right here and now. He pointed to the stage before him. Cause if no one else will step up and be the role model that this community needs, then I will. And thats why Im running for Queens borough president!

There was an immediate explosion of applause, and everyone in the audience rose to their feet. When the crowd finally calmed down, the bishop smiled. Thank you, thank you so very much. He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead before continuing. For almost seventeen years Ive been the pastor of First Jamaica Ministries, and Ive tried to lead by example. During that time, Ive accomplished quite a bit. Weve built senior homes, a school, Section Eight housing for the needy, a free health clinic for the children, and we even have a homeless shelter for those who need to come in out of the cold. And if Im elected borough president, I think I can do more.

There was some applause, and an older woman yelled from the crowd, We love you, Bishop!

Well, thank you, Sister Adeline. I love you, too. However, I need more than your love. I need your help. I need all of your help. I need you to go over to that table and register to vote. Register so that when Election Day comes, I wont be just a role model for First Jamaica Ministries, but a role model for the entire community. The entire borough of Queens.

The crowd exploded into another round of cheers. First a few voices started, then it seemed like every voice in the crowd was chanting, BishopBishopBishop!

Bishop Wilson stood there smiling proudly. For a moment he felt like the most powerful man in the world. It was a strange feeling for him, because hed never aspired to be involved in politics. That had been his now-deceased father-in-law, Reverend Dr. Charles Jacksons dream, not his. Reverend Jackson had been T.K.s mentor and predecessor as pastor of First Jamaica Ministries, and had always dreamed of seeing his son-in-law hold office. T.K.s only ambition had been to serve the Lord and be the best husband and father that he could be.

T.K. glanced to the right side of the stage and smiled at his wife, Charlene, the only child of Reverend Jackson. She gave him a subtle thumbs-up, making T.K.s smile widen. T.K. and Charlene had been married for over twenty years and had a good, blessed life as the pastor and first lady. She took her position as first lady very seriously, and in truth, she was just as responsible for T.K.s rise to power in the church as he was. It was Charlene who went to her fathers deathbed and secured a letter to the deacons board asking them to forgo interviews with other ministers and name her husband the next pastor of the church. It was a decision that the deacons board reluctantly agreed to, only out of respect for their deceased pastor. Years later, though, they had not once regretted the decision.