My boyhood home was an unpredictable, frightening place where love was routinely conflated with alcoholic violence. Where all gifts - including food and the beds we slept in - were really loans with vig that compounded hourly, even on paid balances.  The memories of traumatic violence left me emotionally isolated and adrift in adulthood.

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If not for my grandfather William, I might have given up on family and surrendered to the demons of my upbringing.

 

Writing “Gifts From Prometheus” was a two-year journey to uncover the hidden truths of our family, including the social and family circumstances that drove my grandfather from Georgia to Boston in 1917 and the insidious racism that led him to pass for White when he joined the Boston Police Department in 1929.

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Researching my grandfather’s life brought me to Georgia, historic railroad towns of the Piedmont Airline route, Augusta’s segregated “Golden Blocks,” Cypress swamps on the Savannah River, forlorn cemeteries, and the neighborhoods of my native Boston. These places were long ago imprinted in my DNA, but now are forever installed in my memories.

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My journey was an emotional one too.  

 

Now with stakeholder perspective, I better understand the history of race in America - Boston in particular.  As it turns out, what we learned in history class about racial equality in the northeast is either untrue - or at best - incomplete.

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Paradoxically, “Gifts from Prometheus” became a story about love. By learning about the unheralded (and nearly forgotten) heroes in our family history, I finally found peace through the healing power of family. 

"Gifts From Prometheus" is relevant to adult non-fiction readers interested in themes of self-discovery, family heritage, racial equality, mid-century American history, and Boston history.