"No good deed goes unpunished!"

"You’re special," Mac told me after I related my recent "Good Samaritan" deed. "You really are."

At the time, I thought I was being provided a compliment. Only later did I realize I was being dissed. Not in a mean-spirited way, but dissed, nonetheless.

Confirmation of that reality came after talking with two fellow pundits on radio station "WMCS’s Morning Magazine." They essentially echoed Mac’s assessment.

My crime?

I gave a distressed sister a ride.

Now that may not seem like a dastardly deed, but given today’s realities, and the possibilities of different scenarios from robbery to blackmail, I guess they had a point.

The "crime" took place after I dropped my son off for a basketball tryout last Saturday at the Sherman Park Boys and Girls Club. As I was leaving the parking lot, a sister blocked my path asking for assistance. It was a rather cold morning, and the sister, under-dressed for the weather and looking distressed, asked--actually pleaded--with me to give her a ride to 8th and Burleigh streets.

"Please brother, I gotta get to 8th Street, and I ain’t got no money. It’s cold and that’s a long walk. Please brother..."

To be honest, I started to lie, to say I was headed in the opposite direction or to offer her a few dollars. But that’s not me, and I really didn’t have a reason outside of my own fear or stereotypes to deny the sister. So, I said, "sure, get in."

The sister seemed pleasant. As we drove, she talked about her son, who had recently been in an accident. She said she was praying he didn’t let the occurrence deter him from doing well in school. She described how hard times were, her struggles to survive, and how so few people will offer any assistance to people in need these days.

I didn’t say much to her other than to occasionally acknowledge the truth of her appraisal. By the time we made it to Teutonia, the situation started to change. She asked if I could take her to 8th and Center instead of Burleigh, and interjected a plea for a few dollars to "buy a pack of cigarettes," to help "ease her depression."

That’s pretty much where I drew the line. Had she mentioned food for her family, or bus fare, I probably would have reached deep and pulled a few bucks. But cigarettes?

I sped up, and quickly retorted that I was running late, and would drop her off at the nearest intersection. But she was persistent and overbearing.

As I pulled over, and said something about having just given my last few dollars to my son for lunch, her attitude changed to anxiousness. And then, to my shock, she started going through the tray on my dashboard, taking coins and pleading with me to look through my wallet; maybe I missed something.

She then made me an offer I won’t get into, which was my clue to ask her to depart my vehicle, with whatever coins she had collected as my departing gift.

"I think I’ve done more than most folks would, sister. I’ve been very courteous, but you’re going too far. You need to get out!"

There’s a moral to this story, but I guess you could just say all’s well that end’s well. Most of the people I mentioned the scenario to say I put myself in harm’s way.

The sister could have robbed me, set me up, or taken me for a ride. She could have been a dope head, prostitute, or psychotic. All of that’s true. But she could have simply been a sister in distress; someone ignored by her brethren, seeking nothing more than a helping hand. As it turned out, she was a combination of all of the above, and the jury is still out as to whether I was a sucker or a saint.

During my childhood years in this city, there would not have been a second thought given to my Good Samaritan act. Back in the day, we were all neighbors, kindred spirits, bothers and sisters. Back then community meant "community," it was not a geographic location, it was a mindset.

With all due respect to my concerned critics--and that’s how I took their comments—I’m still holding out hope that there are still more good people than bad; that there are more God-fearing folks than atheists; more people who believe in praying verses "preying."

Had I not picked up the sister, I would have had to admit to myself that we are indeed the victims of the stereotypes we fight so hard to disprove.

It would be akin to my saying that I can’t walk down the street any more because the criminal elements have taken over. It’s like me telling my son I can’t drop him off at the "Y" or the Boys Club without supervision because the gang bangers control the courts, that bullets fly indiscriminately, that we are not safe in our own neighborhoods.

Don’t get me wrong. I'm not diminishing the seriousness of violence and crime in our community. We are in the middle of an epidemic. We are in crisis mode. The signs suggest we are losing the cultural war. There are streets I won’t walk down, and people I will avoid. I don’t leave my car door unlocked. And I scan the parking lot before existing the office during the nighttime hours.

But that’s not to say we’re living in Iraq either.

When I vigorously dismissed Alderman Bob Donovan’s call for National Guardsmen to supplement police on "Sunday Insight" with Charlie Sykes over the weekend, my point was that we are not at that level of social chaos to warrant such a drastic response.

Donovan, and many of his supporters have fallen prey to stereotypes and perceptions that are not substantiated by fact. And if anything, the sensationalistic call for troops fuels those stereotypes and will do more harm to the city than good.

If anything, it will cement unjustified fears about the city, chase away businesses needed to turn around this situation through jobs and opportunities and will fuel prejudices about the Black community.

I readily admit we need to prioritize crime prevention, and come to grips with the root causes of this phenomenon. If current trends continue, Milwaukee may soon become Gary, Indiana. I too am disappointed that political and civic leadership have done little to arrest this problem. But we can’t put it solely on their shoulders. We have also hid our heads in the sand as well.

Most of us are in denial, either about the depth of the problem, its origins and our role in perpetuating it.

We’ve been blaming racism, sexism, the government, the weather, the water and aliens. We’ve been waiting on some White knight in shining armor, some social service agency, some political party, or some missionary to save us.

In truth, only we can solve the problems that plague us.

And to accomplish that goal, we have to walk down that lonely street paved with morals, values, cultural foundations and spirituality. We have to start addressing our cultural collapse, our lack of civility, the shadow of slavery that hovers over our community.

The overwhelming majority of Black adults are God fearing, hard working, ambitious and civic minded. Most maintain their homes, prod their children to do well in school, and maintain their property, whether owners or renters.

They treat their neighbors with respect, report crime, vote when they have a reason, and contribute to social and civic causes. They don’t do drugs, rob banks, or cuss Arab or Indian storeowners.

Collectively, we outnumber the negative forces 10 to one. Yet in truth, most of us are only willing to give lip service to the problems around us. We complain, we hide behind locked doors, and have gates on our windows. We spend more time trying to figure out ways to get around the problem than in simply applying the necessary time and energy to solve the problems that face our community.

And the longer we respond to the problem with rhetoric or apathy, we allow the adversaries to grow in number and impact. If we limit our response to providing lip service to the phenomena, it will overwhelm us in short order.

The number of Black nuclear families is at an all time low. Teen pregnancy defines Black life. The percentage of single parent households is at an all time high, as is Black unemployment. The number of Black men and women in prison, with AIDS, or with a drug addiction has reached epidemic levels. We led the nation in Black high school dropouts, Black male incarceration and mortgage rejection rate.

Remember as we put our heads in the sand, our butts are exposed to the world.

In the meantime, I’ll probably continue to give a sister a ride. I’ll probably keep an eye on her, keep the window open, and drive down well-populated streets. But I’m not yet willing to give up yet. I guess I’ll remain special.

Hotep.