From Trash to Treasure

By Jahaka Mindstorm
Fri, Feb 19, 2010

A man addicted to crack cocaine; suffering on levels physical, spiritual and emotional; can easily give up all hope. Or - he can embrace the idea there is no place to go but up; up from Down here in the Dirt.

When Robert Ricks found himself in that position 17 years ago, he chose the latter perspective. Now he is a published author/playwright, acclaimed youth activist with aspirations to grow his own publishing company. In some ways, Ricks' journey runs parallel to that of the African American people as a whole, evolving from a state of total destitution to a place of hope.

"I don't know where I would be if I hadn't had a chance to say all the things I've said through five plays and two novels.

Ricks came to Rochester at an early age ("My mother stole me from my daddy when I was almost five") and lived in the kind of poverty-stricken environment that then stifled (as well as now) the exuberant dreams of young black boys.

The next stage is frequently criminal.

"When I was 13, I was introduced to hustling," Ricks said. "Breaking into cars, breaking into houses - stuff like that. At 15 - that's when I started selling marijuana. Cocaine wasn't real big back then," he said. "I was in my early twenties when cocaine hit the scene - and it hit the scene really hard. I believe they always had it in the 'burbs, but it was in the powder form and really expensive." In the middle 1980s, however, that would change.

"When cooking it (into crack cocaine) became popular, the price went down; and that's when I got my little grubby paws on it," he chuckled. Ricks started selling crack and was part of the revolving-door scene between law enforcement officials and petty crooks. Ironically, the scariest thing he recalls from that era was car rides with strangers.

"Hitchhiking - I hitchhiked from here to Kentucky and back," Ricks said. "I was probably like 19, just running, running, running. At that age you feel invincible. I think that's kind of what happens with our young people today. At 18, 19, 20 - you don't think you can die.

"I started out slinging; most users start out slinging." Ricks believed he would never personally fall prey to the lure of cocaine. "Going into base houses, watching how the drug controlled people - I told myself it would never happen to me. Nothing would never ever control me," said Ricks. Like so many other local black men during the mid-1980s, Ricks was fooling himself.

"I think a lot of it was believing I was bigger and better," he said. "Bigger than the drug, better than other users I saw in that house, picking on the floor and peeking through the windows and hearing things that were not there." The picture Ricks painted was stark, somber and all too familiar for many people living the same script today.

One consistent thread during that time, which kept him in tune with his humanity, Ricks said; was his penchant for writing. "I first plagiarized books when I was little, like Horton Hears a Who and Green Eggs and Ham," Ricks said. "I wanted to be a writer long before the performance bug bit me.

"I started writing and just loving the performing arts around the age of nine," he reminisced. Yet, when his life took a more severe turn, his work became more purposeful.

"When I went to jail I would write," he said, "when I had those stints of time in rehab. When I told myself I wouldn't get high for a couple of days - I would write. I had a lot to say. For a lot of years, I had experienced so much." He was further motivated by the concept that his was a story that many shared, many who were unable themselves to articulate it in such fashion.

"A lot of what I experienced isn't unique - it isn't uncommon to African American city males," Ricks said. "The poverty, broken families, the over-worked mom, bad influences, misinformation, second-rate schools systems, teachers that don't look like you - and really don't have the compassion for you to learn. That's just so common - and I knew it, and I felt it, and I wanted the world to feel it and to understand it."

A painful event in Ricks' life also provided motivation for an upturn, a breakthrough. His mother died when he was 26 years old. Finally coming to grips with the fact that he couldn't beat his addiction without help, Ricks turned to rehabilitation centers. But like with a majority of crack users, it took more than one go to stick.

"Four times in rehab," he said. "I got a bunch of tools the first time, but in my mind, I was different from other people. See, I grew up and hung out with the best of the hustlers - Jefferson Avenue All Stars. Monumental pillars of hustling. So I was different, I was better - I didn't have to stopped using the way other people had to stop - I didn't have to go to meetings, I didn't have to get a sponsor.

"But eventually, the pain and the degradation I felt was enough to stop me from using," he said. "It's said that every addict must hit bottom in order for them to really give recovery a try. But what I found is that there's a lot of different bottoms - physical bottoms, spiritual bottoms and emotional bottoms. I think I had to hit them all."

Ricks explained: "One of my bottoms was a spiritual bottom, because there was a God in me… Then that emotional bottom - when you're walking around rusty, dusty, crusty and musty - you know, despair, hopelessness… and then coming out only at night, jumping in the bushes when people come down the street that knew you… going to the mission and trying to steal a donut so you'll have something to eat the next morning…"

Seventeen years ago, not long after his final rehab stint, relatives took him to a poetry slam at a local book store. Ricks competed in the slam, and won it - three months straight. "Then they wanted to make me a judge."

His performance poetry was adapted to a one-man show Ricks developed and started performing - often as a Black History Month feature - called Down Here In the Dirt. Sometimes he would collaborate with other artists, which gave the performance a dynamic, changing flavor through the years, but one of the most prevalent - and poignant - characters was "the neighborhood bottle and can man," a down-and-out "user" who employed irony and satire to bring hard truths home, often to middle-class, white suburban audiences.

"That's who he was - he collected bottles and cans and he lived in a box," Ricks said. "The neighborhood bottle and can man was the guy who had given up, surrendered to the fight; he wasn't going to fight anymore. I never wanted to give up. I never wanted to surrender to the disease of addiction.

"But the things that happened to him also happened to me. Going back and forth to jail and getting diagnosed by psychiatrists - all those were scenes from my life. But I just knew at some point I would be restored to sanity."

When an organizer from Boston-based Teen Empowerment saw one of Ricks' performances - with local youth onstage with him, he was recruited for the Rochester office of Teen Empowerment, where he worked four years as a program coordinator.

His work with youth climaxed when Ricks worked with local poet/performer Renah Golden to develop "Slam High," a group of youths who have taken local competitive performance poetry from regional championship level to the cameras of cable network giant HBO.

"It was just concluded that we had similar mindsets as far as what young people can do, what needs to be said and who needs to say it," Ricks characterized his collaborative work with Golden and Doug Ackerly of Teen Empowerment. "We had a strong belief that young people knew what their issues were; and if they could say it and a platform was provided for them, adults would listen. "Slam high was definitely one of those programs where opportunities were found for young people to say what was on their hearts, and boy did they say it!"

Ricks continued to work on his own projects, including the release of his debut novel Mastermind in 2007, with Black Pearl Publications of Atlanta. However, Ricks said the relationships with that publisher didn't work out and his second book - Bastards and Bastardesses - was released under his emerging publication label, Down Here in the Dirt Publications. The name of the label recognizes the erstwhile one-man show and also is symbolic of Ricks' origins, but there are no immediate plans to bring back that production. "The last time I did down here in the dirt was in 2007," he said.

Ricks is continuing to pursue theatrical treasure, most recently with the stage play Where Are You, Lord?

"The biggest challenge for artists is to bring what they have to the world," he said. "We have exceptional talent in this city and some of the young people I work with really aspire to use it, not only to edify and glorify themselves, but also to uplift and enlighten their communities, to spread their cultures to other people."

The play has shown locally and in Buffalo, the author hopes to have one more strong showing in Rochester - probably in mid spring - before taking it on tour to other cities, starting with Atlanta. Ricks recognizes that he is fortunate to pursue a vocation that he loves, and moreover has brought purpose to a life that could have been ruined in so many ways. However, always keeps his ultimate passion for writing and performance in focus:

"If there is one thing I really want to - it's to give a voice to the voiceless," he said. "Young people know that they get played by the media. They know their parents send them out every day to be educated in a school system not as well equipped as the other school systems around them. They know there's major problems with them and the police. They know that they deserve better, in every arena.

"Sometimes they don't know how to say it, or don't get the opportunity to say it - and sometimes they just feel - what difference does it make? "

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