Hades' Melody. JD Belcher
the executive director of Hosanna House Community Center the year I worked there, and in my opinion, he was a godly man of vision. I had heard that Hosanna House stood atop Wallace Avenue as result of a charge given to the men of CCOP in the years before its inception. As the story went, over one hundred men surrounded the abandoned, condemned school and prayed for the manifestation of a community center in response to an epidemic of gang violence, murders, drugs, poor health care, and unemployment in the Borough of Wilkinsburg and surrounding areas like Homewood and Penn Hills. One of the tools used against this culture of violence and drugs was the BK ministry. Its mission:
Founded on the call to invest in the lives of young men whose fathers are absent for any reason, Brothers Keepers is a group of committed men from the Covenant Church of Pittsburgh who are responding to the sowing message. We are endeavoring to sow seeds into the lives of young men that will help them to one day bear fruit of conscientious men who are responsible and committed husbands, fathers, church and community leaders, and valuable contributors to society and the world.
Brother Leon was the essence of BK. When I became a part of the program at the age of fourteen, after serving a six month probation for burglarizing a home—partly due to my parents’ separation and subsequent divorce—he was one of several big brothers who instilled those values into my young mind. I was the fresh dirt into which the seeds were sown.
The program wasn’t exactly the cub scouts, but rather a very small step up from Shuman Center, Pittsburgh’s notorious juvenile detention center. Their plan of action was simple. Meetings were held on Wednesday evenings, and all the young men in the program—a group of about thirty members—gathered together to listen to the big brothers speak. Afterwards, we were broken up into smaller groups, each having one big brother who shared values, morals, proverbs, and lessons of wisdom from biblical scriptures, and then related them to our own lives. One Wednesday out of the month was set apart as an activity night when we all would go out for pizza, participate in recreational activities, or meet at one of the big brother’s homes. Every fifth Sunday, the little brothers in the program were required to usher at CCOP.
It was quite a sight seeing all the older and younger men—really, men period—standing in the aisles in black suits and white dress shirts, seating the congregation and distributing offering baskets during the second worship service.
Every year during the summer, we’d go on a major field trip to places like the Pittsburgh Zoo, Kennywood Amusement Park, and the Carnegie Museums, to see theatrical performances such as Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, or take a big trip and travel to a nearby city like Washington, DC, or Niagara Falls. A picture on one of the original BK black and gold binders (BK also had its own colors), shows the entire group lined up in front of Niagara Falls. Brother Leon stands next to me with a large right arm raised over my head, and in the middle of the picture is the face of a man who was second in command—Brother Gilbert Duncan IV.
Brother Gil emerged as the next leader of the BK ministry as Brother Leon became increasingly busy with the responsibilities of Hosanna House. He also shared the title of Pastor Gil, and he too was an openly devout man of the cloth, recognized not only by me but also by many others in CCOP and BK. He was a spiritual warrior and worshiper of the Lord and committed his time and energy to the cause of building men of God.
He wasn’t ashamed of his beliefs, and his commitment to the program was ferocious; the pastor could be seen wearing his BK jacket and T-shirts during gatherings and field trips when everyone else wore civilian clothing. Brother Gil attended every meeting, and even when none of the young men showed up, he was there. On a regular basis, he made phone calls to everyone affiliated with the program to see how they were doing at home and in school, and went out of his way to make personal visits whenever he thought it necessary.
When I transferred to Pitt—after I arrived back in town from my two years of undergraduate study at UAB—the big brothers offered the opportunity for me to become a big brother and to have my own class of eight to ten-year-old boys to teach. I gladly accepted, and when Brother Gil took me under his wing, I began to learn the fundamental principles of godly living and spiritual war-fare from a master. I was honored to stand in front of a sea of predominantly black faces, many of whom were underprivileged youth, and to have the chance to serve a community that was in dire need of help.
I truly believed that my training under Brother Gil was ordained by God. Back when I first entered the program as a shy teenager, Brother Gil would often pick me up and give me rides to the meetings when my mother was overloaded with the domestic duties of raising four sons alone. He once made the statement to me that out of all the young men in the program, I seemed to be the most spiritual. He had an excellent skill with words and a knack for assessing an individual’s talent. I never forgot what he said. Spirituality was a quality I desired, and coming from Big Brother Gil, one of the most spiritual people I had been blessed to know, his comments carried a lot of weight in my impressionable, young mind.
Though Brother Gil considered himself an African American, he looked like an Arab and walked with a limp. As a child, he was involved in a car accident that permanently deformed the structure of his left leg. This handicap didn’t take away from his charm, but rather added to it. He was like the Christian Professor X—an apostolic, spirit-filled, superhero. He was by no means ashamed of his relationship with Jesus. Prayer seemed to be his God-given gift, and he used it every opportunity he had—praying anytime, anywhere, or under any circumstance. Like Brother Leon, he was always very well dressed, and I rarely saw him in anything less than a suit or dress slacks and a sports coat.
As a result of my investment into the program, Brother Gil and I began spending a lot of time together. Instead of taking the bus to the church, something I could have easily done due to my location—the bus ran every five minutes a block away— Brother Gil offered to pick me up after he got off work because he had to pass near my apartment on Louisa Street in Oakland to get to Wilkinsburg.
The rides to the BK meetings with Brother Gil became special times in themselves, but similar to attending Sunday morning worship services, I sometimes felt as if I’d rather stay in bed. Mostly, I think, because I was a cigarette smoker. I never felt totally comfortable attending church-related activities with this habit. Often, there were times when I’d sneak one before Brother Gil arrived, and then unnecessarily fumigate myself with cologne and deodorant, knowing he probably could smell right through it.
Once I was in his car, he’d do most of the talking.
He covered topics for group discussion and the order of events for the evening. He encouraged me, and I later found out also himself, about the mission of BK and why we were doing what we were doing, often reflecting upon how God would bless us for our service. On the way home, we’d evaluate how the night went and discuss any issues and concerns that needed to be addressed for future meetings. Working in this ministry wasn’t an easy task for any of the leaders, but Brother Gil had a way of revivifying until the feeling of not wanting to be there was replaced with the rallying cry of I’m ready to be a BK soldier. I always believed it was the presence of the Holy Spirit I felt in his car, and I later gave the time we spent talking there a name— Heavenly Places.
It wasn’t only because of the spiritual empowerment I often felt there, but also because when the night was over, I was always glad I came.
As with any program of this magnitude, keeping it alive and functioning required very thorough prepara-tion. Twice a year, all the big brothers gathered together for what was called a core meeting. It was an overnight retreat of prayer and planning for the upcoming BK year where the members of the board of governors—the exclusive nucleus of the original BK founders—were required to attend. When I was told that my presence was requested, I was terrified.
No smoking for two days straight? No way!
My first core meeting took place in Brother Gil’s home. He picked me up on a Friday evening and drove me to Wexford, where he occupied the bottom level of an enormous house he shared with his parents. This was no ordinary basement apartment but rather an exquisite sublevel quarter unto itself. That evening, Brother Gil and I found ourselves