Molly Ivins June 24

AUSTIN — Whenever I hear particularly dippy public policy proposals or pronouncements on welform deform or school vouchers, I make the same mistake. I keep wondering: "Don't these people know anyone on welfare? Don't they ever talk to poor folks? Haven't they ever spent any time in a ghetto, in an unemployment office, at a day-labor shape-up?" Well, obviously, of course not. What a dumb question.

Economic segregation is so marked in this country that we have almost no opportunities to get to know or even see people from different economic classes — no Army draft, very little public transportation, not much school integration, few public places. Middle-class Americans whiz from hither to yon in our subsidized automobiles, at most driving past "where the poor folks live" with the doors locked. Unless you have a rather unusual calling — social worker, cop, teacher in a ghetto school or even newspaper reporter on assignment — you're unlikely to encounter people from other classes, much less get to know them.

Now comes a wonderful opportunity to correct that without having to go out and work with Habitat for Humanity, or even leaving your air-conditioned home.

Lots of books have been written about "the poor" and about ghettos, slums, poverty, the whole schmear. From Oscar Lewis to Jonathan Kozoll to Alex Kotlowitz, wonderfully sensitive writers have tackled the "Other America." What's been missing is nonfiction by folks who live in the Other America, who were born and raised there, who know and love their neighbors. Now comes this extraordinary piece of work by two teen-agers, LeAlan Jones and Lloyd Newman: "Our America: Life and Death on the South Side of Chicago."

You may have heard these two funny, irreverent, bedeviled kids on National Public Radio, where their reports on life in the Ida B. Wells public housing project fascinated listeners. "60 Minutes" recently did a feature on them as they won one of the country's most prestigious broadcasting awards, beating out all the networks with all their veteran journalists.

Jones and Newman just took tape recorders, provided by NPR, around "the Wells" and got folks to talk to them. They also used the recorders as diaries to record their thoughts and impressions. And they did a stunning investigative piece on the case of the 5-year-old who was dropped out of a 14th-story window by two kids aged 10 and 11 because the "shorty" wouldn't steal candy for the older boys. Talk about some heavy stuff for two 15-year-old reporters to tackle.

"Our America" is the print version of the pieces that Jones and Newman originally did for NPR: "Ghetto Life 101" and "Remorse: The 14 Stories of Eric Morse." But it also includes material never broadcast as these two young men chronicle their thoughts about growing up, from 13 to 18, in the Wells.

You may start out wanting to scold or instruct the kids: "Now, don't take that attitude," "You shouldn't feel that way." I think by the end, you will have learned enough to listen — just listen to them. And then, when some presumptuous liberal asks, "But don't you know anyone on welfare? Haven't you ever talked to any of them?" you can reply: "Oh, yes, I know two young men from that world quite well."

"Our America" is a fascinating complement/contrast to Frank McCourt's justly praised memoir "Angela's Ashes," about growing up in a Limerick slum during the Depression. "Angela's Ashes" won the Pulitzer Prize this year and has the obvious advantage of being the mature work of a marvelous writer. All of you who read and loved "Angela's Ashes" will, I think, be stunned by both the similarities and the differences in these stories.

Poor is poor. It makes your teeth fall out and your hope disappear. But poor and black in America as opposed to poor and Catholic in Ireland involves drugs on top of booze and infinitely more violence. Jones keeps comparing it to having been in Vietnam, a simile I finally found persuasive.

McCourt's memoir begins: "When I look back on my childhood, I wonder how I managed to survive at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: The happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood."

Jones ends his: "We live in two different Americas. ... I've never felt American, I've only felt African-American. An American is supposed to have life, liberty, prosperity and happiness. But an African-American is due pain, poverty, stress and anxiety. As an African-American, I have experienced beautiful things, but most of the things I have experienced are not beautiful. And I don't even have it as bad as most — there are millions of young men and women living the struggle even harder than me. As children, they have to make day-to-day decisions about whether to go to school or whether to go on the corner and sell drugs. ... What have my people done to this country to deserve this?"

McCourt said in an interview that when he finally escaped Limerick, he was full of rage. The amazing thing about Jones and Newman is that they are not. They hope to make the two Americas into one.

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Molly Ivins is a columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.

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