Gaps and Bridges

By Norman H. Fulton

Mr. Fulton grew up in two small towns, Bangall and Pine Plains, New York, and his book describes the gaps between small-town America and the inner cities. He always took for granted that every school had blackboards and all the supplies needed for an education and that people walked or rode to school on a school bus without fear. The gaps are huge, and bridges of education must be built, or we will lose an entire generation in the inner city. Mr. Fulton offers sound solutions about how to fix the educational gap. If you would like him to speak to your group you may email him directly at, [e-mail]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637100080

Book preview

To my family with much love and to incarcerated children everywhere.

Memorial in the center of town

Prologue

I became involved with the civil rights movement, from the time Medgar Evers was murdered to my present time and working with incarcerated kids, that I understand how some people simply do not get their fair share of our country’s wealth. In all probability, some of them never will never get their fair share unless we change our perception of the inner city. I love our country, and I feel strongly that it is the best form of government in the world today if it is administered correctly. Everyone is equal; each of us has a voice, an opportunity for success. People are slow to realize that we are a republic, and on election day, we entrust our bill of rights and constitution to politicians, and many of them seem to be incapable of doing the job. My heart aches for the politician who is dedicated to doing his or her best to serve the nation and is blocked by political squabbles.

In my book Gaps and Bridges, I compare growing up in Pine Plains, a small town in New York, to the inner city of New York. It covers a span of the ’60s to the ’20s. My research consisted of interviewing teachers who have taught in a small town and those who are teaching in the inner cities, plus the 2,500+ incarcerated kids I have worked with during the past eleven years, 85 percent of whom are minorities. Put them all together, and the conclusion is that far too many inner-city schools are failures. But we seem to lack the courage, understanding, and compassion to change negatives to positives in a civilized and caring way.

In 1992, I was ordained a deacon in the Episcopal Church at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in NYC (the largest Gothic cathedral in the world.) Deacons and priests are equal orders, but we occupy different ecclesiastical space. Deacons serve at the altar and are expected to bring the world into the church and the church into the world, and when we are in the world, we are expected to look for the Christ or good in all people. In thirty years of ministry, it does exist in all people, but it takes patience and love to find it. We have done an excellent job of addressing women, gay and civil rights, and hunger issues. However, I’m saddened that the cause, in too many cases, has blotted out the teachings of Jesus Christ. The stories you will read are infuriating and sickening as our country has seemingly turned its back on the kids at risk. All the names have been changed to protect the children and people I interviewed and the places I visited.

Chapter 1

Beginning Gaps

Having grown up in a small town and volunteering in the inner city, I became intrigued and bothered by the differences between small-town America and inner-city America. This book is intended to examine that and call attention to the wide gap in education between the inner city of New York and the northern suburbs and the damage it is doing to our kids. When I attended seminary in New York City, I spent a couple of days in Bedford-Stuyvesant, a very depressed part of the city. I learned firsthand about one school that didn’t have the necessary supplies to have a meaningful class—broken blackboards, no chalk, and pathetic books. At first, I thought this is an easy fix—we raise some money and buy everything they need, and the problem is over. But it’s not. First, you have to get a big cauldron and mix in a who cares? attitude, bumbling incompetence, and the lack of oversight and sprinkle it all with a little racism. The kids at the end of their time in one Bed-Stuy school were given a certificate of attendance, not a certificate of graduation, and most of the certificates were lies as they gave the illusion that the kids received some kind of education. The people in the neighborhood got rid of the City Board of Education and replaced it with their own people. They harassed men coming into the neighborhood looking for prostitutes or trying to turn their children into prostitutes. Once they saw a car with out-of-town license plates, they identified who the man was and sent a letter to his wife and family explaining what he was doing. It wasn’t a legal exercise, but when it comes to protecting your children, it’s hard to find fault. One man said, I’m sure that some poor guy was in the area to do nothing more than to pick up a loaf of bread. He added, But f— him." Such was the depth of frustration about their schools.

Today, twenty-five years after that visit to Bed-Stuy, the kids in the inner city and jail still fuel my civil rights walk. Every morning when I have breakfast, a Bible verse pops up on my iPad, and that puts me in touch with the divine. Today, it was from the book of Psalms (84:11) that read in part, He withholds no good thing from those who have integrity. I wondered if He withheld anything from the people in Bed-Stuy or me. A couple of sips of coffee and I flatter myself by concluding, No, He wouldn’t hold anything from me, as I have plenty of integrity. It’s not completely true, but it’s a comforting thought for the day. Regardless, it prompts time for reflection about what am I doing with my life. Then the word of the day pops up. Today was senescence, the process of becoming old. Most of the time, growing older is wonderful. It gives me a chance to look back over my life and wonder why I thought things that seemed so important at the time are now seen for what they were, stepping stones to more knowledge. All of what happened creates a mosaic of my life, and I become almost godlike, with the ability to see the whole picture and not focus on some nonsensical problem that occupied so much of my time. Once my morning ritual is completed, I scan the Wall Street Journal, New York Post, and The Journal News. Most of the news is not good, and in 2019–2020, it would appear that everyone hates someone, and in particular political races have morphed into who can dig up the most dirt on their opponent without any plan to improve life on good ole Mother Earth, and people suffer because they don’t realize what good things can be done.

A friend of mine grew up in the projects in the South Bronx and said, You would be surprised how many people never get to Manhattan. I was lucky because I had a strong mom. When I got into trouble, she sent me to stay with a family in South Carolina. She taught me the value of working, and because of that, I got an internship with a large company in midtown Manhattan. I was seventeen years old, and our holiday party was at the Guggenheim Museum. All I could say was Wow." Is this the way people live? Is this how they celebrate? Living in the projects, I never saw anything like it. I knew that I didn’t want to stay in the projects. It all started because of the work ethic instilled in me by my mother and my first job at Burger King, which gave me exposure to other things. If you stay in the projects and you don’t have anyone in your corner, the chances are you will get into trouble. If you never leave the hood, you won’t know what you don’t know, and you are trapped in the projects.

After I served twenty years in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program and youth sport programs, I started to develop an interest in kids who were at risk. I’ve been volunteering for the kids in jail for ten years, and I’m honored that over 2,500+ kids have attended my classes. My involvement started simply enough. I had helped with a couple of projects at the jail, and one day, there was a message on my phone, saying, Mr. Fulton, this is Sarah at the Secure Detention Center, and we would like you to be our guest speaker for Black History Month. I was honored but surprised. I called them to confirm, and when I tried to ask a question, she said, You sound a little hesitant. Are you okay with this? I responded by saying, I just want to make sure, and before I went any further, she had said, "Oh,