The Pact

by Sampson Davis

  Compete in a healthy way. This is a biggie, because healthy competition pushed each of us to be at the top of our game all the time. Each of us wanted to perform as well as the other two. But understand that healthy competition is just that—healthy, which means there is no room for jealousy. Jealousy would have brought too much negative energy to our group; it would have made us question the trust that is so integral to our friendship and to the very nature of a pact. If any of us ever felt even a bit envious of the others, it never surfaced in a way that was obvious to us. We celebrated one another’s successes, and each one of us felt the same hurt when one of our boys failed at something. We learned from one another and leaned on one another’s strengths. George taught us that looking ahead not only helps you plan for the future but also helps you avoid the obvious pitfalls. Sam showed us how to work harder than we ever had before and how to keep pushing in any situation. And from Rameck, we learned that tough questions, even skepticism, always have a place.

  Communicate openly, honestly, and often. This kept us sane. We hung out together and talked every day about what we were going through. We compared notes and gave one another advice and suggestions. Rameck and Sam were roommates for all eight years, and to be successful at it, they learned to talk out their differences better than many married couples. There were times, though, when we kept things from one another; times when sharing our feelings was difficult. We blame that on just being guys. In our case, the stereotype—guys don’t share their feelings with one another—was definitely true. If we have any regrets, that’s probably chief among them. Our inability to communicate when Sam felt like he was dying inside forced him to look outside the group for support. There was nothing wrong with that, except we risked isolating him and leaving him feeling resentful. Fortunately for us, things didn’t turn out that way.

  Lean on your friends and allow them to lean on you. This is just an extension of the friendship bond. But it becomes particularly important when you’re working together to reach a goal, because the pact essentially ties your fates together. One of the main benefits of forming a pact with friends is that you have an automatic network of support. You shouldn’t have to seek elsewhere to find it.

  The three of us didn’t truly realize how much we had accomplished together until we started working on this book. Of course we understood the magnitude of our achievements—we can hardly believe them ourselves. But working together on this project, going over our years together, we feel great pride. And we also feel awe—at the power of friendship, a power greater than any one of us could have individually. After writing this book, we see more clearly than ever that we needed one another to achieve our dreams. Even as we write, we are just weeks away from completing our residencies. Sam will be starting as an Emergency Room Attending Physician, a head doctor, at Beth Israel Hospital in Newark. George will be an administrator and Assistant Professor at the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey in Newark, and he is working on his Master’s in public health. Rameck will be starting as an Assistant Professor and director of the outpatient clinic at St. Peter’s University Hospital in New Brunswick, just a few miles away.

  Our pact has extended beyond anything we could ever have imagined in high school. Through our nonprofit organization, the Three Doctors Foundation, we hope to inspire and create opportunities for inner-city communities by providing education, mentoring, and health awareness. The foundation is a vehicle through which we do our community work. We do public speaking engagements together. We go to schools, colleges, churches, and even corporations to share our story.

  We’ve come a long way from the streets of Newark in some ways, but not far at all in others. Our hearts are still with the families and friends who didn’t have the opportunities, the friendships, or maybe even the crazy dreams that were somehow given to us—those who are still struggling every day just to survive.

  They are the reason we wrote this book.

  —Dr. Sampson Davis, Dr. George Jenkins,

  and Dr. Rameck Hunt

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THE STORY OF our lives and friendship is in many ways also the story of our families and friends. We’d like to thank them for the courage they displayed throughout this project and the trust they placed in us as we shared the good and the bad. Much of this book is about the positive influences that people along the way had on us, yet there were times when some members of our families and friends were victims of circumstances that didn’t allow them to be there for us, and some even caused us pain—either knowingly or unknowingly. It is possible that if we hadn’t faced those difficulties, we wouldn’t have had the conviction and motivation to make it to where we are today, or the empathy for others that our experiences afforded us. We are truly grateful and feel tremendously blessed by the love and generosity that our families have demonstrated toward us. Our individual thanks are listed below. But first, all three of us collectively would like to thank the great many individuals and institutions that helped to transform all three of our lives. Among them are: our classmates, and the teachers, advisers, and other staff who supported us at University High School, Seton Hall University, the Robert Wood Johnson Medical School, and the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey in Newark. We are forever indebted to Carla Dickson, who was surely sent by God to guide us through. We owe much of our success to the Pre-Medical/Pre-Dental Plus Program and Access Med, two affirmative-action programs that simply gave us a chance. If we had lived in other states where such programs have come under attack, we probably would not have been afforded the opportunities that helped to make us who we are.

  We are grateful to our agent, Joann Davis, whose hard work and guidance set this book in motion, and to our editor at Riverhead, Cindy Spiegel, whose creative ideas made this a better book.

  To Dr. Noble and Mrs. Mann, thanks for realizing before anyone else—even us—that we had a story to tell. Only God could have predicted this book. We never knew our story would reach so far and touch so many. To all who helped us convey our message of hope, we say thanks, particularly:

  To Caryl Lucas, who wrote the first Star-Ledger article that turned into many more; Kaylyn Dines, who stayed behind us and made things happen; Karriem and Veronica Salaam, Elayne Fluker, and Terrie Williams, for finding us worthy of national recognition; Windy Smith, James Keyes, and Greg Collins, for all your work with the Three Doctors Foundation; Bernard McArthur and Sean “P. Diddy” Combs, for being the first people to donate to the foundation; Kim Holiday, for all your work with the Web site development; Congressman Payne, for opening your doors; Bobbi, for stepping up and helping us whenever we needed your support; Jo-Marie, for being there in the beginning; Susan Taylor, Ed Lewis, and Clarence Smith, for introducing us to the world; and finally, to Lisa Frazier Page, for the many exhausting hours put into this project, your relentless effort, and your understanding in all matters. When you and your husband, Kevin, were blessed with two children during the course of this project, we felt only joy for the two of you and realized that Kevin, Kevin Jr., and Danielle would only strengthen you and help to make this endeavor a success. You were truly God-sent.

  From George Jenkins:

  This effort is dedicated to the people and things that make me who I am, and why:

  1. My people, for always believing in me and never doing anything but support and nurture my aspirations.

  2. My city, specifically the Central Ward. Right now, as I sit to write this acknowledgment, about fifteen teenagers dressed in red are gathered on the corner across the street around a ’92-ish white Honda Accord that’s doing doughnuts in the street to all of the kids’ delight. And I’m thinking to myself, like an old, experienced man (There the screeches go again, as I write at 10:05 P.M. on January 5, 2002, no lie): Where are their parents? Where are the cops? I’m thinking this, despite the fact that I didn’t call the cops, right or wrong. Where I live, that’s street survival code: Volume 1, Rule #1. But I’m also wondering: Where are our young leaders to
show the kids something different from what they see around here? And the first thing that comes to my mind is that Sam, Rameck, and I have a lot of work to do, real soon. I think, too, for a moment, “Damn, I got to move.” But where can I go where they want me more than here, despite its challenges? Living here fills me with so much purpose and determination for change that I can’t even begin to help you understand if you don’t already. I really can see the change when I daydream, so I have to believe it can be done. Nothing’s sweet on this route, but I play the hand I was dealt with my head up high because I know that every day I’m becoming more and more equipped academically to spin that old globe in Ms. Johnson’s class and pick a spot. I’ll bet it would land on brick city every time. Thank you, Ms. Johnson, for the jewels you placed in my mind.

  3. My circle, for all you do: Garland, Sam, Rameck, Shahid, Na-im, Tone Webb, Roz, Faye, Orlando, Ant Brown and Al Brown.

  4. My classmates, UHS Class of ’91 and NJDS Class of ’99, especially Rhoda Pruitt, Alicia Grey, Cathleen Woods, and Denise Davis, for all the lessons we learned together.

  5. My other father, Shahid Jackson, Sr., for being there. You always believed in me. I believe in you, too, as you make one of your dreams come true by launching your own private security firm, Forje’s.

  6. My block, for keeping it real: Reggie and Kenny, Lace, Tiffy, Steffy and Kenyor, Mandy, Bruce and Gett, Hak and Fuquan, Smiley, Marv, Samad, Brian Jackson, Usef, Sneaky Pete, Shoronda and Malika, Sockie and Vonetta, Lebrashaun and family, Rahman and Abdul, Denaaman, Sherri and the Washingtons, the Seaburns, Farad (Hold your head up. I’m riding with you) and the Greens, Anwar, Toy and little Puff (I see you winning computers and things for an essay on me at school. Keep it up), Rasheed Jackson, Brian, the counselor at the Central Ward Boys’ Club (Thanks for being something different from what was all around me at the time), Chuck and Wop (Thanks for starting elementary school with me and, despite whatever changes you had to face, always encouraging me to keep it moving). When your community encourages you, rather than tears you down, great things can come from nothing at all. RIP—Anton, Duane, Brian McKoy, Wayne Smiley, and Ms. Willie Mae.

  7. My mom, for all you did—and still do—for me. Because you had the drive to get your son’s crooked teeth fixed for his future, you inadvertently provided one of the biggest inspirations for his future. You have always tirelessly given so much of yourself to make sure I was on point or could concentrate on school as much as possible, and you are the root of my inspiration, whether you realize it or not. Just know that I love you for all your dedication and that I will always have your back the way you had mine, Ma Dukes. I deeply appreciate you with all my heart even when I am not showing it, please believe it.

  8. A certain NBA star, Allen Iverson, for his determination to be who he is and his refusal to allow his profession to force him to be someone else and dissociate from the place and the people who made him who he is. I found that very inspiring at times in my situation. It was cool to see him win the NBA’s MVP award after all the bad press he received for his conviction.

  9. Finally, a dusty book I found about four years ago—A Pictorial History of the Negro in America, by Langston Hughes and Milton Meltzer—for its impact on my life. I opened it because, ever since Ms. Johnson’s class, I’ll thumb through encyclopedias or similar books to read about places and things of the world. Published in 1956, the book by Hughes and Meltzer chronicles my people’s history and, as the foreword says, “the feel and the mood of each passing phase of the past 350 years,” ending in 1954, when my mom was six. I would come to revere it like an archaeological discovery, and it would teach me about people like John Russworm, the first person of color to graduate from an American college, Bowdoin College in Maine in 1826. As I read I was thinking, like, “If he did it then, what is my problem with the self-pity?” An article by Eric Pooley that I once read said something like, “There is a bright magic at work when one aspiring leader reaches into the past and finds another waiting to guide him.” That’s sort of how it felt, but more like a jolting kick, especially when, as I was closing the book, I noticed on the front cover two signatures that appeared to be the authors’. At the time, I hadn’t heard of Mr. Meltzer, but I stroked the ink of Langston Hughes’s signature over and over, hardly able to believe it was authentic. I later mentioned the signatures to Ernestine Watson, the director of the special vendors program at the UMDNJ, who did some research and helped convince me that the signatures are in fact authentic. In every old document she found containing Langston Hughes’s signature, that beautiful swooshing “L” flowed as smooth as Nike’s logo, and that wonderful cross of the “t” in his first name made it to the first line of the “H” in his last. After four years I still thumb through the book when I’m relaxing, and I learn something fresh every time. Hughes’s signature actually inspired me to start writing my own feelings down on paper, which later turned into poems, which at times serve as my personal therapy. If it weren’t for that book and those signatures, I would be totally devoid of the knowledge of relevant individuals who fought for my path to simply exist, even with all the obstacles. I would never have learned what it feels like to write a poem, read it back, and say, “Now, finally, somebody knows what I’m talking about,” and feel instantly better. Funny thing, I e-mailed my first couple of poems to Sam and Rameck for feedback, and they said, “Oh, yeah, dog, they’re cool, word up, real deep.” I was laughing so hard at how uncomfortable they seemed. To my boys, Sam and Rameck: I know y’all didn’t really get them, but, as always, the encouragement I was looking for was there in a hilarious kind of way that only I would see. Maybe I’ll let you guys read some more one day, when you knuckleheads open your fat heads up a little. No beef, just laughter, and besides, that’s just simply how we get down.

  From Sampson Davis:

  To my mother: after God comes you. Thank you for not giving up and running out on us. You are by far the strongest person I have ever known. I love you with all that I have. Realize that faith can overcome all. You taught me to put God first and the rest will follow. To my father, thank you for being there for me. You taught me how to be a man. Your dedication and dignity taught me how to stand tall and face my responsibilities in good and bad times. To my brothers and sisters, I am so proud of the bond we have developed. You are all a part of me, and we will always remain a tight unit. Kenny, Rose, Fell, Andre, and Carlton, I shared our lives in an attempt to help others. There are so many people in life who have similar endeavors and need to know there are other people out there living the same life. We all know that as long as we live there are going to be ups and downs. I call it your own personal roller coaster. All of you are winners. Success is not based on financial gain or easy winnings. It is based on how well you take advantage of timing and opportunity and get back up once you have fallen. To all of my mentors—Carla, Dr. Hsu, Reggie, Dr. Essien, Mom, Pop, countless teachers and doctors—you are the educators. Sometimes we ask what is the purpose of our daily lives. Here is your answer: a success story that can’t be made up. I have found that it is better to give, even when you don’t have much to give. When I speak to kids about their future and to adults about their health, there is nothing more rewarding than that warm look of gratitude when you know you have made a difference. And believe me, you all have touched my life. Without you, there would be no me. I often say that if I had one big room, I would be able to fill it with those who helped me make it to where I am today. I am forever grateful and will never forget where I came from. We all know that to go where you are going you must know where you came from. To the city of Newark—we did it. My work is for the kids who wish to achieve, for the adults who still believe. It can be done. There have been people in my life who told me that I couldn’t do this. To them, I give thanks—because you are the ones who made me dig deeper than I even imagined and reach heights that I once thought were unattainable. I had to learn how to use negative environments as inspiration. I was constantly telling myself, “I m
ay not know what it is I want to do, but I know for sure I don’t want to do that. After all, how many retired drug dealers do you see drawing a pension?”

  To my sister Fellease, whom I lost to AIDS during the writing of this book, I miss you so much—your laugh, your stories, your smile. I never will forget the times we had together. Man, life seemed so simple then. Although we were poor, we never focused too much on it because we always had love. My purpose of sharing your struggles is to open the doors of communication with others who may be struggling the same way. I never knew how to deal with a disease like AIDS in such a personal way until it happened at home. I thought we would live forever, growing old, sharing our stories. But our destinies were written differently. You taught me how to live life for the moment, how to make the most out of every situation. I never saw a stronger fighter. Sis, you fought it to the end. You never lost faith, you never gave up, and you never lost that smile. You never knew that during my darkest moment I would look at your struggle and say to myself, “Damn, if she can fight, so can I.” You helped propel me when my tank was on empty. You also helped me to realize that it was okay to let go, it was okay to laugh, and it was okay to smile in times of mourning. That is how you lived life, and, after all, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I’ve never in my life seen someone who made more out of a bad situation than you. Thank you for believing in me. You were always my bullhorn, making sure everyone knew I was your brother, The Doctor. My regret is simple: that I couldn’t do more. I miss you, Sis, and will see you on the other side. Love ya.