Fierce finger pointing continues unabated in Cleveland as law enforcement and social service agencies, family members, governmental departments, religious institutions, and an entire community attempts to place blame on each other for perhaps the most heinous ongoing crime spree ever perpetrated in the city’s history. The body count of drug-addicted black women currently stands at 11, and now the FBI is involved as attention turns to the vacant house next door to where the first bodies were found. People are praying that no more bodies are discovered, but there is still a long list of Cleveland women missing.

Even Mayor Jackson has a personal connection to the crime since his niece has come forward and admitted that she lived with the alleged killer, Anthony Sowell, for a time last year. The official and community focus, however, still seems to be stuck on exculpation rather than prevention of future tragedies of this kind.

The city prosecutor recently stated that when one woman, Gladys Wade, came forward with charges against Sowell of a attempted rape a few months ago, a city detective said that she wasn’t a credible witness — in spite of blood splatters in the home and other documented evidence. The police chief is now countering that statement by saying that it was the prosecutor, not his detective, who didn’t want to move forward on the case.

One summer afternoon, in must have been in 1956 or ’57, as my father was totaling up the money from the day shift waitress in the tavern he owned on Scovill Avenue, he saw my eyes grow wide at the stack of bills he was counting. Growing up, I must have seen him perform this tallying ritual many times before — the difference that time being, I was entering puberty and with a growing interest in the opposite sex, I needed to dress better … thus my growing interest in money. There was this cool pair of Stetson shoes that I wanted to be the first in my school to own. “Son,” he simply said, “those folks down in Washington print way too much of this stuff for a sucker not to have a pile of it.” That was all of the economic advice he ever gave me … and it proved to be all I ever needed.

What kind of mother doesn’t shed even one tear as her 29-year-old only son is sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole? A very strong — albeit tired — one named Jeannette Halton-Tiggs. Her son, Timothy Halton, Jr. received the sentence on Oct. 30 in the courtroom of Cuyahoga County Common Pleas Judge Ronald Suster for gunning down Cleveland Heights Police Officer Jason West in cold blood on May 25, 2007.

“I felt that it would have been disrespectful to the memory of Officer West for me to be seen by his mother and the media crying in the courtroom for my son, when her son is dead,” said Halton-Tiggs, “and it could be that I’m just cried out … I simply don’t have any tears left.”

The media portrayed her son as a monster, but, in truth he was mentally ill — suffering from a severe form of paranoid schizophrenia. “If my Timmy is a monster, than I guess that makes me the monster’s mother,” said Jeannette, “but he isn’t a monster, at the time he was just very sick.”

CheckSmart, those “nice” payday lending folks who routinely charge customers a whooping, ungodly 391% apr (annual percentage rate), is now partnered with the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), an organization which hasn’t had a office in Cleveland or Ohio for at least four decades that I am aware of, and the Ohio Legislative Black Caucus (OLBC), that den of black elected officials whose mission is supposed to be looking out for the best interest of the minorities that elected them.

What’s the aim of this unholy triumvirate? To host — hold onto your hats people, this one is so obscene, so far beyond the Pale, that it defies all sense of probity and logic — “Free Seminars on Financial Education.”

Yeah, you read it right: These greedy bloodsuckers that make their living off of the penury of the working class are now putting on “seminars” that purports to teach folks how to manage their money, and they brought their unsavory tactics to Cleveland last week. And are these pricks ever clever: The held it at a college, to make it seem like real, legitimate education. Cute, real cute.

George Forbes and Dan Gilbert recently shook hands over an agreement that has the NAACP dropping its long-standing opposition to casinos in Ohio in return for a promise from Gilbert that an unspecified number of minorities would be hired at the new gambling emporiums, and, additionally, that black builders would be contracted to assist in the construction phase. The operative word in this potential cluster-fuck, of course, is unspecified.

One has to wonder if Forbes was aware of the mailer Issue 3 backers sent out promising jobs to Ohioans if the Issue carries — all seven of the images on the material were of white people.

But, let’s back up a bit and try to understand the significance of this handshake. To do so we need to go back into history and understand how the custom first came into being. Legend has it that the handshake evolved as a means of self-protection during the era when knight-errants roamed the countryside of England in search of adventure. Supposedly, when two of them met on an insolated road they clasped each other’s right hand firmly and held it while talking, one to prevent the other from drawing his sword and attacking. Hey, it might be bullshit (despite those scurrilous rumors regarding my age, I wasn’t there to personally witness it), but it sounds good to me, and it’s more than relevant for later on in this piece.

Something that absolutely amazes me is how white folks still think that one black person — be they a member of Congress, a member of the Clergy, or a member of the bullshitting class like yours truly— can “deliver the black vote,” as if the black demographic votes in a monolithic, lockstep, fashion. We don’t … but some whites love to believe that we do — based on what they’ve been told by people who earn some income peddling something they really don’t have: Influence.

Starting Too Late

Mayor Frank Jackson is to be roundly applauded for his efforts in regards to making community college available to every young person who graduates from a Cleveland high school. But the old adage, “You can lead horses to water, but you cannot make them drink,” kicked in and a good percentage of those students who took the mayor up on his offer didn’t make it through the first year. That has to be extremely disheartening to the mayor (as it was to most everyone else)… but, it also was so predictable. Most were the first in their families to go to college, and many struggled just to get out of high school. Clearly, what they needed were remedial tutors, coaches and mentors — and even then the failure rate might still be unacceptably high.

Supposedly, former Chicago Bulls rebounding great, the cross dressing Dennis Rodman, said to sports announcer Marv Albert (after the latter was allowed back into broadcasting after being convicted of biting a prostitute on the butt) as he ran past the announcer’s table, “Don’t worry Marv, we all got a little freak in us.” Which brings us to now-disgraced East Cleveland Mayor (but not for long) Eric Brewer.

Anyone who knows Brewer has the same opinion: He is among the brightest individuals you will ever meet in your entire life; and many have also stated that he is among the most complex. Well, we certainly know the latter to be true now. “Complex” is a vast understatement.

The ironic thing is, judging from the absentee ballots cast before the release of the racy and startling (to say the least) photos, Brewer was about to be unseated anyway. Gary Norton was leading him by a two-to-one margin in those votes, and historically little changes at the ballot box. Clearly folks in East Cleveland were put off by Brewer’s bruising political style; I know that many in the field of journalism felt that he too often went over the top, in spite of the fact that he certainly knows his way around the English language and possesses research skills that are second to none.

Oh, how I do love being right. I predicted to some of my political wonk friends that Obama’s winning of the presidency would cause an increase (perhaps even of significant proportions) in the number of young people — especially young people of color and women — seeking careers in politics. It seems as if my prediction turned out to be accurate: Sixty-two individuals, a record number, filed to run for a seat on Cleveland’s City Council this year, and I’m hearing similar stories — admittedly anecdotal, no scientific study has been done that I’m aware of — from acquaintances that live in urban areas around the country.

One new local candidate was Lincoln High School student Lynette Cintron, the daughter of a former city councilman Nelson Cintron. She was a mere 17-years-old, and filed to take on an experienced and able incumbent in Matt Zone. While she probably had zero chance of winning the contest (she dropped out of the race last week), she undoubtedly has been tutored by her father that running and losing still gains her name recognition that can be used in future, more winnable, contests.

Wouldn’t it be ironic if our failure to kill Romell Broom brings an end to the death penalty in Ohio? Let me be as clear as I can be from the onset: Romell Broom is the scum of the earth. He raped and killed a 14-year-old child and I sincerely wish that would have had the courage and decency to hang himself in his cell on the night of his capture ... or anytime thereafter. The world would certainly be a much better place without him in it … but, with that said, I remain adamant that state-sanctioned killing is wrong under any circumstances.

In 18th century in England pickpockets were hung in public, in front of large crowds. While these public spectacles were being carried out … other pickpockets were working the cheering crowds, picking their pockets; so much for deterrence.

The 2009 political season is now in full swing, and, similar to ants showing up uninvited at a picnic, political reptiles of every ilk, stripe and coloration are currently slithering about in the grass spreading their venomous brand of realpolitik.

The first critter, the deadly “Forked-Tongue Sidewinder” has all of Ohio as its habitant — it can be found in all 88 counties. It can readily be identified by the distinctive green markings on it head that resemble dollar signs, and the high-pitched sound it emits … “Jobz, jobz, jobz.” Anyone bitten by this snake will be turned into a babbling idiot who will then vote to allow greedy developers to set the price they will pay the state for the privilege of raking in billions of dollars at casinos around Ohio.

Herpetologists suspect that this snake has already bitten most members of the State Legislature, since they failed to put in place a bidding process for the right to operate casinos … a move that could have brought billions into state coffers for education.

Similar to other political snakes, the Sidewinder’s only response to criticism is the oft-told lie, “Hey, we’re going to create these thousands of jobs for Ohio’s workers!”