Thursday, November 12, 2020
To The Fowlkes Family,
When I was a boy of 11, I first met Mr. Fowlkes at Tom Carmody's URI Basketball Camp, where he and Claude English were fast friends. When I approached their lunch table during the first full day of camp, Claude English told me to take a seat, he'd been my 6th grade gym teacher that year at Garden City Elementary School in Cranston just after he'd been released by the Portland TrailBlazers of the NBA.
Well, my eyes widened and I began to take a seat -- until a solid index finger met my bony chest -- and a booming voice demanded: "DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SIT HERE, SON????"
"Nooo..." I stammered.
"Well, ask permission!" the voice echoed.
"May I sit here?" I asked meekly.
"ASK LIKE YOU MEAN IT!!!!"
"MAY I SIT HERE???" I managed to blurt.
"Well, of course you may. Any friend of Claude English is a friend of mine. I'm Joe Fowlkes. And what's your name, young man?"
So began my introduction to Joe Fowlkes, who through the years would always remind me somehow, some way of whom I was and who we were as a society as we would cross paths every year or so. Sometimes he had a smile, sometimes a scowl. Sometimes I didn't know if he was smiling or scowling, but I didn't matter, being younger then, I was happy to see him. Then again, I don't know if he was happy to see me, even though I never asked him for anything, except those few minutes....
Well, know I know why: What I admired so much about Mr. Joseph Fowlkes was that he was SO SOLID, SO PURPOSEFUL. HE WAS ON A MISSION TO MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE.
I was using valuable time.....
For me, it began with a solid poke to a bony chest.
YES, SIR!
Thank you for making my life better, and for all those you helped during your life,
Rob Feinberg
