The Making of a Black Conservative

It was the mid-1950s.  Around nine years old and the eldest of five, I, along with my parents, was extremely excited as we oohed and ahed over our new home -- new appliances and everything.  Our family moved from a leaky-roof, pot-belly-wood-stove row house in the ghetto of east Baltimore to a brand new government high-rise.  Apartment 6B was our new home in the 11-story building of all black residents. Little did I realize that living in the projects and other life experiences would lead to my becoming a black conservative, a Christian, and a Tea Party activist. In a short time, I witnessed the building becoming an 11-story dangerous, violent ghetto.  Without the pride of ownership or earning their way, only a handful of residents kept their apartments nice.  We kids learned to play handball in the square on our floor because Mom thought the playground was too risky.  Stairwells became dark bathrooms and dens of...(Read Full Article)