Women's Giving Circle: Tough early years inspire Fayetteville State Chancellor James Anderson to give back
By Catherine Pritchard
People at a meeting at Highland Country Club on Tuesday morning dabbed their eyes as Fayetteville State University Chancellor James A. Anderson told them of his brutal childhood in a poor, crime-ridden section of Washington, D.C., and how nuns, prostitutes and a gang leader there helped him on the path to a better life.
Without their efforts, Anderson told the Women's Giving Circle of Cumberland County, he likely would be in jail today, or dead.
Because of them, he said, he seeks to help young people in need when he can.
Anderson urged his listeners to do the same.
"Any, any small difference that you can make in someone's life, especially young people who are homeless, parentless, ... please do so," Anderson said. "We have to be the ones who step up and make a difference. We're bound to do that. If we're Christian, if we're just decent people, we cannot abandon those who are less fortunate."
Anderson spoke at the charitable group's presentation of its annual "scorecard" of statistics showing how women in the county and in the state are faring in homelessness, food insecurity, health care, economic status and education.
The Women's Giving Circle seeks to raise money and awareness to create "substantial, positive change" for women and children in the county. Since its founding in 2008, the group has given more than $180,000 in grants to programs helping women and children.
Tuesday's scorecard showed that in most areas, Cumberland County women and children are worse off than women in the state as a whole, and minority women and children in the county are generally worse off than white women and children in the county.
The local numbers had worsened over time in some categories but had improved in others. Even so, they often remained too high, the group said. The number of homeless women and children in the county has grown from 256 women and 399 children identified in a count in 2009 to 396 women and 454 children this year, the group said.
And too many of those homeless women and children - nearly 55 percent - live in places not meant for human habitation - cars, parks, abandoned buildings and the like, the group said.
The health news was mixed. The rate of some health problems had improved for at least some groups of women and children in the county. The rate of cardiovascular problems was down for white women but up for minority women.
The rate of diabetes among white women in the county was down. But that rate was unchanged for minority women - and, at 53.2 percent, it was much higher than the rate of diabetes among minority women statewide and among white women, both in the county and statewide.
Breast cancer was down among both white and minority women in the county, but the rate of all cancers remained level for white women and was up for minority women.
The number of pregnancies for girls ages 15 to 19 was down, from 892 in 2008 to 768 in 2010, but remained level at 15 for girls ages 10 to 14.
Infant death rates for both groups improved, but both groups saw higher percentages of low-birth-weight babies.
That's just how it was in 1949, he said.
When the woman died, Anderson - then called Ramon Dawson - remained in the apartment with the girl he considered his sister, who was about a year older. And there they lived for about six more years, he said, with adults occasionally dropping in to help them but none living there permanently.
Much of his waking time was spent prowling the streets. He said he stole things so he and his sister could eat, and he ran with a gang for protection and companionship. Because he was smart and good-looking, he said, the gang groomed him to be a pimp rather than a drug dealer. As early as 8 and 9 years old, he would approach men in cars and try to negotiate deals with them for the neighborhood prostitutes.
School hours were spent with a different sort of women - the nuns who taught at his Catholic elementary school.
He said both the prostitutes and the nuns took an interest in him - and worked together to help him. He said he remembers the nuns once gave the prostitutes some money to buy him an Easter outfit. They all sat together to see him model it. Another time, he said, a nun told one of the prostitutes he had not done his math homework.
At 2:30 in the morning, when Anderson wanted to be approaching the prostitute's potential customers, he said she instead marched him to a table that had been set up under a streetlight and told him to do the homework. So he did.
Anderson was a good student with a quick mind. As a result, the nuns and the prostitutes "decided I was going to become something," Anderson said.
So they did what they could. When he was caught stealing once, he said, a nun chided him, saying, "Don't you know you're the one?" "The one what?" he replied. "You're the one that's going to get out," she told him.
Later, he said, a nun approached a fearsome gang leader to ask that the gang stop him from doing illegal activities.
According to Anderson, she told the gang leader, "He's the only one who makes straight A's."
The gang leader complied.
He never saw her again. The woman took him to a home in another part of Washington and left him with the couple who would raise him. He was told that Peggy was taken by another family.
Anderson went on to graduate from Villanova University and to earn a doctoral degree from Cornell University. He became a psychology professor and, about 20 years ago, moved into university administration. He became Fayetteville State's chancellor in 2008.
As an adult, he said, he has tried to help people whenever he could. He said he personally pays the tuition of several needy students at FSU and provides financial aid to a family from his old neighborhood in Washington.
He said he still wakes from nightmares about his farewell to Peggy and once hired a private investigator to try to find her.
In 1995, he found his own birth name - James Allen Atkinson - on a document among his adoptive parents' papers.
His birth records were sealed and he still has no idea of the name of his birth mother or father.
About 20 years ago, he said, he went back to the rough neighborhood of his earliest years and found a prostitute whom he had known. When he told her who he was, he said, she looked at him and stroked his face and said, "Are you taking care of somebody the way we did you?"
His answer, then and now: He's doing all he can.
Without their efforts, Anderson told the Women's Giving Circle of Cumberland County, he likely would be in jail today, or dead.
Because of them, he said, he seeks to help young people in need when he can.
Anderson urged his listeners to do the same.
"Any, any small difference that you can make in someone's life, especially young people who are homeless, parentless, ... please do so," Anderson said. "We have to be the ones who step up and make a difference. We're bound to do that. If we're Christian, if we're just decent people, we cannot abandon those who are less fortunate."
Anderson spoke at the charitable group's presentation of its annual "scorecard" of statistics showing how women in the county and in the state are faring in homelessness, food insecurity, health care, economic status and education.
The Women's Giving Circle seeks to raise money and awareness to create "substantial, positive change" for women and children in the county. Since its founding in 2008, the group has given more than $180,000 in grants to programs helping women and children.
Tuesday's scorecard showed that in most areas, Cumberland County women and children are worse off than women in the state as a whole, and minority women and children in the county are generally worse off than white women and children in the county.
The local numbers had worsened over time in some categories but had improved in others. Even so, they often remained too high, the group said. The number of homeless women and children in the county has grown from 256 women and 399 children identified in a count in 2009 to 396 women and 454 children this year, the group said.
And too many of those homeless women and children - nearly 55 percent - live in places not meant for human habitation - cars, parks, abandoned buildings and the like, the group said.
The health news was mixed. The rate of some health problems had improved for at least some groups of women and children in the county. The rate of cardiovascular problems was down for white women but up for minority women.
The rate of diabetes among white women in the county was down. But that rate was unchanged for minority women - and, at 53.2 percent, it was much higher than the rate of diabetes among minority women statewide and among white women, both in the county and statewide.
Breast cancer was down among both white and minority women in the county, but the rate of all cancers remained level for white women and was up for minority women.
The number of pregnancies for girls ages 15 to 19 was down, from 892 in 2008 to 768 in 2010, but remained level at 15 for girls ages 10 to 14.
Infant death rates for both groups improved, but both groups saw higher percentages of low-birth-weight babies.
Childhood experience
Anderson understands the difficulties faced by poor children in uncertain circumstances. For about the first six years of his life, he said, he was raised by the elevator operator at the hospital where he was born. Though he didn't know it until years later, he said, his birth mother had apparently given him up at the hospital, and the hospital had apparently simply given him to the older woman who operated its elevator.That's just how it was in 1949, he said.
When the woman died, Anderson - then called Ramon Dawson - remained in the apartment with the girl he considered his sister, who was about a year older. And there they lived for about six more years, he said, with adults occasionally dropping in to help them but none living there permanently.
Much of his waking time was spent prowling the streets. He said he stole things so he and his sister could eat, and he ran with a gang for protection and companionship. Because he was smart and good-looking, he said, the gang groomed him to be a pimp rather than a drug dealer. As early as 8 and 9 years old, he would approach men in cars and try to negotiate deals with them for the neighborhood prostitutes.
School hours were spent with a different sort of women - the nuns who taught at his Catholic elementary school.
He said both the prostitutes and the nuns took an interest in him - and worked together to help him. He said he remembers the nuns once gave the prostitutes some money to buy him an Easter outfit. They all sat together to see him model it. Another time, he said, a nun told one of the prostitutes he had not done his math homework.
At 2:30 in the morning, when Anderson wanted to be approaching the prostitute's potential customers, he said she instead marched him to a table that had been set up under a streetlight and told him to do the homework. So he did.
Anderson was a good student with a quick mind. As a result, the nuns and the prostitutes "decided I was going to become something," Anderson said.
So they did what they could. When he was caught stealing once, he said, a nun chided him, saying, "Don't you know you're the one?" "The one what?" he replied. "You're the one that's going to get out," she told him.
Later, he said, a nun approached a fearsome gang leader to ask that the gang stop him from doing illegal activities.
According to Anderson, she told the gang leader, "He's the only one who makes straight A's."
The gang leader complied.
A new home
When Anderson was 12, he said, a woman came to the apartment where he lived with his sister, Peggy. She said she was taking him for a ride. He remembers looking over his shoulder at Peggy and telling her he loved her and would see her later.He never saw her again. The woman took him to a home in another part of Washington and left him with the couple who would raise him. He was told that Peggy was taken by another family.
Anderson went on to graduate from Villanova University and to earn a doctoral degree from Cornell University. He became a psychology professor and, about 20 years ago, moved into university administration. He became Fayetteville State's chancellor in 2008.
As an adult, he said, he has tried to help people whenever he could. He said he personally pays the tuition of several needy students at FSU and provides financial aid to a family from his old neighborhood in Washington.
He said he still wakes from nightmares about his farewell to Peggy and once hired a private investigator to try to find her.
In 1995, he found his own birth name - James Allen Atkinson - on a document among his adoptive parents' papers.
His birth records were sealed and he still has no idea of the name of his birth mother or father.
About 20 years ago, he said, he went back to the rough neighborhood of his earliest years and found a prostitute whom he had known. When he told her who he was, he said, she looked at him and stroked his face and said, "Are you taking care of somebody the way we did you?"
His answer, then and now: He's doing all he can.
Staff writer Catherine Pritchard can be reached at pritchardc@fayobserver.com or 486-3517.
