The Fence: A Police Cover-Up Along Boston's Racial Divide Read Online Free PDF Page A

Vince was a scholarship student from Washington, D.C. In many ways, they were polar opposites—in terms of both their game and their personalities. Vince had never played much basketball before, and he relied on pure athleticism. “All I knew was to put the ball in the hoop,” he said, “and I was just going to keep at it until I got it in.”
    Mike’s game was polished from years of playing organized basketball in Boston. “Mike was real finesse,” said Vince. “He could float through the air.” Their senior class yearbook featured a photograph of Mike in mid-air, gliding smoothly toward the basket past two opponents en route to making a left-handed layup.
    Vince’s personality overflowed with self-confidence and he displayed a fierce competitive streak. “Even if I’d never played something before, I was going to learn and win.” Mike, in contrast, was selfless and diplomatic. “Mike would never run up the score on you,” Vince said.
    Mike would also serve as Vince’s peacemaker. During a pickup game sophomore year, the player Vince was guarding faked him by pretending to take a shot—a pump fake—and Vince jumped. He was airborne, waving his arms wildly, watching helplessly as the player dribbled around him and easily scored. Vince looked so foolish; a heckler from the sidelines yelled, You see that big bird fly! Vince raced over and was right in the boy’s face. The boy happened to be a senior, a star of the football team. He pushed Vince away. Vince came back and hit him in the face. Fighting broke out, but Mike stepped in. He got them to stop by raising the race factor, pointing out the idiocy of two black students pounding on one another. “He was like, ‘Don’t screw up. That’s what they want. There aren’t many of us,’” Vince recalled.
    Senior year, Mike and Vince were the team’s cocaptains. Tim Fornero was the manager. They had a blast. The team went undefeated, piling up a 15–0 record and capturing the Hudson Valley League Championship. Mike was scoring twenty or more points a game. But their run ended abruptly in the state tournament, when they lost a playoff game that saw Mike hobbled for the craziest of reasons. He’d forgotten his sneakers, and had to borrow a pair. “His toes were like bleeding through the game,” Vince said. “I think that’s why we lost; he wasn’t playing regular.”
    Mike was named one of the team’s most valuable players. He was finally enjoying himself—popular, doing well in his classes and on the playing fields. “Besides being good-looking he had one of those one-in-a-hundred smiles,” Tim Fornero said.
    Mike and Tim roomed together again senior year. Mike was an RA, or resident adviser, in a dormitory called New Building. “The thing about Mike, he was just a no-bullshit guy; he had an honesty about him that was true, and that’s unusual in life.” Tim struggled with his courses and, like a lot of kids, got bummed out about boarding school life. “We called it the Wooster Blues, and Mike helped you get through that.”
    For most of senior year Mike dated a white girl from a wealthy New York City family. He acquired his taste in clothes. “He was a real sharp dresser, coming from Boston, I guess,” Vince said. “He always had his hair groomed and cut.”
    They were all close friends, seniors riding high. “We knew everyone in school,” said Vince. “Kind of like big guys on campus.” There were parties after-hours, and “Mike would be a midnight rambler.”
    Although outgoing with peers, Mike kept up his reserve in the face of authority. Mike and Tim had an English teacher who wanted his students to build their vocabulary skills. In class he frequently asked for the definitions of words. “Mike knew 90 percent of them,” said Tim, “but he wouldn’t raise his hand. He’d cover his mouth with his hand and he’d mumble the answer to me or whoever was next to him.”
    At graduation, Mike’s thirty-nine classmates voted him