An un-just system: My story about “Frank”

I didn’t learn how to make beats on my own. I mean, I learned a lot of stuff watching YouTube videos, which I’m very thankful for, and a lot of trial and error on my own in software, synths, samplers, etc. However, there was someone who showed me the basics of Fl Studio in terms of how to record tracks. I’m not going to name names here, or talk directly about identifying him, as I haven’t spoken to him in a while and I feel it isn’t my place, or rather the place of this blog. We also didn’t end up on speaking terms, exactly, as we don’t see eye to eye, ultimately. That said, this is the story of how I learned to make beats from someone that taught me much more than music stuff. This is the story of my experience with the man we will call “Frank.”

I was living at an assisted living facility in Pico Rivera, California. I had a computer, but I mainly used to dj with vinyl and cds at the time, so I had a bunch of equipment to dj with (turntable, tabletop cd players, mixer, etc). I already had known Frank for some time. Once he learned I made music he introduced me to fl studio. He showed me how to make beats, at least the most he could, which wasn’t entirely thorough. At the time, anyways, he didn’t really use the playlist to its full potential in the software. In any case, he taught me quite a bit about how to record. We’d work on stuff for hours and he’d often spend much of the time recording on his/my computer to make beats. I thought it was cool, but I didn’t think much of it. It ultimately changed my life in many ways, some of which I’ll discuss here, most I won’t.

Fast forward a year and a half or so: I was moving out of the assisted living situation due to personal reasons. We went our separate ways. Years later I visited him after a brief conversation on Facebook at a different facility. Although I had come a long way musically, I realized then that Frank didn’t see eye to eye with me. I also was somewhat shocked by the living circumstance Frank was in. He couldn’t leave the facility he lived in. He had no money: I had to buy us food. I’m not saying this to belittle or demean Frank: rather to say how deprived he had been despite asking for assistance in that he lived in assisted living and like me, received a check from the government each month. The thing that stood out the most to me was that at one point while on a walk, he asked, “What am I going to do?” Even though I already knew we weren’t seeing eye to eye or ultimately getting along, those words instantly haunted me, and haunt me to this day. I knew exactly what he meant. I said, “I don’t know.” That’s the only response I could give, and still is.

Although Frank had been to jail for a period of time, he didn’t see how a corrupt justice system put him in jail, or the fact that it was largely because he was black that the system treated him the way it did. He told me the story of going to jail for something I won’t discuss here for privacy reasons. I listened, and when he said something about why he went to jail, I said, “I know why you went to jail.” He asked why. I said, “because you’re black.” He didn’t agree. I know he was wrong. Although Frank admitted to doing the crime he was accused of, I would never have served the time he did for the same crime as a white man. Although this is partly due to financial circumstances, it’s mainly for one reason: the color of his skin.

My story about Frank is just one example of how our criminal justice system is biased, unfair, and racist. The bigger picture is one of how the system has failed Frank and countless others in his circumstances. Like I said already, although I don’t get along with Frank, he taught me much more than music, and those words that haunted me then are still just as relevant as they were so many years ago: What am I going to do?

Although Frank’s story is unique, it is not at all unusual or uncommon. Far too many black people experience the exact thing Frank experienced every day both in Los Angeles and across the nation. No matter my thoughts on Frank or anyone else, I would be wrong if I didn’t do what I could to expose the corrupt and racist legal system we live with every single day in the United States. Telling this story here about Frank is the smallest thing I can do to try and show how the system has failed so many people, and it’s really a story that represents so many different aspects of the way the system has failed us over and over when it comes to race in America.