The Other Wes Moore: One Name, Two Fates
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Two kids named Wes Moore were born blocks apart within a year of each other. Both grew up fatherless in similar Baltimore neighborhoods and had difficult childhoods; both hung out on street corners with their crews; both ran into trouble with the police. How, then, did one grow up to be a Rhodes Scholar, decorated veteran, White House Fellow, and business leader, while the other ended up a convicted murderer serving a life sentence? Wes Moore, the author of this fascinating book, sets out to answer this profound question. In alternating narratives that take readers from heart-wrenching losses to moments of surprising redemption, The Other Wes Moore tells the story of a generation of boys trying to find their way in a hostile world.
"The chilling truth is that his story could have been mine. The tragedy is that my story could have been his."
room, the in-between space where the inside and the outside meet. I don’t want readers to ever forget the high stakes of these stories—and of all of our stories: that life and death, freedom and bondage, hang in the balance of every action we take. The book also features a resource guide listing more than two hundred “Elevate Organizations” that young readers, their caregivers, and anyone who wants to help can use as a tool for creating positive change. One of the true joys of this project has
platform of improving the school system, fighting illiteracy, and trying to find innovative solutions to the metastasizing drug trade that was poisoning life in major areas of the city. Mayor Kurt Schmoke was himself a proud product of Baltimore City who went from the city’s public schools to Yale University, Oxford, Harvard Law School, and then, improbably, back to his beloved and deeply troubled city. He served as Baltimore’s state’s attorney for four years and at age thirty-eight was elected
lived a few years earlier. The wedding was a reprieve for the family. This celebration was the first time in days that they could simply enjoy one another’s company without the events of February seventh dominating the conversation. Today was supposed to be about joy and love. Following the ceremony, the doors to the church opened to a clear and cool winter day. A hundred or so people slowly filed into the street. The snow that had fallen a few days earlier was now a dark slush shoveled against
ordered them to sit on the curb of the traffic island that split Alameda. The men, wearing their white tuxedos, and the women, wearing silky silver, spaghetti-strapped dresses, complained about having to sit on the slushy curb in their wedding outfits. They were told that they would have to sit down or be arrested. And then one of the officers addressed the group. “Y’all know there is a reward for Tony and Wes if you just tell us where they are. It’s a lot of money. You sure you don’t need that
While my dad was alive, Bill supported Nikki financially and took the time to see her. After my father died, Bill no longer called, wrote, or bothered to check up on her. My father’s love of Nikki had forced Bill to step up to his parenting responsibilities—it was almost as if Bill cared more because another man did. With my father no longer in the picture, the pressure was off. It was as if my sister lost two fathers that day. While I knew something bad had happened, I still wasn’t sure what it