Legacy: The Quisenberries

 It was the summer of 1988, when I first arrived at Wilberforce University. I was out of Michigan, and would be on my own for the first time in my life. I would ultimately fail miserably. My father had three siblings. My Uncle Thomas, my Aunt Beverly and Aunt Hattie. All of them had been college graduates. My father, the "black sheep" of the family didn't have a degree and was kicked out the Air Force for trying to organize race riots. At this point, I don't know who to be prouder of. My uncle the attorney or my father the rebellion organizer. In the times we live in now, there are times that we need demonstrations to be heard. I'm most positive it was needed 60-years ago. I met a John while at Wilberforce. He belonged to the fraternity, Kappa Alpha Psi. He would quickly become my boyfriend and lover. Despite our rocky road, he will go down as one of the loves of my life. I have a tendency to capture the best in the man pool, wherever I go. John was the smartest man on campus. He had graduated from a school in Cleveland that graded on a five-point scale and he was at the top of his class. He once laughed at me when I tried to quiz him on his definition in Economics. My close friend at the time had this guy friend that was having a hard time with the same Economics class. We were all sitting around in her room and he was complaining about the work and the professor's teaching style. My friend took his hand and asked, "Is there anyone in the class doing well?" He paused for a second and looked directly at me and said, "Yeah, this guy named John." I fell back on the floor where I was sitting and let out a bellowing laugh. It was my John. 

As my suitors fell off, so did his. There was one guy who wouldn't stop his pursuit of me and it almost cost him a place in Kappa Alpha Psi. He had told me all about John. Any and everything he knew, which was a big "No, No" to the bros. All the stuff about sessions and paddles was off limits and especially about John who was leader of his group of pledges. The biggest reason was John, the leader of his line, was a triple Legacy.  His father was a Kappa, his grandfather had been a Kappa, too. The most notable fact about the men in his family was this, his grandfather had pledged on the same yard. Hid grandfather was a member of the fourth Kappa line in American collegiate history, the Delta Chapter. That meant he was untouchable and not able to fail his line experience. It was left up to his other guys on his line to take up his slack and do all kinds of crazy stuff to become a Kappa. John had to do the bear minimum, which meant he had to make it up to his Sans. I was impressed and understood his swag for only being five foot six inches tall. I think about this story, whenever I think about the Quisenberries of the Oakland County, Michigan legacy.

Joseph Quisenberry is a Captain and runs the Investigations Unit for Oakland County Sheriff's Department. He investigates murders and stuff. When the opioid addiction were at its peak, he was the man that was supposed to help Sheriff Michael Bouchard get this area back in shape. People were going into Burger King bathrooms shooting heroin and overdosing. When his picture flashed on my screen, and the caption read Quisenberry, my stomach turned. Not the same Quisenberry from Oakland County Jail. The young deputy who was known for having sex with drug addicts that came into the jail. I subsequently went back to jail after the opioid task force aired on the local news. When Quisenberry came up to make a round, I asked him if he was any kin to Captain Quisenberry and he told me that he was his uncle. He at first asked me, which Quisenberry, because all of his family worked for Oakland County. He said his uncle, siblings and cousins all worked at Oakland County. It is a rite of passage for a Quisenberry to get a job with Oakland County. This Quisenberry in the jail had his rite and all the prostitutes he could manage.

When I had first arrived in 2010, I met a young woman named Connie. She was in jail for "Conspiracy to Commit Armed Robbery". She approached me when I first arrived in the pod. She told me her entire story. She'd met this ex-con at work and had started using a lot of cocaine with him and his friend. The three of them concocted a scheme to rob the place she was working at. The man had supposedly kept large amounts of cash at the place. I think her boyfriend had set her up, because the police had so much evidence. She had resigned herself to her guilt and was relaxing in the jail. She had books and all kinds of stuff in her cell. It looked worse than some of the long timers in prison. Just a whole bunch of everything, everywhere. That night, after we had locked down for the night, she had left her door unlocked. This can happen just by not closing it all the way. When the third shift arrived and Quisenberry arrived, she opened her door and ran down the stairs to the window and knocked, "Hey!" She shouted a whisper. She kept calling out, but didn't get answer. After a minute, I could hear the microphone click and some one yell, "GET AWAY FROM HERE! GO BACK TO YOUR CELL!!!" She shuffled across the floor and up the stairs. When she got to her door, the voice came back on the speaker, "AND CLOSE THAT DOOR!" 

It was Ashmead and this time, when he clicked the control her door locked. For the longest time, I thought she was having sex with Ashmead, but no. Ashmead was taking up for Quisenberry. He had not wanted to get with her that night for some reason. He asked Ashmead for his assistance, and he had rid of the insistent Connie, whose face was filled with red polka dots. I didn't get it myself. She was thin as a rail, with stringy hair and had developed a acne problem while in jail. Quisenberry wasn't her only conquest in the pod. She was a regular run-around Sue. After I was moved to the other side of 29, because of a fight I had with Connie's bunky about cars, I met one of her old bunkies. She explained that Connie was crazy about Quisenberry most of all. She never closed her door at night, and no one ever cared. If one of the other inmates left their door ajar, it was "click...click...click" Not Connie, not a sound was made and she said, after a while she would skirt down the stairs to the window and be gone for a while. She would come back in the cell with tales of his generosity and sexiness. I had to admit he was cute, but a bit of a weirdo. He spent his first half an hour at work cleaning the bubble of germs. One time, two Alpha deputies thought it would be fun to leave half eaten pizza and boxes from the take-out joint in the bubble for him, after their shift. He went ballistic. One woman looking out her door called us all to watch the show. He was ranting and raving like a lunatic. Slamming boxes and letting out what appeared to be curses.

That's the price legacies pay. There is always going to be someone or someone(s) that resent your legacy. Whenever you assert yourself as a legacy, you can be challenged by the paupers you work with. I saw the two deputies eating the pizza in the bubble. I also saw them abandon the bubble long before their shift ended. Quisenberry was always on time, with his little lunch bag and duffle bag. These two hung around outside the bubble and waited for him to appear and walked right passed him on their way out, knowing he was going to "hit the roof" when he saw the mess. There must have been a discussion or incident in the past that warranted such a display. Whatever it was, it had gotten under the other two deputies skin. They wanted to show, they didn't care who his uncle is. He was working the Annex with people of the same statue as him and he wasn't going to treat them like he was their boss. They were all there. They were all turn-keys and they were all having sex with inmates. He was no different from any of them. He wore his legacy like a badge and had bragged about it to me. That was probably more about getting sex than anything else, but he was proud of his family's relationship to Oakland County, even if that meant that people more qualified didn't get positions that his family would occupy.

I just read about another Quisenberry. Justin Quisenberry. A far cry from the jail's Quisenberry that was having sex with addicts in the jail's bathroom. This man is a war-time hero. He has spoken to high schoolers about leadership and his time in Iraq and people he met that taught him courage and humbled him. As I read the article, I couldn't help but see the resemblance between him and the jail's Quisenberry. Maybe Justin is his brother, but one thing is certain. Justin Quisenberry is not an employee at Oakland County. He is some kind of data analyst for some company. His claim to fame is not nepotism, but real substance and fortitude. I wondered if this is jail's Quisenberry's brother, how in the world could parents birth two such polar opposite children. But I know it happens all the time. Even if it's his cousin, the same question still applies. I don't know where Connie crime took place, but I can't help but wonder if it was one of Oakland County jurisdictions. Maybe he promised his uncle would help her out. Maybe his uncle had helped her out. She only had gotten probation, but was back in a month. She was just trouble.

That's what they said about my father, who 10 years after leaving the Air Force became a dealer. What about my friend who wanted me to the point he would risk his Kappa dreams to speak on a Legacy. The game is a hard thing when your dealing with legacies, because they seem to stay and you seem expendable. Many of them take risks that others can't afford. Like the time a white car was driving near me erratically. I did a few of my driving tricks and pulled up beside it, even if it seemed they were trying to get away. When I looked over into the car, I could tell why. It was Deputy Quisenberry from the jail. He was trying to give me a hard time on the road, like so many had done, before. A screw until the end. Never seeming to get it quite right. Never seeming to live up to his legacy.