One of the smartest guys I knew in the blue-collar, predominantly black neighborhood where I grew up in Detroit was a voracious reader and an all-city basketball player.
He read so much and was knowledgeable on so many subjects that guys in the neighborhood began calling him Clever. We were all intellectually curious and outstanding students, and during summer vacations, we would sit late into the evening on someone’s porch, holding forth on subjects ranging from Mao’s Long March in China to Napoleon’s campaign in Russia.
