E. Willoughby Crowther admissions officer at Yale University, looked beseechingly at the young man across the desk. Crowther hadn't seen an Afro like that since watching reruns of "The Mod Squad." What to do?

Huey Freeman, African-American (plus), near perfect SAT's except for the "Fuck You" in the essay question, skipped second, fifth and ninth grades, and made a girl cry on the TV student debating program, "It's Academic".

Last year,Freeman had been sent to the Illinois Youth Correctional facility for dynamiting Pat Buchanan's motorcade at some sort of Values Coalition speech.

But young Freeman had been abruptly released some five months later after successfully unionizing the Youth Correctional officers and counselors; after this there had been some nastiness in his attempt to free Mumia-Abu Jamal…

But now Freeman, fifteen and enraged, had reluctantly decided to pursue higher education…his grandfather wanted him out of the house.

Young Freeman had dismissed the appeals and scholarship offers from Harvard, Dartmouth, and the University of Chicago as "pretty plantations" and this was Crowther's big chance…could he seduce Freeman to sign up for a four year full ride?

And now, Huey Freeman was looking at his watch. Crowther, who had rich straight-A honors kids sleeping outside his office, BEGGING, was wasting Freeman's time.

"What can we offer you, Huey? A full scholarship, of course, and perhaps an apartment off campus, to be sure…but you've published in major academic journals since you were eleven, in a sense you could just skip college. Is there anything that we could offer?" Crowther said, begging now.

"Well" Huey cocked his enormous Afro, and snapped his fingers. The door to Crowther's office opened, and a thirteen year old black kid, spitting tobacco juice and clad in an orange prison jumpsuit that was quite oversized, walked into the room."

"Don't worry, Mr. Crowther. Riley ain't a prisoner. He bought this from Mumia Abu Jamal, as a souvenir sort of. Riley wants to go here, too. He can barely read and write, but he likes white women and wants to raise some hell. Can you take us both?"

Then the door banged open again, and an obese, one eyed elderly black man came in, also spitting tobacco juice. "How you doin there, kind sir" the fat man said, ducking his head. "I'm so sorry you has to deal with these young niggas here…wish we could deport them…"

"Oh yeah." Huey said, smiling at the despondent admissions officer. "You gotta hire Uncle Ruckus here as your provost."