The letter I received from my former student thanked me for teaching him chess in fifth grade. It was a setup. Now, 11 years later, he was inviting me to play his game of chess — inmates’ chess. He is still my favorite fifth-grader. He was sweet and charismatic then. He offered an update: “Mr. Karrer, when I was fourteen I caught nine attempted murder charges, an arson, and some other charges. So, I’m in prison.”
But I already knew most of that. I had kept an ear on his doings.
He grew up in east Salinas, California, in Acosta Plaza, a low-income housing project and an exceedingly dangerous place. The great Latino killing zone for far too many. A few years later he moved to the small tough town where I taught. He’d show up after school, often not attending class that day. He’d have a chessboard set up directly on the other side of my door. I couldn’t get past him.
