But the didn't take any of it to heart. Truth was, he loved being a power broker, sitting on umpteen boards and making things happen about town. Musing over the details of his busy life, Les pulled into the garage of his sprawling split-level home in the affluent enclave of Gun Club Green, and called the name he had called so many times before: "Shaka!"

Hearing that greeting, Franklin's 16-year-old son, Shaka, named after the great Zulu warrior, would scurry out of his room and meet his Pops with a big bear hug. It was a kind of ritual, something Franklin could count on at the end of each day. But tonight, oddly, Shaka made no response. Figuring his son was deep into some computer game or new rap CD, Franklin stepped into Shaka's bedroom.

What he saw brought him to his knees. There, lying on the bloodstained carpet, was his beloved son, with a black .38 pistol between his legs and a gunshot wound to the head.

"Shaka!!!" This is a story about how a boy's death transformed a man's life: a story about pain and denial, ambitious parents and sensitive children. Ultimately, though, it's about the disturbing rise in suicide among young Black men, and the mysterious emotional odyssey that leads to such a tragic finale.

Suicide, long considered taboo in our culture, is increasingly becoming a critical issue for African-American families. According to a recent study by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in Atlanta, the suicide rate among Blacks ages 10 to 19 more than doubled between 1980 and 1995. The increase was more pronounced among Black males than females; for brothers ages 15 to 19, the rate of suicide soared 146 percent.

This troubling trend belies the age-old myth that Blacks are generally not inclined to turn to suicide -- that we somehow harbor an innate resilience or deep spirituality that shields us from the feelings of hopelessness that compel suicides. The pervasive belief has even worked its way into comic monologues: "Why don't Blacks commit suicide? It's hard to kill yourself jumping from a basement window...."

Theories behind the sharp rise in Black suicides vary from the breakdown of the family to easier access to alcohol, drugs and guns. One of the most prominent, and controversial, explanations is an inability of middle-class African-Americans to cope with their success and the accompanying stress. According to Tonji Durant, Ph.D., lead author of the CDC report, "Black youths in upwardly mobile families may experience stress associated with their new social environments. Alternatively, these youths may adopt the coping behaviors of the larger society, in which suicide is more commonly used in response to depression and hopelessness."

However, this movin'-on-up reasoning has not been buttressed by much data. (In fact, the CDC did not even consider the economic status of the suicide victims in its study.) Still, there is some compelling evidence, both scientific and anecdotal. One Columbia University study of child and adolescent suicides in the New York City area, published in 1996, concluded that, unlike White and Hispanic youth, Black suicide victims tend to come from higher socioeconomic backgrounds than Blacks in the general population.

Dr. Carl Bell, a psychiatrist at the Community Mental Health Council in Chicago, says that while suicide among all races is rooted in clinical depression, middle-class Blacks often suffer an acute sense of isolation that puts them at higher risk. "Many Blacks no longer accept you, and Whites don't want you either," Bell says. "As for young Black men, society definitely doesn't have any place for them -- except prison."

Others argue that, for Blacks, suicide among privileged kids and homicide disadvantaged kids are two sides of the same coin. "The kid who walks out the house with a semiautomatic gun and confronts another kid armed with a weapon -- we don't call that suicide," says Stephen Thomas, director of the Institute for Minority Health Research at Emory University's School of Public Health in Atlanta. "But it's self-destructive behavior that has a place in the same debate."

Still other experts suggest that upwardly mobile Black parents may be spending too much time grooming their children to assimilate into mainstream society and too little time teaching them moral and spiritual values. "Our children are hungry for spiritually based structure in their lives," says Dr. Frederick Phillips, a psychologist and the president of Progressive Life Center, a Washington, D.C.-based behavioral-health and child-welfare agency.

Geoffrey Canada, president of the nonprofit Rheedlen Centers for Children and Families in New York City, adds: "In working so hard to create opportunities and erase pressure for their children, parents may also eliminate some of the obstacles children need to discover who they are as people, as well as their sense of belonging and importance to the family."

Sandra Moore, who walked in on her teenage son four years ago as he was about to stab himself in the stomach with a knife, says: "I was so busy trying to get my doctorate -- which I thought would secure our financial stability -- that I almost lost my son in the process. We shouldn't be so smug as to believe that just because we live in the suburbs nothing can happen to our children." A director for a family literacy program in Atlanta, Moore, 42, shares her son's story in her upcoming book Mama! Can't You Hear My Cry?

If only someone had heard Shaka's cry. Eight years after his death, few friends or family members can say with any certainty that Shaka cried out to them at all. But it will always be Les Franklin who bears the heaviest burden of guilt; he believes that even though his son's cry for help was as silent as his own breath, paternal instinct should have prompted him into action.

For Shaka, the downward spiral began when he was just 6 years old and his father divorced his mother, Cherllyn. The breakup occurred when Les was transferred from Denver to Connecticut, a move Cherllyn resisted. Though he never discussed it with the children, Les realized that he and his wife were growing apart, and that it was time for them to separate. To Shaka's dismay, Cherllyn agreed to let Les move Shaka and his older brother, Jamon, to Connecticut without her. "Shaka felt abandoned by his mother," says Les. "And he never forgave me for the divorce."

Several events followed that would devastate Shaka, pushing him further into despair. That same year his paternal grandmother, with whom he had always had a close, loving relationship, died. A few years later, after Les and the boys had returned to Denver, Les's girlfriend Marianne moved into their home, shattering Shaka's hope that his parents would reunite.

"He never really accepted me," says Marianne, now Les's wife, a soft-spoken woman who admits that her reserved nature strikes some as aloof "Sometimes I think I should have worked harder to get close to him. But I didn't want to push things."

In 1987 Les was diagnosed with diabetes, and about a year later Shaka learned that his mother, whose breast cancer had been in remission, was dying from the disease. It was during this period that Shaka's brother, Jamon, noticed a change in him.

They had always been tight, but lately Shaka seemed to be avoiding him. He wasn't cold, just distant. Jamon told their mother about it and she validated his gut feelings. "She said Shaka wasn't dealing with her illness very well at all -- that he was real depressed over it," Jamon, now 29, recalls. (Cherllyn died on March 2, 1991, five months after Shaka.)

Les's close friend Damani Camara now says he also saw something strangely hollow in Shaka's eyes. "He was at my house visiting my son one day, and I took a picture of them together," Camara recalls. "When I got the picture developed and looked at it closely, I thought, This boy looks so sad to me." Camara called Les with his observation, but the proud father resisted the notion, saying, "No, he doesn't. No, he doesn't."

"My sons and I were always close," Les recalls, "and we promised to come together whenever things got too tough for us to handle alone. But Shaka broke his promise."

Today, Les Franklin still dreams about his Shaka. He sees him running, clad in his brown football uniform, number 70, diving to catch a pass. He sees him sitting quietly at his computer and glancing up with a satisfied smile. Or laughing as he walks home with friends after school, dressed in baggy jeans and carrying a backpack full of books and CDs.

He wishes the dreams would continue, but they always end the same: with Shaka discovering the Smith & Wesson snub-nosed pistol tucked away in his father's closet, carrying it back into his bedroom, and leaving the world with no explanation save a carved wooden heart with "Love Shaka" written on it in purple ink.

To begin to give some meaning to the tragedy and his own life, Les retired from IBM a week after Shaka's death. He knew that when he stepped out in public, people no longer saw a wealthy, successful man, but a man tormented by his son's suicide.

Indeed, had Shaka not been the child of a high-ranking IBM executive -- a privileged kid with an indoor swimming pool and a social life teeming with friends and activities -- it is unlikely that his death would have hit the front page of local newspapers and been the buzz for months, everywhere from the cocktail circuit in Denver to barbershops in the 'hood. Sometimes it takes a fallen hero to get the masses to reflect on their own lives. Shaka's suicide, like a stone tossed into a quiet pond, caused a ripple effect as parents across the city were forced to confront the potential time bombs ticking inside their own children.

For Les, the thrill of corporate deal-making was quickly replaced by a deeper desire to spend more time with his family, as well as to help other children cope with the kind of depression that took his son's life. In 1990, with the help of his wife, he launched the Shaka Franklin Foundation for Youth, a nonprofit organization in Colorado aimed at preventing child and teen suicide through youth and family programs. "I'm determined to make sure the surprise I got is something no other parent has to live through," he says.

Franklin realizes, though, that his nascent foundation is only as strong as the households of the children receiving its services. Experts agree that in order to help avoid such a tragedy, parents first must reorganize their priorities to make their children's well-being central. Squeezing in an hour or so of "quality time" might ease a busy parent's guilt, but it may not be enough for children who are inclined to reveal the most when it's least expected.

It's also important to find creative ways to relate to your children, whether it's getting them to help you prepare a meal or wash the car, inviting their friends out for a movie, quizzing them on their schoolwork, or simply sharing with them some of the events of your day.

Parents need to engage their kids in constant dialogue; if there is the slightest sign of depression or stress (see sidebar, below), parents should identify and address the causes. And last, you must understand that the pressures you dealt with as a child are often minor compared with what many kids face today. It's critical to help young people understand they aren't facing those struggles alone. "Every generation of children deals with another layer of pressure both socially and academically," says Phillips. "Our children today need us now more than ever."

WARNING SIGNS

A recent Commonwealth Fund survey of more than 3,000 American boys in grades 5 to 12 found that one in five Black boys had thought of killing themselves. Parents need to be aware of the symptoms of depression that often precede suicide attempts. They include: * exaggerated feelings of sadness, anxiety, hopelessness; * decreased interest in activities or people; * difficulty concentrating; * indecisiveness; * sleeping or appetite disturbances; * recurring feelings of worthlessness; * loss of energy or motivation; and * thoughts about suicide.

Additional warning signs are a desire to give one's possessions way, suicide threats and previous suicide attempts. If your child exhibits any of these behaviors, talk to him and seek help immediately from a trained mental-health counselor. Also contact one or more of the following organizations for information and referrals:

* Association of Black Psychologist, P.O. Box 55999, Washington DC 20040-5999

* Black Psychiatrists of America, 866 Carlston Ave., Oakland CA 94610

* National Foundation for Depressive Illness, P.O. Box 2257, New York NY 10116; (800) 245-4340

* American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, 120 Wall St., 22nd Fl., New York NY 10005

* The Shaka Franklin Foundation for Youth, 8101 E. Dartmouth Ave., #11, Denver CO 80231

COPYRIGHT 1998 Essence Communications, Inc. in association with The Gale Group and LookSmart.

COPYRIGHT 2000 Gale Group

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