Much has been written about the fact that Frank Marshall Davis was a mentor to the young Barack Obama. But Davis was an unusual role model for a boy; not only may he have been a sometime pedophile, according to a book he wrote under a pseudonym, but he was also a Communist. Some have even speculated that Davis was Obama’s biological father, a fantasy for which I can find no evidence whatsoever and have dismissed as unlikely in the extreme.
I have also dismissed it as irrelevant. Because the truth is that Davis was already influential enough in Obama’s life without needing to be an actual blood relative. Living in Hawaii, he was a good friend of Obama’s grandfather Stanley Armour Dunham, the man who actually was a father figure to Obama, because he and his wife raised the young boy. Not only that, but Davis—who was a black man—was designated by his buddy, Obama’s grandfather (referred to as “gramps” in Obama’s memoir), as a guide for the very young Barack to instruct him on how to be an African-American man.
What a strange choice Davis was! Even forgetting the Communism and the possible pedophilia; Obama presents Davis as a seedy and dissipated figure [excerpt is from Dreams From My Father]:
…by the time I met Frank [Obama was around nine years old] he must have been pushing eighty, with a big dewlapped face and an ill-kempt gray Afro that made him look like an old, shaggy-maned lion. He would read us his poetry whenever we stopped by his house, sharing whiskey with gramps out of an emptied jelly jar. As the night wore on, the two of them would solicit my help in composing dirty limericks. Eventually, the conservation would turn to laments about women.
“They’ll drive you to drink, boy,” Frank would tell me soberly. “And if you let ”˜em, they’ll drive you into your grave.”
I was intrigued by the old Frank, with his books and whiskey breath and the hint of hard-earned knowledge behind the hooded eyes. The visits to his house always left me feeling vaguely uncomfortable, though, as if I were witnessing some complicated, unspoken transaction between the two men, a transaction I couldn’t fully understand….
No wonder Obama felt uncomfortable; in family therapy lingo, we’d say that both of the old men in Obama’s life—the two father-figures for the fatherless boy, “gramps” and Davis—had what’s known as a “boundary problem.” In other words, their behavior was inappropriate for a young boy to be witnessing. It’s not for nothing that Obama says he felt “vaguely uncomfortable” around them; most children would have felt that way.
Although Obama writes about Davis in his memoir, he only refers to him by the name “Frank.” This is interesting; whom was he protecting by not giving the man’s full name? After all, Davis was already deceased when the memoir was written in the 90s (it was published in 1995), and Obama’s grandfather had died in 1992.
Obama couldn’t leave out such an important father-figure as “Frank.” And he was quite candid about the seediness of his life and character. What he omits, as far as I can tell (disclaimer: I’ve only read excerpts from Dreams From My Father and therefore I’m not familiar with the entire work), is Davis’s Communism.
It is difficult to imagine that the man did not speak about this aspect of his life with Obama. He certainly didn’t seem to be the type to hold back for propriety’s sake—the word “frank” describes him as an adjective, as well as being his first name. So the omission would have to be Obama’s. How much Davis’s Communist ideology influenced Obama is unknown, and Obama isn’t telling.
But whatever the truth of Davis’s ideological influence on Obama, his relation to Obama was certainly profound in the psychological sense. The evidence for that is in Obama’s own words—and I’m not just talking about the prose in Dreams From My Father. Obama also wrote a poem in college called “Pop” that appears to be about Davis.
Some people have assumed this poem is about Obama’s grandfather because of the title, but there is little question in my mind that the subject is actually Davis. The description in the poem dovetails perfectly with the description in the book (poet, whiskey), and the black glasses at the end match this photo of Davis giving a public reading.
Take a look; it is quite a disturbing document on many levels:
Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and brokenӬ
In, sprinkled with ashesӬ
Pop switches channels, takes anotherӬ
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asksӬ
What to do with me, a green young manӬ
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, sinceӬ
Things have been easy for me; Ӭ
I stare hard at his face, a stareӬ
That deflects off his brow; Ӭ
I’m sure he’s unaware of his”¨
Dark, watery eyes, thatӬ
Glance in different directions,Ӭ
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,Ӭ
Fail to pass.ӬI listen, nod,Ӭ
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale, Ӭ
Beige T-shirt, yelling,Ӭ
Yelling in his ears, that hangӬ
With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He’s so unhappy, to which he replies…”¨
But I don’t care anymore, cause”¨
He took too damn long, and fromӬ
Under my seat, I pull out the
”¨Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing, ”¨
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his faceӬ
To mine, as he grows small,Ӭ
A spot in my brain, somethingӬ
That may be squeezed out, like a Ӭ
Watermelon seed betweenӬ
Two fingers.Ӭ
Pop takes another shot, neat,Ӭ
Points out the same amberӬ
Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and”¨
Makes me smell his smell, comingӬ
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poemӬ
He wrote before his mother died,Ӭ
Stands, shouts, and asksӬ
For a hug, as I shrink, my Ӭ
Arms barely reaching aroundӬ
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ’cause
ӬI see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses”¨
And know he’s laughing too.
The lines that begin “points out the same amber stain…Makes me smell his smell, coming/”¨
From me” may be describing outright sexual abuse. But perhaps not; we don’t know, and we’ll never know. But there is no question that the poem is describing a boundary violation on several levels: this child feels invaded—perhaps even taken over—by this man, and is fighting against that sensation.
That is the subject matter of the poem, which Obama composed while in college. It seems—as do so many poems written in adolescence and young adulthood—to be an attempt to work out in poetry a deep psychological wound and an ongoing dilemma, something that probably could not be talked about as frankly (there’s that word again) in an ordinary and prosaic way. When, years later, Obama got around to writing his prose version in Dreams From My Father, it is apparent that he was already hiding the truth, and softening the depth of the violation he had felt.
The poem describes a boundary violation that is both physical and mental. The physical is obvious: he is forced to hug the man who repels him, and as he does so he feels himself shrinking. But the violation is mental, too; earlier in the poem, Obama has described “Pop” as a person who has actually gotten into his brain, and whom he wishes to eliminate from it:
as he grows small,Ӭ
A spot in my brain, somethingӬ
That may be squeezed out, like a Ӭ
Watermelon seed betweenӬ
Two fingers.
This mental and emotional usurption of the young Obama is echoed in the last image of the poem, in which the boy sees his own tiny image framed in “Pop’s” eyeglasses.”¨ The poem describes a struggle against an attempt at identity takeover, a rejection of being reduced to a reflection in the eyes of the stronger, older, more experienced mentor, who has tried to make Obama over in his own image:
I see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses”¨…
The sight is chilling to Obama, who is trying to break free. One wonders if he ever fully succeeded.
[ADDENDUM: Those who argue that this poem is about Obama’s maternal grandfather, Stanley Armour Dunham, would have to explain the following lines in light of the fact that Dunham’s mother (Obama’s great-grandmother) died when Dunham (Obama’s grandfather) was only 8 years old:
…he switches channels, recites an old poem”¨
He wrote before his mother died,
It simply does not make sense if “Pop” is about Obama’s grandfather.]



