Youth organizer shows a way to reach out

 

Bill Knight column for 2-1, 2 or 3, 2021

 Carl Cannon pushes himself.

The longtime weightlifter, soldier, policeman, family man and mentor also pushes others – to condition themselves to meet future challenges; to bear life’s burdens.

In “Full Cannon,” published this fall, the 61-year-old Peorian who founded several programs for kids and ex-inmates offers something that’s part inspiration and part perspiration, full of memories of hard work and hardships, presidents and prisoners, struggles and successes.

Subtitled “Love, Leadership and Making a Difference,” the 409-page book is also part memoir and scrapbook, featuring photos from a past of hurdles and miracles, achievements and tragedies that offer personal insights into the life of a public figure, a man recalling everyday doubts, wonder and gratitude.

Available online and at some bricks-and-mortar bookstores, “Full Cannon” (War Press) was co-authored by Lance Zedric, and the readable result is not only structured well and paced briskly, it avoids the self-righteous self-promotion of too many titles by innovators.

It’s no cliché to say Cannon had a humble beginning, growing up in public housing until his dad got hired as a local police officer and the family moved to a better neighborhood. He remembers selling Kool-Aid and shoveling snow and being a mischievous pupil in grade school before benefiting from key coaches and teachers and excelling in junior high, then successfully navigating his time in high school as an accomplished athlete before hitting the obstacle of college.

He also worked at a park district and retailer until a sense of aimlessness had him impulsively enlisting in the Army, where he matured into manhood while stationed in Korea, the Pacific and Germany plus Alabama, Kansas and Missouri. After serving, he worked at a downstate Illinois prison and following retirement there, at a park district again

“I loved to work, I loved to compete, and even more, I loved a challenge,” he writes.

Challenges in his community efforts include fundraising through grants, donations and generated income, and the work itself. Beyond programs serving disadvantaged youth, adult re-entry and K-8 audiences, Cannon has organized many outreach efforts: “Officer Friendly” school presentations, “Straight Talk” (on crime and punishment), “Don’t Shoot” (violence), and “Don’t Start” (gangs)

The award-winning advocate’s interactions and collaborations range from Barack Obama and FBI director James Comey to the late segregationist George Wallace and former First Lady Laura Bush, as well as associations with dozens of volunteers, luminaries and lawmakers. (The book’s acknowledgments section runs three pages.)

Also active as a board member at a community college and a public housing authority, Cannon seems most pleased by his faith and extended family. His evangelical zeal draws on Jesus, but also Lincoln, Frederick Douglass and Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and a couple of Army generals.

Among a few brief passages from his wife Melinda and daughters Summer and Danielle is a telling nugget showing that despite Cannon’s imposing physical presence (he has a handshake that could crack rocks), his attitude goes beyond size and shape: “Dad has made a tremendous impact on people by leading with his heart,” Danielle writes.

Cannon’s had setbacks, naturally. A knack for self-criticism shows he recognizes his mistakes. In the military, he recalled, “My own carelessness, lack of attention to detail, and failure to do my homework had created my mess, not the Army.”

Other observations reveal heart-felt compassions and reasoned conclusions, too. After visiting Nazis’ Dachau concentration camp, he remarks, “If anyone doubts that evil exists and that people are capable of such inhumanity, they need to visit the camp.”

Watching the killing of George Floyd on TV, Cannon – a former MP and prison guard – comments, “It was murder.” And, after Caterpillar moved its central Illinois headquarters to Chicagoland, the corporation dropped funding assistance to the community programs. Cannon says it hurt but “I learned that working from the ground up is better than falling from the top down.”

For curious and casual readers, “Full Cannon” doesn’t push any One True Path for social progress. Instead, reflecting on an approach that instills mutual respect and pride, Cannon merely demonstrates that engagement and encouragement can lead to improvement,

And that’s a load many can carry.