Impressive Stats

The scope of Bremond Weaver's energies is hard to fathom. Partnering with Mothers in Action, Brotherhood Crusade hosts an annual back–to–school health fair where free immunizations, dental screenings, eye screenings, dictionaries and notebooks help kids start their journeys on the right track. When African–American freshman enrollment figures hit extraordinary lows at UCLA, she is part of a community dialogue that creates holistic change. When she realizes Hepatitis C seems to unfairly be targeting her community, she partners with Roche Pharmaceuticals to organize testing and outreach programs through local churches. Southwest Airlines, Microsoft, The California Science Center, Wells Fargo, Verizon, Bank of America, Nielsen, Northrop Grumman, State Farm Insurance, City of Los Angeles office of the Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa GRYD Program, Department of Education, State of California Cal Grip; in Los Angeles, the former Aggie point guard can be found setting up assists all over the place.

Currently, she also plays caregiver to her mother, the proud winner of a fight against a six–month coma. “I share that story only because when you think you can't give any more, God has a way of giving you the script to do exactly that,” Bremond Weaver says.

Is it ever too much? Are there just too many plates? Is there a cause or a need out there that may just have to go ignored? Bremond Weaver pauses. Yeah, she gets overwhelmed…sometimes, but she quickly adds, “You cannot do this work if you don't live it. I want to live being an example every day. I'm always telling young people I will never fail at anything, because even if it doesn't work, if you're giving your best, you're going to learn how to make it work the next time.” And besides, the community is watching; everything she does becomes mentorship.

“I think her energy is inspired by the love for the work and a sense of responsibility to the work,” says Charisse's husband, George Weaver. “Charisse has never taken for granted what her father established, the things to which he was dedicated and the things for which he sacrificed. But she's taken that start—what her mentors began to build—and now she's at another level. Her innovations, her organization, her energy, her uniqueness; she's accomplishing things that are just phenomenal.”

Then again, George Weaver is another who can't say “can't” to Charisse. It is, after all, his community, too, and he's fully aware of what is at stake. He knows he has to be a leader, just like she does.

“When I go to work every day, I wear a suit and tie, and the reason I do—every day—isn't because I have to,” he says, “but because I know there was a time in this country when I would not be able to get a job that would require me to wear a suit and tie. So I'm compelled to honor those people who paved that path for me. Now that I can wear a suit and tie, I'm definitely going to.”

Go Aggies!

As a USU basketball player in the mid 1980s, Bremond Weaver places a stitch or two into the fabric of what becomes an extraordinary life. Her first snowstorm prompts a frantic road trip home after she convincingly stuffs Al Smith '87, Pondre Davis '89 and a couple other Aggie legends from the L.A. area into her Camaro (after all, you can't say “can't” to Charisse), but during subsequent storms, she sticks it out and learns to ski. And yes, she's struck by the geography, the canyons and the Quad, but realizes “the beauty of the campus is that you have people who truly care about you, professors who care,” people who see enough promise in a little girl from Los Angeles—and so many other students—to make available scholarships and opportunities, the success of which will perhaps never fully be measured.

“The impact that had on me is huge,” she says, “It's HUGE! I think the pay–it–forward concept is really the essence of what all human beings should really be.”

The Win Column

Charisse Bremond Weaver is standing in line at the post office. It turns out the man who has determinedly placed himself on a collision course with her exact spot is an ex–felon. He's not slowing down and she has a hard time interpreting the look on his face. But then he bends down and gives the pint–sized CEO a hug and states, “You saved my life. I have a job. I have a house. I get to take care of my family.”

Once, at a community gala at the Beverly Hills Hotel, “the maître d, or something akin to that” leans over and says, “I came through your training.”

There's a 16–year–old studying leadership development through the Tavis Smiley Foundation at UCLA, a kid who, three years ago, “didn't know how to channel his energy.” There are 10–p.m. phone calls from parents saying, “This is amazing.”

“Those kinds of things always seem to happen to me on days when I'm saying, ‘aaghhh… I'm not going to get through it,’” Bremond Weaver says. “But those experiences are the essence of what drives me. God chose me to do this, and I listened to my purpose, but this is also just who I am. We all have gifts, we all have a purpose, and you just have to tap into that purpose—whatever it is.”

The Post Game

Walter Bremond died doing what he loved. He loved helping people. He loved shaping communities and he did it at a time when people weren't necessarily buying in to the concept. In addition to the Brotherhood Crusade and other endeavors, he founded the National Black United Fund with its 27 affiliates across the country. When he travelled, he would often take the time to send letters to a daughter back home whose heart, he could see, would be far bigger than the body it motors: “I'm so proud of you because you're not a follower, you're a leader…”

“I think he knew,” Bremond Weaver says. “When I look at some of those letters I just smile and say, ‘Dad, how did you know?”’

And never once did he tell Charisse “can't.”

—Jared Thayne '99