by Ken Abraham
The radio show hosts continued their enthusiastic banter. “Yes, sir, Al,” Jesse jumped in, “and a win against the Springfield Yellow Jackets on Thursday night will put them smack-dab in the finals.”
“And what about the performance of that All-State guard Eddie Sherlin? Twenty-nine points! What a shooter!”
“No kidding,” Jesse agreed. “That boy just can’t be stopped.”
“He’s sure something special,” Al said.
Debbie couldn’t take it anymore. She ran to the kitchen doorway and called upstairs. “Hurry up, Eddie! They’re bragging on you on the morning radio show again!”
“Aw, that’s okay,” Eddie called back. “They’re just yakking.”
“Maybe so, but they’re yakking about you!”
Eddie stepped into the kitchen, dressed and ready for school. He took his place at the table along with his sisters. Now a handsome young man, he’d remained humble and kind despite all the accolades heaped on him for his athletic ability. He still played football, basketball, and ran track. He loved baseball too, but Gallatin High didn’t have a team. He even won a state tennis championship, even though he had never picked up a racket prior to entering the tournament. Sports and winning came naturally to Eddie.
Bo wheeled his wheelchair into the kitchen, a basketball resting in his lap. He tossed the ball to Eddie, nearly knocking over Eddie’s bowl of oatmeal, but in a last-second grab, Eddie snatched the ball away from the table. Bo ignored Delilah and Debbie’s effusive gushing over the newspaper clippings and looked directly at Eddie. “What’s the name of that forward over at Springfield? He looks pretty quick.”
“Knotts,” Eddie responded between mouthfuls of oatmeal. “Yeah, he’s quick all right. But I can keep up with him.”
“Yeah, Knotts.” Bo nodded. “He’s the guy to worry about. You guys might want to break out of the one-three-one defense and go man-to-man for a while. That way Knotts will have someone on him all the time.”
“Yep, good idea,” Eddie said, knowing full well that Coach Vradenburg was not about to run a man-to-man defense against Springfield. But Eddie also knew how much Bo enjoyed playing coach, so he didn’t contest his brother’s suggestions.
Just then, Jim Sherlin entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffeepot. “Mornin’, everyone.” He poured his coffee and looked over at Eddie. “How’s the knee?”
“Oh, not too bad, Dad. I just took a bad fall, that’s all.”
“Well, they should have called a technical foul on that Hendersonville boy who tripped you.” Jim Sherlin waved his full cup of coffee as he spoke. “He was way out of line on that one. I think his coach must have paid off the ref.”
“They don’t do that in high school basketball, Dad,” Bo said. “But that kid did deserve to be ejected.”
“Any pain in the knee?” Jim ignored Bo’s comment and looked back to Eddie.
“Naw, Dad. Really, I’m fine,” Eddie assured him.
“Okay, but if you feel anything different, be sure to let Coach Vradenburg know so he can rest ya,” Jim suggested.
“Sure will, Dad.”
“Ooh, look how nice this one came out,” Debbie said, fawning over her work on the scrapbook. “Eddie, if they don’t quit taking your picture so often, we’re going to have to get more scrapbooks. I just got all your football pictures glued in, and I’m already out of space. And I need to start putting in the photos from your senior year in basketball!” Debbie thumbed through numerous pages in the scrapbook, all filled with pictures of Eddie’s sports exploits.
“Time to go,” Jim Sherlin reported to his family, even though nobody seemed to be listening.
“Me too,” Betty said. “I have a list of contacts to visit today. I’ll probably not be home till dinner.”
The morning deejays continued in their irrepressible good humor. “Let’s get this morning poppin’ with the number-one song in the country,” Al said.
“You betcha!” Jesse said. “Here are The Archies performing their hit song, ‘Sugar, Sugar.’” The bouncy beat of bubblegum music filled the air, and as silly as it was, the song brought a smile to everyone’s faces as the Sherlin family set out to begin their days. Debbie blew on the last photo she had pasted in the scrapbook and hummed along to the music. “It’s going to be a great day!” she said aloud to herself.
13
SCHOOL BUSES DISGORGED the loads of students in front of Gallatin High School, home to nearly fourteen hundred students, almost all of whom were white. A few courageous Negro families had braved the other families’ attitudes, which ranged from indifference to contempt regarding the US Supreme Court’s decision to integrate public schools. Each year since the Court’s decision, two or three more Negroes asked for and received permission to attend Gallatin High. But the numbers were minuscule.
Inside the school, looking out his office window, high school principal Dan Herron ran his hand over his short, closely cropped hair. Now in his midfifties, Principal Herron possessed a stoic, military-like presence and exuded sternness and professionalism in all his dealings with faculty and students alike—and sometimes even at home with his wife and children. A strict disciplinarian, Herron served as an infantry officer during the Korean War. He signed on with Gallatin High School in 1963 and was a no-nonsense principal. He was probably one of the best men Gallatin could have in his position during the tumultuous years of desegregation, and especially following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Schools around the country experienced racial strife almost daily. Fights between blacks and whites, a growing gang presence in (and out of) schools, and the tension within the general population made it difficult to navigate the new policies being enforced by the federal government.
Principal Herron, a bright man with a great heart who was known for his personal integrity, possessed a genuine concern for every one of his students, regardless of their race, status, or family background. He knew the Negro students were coming to Gallatin High. The courts had already decided that. And as much as the Klan and some other outspoken critics in Gallatin kicked up dust and complained, their expressions would not thwart the integration process. Right now the school had only four or five colored students, but he knew the buses would soon be filled with them. The potential for problems and discontent was mammoth.
From his window, Principal Herron spotted Eddie Sherlin bounding up the sidewalk. Eddie walked to school every day, or, more accurately, most days he ran to school, either playing catch with a football or dribbling a basketball.
Principal Herron nodded to his vice principal, Bob Marlin, who walked into the office. “I’d take ten Eddie Sherlins any day,” the principal said. “The boy minds his manners.” He watched Eddie until he entered the school grounds and got lost in the crowd.
Once inside the school, Eddie proceeded down a hallway packed with students who were opening lockers, getting out books, and preparing for the day. Everyone seemed to know Eddie, or at least thought they did. All students knew his name even if they knew little of his personality or the motivation behind his excellent athletic career at Gallatin. Few of his fellow students ever would have dreamed that the popular Sherlin was haunted by insecurity and shyness, especially around females, who flocked to him wherever he went. Fewer yet knew that Eddie’s determination to win at sports was fueled by his desire to play for his older brother, Bo, who remained wheelchair-bound.
“Hey, Eddie.” Someone patted him on the back. “Nice game the other night. Man, you were shootin’ the eyes out of the basket.”
“Thanks,” Eddie answered quietly. “The other guys on the team did a great job.”
“We’re goin’ all the way this year, Eddie,” another kid declared. “Thanks to you!”
“I appreciate that,” Eddie said sincerely as he approached an intersection in the hallway that was clogged with students. Girls he didn’t even know rubbed shoulders with him as he attempted to move through the crowded hallway. Eddie had his head down momentarily when
the flow of students suddenly halted. He didn’t stop and bumped right into a pretty girl he recognized as a leader in the junior class. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Eddie said.
The young woman whirled around and opened her mouth as though she were about to scold whoever had bumped into her. When she saw it was Eddie, she flashed a big smile and faced him squarely. She stood close to him in the crowded hallway. “Oh, that’s okay, Eddie,” she said. “I didn’t know it was you. What’s going on?”
“Oh, er, ah, nothing’s going on.” Eddie tried in vain to get his tongue to cooperate with his brain. “I’m really sorry for bumping into you.”
The pretty girl smiled at Eddie again. “I didn’t mind a bit, Eddie. I hope you bump into me again sometime.”
“Er, yeah. I’ll try to be more careful.”
The pretty girl raised her eyebrows, tossed her hair with her hand, and veered off in a different direction.
“Smooth move.” Eddie heard the familiar voice behind him: Buddy. “That girl likes you, can’t you tell?”
“Oh, hey, Buddy.” Eddie lifted his head in a nod. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Gettin’ you through this crowd, that’s what I’m doing.” Buddy raised his hands and shouted, “Okay folks, give the man some room.” He waved his arms in front of himself and Eddie as though doing the breaststroke. “Make some room, I said,” Buddy barked. Buddy pushed aside a kid who was too slow in responding. The young man shrank back without a word. Nobody at Gallatin High dared mess with Buddy. He was one of the roughest guys on the football team. His reputation as a fighter was well known, and his self-appointed role as Eddie’s main man, best friend, and bodyguard was also common knowledge among Gallatin students and local Green Wave fans.
“Buddy, you really don’t have to do that, ya know,” Eddie said.
Buddy ignored the comment and surged forward into the mass of humanity. The crowd of students parted like the Red Sea, and Eddie made his way up the hall on clear, dry ground and with little interference. Buddy shoved another boy out of the way, but mostly he simply glared at the students and they moved off to the side, making way for him and Eddie to pass. Other students called out greetings to Eddie as they moved through the hall. A few even said hello to Buddy.
Finally, they reached Eddie’s locker, and Buddy stood guard as Eddie reached up and pulled out a notebook and several textbooks. Buddy laughed when he saw Eddie loading up on academic materials. “Ha, what are you going to do with them? Are you planning on using them for a stepladder or something?”
“Hey, I study . . .” Eddie feigned a hurt expression. “Sometimes.”
“Yeah, right. About as much as I do, probably less.”
“Definitely less.”
“How’s your knee doing?”
“Not bad.” Eddie instinctively rubbed the spot on his knee that had slammed onto the floor during the last game.
“You took a bad tumble,” Buddy said. “When that guy tripped you, I was ready to come out of the stands and deck him!”
“Oh, no, Buddy. Don’t do that. We’d both get thrown out of the game,” Eddie said and laughed.
“Well, that was a dirty move he pulled.”
“Yeah, I know. But you know what they say: the guy who swings back is the one the referee always sees.”
“The whole gym saw that kid trip you. Everyone but the ref saw it.”
“Well, it worked out okay. I didn’t get hurt, and we won the game.”
“Yeah, but we could have lost the season had you gone down and stayed down. Did you ice your knee yesterday?”
“Sure did. For a couple of hours. The swelling—”
Dewey Daniels, another Gallatin student, poked his nose in between Eddie and Buddy. “Hey, Eddie, great game the other night.”
“Ah, thanks.”
“Man, you had a hot hand in the second half, and that one shot you made from the top of the key—”
“Hey!” Buddy bellowed. “Dewey! Can’t you see that Eddie and I are talking? We are engaging in an important, high-level conversation with crucial ramifications.”
Eddie smiled but said nothing. He always loved it when Buddy tried to talk above his raisin’. Sometimes Buddy misused real words, sometimes he made up his own smart-sounding words, and sometimes, like now, he just took on that academic tone that was almost as foreign to Buddy as French class was to Eddie.
“I . . . er, I . . .” Dewey stammered. “I just wanted to say it was a great—”
Buddy waved his hand in a chopping motion that cut off Dewey’s words midsentence. “Are you a moron or what? Can’t you see that we are talking?”
“Well, I, er . . . well, yeah, I guess, I mean—”
“CAN’T. YOU. SEE?” Buddy roared at Dewey.
“Yeah, sure. Sorry, Buddy. Sorry, Eddie.”
“It’s too late for sorry,” Buddy said, balling his fist. “Sorry is okay the first time, but after two or three times, ‘sorry’ just ain’t enough.” Buddy smacked his fist against his hand.
Dewey backed away several feet.
“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Eddie said to Buddy. “It’s okay. We’re all friends here, remember?” He turned to Dewey. “I appreciate your comments. Thanks, Dewey.” Eddie turned back to Buddy. “Calm down, Buddy. You’re going to get us both in trouble one of these days.”
“Ahem!”
Eddie, Buddy, and Dewey turned toward the gravelly sound of a man clearing his throat. There, planted in the middle of the corridor, was the imposing figure of Principal Herron. Hands on hips, he stared at the three boys as other students flowed by him in both directions, careful not to bump into him or draw his attention their way.
“Time for class, boys,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, sir. Good morning, sir,” Dewey said as he hurried around the principal’s left side. Buddy hugged the side of the hall as he and Eddie walked by Principal Herron on his right side. “Keep it down, Buddy,” the principal grunted.
“Yes, sir. Sure will.”
“Nice game.” Principal Herron turned slightly and looked at Eddie as he passed by, close to the principal.
“Thank you, sir.” Eddie nodded toward Principal Herron.
“What do you have there?” The principal pointed to a hall pass Eddie had in his hand. Eddie dutifully presented the pass to Principal Herron.
The principal read the pass and scowled. He was not fond of his student athletes skipping study hall, but the pass had been legitimately signed by one of Eddie’s teachers. “Hmmph,” Principal Herron grunted, handing the pass back to Eddie. “Make sure you keep up with your studies, Eddie.”
“Yes, sir. I sure will.”
Rather than heading to first-period study hall—a highly valued gift for most students who liked to do last-minute cramming before tests—Eddie journeyed toward the gym to practice shooting foul shots. For the star basketball player, school was a breeze.
14
“BILL! TYREE! DELORES! Come on, let’s get moving,” Anna Ligon called upstairs to her three children. “No dawdling, now. We must be on time for school.”
“We’re coming, Mom,” Tyree said. “What’s the rush?”
“I’ll tell you what the rush is. You kids need to set the example for the other students. If the teacher’s kids aren’t on time for school, why should anyone else bother? Now, get the lead out of your shoes, and let’s get going!”
“Yes, Mama,” Tyree said.
Bill had been listening to the radio as he gazed into the bathroom mirror, struggling to get his growing Afro haircut to look uniform all the way around his head. “I’m comin’, Ty. Be right there.”
The voice of Johnny Rocket, the suave deejay at WLAC-AM radio in Nashville, caught Bill’s attention. “It’s Johnny R. here at WLAC, playing the real stuff, all the R&B hits from the past and the present. Here’s one you may recognize from Marvin Gaye.” The deejay began spinning Gaye’s Motown hit “I Heard It through the Grapevine” quietly behind his voice.
“Marv
in had a number-one hit with this song. But did you know that a full year before Marvin Gaye recorded ‘Grapevine,’ Gladys Knight and the Pips put out the song, and it went all the way to the top of Billboard’s R&B charts, landing at number one? That’s right, Gladys Knight and the Pips had the original hit on this song in 1967, and then Marvin came along and made it a hit again a year later. This is Johnny Rocket tellin’ ya the truth. I won’t lead ya astray. Keep your ear right here.” The deejay then brought up the sound on the Marvin Gaye version of the song.
Bill fluffed his hair in disgust one more time. It was simply too short to rival the Afro styles he’d seen in some magazines, but he liked the look he was developing.
All three Ligon children loaded into Anna’s station wagon and rode the short distance to Union High School, where Anna now taught home economics as well as language arts.
Union High School opened in 1922. It was built largely with Rosenwald funds and matching dollars put up by Julius Rosenwald, the white son of a German-Jewish immigrant. He was a clothier by trade who rose to become the president and part-owner of Sears, Roebuck, and Company. When approached by Booker T. Washington about helping to build schools for Negroes in rural America, Rosenwald agreed to assist.
The “new” part of the building in which Anna taught and all the Ligon children attended classes opened in 1951. Hardly any improvements or upgrades had been made to the building in the nearly two decades Anna had been teaching at Union, but the school remained a vital part of community life.
Indeed, for most black people living in Gallatin during the 1960s, life revolved around two main focal points—church and school. They were the two safest places to congregate. Consequently, Union High hosted activities all the time. Music and athletic programs dominated the schedule. A rehearsal, a recital, a dance, a play—something was always happening at the school.
Union’s budget, however, barely covered basic necessities and didn’t allow for luxuries. That exasperated many of the school’s teachers, especially Frank Brinkley, who complained to bandleader George Offitt one day. “It’s maddening that most of the books we use at Union are hand-me-downs from Gallatin High. If a book was discontinued at the white school, why is it still regarded as ‘good enough’ to be used at the Negro school?”
