by Ken Abraham
Bo tried to rise up out of his wheelchair as they neared the door. “I’m not done!” he yelled. “I’m not finished.”
“We’ll finish later, Bo,” Eddie said, still aiming toward the door.
“These people want to hear me!”
“Some other time, Bo.”
Bo angrily attempted to jerk his wheelchair out of Eddie’s grasp. Eddie was too strong for that, but the chair banged into another table, sending the silverware and more condiments onto the floor.
It was now Eddie’s turn to get mad. He whipped his brother’s wheelchair around 180 degrees on the spot and pulled Bo out the door backward, with Bo still screaming. “I get to have some fun too, you know. I’m Bo Sherlin, after all.” Bo was still hollering as the door shut behind him.
Eddie wheeled the chair over to the car and then manipulated Bo into the front seat. He folded the wheelchair and placed it in the trunk. After climbing into the driver’s side, he slammed the door shut. For several seconds, Eddie leaned his head on the steering wheel, not starting the car, not saying a word to Bo. Finally, he sat up, sighed heavily, and turned the ignition key. The two Sherlin brothers rode in silence most of the way home, with Eddie staring straight ahead at the highway and Bo leaning his head against the passenger’s side window. Just before Eddie turned the car down the road toward their house, Bo raised his head.
“Eddie.”
“Yeah, Bo.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Bo turned and looked at his brother in the dark. He was the same in the dark as he was under the bright lights. Tears filled Bo’s eyes and trickled down his face.
Eddie reached over and grabbed Bo’s forearm. Bo couldn’t see them, but Eddie’s eyes had welled with tears too.
18
THE AFTERNOON of Missy Hamilton’s birthday party, Anna Ligon hurried home from teaching at Union High School to change clothes and iron the white, heavily starched blouse and dark-colored skirt she would wear to the party. Not that she had been invited. No, nary a chance of a colored person being a guest at a party thrown by one of the most affluent white families in the South. But Anna’s friend Naomi had called the day before to ask a favor.
“Miss Anna, I’m working the birthday party at the Hamiltons’ on Friday night, and I am a bit shorthanded. They have their own butlers and maids, but they’ve also hired Mr. Cox and our team to help with the serving duties, making sure everyone’s drinks are filled, picking up empty glasses, washing dishes, emptying the garbage, and the likes.”
“That sounds like a lot of work, Naomi,” Anna said.
“It certainly is. And we could use a few extra hands. Would you be willing to help me out? Mr. Cox pays real good, and you can even eat dinner at the party—there will be gobs of food—and you will probably be home before midnight.”
“Well, I don’t know. That is a school day, and I will have already worked a lot this week.”
“Oh, please, Miss Anna. I’d be most grateful. And I know Mr. Cox would be most appreciative as well.”
“Well, okay. I’ll be glad to help you. What time do I need to be there?”
Now that Friday afternoon had come, between finishing her responsibilities at Union and rushing home to get ready, Anna was wondering if she had made a mistake. But Naomi was a good friend, and the extra money might cover a few expenses necessary for Bill’s graduation.
Bill and his friend and teammate Roy Jackson were already there when Anna arrived home. She greeted the boys and quickly set about putting up her ironing board. Bill was reading The Militant, a newspaper focused on racial equality issues, while he watched over Roy, who was struggling through his math assignments.
Anna hurried around the house getting her “serving clothes” ready. “Bill, honey, I’m going to have to leave in a few minutes. I’m working tonight, helping Naomi. Delores can get you boys something to eat.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Mom,” Bill said. “Roy and I are going to the Drive-In later on . . . after he finishes his math homework,” Bill emphasized.
Roy looked up and shrugged. Anna smiled. She was glad Roy was trying, whether or not he got to play basketball. She busied herself ironing her clothes for the party. Just about the time Anna put a firm crease in the sleeve of the white blouse, she heard a loud knock at the front door.
Seeing his opportunity to escape his taskmaster of a tutor, Roy bounded to his feet. “I’ll get it, Mrs. Ligon.”
Bill didn’t even look up from his newspaper. “Sit down.” Roy sighed and bent over his math assignment again.
“I’ll get it, Ma,” Bill called. He gave Roy a steadying glance before going over to the door and opening it.
Bill recognized the tall, lean frame of Robert Klein, head basketball coach at Austin Peay State University, located in Clarksville, about an hour north of Nashville.
Bill turned and looked behind him. “Keep at it, Roy. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside, meeting Robert Klein on the porch. “Hello, Mr. Klein. How are you?”
“Hi, Bill. How’s it goin’? How’s my favorite center?”
Bill smiled at Mr. Klein’s smooth pitch. “Oh, I’m all right.”
“Are you boys ready for the big game? Semifinals, that’s hot stuff.”
“We’re ready. I know they’re tough, but we’re gonna put up a good fight.”
“I know you will. Bill, I heard you went up to Princeton recently. How’d that go? Personal escort by Bill Bradley. That’s impressive. The man could shoot a set shot, that’s for sure. Now he’s playing for the Knicks and talking a lot about politics. But a good fellow.”
“Yeah, Princeton was great,” Bill said. “Not sure I’d want to be there in the wintertime. It was cold in the late summer when I visited. Plus, basketball isn’t all that important to them. You know they don’t scholarship their athletes directly. You gotta get into the school academically before they’ll take a look at you on the court.”
“Well, you being a Merit Scholar should take care of that,” Mr. Klein said.
“Yeah, they were nice to me. Made me feel real welcome.”
“We’d make you feel real welcome at Austin Peay, Bill. I know we can’t compete with the major universities you are looking at, but you could be a standout star at Austin Peay, and who knows where you might go from there. I know you are a Detroit Pistons fan, and I could easily see you getting a tryout with them.”
“Thank you, Mr. Klein. I appreciate that,” Bill said sincerely.
“I know there’s not much we can offer you compared to the big boys, but you could go to school for free. Wouldn’t cost your mama a red dime.”
“Yes, sir, that is an advantage—”
“And I tell you, Bill. You’d be the biggest star to ever hit our school. We don’t get many top nationally ranked recruits up in Clarksville. We’re not exactly Los Angeles or Chicago or New York. But I’d hate to see you get caught up in the crowd at one of those big schools when you could be Mr. Everything right here at home. And your mom and your brother and sister could drive up occasionally to see you play.”
“I know, I know, Mr. Klein . . . and I appreciate your generosity—”
“We have a strong basketball program, Bill.”
“Yes, sir. You do have a good program, Mr. Klein. I’ve seen your team play, and you’re a great coach. No doubt. And I’m grateful for your interest in me.” Bill paused and took a deep breath. “But I have to be honest with you. Going to college in another small town after growing up in Gallatin just doesn’t have much appeal to me. Don’t get me wrong. Clarksville is a nice place. We stopped there a couple of times on the way to visit my aunt. And I have to tell ya, compared to Gallatin, Clarksville is downright progressive!”
Both Mr. Klein and Bill laughed, since both rural communities were anything but progressive. Indeed, Gallatin’s recalcitrance in the face of government-mandated integration was widely known.
Bill continued. “We know things are supposed to be changin’
around about these parts, but these little towns . . . it’s gonna take a while. Right now they don’t seem as if they are ever going to change, you follow me? And frankly, Mr. Klein, I can’t imagine what it would take to ever stimulate real change around here regarding racial matters.”
“I understand, Bill. But keep us on your list. We’re interested. Very interested.”
“I sure do thank you, Mr. Klein. But in all honesty, if basketball can get me out of these small-town attitudes, I want to get as far away from them as possible.”
Bill shook hands with Mr. Klein and walked back inside the house.
Anna had finished ironing her blouse and was in the other room changing clothes. Roy looked up from the math assignment with which he was struggling. “What was that all about?” Roy asked.
“Nuthin’,” Bill said. “Nuthin’ at all.”
19
EDDIE WALKED INTO DON SAVAGE’S pawn shop and over to the glass cabinets containing gold chains. He peered through the glass panes at the various diamonds and other precious gems in the display. Wow! He had never seen so many pretty, sparkling things in one place.
“Are you looking for something special, son?” the elderly Savage asked. He’d recognized Eddie as soon as he entered the store. Don had been in the pawn business for more than forty-five years. He’d sold diamonds, guns, guitars—lots of guitars—fancy ink pens, and plenty of gold bracelets and necklaces, but he still got a kick out of the young people who came into his shop looking for just the right gift for their high school sweethearts. It wasn’t always easy—especially on the kids’ limited budgets—but Don did his best, and most of the time he was able to help them find something special within their price ranges.
“Yes, sir,” Eddie answered. “I am.” He held up his class ring so Don could see it. “I’m looking for a nice chain so my girlfriend can wear my ring around her neck.”
Don’s eyes lit up. “Oh, she must be a special lady.”
“Yeah, she kinda is.”
“Well, then, I have just the piece you will want.” Don slid an array of ultrathin twenty-four-carat gold chains out of his display case. “How about this one, right here?” the old gentleman asked.
“Wow, Mr. Savage. That is beautiful. I’m not sure I can afford it though.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you can,” Don said. “How much money do you have?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Well, this is your lucky day, Eddie. This lovely chain here will make a mighty fine necklace when you run it through your class ring, and it so happens that it requires only a ten-dollar down payment. You can pay me the rest when you get it.” Don smiled at Eddie. “Just make sure you beat Springfield or the price doubles!”
“Oh, wow. Okay, Mr. Savage,” Eddie said, passing ten one-dollar bills across the counter. “How much did you say the gold chain costs?”
“We’ll figure that out later, Eddie. You take good care of that girl of yours.”
“Yes, sir! I will.”
“And keep your eye on that left forward from Springfield. That kid is a fast one.”
“Yes, sir. I sure will. Thank you, Mr. Savage.” Eddie hurried out the door with a wave. People in Gallatin are so nice to me, he thought.
Later that day, Eddie stopped by Bob White’s barbershop. He wanted his hair short for the upcoming play-off games and also to look his best at Missy’s party. He was getting genuinely excited about attending the party, even though the thought of being at her house with all those people seemed rather daunting. He much preferred mingling in smaller groups rather than in large groups like he’d find at the sort of parties Missy’s family threw.
After the barber had worked on Eddie’s hair for a while, he turned Eddie around to face the mirror and get his opinion.
“How’s that looking to you, Eddie?” the barber asked.
“Just a little more off the top, Mr. White. I don’t want any hair in my eyes this week.”
“No danger of that,” Mr. White responded as he trimmed Eddie’s already short hair above his forehead. Just as the barber’s scissors moved precariously around Eddie’s ears, the shop door opened, and a teenage girl leaned in and snapped a Polaroid photo of Eddie sitting in the barber’s chair.
“Delilah!” Eddie called out in surprise. “What in the world are you doing?”
“Just working on my business plan,” Eddie’s sister said. “Hurry, Debbie, don’t let that hair go to waste.” Catlike, Debbie slipped into the barbershop and got down on her hands and knees. Crawling around the floor, she swept up the hair clippings below Eddie’s chair and deposited them into a plastic bag. “Oooh, this piece should sell easily,” she said, holding up a longer strand of Eddie’s hair.
“Oh, come on,” Eddie moaned. “You are taking this too far.”
“We’ll see!” Debbie beamed. “You don’t realize how popular you are, Eddie. But we do. We hear the girls talking about you at school all the time.”
“Oh my!” Eddie looked to Mr. White for help.
The barber shrugged and grinned. “What are you going to do, Eddie? When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”
“Thanks a lot, Mr. White.”
Eddie hurried home and dug around in his closet until he found his best dress pants. He hadn’t worn them for several years and the waist still fit him perfectly, but he had grown several inches, so the slacks now looked like the high-water pants Huckleberry Finn might have worn to go fishing. Well, that will never do, Eddie thought. “Mom!”
He took the trousers to Betty and explained the problem. “And you are going to wear these to a party tonight? At the Hamiltons’ home?” Betty asked. “Let’s see what we can do. Get up on that kitchen chair, and I’ll try to let out the seam on the cuffs.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Eddie said, hopping onto the chair. He felt a bit silly standing there wearing a T-shirt and too-short dress pants, but hopefully his mom could save the day. He didn’t have the time or money to buy a new pair of pants. And he knew better than to ask his mom or dad for any cash.
“Oh, dear,” Betty said. She seemed upset. “This won’t work.”
Eddie looked down at his mother, who was bent over, tugging at the fabric, trying to pull it down far enough to cover his ankles.
“At least you could have given me some warning!” she huffed.
“Sorry, Mom.”
Just then, Jim Sherlin came in from work, looking tired and frazzled, but he seemed amused at the sight that greeted him in the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing much. Your son is going to a party at the Hamiltons’ home tonight, and his dress pants are three sizes too small.” Betty tried in vain to smooth out the extra crease at the bottom of Eddie’s dress pants. “I’ll iron them while you shower,” she said. She looked up at Jim. “He’ll need to wear your sports jacket. Sounds like it is a formal party.”
Jim cocked his head when he saw Eddie’s ankles. He looked up at Eddie and then back down to the pants legs, smiled hopelessly, and shook his head. “That looks ridiculous.”
“It’s the best I could do,” Betty said apologetically. “He just now told me about the party. Can you please just get the jacket?”
“I guess so,” Jim said.
“Okay, now take these off so I can press the cuff,” Betty instructed. Eddie slipped out of the pants and hurried to his room in his T-shirt, underwear, and socks, carrying his tennis shoes in one hand. His room was tiny, but he had still found space on the dresser to display some of his trophies. Several pictures of Eddie in his football and basketball uniforms decorated the walls, and one very special photo of him and Bo out back at the old house, after they had been shooting baskets, was prominently displayed on the dresser.
Eddie tossed the shoes under the bed and then hustled down the short hall to the bathroom. He pitched his remaining clothes into the hamper and hopped into the shower, lathering up with the rough lye soap his mom made. After a quick shower, he grabbed a towel. Still drying off, Eddie hurried back
to his room to get dressed. Just as he opened the door and stepped inside, he heard a chorus of girls screaming. Startled, Eddie looked up, still holding his towel around his body.
Outside his bedroom window, Delilah, Debbie, and several other freshman and sophomore girls were jumping up and down, giggling and squealing with delight. Eddie, realizing the girls were staring and laughing at him, let out a yell. “Debbie! Delilah!” He clutched the towel to his naked body. “Mommmm!”
Eddie reached for the window shade in an attempt to close it but pulled too hard, sending the entire blind crashing to the floor. The girls outside the window looked on, first in shock, and then in absolute glee as Eddie fumbled around the room, trying to cover himself and get out of view.
Delilah’s businesswoman instincts kicked in. Immediately, she produced a small plastic bag with a lock of Eddie’s recently shorn hair. “This hair, only a few hours ago, was on the head of superstar Eddie Sherlin,” she announced. “Girls, this is a rare treasure, worth a lot of money, but since you are now some of Eddie’s most intimate fans, I’m willing to give you a special deal . . .”
Eddie was rescued by his mother who delivered his freshly pressed pants. He knew that even wearing his best clothes, he’d still be one of the most poorly attired people at the party, but Missy wanted him there. That’s all that mattered to him. So he got dressed in what he had on hand. He even found time to wrap Missy’s birthday present in pretty giftwrapping left over from Delilah’s birthday, and he painstakingly attempted to piece together the shiny, slightly used paper in a pretty pattern.
Ready to go, he bounded into the living room. “Mom, Dad, can one of you give me a ride over to the party? Or can I take the car?”
“Hey, not bad,” Jim said, admiring Betty’s work on the trousers. “Eddie, you look pretty sharp.”
“Yes, you do,” Betty said, slipping over to give Eddie a kiss on the cheek. “You look very handsome, son.”
“Thanks, Mom. Can you give me a ride?”
