by Ken Abraham
“My pleasure, ma’am.” Eddie waved and hustled over to Missy, who was standing, arms across her chest, obviously not happy.
“You missed them singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me.”
“Sorry about that.”
“And what are you doing out here in the kitchen with the help?” she said loudly enough for Anna to hear, before she closed the kitchen door behind them and pulled Eddie toward the living room.
“Ah, there’s our princess!” Charles Hamilton Sr. said. “Let’s gather around.”
For the next forty-five minutes, Missy sat in the middle of the room and opened expensive birthday gifts given to her by the attendees. She moved from one gift to another, barely acknowledging the givers, always looking for the next present, which her mother quickly handed to her. When the last present was unwrapped, Mr. Hamilton put his arm around Missy’s shoulder. “And there is one more. Let’s count it down everyone! Ten, nine . . . eight . . .” As the crowd joined in the countdown, Mr. Hamilton placed a blindfold over Missy’s eyes and led her to the French doors at the back of the living room. He opened the doors that led to the backyard and swimming pool area.
Mr. Hamilton and Missy stepped outside, followed by the crowd.
“. . . three . . . two . . . one!” The crowd cheered in approval. Mr. Hamilton removed the blindfold from his daughter’s eyes. Missy blinked and then saw what all the fuss was about. Sitting out on the back lawn was a brand-new red Corvette convertible.
Missy forgot Eddie was even there. She rushed out with the crowd to admire her birthday present, opening the driver’s side door and slipping inside the convertible, her hands caressing the steering wheel and luxurious leather seats and turning the radio on full blast.
Standing in the doorway, Eddie watched Missy as the college boys surrounded her, all gushing over her new car. Eddie looked down at the tiny present in his hands that he had wrapped in used birthday paper. He palmed the gift and inconspicuously slid it back into his pocket, then headed for the front door.
Late that night, Anna Ligon, weary from a long day at school and then serving at the party, entered her home and tossed her sweater on a chair. She was physically exhausted, but she couldn’t repress a smile when she saw Roy Jackson asleep on the couch, his school books and notepaper spread out on the floor.
Maybe there’s hope, after all, she thought.
Anna peeked into the boys’ bedroom. Tyree was asleep, but Bill was still awake, reading a book in his bed.
He looked up at his mom. “How’d it go?”
“Oh, fine. Did you boys eat?”
“We had some chicken over at the Drive-In.”
“Okay. Don’t stay up reading too late. Good night, Bill.”
“Yeah, ’night, Mom.”
Anna moved to go to her room but turned back toward Bill. “Oh, guess who I saw this evening at the big party over at the Hamiltons’?”
Bill shrugged. “Could be anybody, I guess. Anybody white, that is.”
Anna ignored Bill’s caustic remark. “Eddie. I had a nice conversation with Eddie Sherlin.”
“Eddie?” Bill raised his eyebrows, suddenly interested.
“Yes, Eddie. And he said to say hello to you.”
“You talked to Eddie Sherlin at the Hamiltons’ hoity-toity party?”
Anna smiled. “Yes, I did.”
“Really? Where? Where did you see him?”
“I was doing dishes in the kitchen when he came in. We had a delightful conversation. We talked for quite a while, actually. He’s still a kind, sweet boy. He said to wish you luck in the semifinals. I thought that was nice of him.”
“Yeah, real nice,” Bill said sarcastically.
“Bill! I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“Mom, I don’t care about that high school stuff anymore. As far as I’m concerned, I’m outta here, already.”
Anna sighed. “What are you talking about, Bill Ligon? You still have several months of high school remaining. And, yes, you’ve had some good scholarship offers, but if you don’t finish well, those can disappear.”
“Ain’t nothing gonna disappear but me. A few months from now, I’ll be at Princeton or Vanderbilt. I just don’t understand why you want to lower yourself to be a servant at a party for a bunch of white folks. Haven’t you heard that slavery ended a long time ago? Don’t you know that half the crackers there are lookin’ down at you, and the other half of them are sending nasty letters to Vanderbilt because they’re mad that a colored kid can get in but their kids can’t?”
Anna’s eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t you use that sort of language around me, young man. And what are you so angry about, Bill?”
“I’ll tell you what bugs me. It bugs me that you are lowering yourself. Why are you working as a maid? You ain’t no maid; you’re a schoolteacher. I know we can always use some extra money, but we get by okay without you allowing them to turn you into slave labor.”
“It has nothing to do with money, Bill. Certainly, we need the money, with you graduating this year and Tyree and Delores coming along right behind you. But my working the Hamilton party was not for the money. Naomi needed the help. Like I told you, it was a big party.”
“Well, if Naomi needed help, she should have hired herself some other maids, not a respected teacher who has a good brain and plenty of skills.”
“Now, you listen to me, William Ligon.” Anna stepped into the room and stood over Bill’s bed, her hands on her hips. “You may have the right to be angry about the way things are in this town. We know there is still a long way to go before the races achieve real equality. But deep down, everybody is the same—white or colored. It is how we treat one another that matters. So while you may have the right to be angry at the status quo, you do not have the right to hate anyone. And you will never have the right to be disrespectful or mean to me. Not in this house. And not toward my friends, such as Naomi. Do you hear me? Do you understand me, William?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bill, having been properly chastised, put down his book and shrank lower below the sheets. Anna twirled on her heel and left the room. Bill glanced over at Tyree, who had been pretending to be asleep.
Tyree opened his eyes and smiled. “I guess Mom told you, big brother.”
“Aw, shut up and go back to sleep,” Bill responded. Tyree chuckled and turned over.
Bill stewed in what he knew to be the truth of his mom’s rebuke.
20
THE DAY OF THE SEMIFINALS, Gallatin was buzzing. Jesse and Al held court on WHIN, and they could barely contain their enthusiasm. “The division semifinals in high school basketball feature two—count ’em!—two Gallatin teams playing tonight in Springfield,” Jesse exuded. “It is unheard of that two teams from the same town should be so prominent in the playoffs, but here we are!”
“Yes, indeed, Jesse,” Al jumped in. “The Green Wave should have it relatively easy against Springfield, since they defeated them earlier in the season by nineteen points, but that might just inspire the Springfield boys to get some revenge. It is sure to be a great game!”
“That’s right, Al. And Union could have their hands full with Westmoreland, as well, simply because they don’t have any idea what to expect. The Devils haven’t played against them in the regular season.”
“Ha, you mean, Westmoreland wouldn’t play them,” Al said. “That’s more like it. Nobody wants to play Union on their home court. A couple of those fellows in the front court at Union could probably start for most major colleges.”
About that same time, in Gallatin High School, Eddie was taking a history test. He was completely unprepared, since he hadn’t studied for the test and had read no more than a few assignments. Most of Eddie’s teachers made allowances for him, even if he didn’t do the work in their classes.
Even on test day, the teacher administering the test was excessively gracious. As Eddie attempted to answer the multiple-choice questions, the teacher gazed over his shoulder. “Now, Eddie, you know that is
n’t right,” the teacher whispered when he saw Eddie’s answer.
Eddie moved his pencil to the next multiple-choice selection, stopping momentarily until he noticed the teacher shaking his head slightly. He skipped that answer and moved on to the final two of four choices. The teacher walked on, knowing that now Eddie had a fifty-fifty chance of getting the answer correct.
Over at Union, Bill and Roy were concentrating deeply, immersed in their math test. Roy looked confused about several answers, but to Bill, a National Merit Scholar, the test was a breeze. He easily worked down the page, finishing well ahead of Roy. Bill glanced over at Roy, who was still poring over the test paper. With nothing left to do, Bill leaned back and stretched, letting his mind roam to the semifinals game against Westmoreland.
On the radio, Al and Jesse were still bantering. “I have a question for you, Jesse.”
“Okay, Al. Fire away.”
“Gallatin and Union are both in the semifinals.”
“That’s right.”
“So what if both Gallatin and Union win their games? You know Union has always wanted to play Gallatin. They’ve had a few informal scrimmages over the years, but they’ve never competed in a regulation game against each other. This could set up one of the biggest athletic contests in sports history in this part of the country.”
“Whew, oh, Nellie!” Jesse blurted. “This could be the biggest thing to hit Gallatin since the Underground Railroad!”
In the Gallatin High School administrative office, Principal Herron sat stiffly, staring across his desk at Terry Poster and his father, Reginald, a man in his midfifties, whom the principal knew to be involved in Ku Klux Klan meetings out near Lock Four Road on Old Hickory Lake. Rumor had it that the senior Poster had participated in several KKK cross burnings in attempts to intimidate the local Negro population. Slumped in his chair, Terry’s father was making it clear through his body language that he felt greatly inconvenienced by the mandatory meeting with the principal.
Principal Herron, however, was determined to address the issues posed by Terry’s repeated racial slurs and his harassment of Negroes, the most recent involving Jepthah Swank and Leah Rogan. The principal began kindly but firmly with Terry’s father.
“Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Poster. I don’t like pulling you away from your workplace, but I thought it was important for us to speak face-to-face.”
Poster didn’t say anything in regard to the principal’s comments. His son, Terry, smirked as though implying that no matter what Herron said, it was going in one ear and out the other.
Ignoring the tone the Posters set, Principal Herron pushed on with his own comments. “Recently, I witnessed another incident in which your son, Terry, was harassing some Negro students here at Gallatin High School. We do not tolerate such conduct.”
Principal Herron leaned forward. “Mr. Poster, this is your and Terry’s second warning. If we have to address this issue again, Terry will be suspended from school for at least a week. If your son commits any additional infractions, he will be expelled from our school for good. Any questions?”
Reginald Poster stared back at Principal Herron without saying a word. Following his father’s example, Terry maintained his snarly smirk, clearly indicating to the principal that this meeting was useless.
After a long few moments of holding the principal’s gaze, Terry’s father finally spoke. “That it?”
Principal Herron scowled. “Yes, that’s it.”
Poster glared at the principal, got up, and walked toward the door without uttering another word. Terry sneered, clearly proud of the way his dad had put the principal in his place.
“Oh, one more thing,” Principal Herron said, just as Poster reached for the doorknob. The principal looked at Terry. “Thank you, Terry, you can go. My secretary will issue a hall pass for you to return to your class.”
Terry didn’t move. Instead, he looked to his dad for instructions. The older Poster nodded toward the door, and Terry made a hasty exit, though not before putting a hand on his dad’s arm. “See ya later, Dad.” Then turning so Herron could clearly see and hear him, Terry said, “I’ll meet ya down by Lock Four later this evening.” The boy flashed a devious grin and went out the door.
Principal Herron caught Terry’s intent but ignored it. Instead, he turned to Terry’s father. “Have you ever been in the military, Mr. Poster?”
“No,” Poster snarled.
“I didn’t think so.” Herron paused momentarily, and looked directly at Poster. “I was a colonel. In the infantry. Sometimes orders came down from the top, and we may not have liked them. Might not have even agreed with them. But that didn’t matter. We carried them out. Why? Because that’s what the legal authorities governing our actions demanded.”
Mr. Herron paused again and glared hard at Poster. “Frankly, Mr. Poster, I don’t care what you think or what you like. You may have certain political opinions contrary to mine. I don’t care. Who you like and who you don’t? Not my concern. What you and your racist friends do outside of this school is cowardly and abhorrently offensive to me, but your actions and those of your son are outside my jurisdiction once you are off this school property.” Herron leaned farther forward.
“But here at Gallatin High, I am in charge. I am a man under authority, and I have been given my orders by my superiors, which I plan to carry out—without incident. Now, I would advise you to talk with your son, because if he so much as looks sideways at one of the colored students in our school, I am going to hold you personally responsible.”
Poster said nothing but continued staring coldly at Herron. After a moment, Principal Herron turned his gaze toward some papers on his desk in front of him. Then he looked up at Poster. “Dismissed,” he said firmly.
Poster’s anger flared. He clenched his fists and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Principal Herron watched through his office window, spotting Terry standing outside, an idiotic smile on his face. Terry’s father grabbed him by the shoulder and led him out the hallway a few steps away, then stopped suddenly. He turned to Terry and slapped him viciously across his face. Poster marched out of the school and down the sidewalk, leaving his son rubbing his face. The imprint of his father’s hand on Terry’s skin turned red immediately, although it was difficult to tell because Terry’s face was also red with embarrassment. He glared back toward Principal Herron’s office, when he made eye contact with the principal. It was apparent he had witnessed the slap. “You’ll get yours,” Terry mouthed before turning and walking away.
About that same time, over at Union High School, stress of a different sort was mounting. Joe Malone looked through the window of a classroom door and saw the math teacher grading a paper at her desk. Sitting alone at a student desk in the middle of the classroom was Roy Jackson. A worried look flashed across Joe’s face as he noticed Roy’s despondent expression. Roy slumped further in his seat as he awaited his grade.
Bill sat reading a book on the stairs out in the hallway while Joe kept him apprised of what was happening in the classroom. Joe shook his head. This did not look good. If Roy didn’t pass this test, then he would not play in that night’s semifinals game against Westmoreland. The team needed Roy on the court.
Bill looked up at Joe. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Nuthin’ at all,” Joe said. “He’s just sittin’ there, lookin’ mad. Wait. Wait a second.” Joe pressed his face against the glass. “We got some action.”
Bill bounded to his feet and joined Joe at the window. They spotted Roy walking toward the teacher’s desk. The teacher seemed expressionless as she handed Roy his paper. He looked down at it, equally emotionless. He said something Bill and Joe couldn’t make out and then turned and walked toward the door, the guys outside still unable to interpret his expression.
Roy opened the door, nearly bumping right into Bill and Joe. He looked up, slightly surprised, then broke into a broad smile. “I passed!”
Roy hel
d up his paper so his friends could see it. A bright red D+ was scrawled at the top of the test paper. Joe exhaled in relief, and Bill shook his head. Roy hadn’t passed by much, but he hadn’t failed. Bill took that as a good sign.
Somewhere in the distance, the Union band was playing the James Brown hit “I Feel Good.”
21
SPECTATORS POURED into the Springfield High School gymnasium as soon as the doors opened, each person excited to witness the 1970 District Twenty semifinals, as Gallatin faced off against Springfield and Union battled Westmoreland High. Cars and buses from all four schools crowded the parking lot as people hurried inside to grab the best seats. Union, whose fans sat together in a cluster on the far side of the bleachers, was the only Negro school.
WHIN was broadcasting the games, and Jesse and Al were seated at half-court behind a table, along with the scorekeepers. “Good evening, everyone,” Jesse said, staying close to the microphone so he could be heard over the din. “Welcome to the Sumner County high school divisional semifinal basketball games. Tonight, you can hear both games right here on your hometown radio station, so don’t touch that dial. I’m Jesse—”
“And I’m Al, and we have a couple of humdingers for you tonight, with Eddie Sherlin and the undefeated Gallatin Green Wave against the twice-beaten Springfield High School Yellow Jackets. But Springfield has home-court advantage, so who knows what might happen.”
In the background, Eddie and his teammates were going through their pregame warm-up, doing layup drills with perfect precision on one side of the court, while the Springfield players, dressed in their bright black-and-gold warm-up outfits, tried to ignore the Green Wave and concentrate on their own routines. It wasn’t working.
Al continued with his pregame commentary. “And then the nightcap pits Westmoreland High—with only one loss—against the mighty Devils of Union High School, also from Gallatin. It is really unusual having two teams from the same town in the semifinals, but here we are. What a night it is going to be!”
