More Than Rivals

by Ken Abraham

  Bill Ligon raced from one spot on the court to another in a desperate attempt to stop Eddie. Suddenly, Union couldn’t do anything right and Gallatin could do no wrong. Thanks to Eddie’s performance, Gallatin not only pulled away, they pulled out of sight. Union was running out of time.

  As the clock ticked down, the Union players double-teamed Eddie, but he still scored. Finally, Eddie shot an impossible thirty-footer, with two guys all over him. Eddie watched the ball sail through the air as though it were moving in slow motion, the game-ending buzzer sounding the second after the ball left his hands. Swish!

  The Gallatin side of the gymnasium erupted in a thundering roar. The noise combined with the long, loud growling buzzer brought Eddie out of the zone and back to reality. Despite his teammates jumping up and down, patting him on the back, and the cheerleaders shaking their pom-poms and screaming, it took Eddie a few seconds to realize the game was over.

  Al and Jesse frantically tried to tell the story to their radio listening audience, but they couldn’t come up with enough superlatives to describe Eddie’s performance. “What an exhibition of shooting marksmanship!” Al gushed. “I mean, Eddie Sherlin just went into a zone and took over this game!”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jesse concurred. “Absolutely amazing!”

  Eddie looked up at the scoreboard. The final score read: 74 to 60. Gallatin won by fourteen points. Eddie scored twenty-seven points, nineteen of them coming in the second half, thirteen in the final quarter. He spotted his family in the bleachers: the girls were cheering wildly and his parents were smiling broadly. And Bo, from his wheelchair, was beaming like Eddie hadn’t seen him smile in a long, long time. Bo’s expression made it all worthwhile.

  Missy and the cheerleaders were ecstatic, still yelling and whooping it up. The Gallatin bleachers vibrated from the excitement of the fans. Even Terry and his racist buddies were cheering, although Terry’s cheers sounded more like taunts.

  The Union fans were crestfallen.

  The Vietnam vets had spotted Terry and his buddies, and they were spoiling for a fight.

  On the Union bench, the boys were crushed. Joe Malone hung his head, fighting back tears. Roy was angry with himself for fouling out. “If only I had been in there, maybe I could have stopped him.” But nobody really believed that. Bill covered his head and face with a towel. He didn’t want to see anything or anyone, and he didn’t want to be seen.

  Bill Bunton, the announcer, stood at the scorekeepers’ table, microphone in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a big hand to the tournament runner-up, the Union High School Devils. What a game! Give ’em a hand!”

  The Union supporters cheered madly, and even many people from the Gallatin crowd joined in, acknowledging the hard-fought efforts of the Union team. The announcer handed the microphone to Principal Malone, who thanked the team, the coaches, and the spectators for a great season. The crowd applauded halfheartedly as the principal handed the mike back to the announcer.

  “And now,” Bill Bunton said, looking out at the still turbulent crowd, “how about a big congratulations to your district tournament champions, the undefeated Gallatin High Green Wave!”

  The Gallatin crowd broke into a rambunctious cheer with loud, sustained applause and screaming by those who still had a voice. The cheerleaders kicked and jumped and rustled their pom-poms as Coach Vradenburg stood and accepted the large trophy from the district officials. Coach Vradenburg encouraged the team to stand as well, acknowledging the audience’s ebullient praise.

  The Union cheerleaders turned away in heartache, tears streaming down their faces. The Union crowd flinched at every clap and cheer from the Gallatin side, almost as if being slapped in the face. In their minds, they had lost much more than a basketball game. Many of them were terribly sad; some were downright angry and belligerent. Others turned their backs on the celebration.

  In the gymnasium, as well as in the parking lots outside, the police were on high alert, watching for unruly behavior or anything that might precipitate violence or destruction of property. The authorities were mindful of the Molotov cocktails, burning crosses, and fires that had destroyed thousands of dollars’ worth of property in the recent past. “And now,” the announcer called out above the noise.

  “It’s time for the all-tournament team. These boys are the best of the best. As I call your names, fellows, please come to center court so we can let you know how much we appreciate you.” The announcer paused and looked over at the team benches—one jubilant and one devastated.

  “The first player on the all-tournament team: at guard, from Gallatin High, Eddie Sherlin!” The Gallatin crowd erupted again as Eddie, with tears of joy still in his eyes, trotted out to center court.

  “And at forward,” the announcer continued, “from Union High School . . . Bill Ligon!”

  The Union crowd applauded, joined by some of the Gallatin spectators. Anna, Tyree, and Delores enthusiastically applauded for Bill. But Bill didn’t move. He remained seated on the bench, his head hidden under a towel.

  When Coach Martin saw that Bill was not getting up, he leaned down to his star player. “Come on, Bill. Get out there.”

  The announcer and the crowd waited an awkward moment. In the Union section of the bleachers, Bill’s family watched anxiously, feeling bad for him, but nonetheless not wanting him to be disrespectful.

  Under her breath, Anna Ligon prayed. “Help him, Lord.”

  After a few seconds, Bill slowly rose to his feet. The Union side applauded enthusiastically, but the Gallatin folks seemed irked by Bill’s slow response.

  When Bill stood up, he slowly let the towel slide off his head and onto his shoulders, and for the first time it was obvious to the crowd that he had been crying. Watching Bill as he walked across the court, Eddie realized how awful Bill felt. Eddie understood that Bill’s disappointment went far beyond basketball. Not only had he lost the game, but he would have no opportunity to redeem himself. There would never be another Gallatin-Union face-off. Childhood memories of the two of them playing basketball together flashed through Eddie’s mind. He and Bill were on the same side, really. Their skin color was different, but they were both created in God’s image. They were a lot alike.

  Bill stopped at center court, fighting back the tears and trying to regain his composure. He glanced up and noticed Eddie’s compassionate eyes welling with tears as much as his own. Eddie took a step toward Bill. The entire crowd froze. Bill couldn’t contain himself any longer. He began crying again, and his tears flowed freely. For an awkward moment, Eddie looked at his childhood friend. He knew what to do. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, little children were singing: “Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

  Eddie threw his arms around Bill’s sweaty shoulders and hugged him.

  The spectators in the stands and packed along the sidelines stiffened. A white boy hugging a black boy? In 1970? In Tennessee?

  But Eddie didn’t let go. Instead, he held Bill tighter as Bill sobbed and sobbed. Eddie’s emotions overcame him, and he started crying too. Bill’s arms wrapped around Eddie, and the two players stood at center court embracing and bawling.

  “It’s over, Eddie,” Bill said as he wept on Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s all over.”

  “Aw, man, don’t worry about it,” Eddie consoled him.

  “Shoot, Ed. It’s over,” Bill repeated. “Good game, but it’s over.”

  Bill and Eddie were so overcome by their emotions that they did not even notice that the entire crowd in the gymnasium had fallen silent. Deathly silent. Everyone no doubt was wondering, What’s going to happen? Yet no one spoke a word. The coaches, the principals, the other players, Eddie’s family and friends, Bill’s family and friends, the radio announcers—everyone seemed speechless and appeared to be holding their collective breaths. The announcer, poised to introduce the remaining members of the all-tournament team, lowered the micr
ophone and simply watched and waited in awe at what everyone sensed was a holy moment.

  And the moment continued. For thirty seconds . . . sixty seconds . . . a minute and a half . . . two minutes or more. The same gymnasium that had been roaring with sound all evening long was eerily silent, as strong men and women, students, teachers, grandparents, and children alike watched the tender scene unfold. The innocent friendship Bill and Eddie had enjoyed as children—the love and respect they’d had for each other, a secret to most of the community all these years—still resided in their hearts, just waiting for the opportunity to reappear.

  In the midst of the awe-inspiring silence, somebody—to this day, nobody is certain who that somebody was—started to clap. Then somebody else began applauding. And then another and another.

  Anna Ligon began crying as she started to applaud. Jim and Betty Sherlin stood up and applauded, as did the Sherlin girls, Delilah and Debbie. Principal Malone was clapping as more and more people joined in. People on both sides of the gym stood and began applauding. Missy and Olivia and their squads joined in the wonder of it all, with some of the girls hugging one another, while others joined hands. James and the rowdy Vietnam vets stood and clapped, several of them locking arms around one another’s shoulders. Some of the white and Asian vets in the crowd saw the Negro veterans applauding, and they too stood to their feet and began clapping.

  As the applause continued, Principal Malone and Principal Herron walked toward each other as though they were going to shake hands. But they didn’t. Right there along the sidelines, for all the world to see, the two men embraced in a huge bear hug. Before long, almost everyone in the gymnasium—even Ronald and the Springfield boys—young and old, black and white were all applauding. A number of people were sobbing tears of joy and relief.

  About the only people who were not pleased were Terry Poster and his dad, along with their racist friends. The kids sat back in their seats in amazement, while the adult KKK guys, appalled by what they had just witnessed, headed for the door. Darkness must flee wherever the true light shines.

  On the bench, Roy sat bewildered. He leaned over to Joe, who was still applauding. “Why is Ligon hugging Sherlin?”

  Joe smiled at Roy. “God only knows.”

  Roy looked back into the stands and saw his grandfather and Mr. Bonner standing and applauding. Grandfather Jackson smiled broadly at Roy and motioned for him to stand up. Roy dutifully obeyed his grandfather; he stood, looked around, and then began applauding with everyone else.

  Finally, the two tearful young men at midcourt broke apart but still kept one arm around the other’s shoulder. Eddie smiled and waved. Even Bill managed a smile.

  For the longest time, it seemed nobody wanted to leave the gymnasium. There was an unusual presence in the place. Everyone was aware of it, even if they couldn’t understand it, explain it, or describe it. Peace—a peace that passed all understanding—permeated the air. Some people sat down on the bleachers and simply basked in the moment. A large number of Negroes and white folks shook hands before leaving. A few people even hugged—white people hugging colored people, colored people hugging white people.

  When they finally did leave the gym, many people walked arm in arm. In a very real way, the tension and stress that had been building all week long in anticipation of Gallatin and Union’s first—and last—meeting on the basketball court had dissipated. All the racial overtones the game had carried were now suddenly and strangely and almost supernaturally gone.

  “This is the start of something big,” a little boy said.

  And it was. Gallatin was never the same. A spirit of racial understanding had been born.

  Establishing a new attitude of racial equality was no slam dunk. It took years of hard work and reconciliation to develop mutual respect and cooperation between the races, but that night was a turning point in the relationships between blacks and whites in Gallatin—and in all of Tennessee.

  31

  MORE THAN FORTY YEARS LATER, people in Tennessee still talked about that hug. The two old friends, Eddie and Bill, now in their sixties, shared a special reunion when they met in downtown Gallatin to reminisce. They walked the town together, talking as they went.

  “Isn’t it amazing,” Eddie said to Bill, “that people still remember that game and the two of us embracing afterward? Although we didn’t realize the significance of our actions at the time, something happened in our town that night. We were a part of something really special, something good.”

  “Yeah, I ran into a guy from the Gallatin class of 1981 the other day,” Bill said. “A black guy. He knew more about that hug than he did about the game. He thought that Union had won. So I didn’t tell him any differently.”

  Both Eddie and Bill burst out laughing.

  “Yep. Folks are convinced that what we did at center court that night had something to do with making things better around here,” Eddie said. “That somehow it opened the way for racial reconciliation in our neck of the woods.”

  Bill nodded and rubbed his chin. “There may be some truth to that. After all, not long after that game, they not only integrated the schools, they also integrated the Palace Theater and everywhere else in town. We got black kids and white kids going to the same movie house and sittin’ together on the same levels now, and some of ’em even eating popcorn out of the same popcorn buckets.”

  “I hear that they can sit anywhere in the theater,” Eddie said with a smile. “And believe it or not, I’ve even seen a white boy and an African American girl walking down the same side of the street, holdin’ hands, right here in downtown Gallatin.”

  Bill shook his head. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Nowadays, kids of all races go into the diner and sit wherever they want to, with whomever they wish, and nobody even blinks an eye.” Bill cocked his head, and with a twinkle in his eyes asked, “Are we that old, Eddie?”

  “Ha! Nah, we’re not old, but we’ve come a long way, and we’ve had an amazing journey. You and I realized as kids that we were no different from each other, except you had a darker suntan than I did.”

  Both men chuckled.

  Eddie continued. “Basketball brought us together. And in an odd way, basketball brought our town together.”

  “That’s right, Eddie. Look over there.” Bill pointed to a school bus that had stopped to unload some kids coming home from school. “Black kids and white kids getting off that bus, and nobody thinks nuthin’ of it. That would not have happened in our high school days, but now it is commonplace. That’s progress, Eddie.”

  Bill stretched his long legs against the curb. “And despite some difficult obstacles to overcome, the integration of the schools went fairly well that fall.”

  “That’s right,” Eddie agreed. “And just two years later, your brother, Tyree, and the integrated Gallatin basketball team won the Tennessee state championship.”

  “Yes, they certainly did. They were unbeatable once Union and Gallatin joined forces as a team. Of course, you and I didn’t get to see much of that.”

  “Right, you were off to college. What was the name of that dumpy little school you attended, Princeton or something?” Eddie smiled and nudged Bill’s shoulder playfully.

  “Nope. Turned Princeton down. Had the entrance packet and everything, but I went to Vanderbilt instead. I got in academically first, and then later they gave me a basketball scholarship. I was glad to be playing in Nashville because they broadcast the Vandy games on television. So there I was, a couple of nights every week, the only black fellow on the team, on live television.”

  “Ah, so that’s how the Detroit Pistons found out about you? All that TV time!” Eddie teased. “And you signed with the Pistons, pursued your dreams, and played professional basketball. Good for you, Bill!”

  “Thanks, Eddie, but what about you? Instead of attending college and playing basketball at the University of Tennessee, you pursued your dreams and signed with the Pittsburgh Pirates baseball team, right out of high school. I don�
��t know how you did that. Gallatin High didn’t even have a baseball team, but the pros recognized your ability. How did they know you could hit?”

  “Turns out, I couldn’t,” Eddie joked, and both men laughed. “But my dad was mighty proud of me.” Eddie shook his head. “Isn’t it amazing, Bill, how much we can do if we just lay aside our differences and try to understand one another? Who knows what we could accomplish if we’d work together instead of against one another?”

  “We still got a long way to go, Eddie,” Bill said. “We ain’t in heaven yet.”

  “I know that’s true,” Eddie mused. “Here we are, both of us back in Gallatin. We’ve had some success, and we’ve both made some mistakes. But if people can just learn to love one another, and forgive one another, no problem is insurmountable. What was that song you guys used to sing? ‘We Shall Overcome’? We really can overcome the pain we’ve all experienced in the past, and any problem in the future, if we will help one another. I believe God will guide us as we do that, if we will ask him.”

  “I know that’s right, brother. Preach it!” Bill patted his friend on the back.

  “Naw, I ain’t no preacher,” Eddie said. “I’m just a sports nut, like you. But here we are, back in our hometown, where we still have a chance to make a difference every day.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” Bill agreed. “But speaking of a difference, I wonder if we played some ball today if we might have a different outcome?”

  “I don’t know, but let’s find out. Look where we’ve walked.”

  The two friends were standing in front of Gallatin’s park, the same park where they were not allowed to play together as boys, close to where Bill formerly lived. Some young boys, black and white, were playing basketball on the new asphalt courts. They looked to be about eleven years old.

  “Let’s ask them if we can join them,” Eddie suggested.