Backfield Boys

by John Feinstein

  It certainly felt that way when they got back to the dorm. There was almost no one around—or so it seemed. Tom sent a text to Zoey, Hope, Heather, and Toni, asking if there was a good time when they could all meet.

  It was Zoey who responded.

  Bad idea. Being watched. Rumor: all of us prob expelled tmrw.

  Tom couldn’t just let that go. He dialed Zoey’s number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Expelled?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Let me call you right back,” she said.

  A moment later she rang him. “I didn’t want to talk in front of my roommate,” she said when Tom answered. “I’m in the common room now. No one around.”

  “Okay,” Tom said. “Expelled?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “Ashley Chase says there’s going to be some kind of conference call with the board of trustees tomorrow and they’re going to talk about expelling the eight of us.”

  Thinking about the scheduled six o’clock run in the morning, Tom was tempted to joke, If they’re going to throw us out, why can’t they do it before we run?

  Instead, he said, “Who is Ashley Chase and how does she know this?”

  “She’s a basketball player, and she’s the student rep on the board.”

  Whoo boy, Tom thought, that was probably a reliable source.

  “Well, she’ll vote on our side anyway, won’t she?” Tom said.

  “The student rep doesn’t have voting rights,” Zoey said. “She’s just there to give the students a voice.”

  “Sounds more like a token to me,” Tom said.

  “Hey, a white kid as a token,” Zoey said, her voice lightening. “At least that’s a little different.” Then she grew serious again: “Tom, if I get thrown out of here, my parents will kill me.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Tom that expulsion might really be on the table. Nor had he thought about the fact that some of the others might not be as cavalier about it as he and Jason were.

  He felt a wave of guilt.

  “Look,” he said, “they can’t throw us out without some kind of appeal. Once the story is in the papers, it will be impossible for them to just toss us.”

  “Tom, it’s a private school,” she said. “They can pretty much do anything they want.”

  Then she asked about the meeting with Teel and Robinson. He started to fill her in, but she cut him off.

  “Someone’s walking in, I gotta go,” she said. “We’ll talk later.”

  Tom and Anthony went down to Jason and Billy Bob’s room. Both were studying.

  “You can concentrate?” Tom asked.

  “Not really,” Jason said. “But the week’s going to be tough enough without falling behind in our schoolwork.”

  “Well,” Tom said. “That might not be an issue.”

  He sat down and relayed what Zoey had told him.

  * * *

  On Monday morning, all four boys reported to the locker room at five minutes before six. Being late, they knew, would only give Coach Winston an excuse to make them even more miserable.

  Coach Winston pretty much defined the phrase strong, silent type. Tom wasn’t sure he’d ever heard his voice other than when he was giving players instructions during their pre-practice stretching drills.

  He walked in the locker room door on the stroke of six. “All on time,” he said. “Good. Let’s get going.”

  If Coach Winston knew anything about what had happened at the dance on Saturday, he didn’t show it. He simply told them to do five laps up and down the stadium steps, take a five-minute break for water, then do five more. When they began to tire and slowed down, he didn’t yell, push, or cajole. It occurred to Tom that he wasn’t any happier to be here than they were.

  “Same time tomorrow,” Coach Winston said when they finished.

  With that, he turned and walked away, while they all stood, bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath.

  “Maybe,” Billy Bob said, “getting expelled today wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

  They showered, dressed, and headed to breakfast. When they walked into the dining hall, they could hear a murmur. Juan del Potro and company had found a table for the new week in the far right-hand corner of the room.

  “We figured the farther from the front you guys are, the better,” Juan said when they all sat down.

  “We heard the board’s conference call is at eight,” Jimmy Gomez added.

  Apparently the word about the call had spread all over campus. A group of basketball players—all white—walked up to the table.

  “Too bad this isn’t dinner—you could call it the Last Supper,” said Andy Staples, who Tom knew was a senior and the starting point guard.

  “Staples, seriously, go climb back under your rock,” Juan said.

  “We just wanted to say bon voyage,” John O’Shea said.

  The basketball players all laughed at the hilarity of the comment and moved on.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Jimmy said. “At least half the school is on your side. Maybe more.”

  The morning passed with no news—not even any whispers. Tom wondered if the information about a conference call had even been correct. During lunch, he sent Teel and Robinson texts updating them—even though there wasn’t much to update.

  Teel texted back a few minutes later:

  Conference call done. Official statement coming this p.m. Board mtg next Sat a.m.

  Tom showed the text to the others at the table.

  “Sounds like they’re really scared,” Juan said.

  “I think I know why,” a voice said behind Tom.

  He turned and saw Zoey standing behind him. She was apparently on her way out but had stopped at their table.

  “Hiya,” Billy Bob said. “What have you heard?”

  “According to Ashley, the student rep, several board members were contacted by parents whose kids had called them after the dance to tell them what happened. They’re upset—with Mr. Gatch, I mean, not with us—upset enough to go public, pull their kids from school, or both.” Zoey smiled. “Apparently expulsion is off the table, at least for now.”

  “Guess that means we have to run again in the morning,” Jason said.

  “They’ve also decided that Mr. Gatch is going to be ‘on vacation’ this week. That’s going to be the reason why he isn’t available to talk to the media.”

  “We could have a media circus at the Fairfax game on Friday if Teel and Robinson get this written by then,” Jason said.

  “If TGP is putting out a statement, they’ll have to write sooner rather than later,” Billy Bob said.

  Tom knew Billy Bob was right. That, he thought, was very good news.

  * * *

  The statement came out at three o’clock, just as classes were ending. It seemed to spread instantly around the school because phones began buzzing as soon as people turned them on walking out of classrooms. Tom and Jason had been in their last period history class. Billy Bob had texted them the link.

  “Here it is,” Jason said. Even though his friend was already looking at it on his phone, Jason stopped in the crowded hallway and read it aloud.

  “‘The board of trustees of the Thomas A. Gatch Prep School has been made aware of an incident that allegedly took place at the school dance on Saturday night. There have been varying reports on what occurred and whether there is a need for the small group of students involved in the incident to be disciplined for their actions. We consider this a private matter and will not be commenting further at this time.’”

  Jason sighed.

  Tom shook his head. “Total stonewall,” he said. “They’re actually trying to imply that the only ones who might have been out of line were students. No mention of Gatch at all.”

  Billy Bob, who had been in a math class, and Anthony, coming out of English, walked up.

  “What do you think?” Tom asked.

  “I think we better not be late for practice,” Billy Bob said. “Last
thing we want to do is give Bobo any excuse to nail us.”

  The four boys walked quickly across the campus to the locker room, where everyone was talking at once—or so it seemed. A number of guys greeted them as if nothing had happened; others clapped them on the back to indicate approval. Several glared but went no further since Anthony was more than willing to glare right back.

  Coach Ingelsby walked in, which was unusual pre-practice. “Everyone in the meeting room in five minutes,” he said.

  “Can’t be good,” Anthony said.

  “Maybe Bobo wants to present the game ball to Billy Bob that he forgot to give him Friday,” Jason said.

  “Certainly possible,” Billy Bob said. “Slightly less possible than him naming Tom as the starting quarterback Friday, but still possible.”

  They all laughed. Gallows humor, Tom figured.

  * * *

  The entire coaching staff was at the front of the room when they all walked in. Coach Johnson stood at the lectern he used for postgame press conferences. When everyone was seated, Coach Johnson moved away from the lectern and stood in front of the room, silently looking at his players for a moment.

  Something in Tom’s gut told him this wasn’t going to go well.

  “Roddin, Anderson, Jefferson, and Ames, would you please come to the front of the room?” Coach Johnson said.

  The four of them had been sitting near the back with the other freshmen. They looked at one another briefly, then walked to the front. Initially, they stood off to the side, not sure where their coach wanted them.

  “Come on over here,” Coach Johnson said. “Front and center.”

  They did as instructed. The other coaches moved off to the side.

  “Now, since the four of you always seem to have all the answers to everything, whether it be what position you should be playing, where and when you should be talking to reporters, or the ins and outs of social behavior, please explain to me, to your coaches, and to your teammates—since clearly none of us is as smart as you are—exactly what you were trying to accomplish at the dance on Saturday night?”

  Tom started to answer, but Billy Bob gave him a quick look that clearly meant, Let me take this.

  Tom realized he was right. There was likely to be less hostility if the response came from one of the white players.

  “Coach, I don’t understand the question,” Billy Bob said.

  Coach Johnson smiled his most smarmy smile. “Of course you do, Anderson,” he said. “You understand that the four of you decided to directly challenge the authorities of this school on Saturday, and you clearly did it to make some kind of clumsy point. So explain to us what the point was.”

  Billy Bob looked at his three friends. Tom could tell he was deciding whether to abandon the I-know-nothing approach and tell the truth. He hoped he would just go with the truth, because clearly they weren’t going to escape from this room until the truth came out.

  Billy Bob apparently agreed. “Actually, Coach, we were just trying to enjoy ourselves with our dates. Mr. Gatch seemed to object that there were four interracial couples on the dance floor.”

  “The founder of this school is a man who believes that TGP should be a place that honors tradition,” Coach Johnson answered. “It’s that simple. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Slavery was a tradition, too,” Jason said, surprising Tom. “Discrimination and segregation, lynchings and cross burnings—those were traditions. Are you saying he wishes to honor those traditions?”

  That seemed to rock Coach Johnson a little bit. He recovered quickly. “Roddin, you’re missing the point—”

  “No, sir,” Billy Bob broke in. “You’re missing the point. Or you missed the last century. I’m not sure which.”

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  Coach Johnson stared at Billy Bob for a moment. “Among the four of you, you’re the one I would have expected this from least, Anderson,” he said.

  “We all know why that is,” Billy Bob said. “Everyone in this room knows it. But maybe you can just say it out loud, for the record?”

  Coach Johnson ignored the comment and plowed on, apparently having decided that to continue the dialogue wasn’t a good idea. “I’m not going to throw any of you off the team because, frankly, it’s not fair to make your teammates suffer for your mistakes, and three of you four are potentially important to our future success on the field.” He paused to let that sink in. “The four of you will continue to run on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings until further notice. For now, I’d like you to apologize to your teammates, and then we’ll put this behind us. We have an important and difficult game on Friday.”

  “Apologize for what?” Billy Bob said, an instant before Tom did.

  “You know for what,” Coach Johnson said.

  Billy Bob looked at Tom, Jason, and Anthony. “Anyone feel the need to apologize?” he said.

  Their response was silence. Billy Bob led the four of them back to their seats.

  Coach Johnson wasn’t quite finished.

  “There will be consequences for this down the road,” he said. “For all of it.”

  Tom had the final word. “I certainly hope so,” he said.

  The four of them sat down. Coach Johnson began talking about Friday’s game against Fairfax Prep.

  29

  The first stories broke early Tuesday morning—on the Virginian-Pilot and Newport News Daily Press websites and in the print editions of the two newspapers. Both Tom Robinson and David Teel had stepped out of their roles as columnists to each write a story that appeared on the front page.

  The two reporters had spent most of the late afternoon and evening on Monday talking on the phone to the eight principal students involved. Teel told Tom that they had been able to get cell phone numbers for the assistant coaches. The only two who had answered their phones were Mark Cruikshank and John Gutekunst. Both said the same thing: We’d like to talk to you, but if we talked for the record, we’d surely be fired. Maybe at a later time.

  The two stories, not surprisingly, were similar and even referred to “a joint investigation conducted by the Press and the Pilot.”

  The basics of the stories were the same: Thomas A. Gatch, the founder of Thomas Gatch Prep, had apparently had a meltdown at the school’s fall dance because there had been four interracial couples on the dance floor—the four boys being freshman football players. The stories included the school’s statement and a quote from school spokesman Ed Seaman: “Mr. Gatch was upset with the behavior of a number of football players, who were not, he believed, treating female students with the proper respect.” Mr. Seaman went on to say that Mr. Gatch was unavailable for comment because he had left on Sunday for a “previously scheduled” vacation.

  All eight students involved in the incident were named and quoted as saying they had been “baffled” by Mr. Gatch’s reaction to the fact that they were dancing with another.

  Tom, with his steel-trap memory, provided a word-for-word quote: “Mr. Gatch told me and Anthony, ‘We let you people into this school because you can perform on the field. That does not give you the right to interfere with the white girls from decent homes who come to this school.’”

  Both writers used the quote as a jumping-off point to bring up Mr. Gatch’s ties to David Duke and to the KKK in Louisiana. Both had tried to coax a response from Ed Seaman. “I think Mr. Gatch’s record as an educator speaks for itself,” was all the communications director had said.

  Reading that line, Jason remembered the famous phrase he had heard repeatedly in All the President’s Men: “It’s a nondenial denial.”

  The quote from Gatch about “you people” staying away from “white girls from decent homes” and the Duke/KKK references were what caused the uproar. The national media began storming Scottsville, only to be turned away at the school’s entrance by a suddenly increased security force. In response, the cable and broadcast TV networks set up headquarters in an empty field a few yards from
the gate and began doing standups with the gate—including shots of guards turning away news trucks—and the school in the background.

  Since no one at the school was commenting—or being allowed to comment—Teel and Robinson became TV stars, telling how their suspicions had been aroused when they were told that a very talented freshman quarterback named Tom Jefferson, who happened to be African American, had been converted to wide receiver upon arriving at the school. They never said on-camera that it had been Tom, Jason, Billy Bob, and Anthony who had turned them on to the story, but it didn’t take much reading between the lines to know.

  The school and its leadership were under siege.

  “Something’s going to break sooner or later,” Juan del Potro said at dinner Wednesday night. “They can’t all hide in here or claim to be on vacation forever.”

  * * *

  Unfortunately for TGP—and fortunately for the media—the game on Friday was at Fairfax. There was no reason for the Lions to turn the national media away from their school, especially since they weren’t involved in the story, except as the team that had the opportunity to end any postseason dreams the Patriots still had.

  Down the road, Middleburg and Roanoke Christian were meeting. Both were 6–0 in conference play. TGP and Fairfax were both 5–1. The winner of their game would have a chance to tie for the conference title the final week of the season, when Middleburg would go to Fairfax and Roanoke Christian would play at TGP.

  Someone could win the conference title outright, there could be a two-way tie, or there could be a three-way tie. In the event of a two-way tie, the winner of the head-to-head game would win the conference and advance to postseason. That was why the Patriots were ardently pulling for Roanoke to beat Middleburg. A three-way tie would be decided—oddly enough—by the drawing of lots. The three coaches involved would drive to Richmond, three slips of paper would be put in a hat, and whoever drew the number 1 would be the conference champion.

  “Stupid way to decide who gets to play, isn’t it?” Jason asked at breakfast on Thursday. “I mean, how do they decide who draws first?”

  “Alphabetical,” Tom said. “You’re right, it’s stupid, but how else can they do it? Every other tiebreaker will come up a tie—except maybe point-differential, and that’s just about as dumb.”