by Rus Bradburd
While some people believe the firing of Richardson improved things for blacks on campus, that progress has been made, Griffen does not.
“I don’t talk about the University of Arkansas and use the word ‘progress,’” Griffen says. “I use the word ‘movement.’ If a student has an average of twenty points in a class, and later has an average of forty, that student has had movement but not progress. The University of Arkansas is still at the ‘F’ level, but seemingly determined to congratulate itself.”
The state of Arkansas took a beating again in the national media—just as it had for decades—when Richardson was fired. “We’ve a feeling Arkansas won’t come out looking too good,” the Democrat-Gazette wrote in an editorial, and they were correct.
The editorial continued:
Everybody else has taken sides in this case, so we’ll break with our daily tradition and come down squarely in the mushy middle. We’re not sure whether Nolan should have been fired, or bought out, or made to apologize, or just sent to his room without any supper. We just know that it was as disheartening to watch a grown man, head coach, and role model make a public ass of himself as it was to watch the consequences: a whole state in a shouting match over race. Again. The one thing Karl Marx was right about is that history happens twice—the first time as tragedy, the second as farce. And in this case all it took was about 50 years—from 1957 to now.
Instead of a rousing debate about whether the struggling Razorbacks need a new coach after 17 years, too many of us got dragged into an argument over Nolan Richardson’s skin color—just the way he wanted. Half a century ago, it was the white demagogues who could speak only of race; now it’s the black ones. History has a way of being terribly just.
Their conclusion—“just move on”—was typical within the state, and indicative of the dominant mindset in Arkansas. Any bad news or ugly history, especially where race is concerned, needs to be put behind us as quickly as possible. Richardson’s biggest sin might have been his refusal to let anyone forget.
Nearly every writer concurred with the decision to dump the coach. But a small few were sensitive to the dynamic of a black coach being covered by an all-white media. J. A. Adande, who is black, wrote in the Los Angeles Times, “I’ve read some tired columns that sarcastically lament poor Nolan Richardson and his $3 million buyout. These writers will never even have a chance of considering Richardson’s perspective. They’ll never write in a newsroom in which they’re the minority.”
William Rhoden of the New York Times, who lionized Richardson during his NCAA title run, was less supportive this time:
Upheavals and departures of coaching icons are rarely successful. Longtime coaches like Jerry Tarkanian, Bob Knight and Richardson often assume the stature of pope or ayatollah on their campuses. They often act as though they can trample on rules, behave in the most outrageous manner and make the most outrageous statements. In time, Tarkanian’s rules violations, Knight’s behavior and Richardson’s angry statements became embarrassments that could not be offset by championships.
Other writers used the story to take yet another shot at the state of Arkansas.
Bernie Lincicome of the Rocky Mountain News wrote, “Nothing Richardson could have said would bring more discredit to Arkansas than its idiotic school cheer [known as “calling the hogs”], never mind all those reasonable and caring alumni wearing red hog snouts like hats.”
Sid Simpson, who hired Richardson at Western Texas College, remains a staunch defender of the coach. But when pressed, Simpson will admit that Richardson has two flaws. Or rather, Simpson stresses, two strengths that can be seen as flaws.
“First, if you get Nolan trapped in a corner, he’s going to fight his way out.” This is apparent, Simpson says, from his response on ESPN’s program about graduation rates. When challenged on the poor graduation rate of his championship team, Richardson could have said, “We always want to improve our graduation rates and we’ll continue to stress higher education.” Or he could have named several players who graduated before and after that time-specific study. Instead, Richardson insisted that it is not his job to graduate players—a direct contradiction to the way he actually dealt with his team over the years.
“Second,” Simpson continues, “he responds from the heart, whether it’s the right thing to say or not.”
The question at his post-Kentucky press conference in 2002 was, “What were you and [Kentucky coach] Tubby Smith talking about after the game?”
“Hardly a question to make someone offer up a job that no one—let me repeat—no one has asked for,” Wally Hall wrote.
Richardson could have said, “That’s between Tubby and me,” or “Just general stuff about our teams.” Or even “No comment.”
Instead, Richardson revealed that he and Smith talked about focusing on their paychecks during tough times, which led to Richardson’s quote, “If they go ahead and pay me my money, they can take the job.”
Richardson made an unusual decision for a fired coach that summer. He decided to stay in Arkansas, on his ranch outside Fayetteville. He’d return home to El Paso for visits, or fly to Birmingham, where Mike Anderson was quickly retooling the UAB program as their new head coach. His refusal to move away indirectly kept the controversy alive in Arkansas.
In March of 2002, black conservative talk-show host and pundit Armstrong Williams wrote his weekly column about the recently fired coach, titled “Nolan Richardson, Adios.” The column ran nationally as well as at the Townhall.com Web site.
Armstrong Williams admitted in 2005 to being paid $240,000 by the George W. Bush administration to endorse its “No Child Left Behind” program. This was a foolish business decision on the Bush administration’s part, since Williams has consistently championed conservative establishment causes without under-the-table cash. Any journalist who accepts such a payment damages his credibility.
Williams wrote that Richardson had “…gained admiration as the first prominent Southern college coach to recruit black athletes…” That wasn’t even close to correct. Williams, predictably, hammered Richardson for his graduation rate from 1990 to 1994. He also challenged Richardson’s claim of discrimination. “It is precisely this sort of culture of victimization that conditions blacks to regard themselves as inferior.”
Williams defended the University of Arkansas’s decision, writing that the coach’s remarks “…were plainly racist…I mean, can you imagine the outrage that would occur if a white basketball coach calmly surveyed the reporters in attendance at his press conference, then demanded that the local newspapers hire more whites?” This was a strange comparison as there is nowhere in the country a room of all African-American media—TV, radio, newspapers—would be covering the team of a white coach.
Richardson’s mindset is common, Williams says. About Richardson’s complaints on dealing with an all-white media every day, Williams says, “If writers are fair and objective, and don’t make judgments on race, it doesn’t matter. Are people being denied the opportunity or are they choosing to do other things? If there is evidence to support that they [blacks] are applying for jobs, and they’re denied, that’s different. If people choose another profession, that’s an issue of choice, not racism.”
Williams believes there is a mentality that Richardson and others hold on to that has dragged him down. “[People from Richardson’s era] can’t relate to the progress we’re making. They want to stay stuck in the past. It’s difficult, because you become a prisoner of that period. There’s some truth [to Richardson’s charges], not everybody has clean and pure hands. We are talking about the South.”
“There are older people,” Williams says, “who feel that, because of racism, they were robbed of something they can never get back. Racism was vicious, it had an impact, and it was systemic. The wounds are still there. When they see Rodney King or Sean Bell, that reinforces things for them that not much has changed. It haunts them and that is their burden.”
However, Williams says Richards
on was being unreasonable. “Blacks feel they are held to a higher standard, but most of that is imagined.”
The key to life for Armstrong Williams: “Forgive people, judge them as individuals, not as a group.” He closed by saying, “I’ve never experienced racism, it has never impacted my life.”
“Armstrong Williams is either a liar, a freak, or not intelligent enough to discern racism,” former Air Force coach Reggie Minton says. “We study history for a reason. Nobody can take those experiences away from you. You learn from what you’ve seen and experienced. For anyone to say, ‘Why can’t he let go?’…Well, people can’t let go for a reason.”
Minton’s time as a black man coaching at the ultraconservative Air Force Academy left him with very specific ideas about how the world changes. “I don’t buy into the premise that racists are plotting this,” Minton says, “but there needs to be somebody around who raises the level of awareness.”
Once, before joining the administration at the NABC, Minton was having dinner with three generals from the Air Force.
“Is there anything we can do?” one of the generals asked Minton.
Minton mentioned a new aircraft trainer, the most recent model of plane. “Make the cockpit bigger.”
“We could easily do that,” one general said. “Nobody’s ever brought that up.”
“That’s because everybody who is sitting at this table fits in the cockpit,” Minton answered.
Minton says today, “If not everybody is aware of the problem, things won’t change. America should know that only 3 percent of college administrators in athletics are minorities; that is where you start.”
Even funerals seemed to be divided along the Broyles/Richardson line. Sportswriter Orville Henry died a few weeks after Richardson was fired, and Richardson delivered the eulogy at historic Central High School in Little Rock. Although Frank Broyles had been close to Henry as well, he was not asked to speak.
A month later, Richardson was back in Little Rock, but this time it wasn’t for a funeral. St. Mark’s Baptist Church in Little Rock hosted a tribute in support of Richardson, a celebration of his long career.
The list of speakers at St. Mark’s included former NBA star Darrell Walker, who had played for Eddie Sutton. Walker was confident of Richardson’s place in history. “Anytime you see a [black] coach getting hired whether it’s Division I, II, III, think about Nolan Richardson,” he said. But his remarks also illustrated the difference of opinions within the state about whether Richardson was out of line or right on. “I’m glad you did what you did,” Walker said, looking at Richardson. Everyone in attendance—nearly all African-Americans—rose in a standing ovation.
Lonnie Williams was the only current University of Arkansas employee to speak. Williams said, “He showed us that there are still a few Davids in the world, ready to take on Goliath.”
It was Wendell Griffen, an eloquent and charismatic speaker, whose brilliance colored the afternoon. Griffen credited Richardson for his “refusal to let himself be defined by the myths commonly applied to black men and black leaders. He may speak coarsely, but never deceitfully. It may not be the truth we want to hear, but it’s always the truth we cannot deny. Thank you, coach, for refusing to sell out your principles and worship popularity at the price of integrity. Thank you for reminding our state that you will not ignore the business of social justice just because you are a basketball coach. Thank you for not allowing yourself to be put on a plantation, even if they do pay you a million dollars.”
TWENTY-ONE
BATTLE ROYAL
In early December of 2002, Richardson went ahead with plans to file a lawsuit against the University of Arkansas, Frank Broyles, John White, and the fund-raising Razorback Foundation.
It was a trying time for Richardson and his family. Later that month, Richardson’s son—Nolan “Notes” Richardson III—was terminated as the head coach of Tennessee State, where trailblazing coaches John McLendon and Harold Hunter had preceded him. Richardson III had been an Arkansas assistant for ten seasons.
Notes’ problem stemmed from a disagreement with his Tennessee State assistant Hosea Lewis concerning practice times on Christmas evening, when many of the TSU players were no-shows. Notes Richardson told police that he went to his car and brought an unloaded gun into the school’s Gentry Center in response to threats from Lewis, who, Notes says, had a chain. Although he disputes the circumstances of his firing, in the ensuing days he signed a statement with campus police acknowledging that he used the gun as a threat.
Bringing a gun onto campus in Tennessee is a felony, but the school did not attempt to prosecute Richardson III after he quickly resigned in early January of 2003. Tennessee State’s president was quoted nationally as saying, “What he did is something that was beyond belief in terms of anyone in higher education doing something like that.”
Richardson’s lawsuit didn’t go to trial until 2004. His arguments were centered upon allegations of racism and his own freedom of speech—speaking out on racism, which he claimed was a matter of public concern. The judge quickly tossed out everything directed at the Razorback Foundation.
If Richardson proved either racism or the stifling of his right to free speech, he would win. The trial lasted nearly a month, beginning on May 5, 2004, and included forty-four witnesses over eighteen days. Both parties waived the chance for a jury trial. Some legal experts felt that this was Richardson’s best bet, since the coach would have had a difficult time finding a sympathetic jury because of the amount of money at stake.
Philip Kaplan, the lawyer representing the University of Arkansas, said in his opening statement that Richardson’s lawsuit was based on his hatred of Frank Broyles. According to Broyles, at his February 28, 2002, meeting, Richardson told him, “I will destroy you. You will have no legacy.”
UA football coach Houston Nutt testified at the trial, saying that Richardson told him that Broyles “may like you now, but wait until your ass goes 5-6, or 4-7 and see what happens.”
Part of Richardson’s claims focused on the treatment of Houston Nutt, who, Richardson felt, received favorable treatment. However, Judge William Wilson, who is white, couldn’t find substantial difference, aside from the fact that assistant basketball coach Mike Anderson was underpaid.
Judge Wilson did point out that in a written memo Broyles recommended to Chancellor White that Richardson’s six-year contract should not be “rolled over.” Broyles also added that he thought all contracts should be limited to five years. The rollover, a powerful equivalent of a professor’s tenure, was once popular, but the current trend among even the biggest contracts was moving away from them. “However,” Wilson wrote, “Broyles failed to mention in his memo that he had recommended a ten-year contract for Nutt in October of 1999, which White approved. This evidence is disturbing…”
In his final ruling on the case, Judge William Wilson seemed to struggle for wiggle room, writing how difficult his decision was, and that “…some pieces will always be missing.” Before going much further, he stressed that “…this case has been hard to decide. Judging, like coaching, often appears easier from the bleachers.”
The university took the curious position that Frank Broyles was not responsible for Richardson’s firing.
At the trial, Broyles claimed that he regretted using the word “nigger” to a table of media representatives. Judge Wilson, in his written summary, remained troubled by the “redneck = nigger” comparison that Broyles had hoped to see in print:
It should ring out loudly and clearly—an African-American calling a Caucasian a “redneck” is nowise the same as a Caucasian person calling an African-American a “nigger.”
Although some may argue that there is no real difference, they are wrong, and I suspect they know it…. The fact is that terms like “nigger,” “spic,” “faggot,” and “kike” evolve and reinforce entire cultural histories of oppression and subordination. They remind the target that his or her group has always been and remains unequa
l in status to the majority group.
Judge Wilson would continue chipping away at Broyles. In his argument about Broyles’s comments at the banquet, he reasoned:
Defendants have argued that Broyles’s banquet comments two years before the firing are “too remote” and “stray” to support an inference that Broyles harbored racial hostility toward Richardson. They argue that his remarks are, therefore, insufficient to constitute direct evidence of discrimination because there was no causal link between the remark and the firing….
I disagree.
In this instance, the issue is not Broyles’s words themselves, but his apparent desire to use race in a publication, which would create conflict among fans and garner support for firing Richardson…Broyles solicited an article making the comparison and [I] can think of no other reason why he would do so…Broyles had already attempted to get support for firing Richardson as early as February 2000. This solicitation can hardly be seen as anything but a willingness to “stir the racial pot.”
…Broyles was animated when making the statement…he knew he was sitting between two news media persons, that there was no contention that their conversation was “off the record.” [One media representative] testified that he asked Broyles if he wanted to be quoted as a source in the requested article, and Broyles responded with the equivalent of “perish the thought.”
These statements were made at a time when Broyles, a decision maker, was considering Richardson’s termination. I find that this is direct evidence of discrimination and is sufficient to require a mixed-motive analysis of any employment decisions made by Broyles before October 2000….
