Henry Harris

From August 18th, 2008

He left home 40 years ago this month, traveling east then due South to Auburn University to pursue his passion, grow into manhood and make history. He made history.

His story is one of those sad, let’s toss it by the wayside stories. One of those, “Why you want to keep bringing him up?” stories. Obviously, his story is more important to me, and to some others, than it is to those who’d rather not hear about Henry. Too bad!

Henry Harris accepted the challenge of integrating Auburn University and deep-south college athletics “for the old folks.” He left home, his calling card and meal ticket, the game of basketball. He could not have imagined the price he would pay so others could play.

During those dark days of the crumbling walls of segregation and newly found civil rights, Henry Harris made a quiet history that has been long forgotten by many. He became the black athlete, the darker brother in the Auburn University uniform when it was still a rarity, when there was still a quota for the number of blacks per team and how many could be on the floor at the same time. He understood his responsibility to us, those athletes that came behind him. We had “to make it,” so that Charles Barkley, Bo Jackson, Cadillac Williams and others could be possible.

Henry Harris and I were friends. In the early days of our relationship, we were closer than in the latter days. But we were always friends. He always felt my row in life was a little easier to hoe than his. It was. Still the role of pioneering black athletes in a conference, state and region that was itself adjusting to a new way of life, was our commonality. In 1969, James Owens signed at Auburn as the first Black Football player. In 1970 I followed James. We became the three black Auburn University athletic pioneers. Our challenge was to “make things better.” Plus, we got to play a little ball.

In those days, athletes were more socially conscious. We didn’t worry ourselves with dreams of big contracts. There were no under-the-table shoe deals. We were responsible for our own self-esteem. Our job was to clear a path to integration out of thorns and coarse weeds with our bare hands for those who followed. We knew that and were reminded of it daily.

It’s been over 30 years since I last laid eyes on my friend. He never saw his thirtieth birthday. Still, I’ll never let him die.

He gave to me and every Auburn University black athlete, and every black athlete since, in the state of Alabama, a chance to play ball on a level that had been denied before he accepted the challenge of integration. His star shined intermittently at Auburn. There were good days and bad ones but not many happy ones. The burdens he carried, representing all the black and those white people who wanted and who needed the social experiment to succeed, were a daily load. But he bore it for those of us who followed. Those of us who remember, who understand what he did for us will never forget.