OBAMA!!!!

From August 18th, 2008

“So what do you think of Barack Obama?” It’s the daily question for me, these days whether I’m at the YMCA, over lunch, at screenings, visiting my Dad and for those who need a little courage, in happy hour settings after a libation or two.

Some of the questioners are Black California transplants. In diverse settings, they ask the question in a stealth manner with an assuredness and a sly smile that says they already know my answer. If faces could wink, theirs would blink and say, “We’ve got a secret.” Quiet optimism is their calling card.

Surprisingly, in the South, where I’m from and have spent the majority of my life, my Black friend’s questions and reactions are very much the same as the California Blacks, with the exception of the execution. They ask the question in much lower voices, almost a whisper. They do not want to be overheard. If Whites are present, a verbal discussion is foregone and replaced with stealth, unspoken communication through the eyes.

Many of my questioners are Whites eagerly seeking me out to answer the hot button question of this year, “Thom, what do you think of Obama?”

I’ve always tried to be approachable on the subject of “race” and “ethnicity.” Reasonable is the word my white friends would use to describe me. Translation: I’m not quick to pull the gun of racism from my holster, simply because you express your opinion.

What has become more interesting to me than the question itself is the divide between my white friends in California and those in my home state of Alabama and Northwest Florida where I reside.

With the whites the great divide of red states and blue states is evident. In Los Angeles, discussion of and support for Obama is aggressive. The enthusiastic questioner asks and answers in the same breath, conducting his or her own discussion while I standby. Others will flash their Obama T-shirts at me. “I’m cool,” is the inference.

I must admit it takes some getting used to, hearing the glee in their loud voices as they proclaim their love and support for this bi-racial man who wants to take the U.S. in a different direction from whence we have come the last eight years.

Many of these whites are both angry with George Bush and proud of themselves that they can express their positive opinions of “a man of color.”

In Los Angeles, I encounter few Obama non-supporters. The ones I have wear the “chip on their shoulder” that comes with being in the minority. It makes you angry when no one wants to hear your opinion, because it’s unpopular.

In Alabama, among my white friends, the question is asked in an almost whisper and there’s genuine interest in my answer. On election night, Alabama is one of those states that will be declared for McCain right after lunch. For my white friends who are for Obama, reassurance means they are “doing the right thing, based on their beliefs.” Still doing the right thing has to be tempered with a secrecy of quiet, almost undercover public discussions with the obligatory look over the head to make sure no one is listening. Loud support, T-shirts and yard signs are for the flakes, the untouchable rich, the intelligentsia and the intelligent poor. Belonging to the club is still a life priority.

Some will tell me “I still haven’t made up my mind.” I shrug, don’t push further. The depth of friendship means I know they have made up their mind but are not comfortable talking to me about it, which I respect. A discussion of the issues and positions won’t change any minds. There’s a darker issue at hand here.

Northwest Florida is still Bush Country with the exception of a minority of vocal Democrats and Independents who refused to join the white flight migration to the Republican Party in the 1980’s. Heated and vocal arguments between my Democrat and “conservative” friends always end with both holding firmly to their position.

Still, after eight years many of the Bush supporters are quietly pissed that they and he got it so wrong. But that admission is shared solely between them and those like them. In these cases, we avoid politics unless courage can be found at the bottom of a bottle. Avoidance makes for better friendships. When we find ourselves heading down the divided road of politics we quickly leave it alone. Those conversations generally end with one of them declaring, ”I’m not for either of them.”

“Right,” I nod.

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.

I’m in shock. Caught totally off guard.

From May 6th, 2008

I’m in shock. Caught totally off guard.

One of the soul pleasing aspects of writing my memoir Walk-On is traveling back into time, looking at the life I lived as a twenty year old, now that I’m fifty plus. There has been joy, some sadness and many laughs but, until now, there has been no shock; up until now.

Reading the May 1^st issue of the New York Times, I learned that an old football nemesis from the University of Tennessee died six years ago. I didn’t know Jackie Walker personally. I only knew him as a fierce, talented football player who made All-America at Tennessee, the first African American in the Southeastern Conference to do so. As a senior in 1971, with just three blacks on Tennessee’s team, his teammates thought enough of him to name him captain. He still holds the NCAA record for returning interceptions for touchdowns. At Auburn, when we played Tennessee the entire offensive game plan was geared around trying to block Jackie Walker. Bear Bryant at Alabama designed the “Jackie Walker Play” to contain Walker by having three men block him. He was one of the best college linebackers I’d ever seen.

I found out in the Times, that Jackie Walker was gay.

I’m being honest when I say I’m shocked. Am I being homophobic by not imagining this great football player could be gay? I’m sure there is some of that. But more relevant to the topic I’ve been researching, I’m trying to imagine what his life was like being one of the pioneer African Americans football players in the Southeastern conference and gay.

I know the loneliness and isolation I felt being one of only two blacks on Auburn’s 1970-1973 football teams. I remember the secret lives I had from the coaches and administrators. Secret lives that included who I dated (especially if she was white). Secrets about how I really felt about things that happened or did not happen on the field, the lack of social life and what it was like to have teammates but not many who were friends.

I can only imagine the secrecy required to hide the stigma of being a pioneering, black, gay All-America football player in the Southeastern conference in 1970. That would be a tough act, even today. According to the article in the Times, after playing ball at Tennessee, he lived in Atlanta and made no effort to hide his sexuality. He had little contact with Tennessee and returned only for visits with family and friends.

This week, almost four decades after his football exploits and six years after his death from AIDS, Jackie Walker will be inducted with the latest class into the Knoxville Sports Hall Of Fame. There are questions as to why it has taken so long, when others of far less athletic notoriety have gone in before him. Did his sexuality have to do with the delay?

His brother Marshall Walker thinks so. As a matter of fact when Jackie was dying of AIDS in 2002, Marshall made a pledge to Jackie that he would get him into the Greater Knoxville Hall of Fame. Jackie Walker, never thinking it would happen, laughed. But it has happened and many say it’s past time.

Testimonials from friends, teammates, and others describe a man, well respected and liked both on and off the football field. Upon finding out he was gay, old teammate Jamie Rotella said, “I was totally shocked. But it didn’t affect the way I admired and respected him. We were confused, but everybody had too much respect for Jackie, for his character as well as for his football play.”

David Smith, a co-worker in Atlanta, describes Walker this way. “Jackie Walker was like a brother to me, just a wonderful friend. My kids called him Uncle Jackie.”

“Jackie was a great football player. But I knew him after football, and his football accomplishments pale compared to what a great person he was.”

Marshall Walker says of his brother, “Football was never the end all for him. Playing sports wasn’t going to make or break him.”

I wish I had been lucky enough to get to know him.