by Ken Abraham
Coach Vradenburg, a tall, good-natured fellow with a flattop haircut, complete with the greased front edge that stood straight up, was rebounding and returning the ball to Eddie after each shot. “Pretty shot,” he said. “Nice.”
Swish! Eddie popped a long shot, nearly a thirty-five-footer.
“Sweet!” Coach Vradenburg called. “I wouldn’t try that one very often, but it’s nice to know that it is in your range.”
“I used to hit shots like that all day when I played in my backyard,” Eddie said. “When the tree limbs didn’t block the arc,” he added, smiling.
Coach Vradenburg nodded. “Well, if you can arc the ball over those tree limbs, you can certainly get it over the head of a six-foot-four-inch center. And I really can’t think of too many in the county who are even that tall. Maybe we’ll meet a few big guys when we get to the state finals.”
Eddie nodded and swished another shot.
On the sidelines, the cheerleaders completed their routine with a flurry of precision kicks and jumps and a human pyramid, punctuated by a bevy of smiles.
The smile on the face of Missy Hamilton, the team captain, quickly faded as she took her position in front of the other girls to address her squad. An attractive, perfectly proportioned seventeen-year-old going on twenty-six, Missy was the stereotypical, prissy “Southern belle in training.” Even while cheering and performing vigorous jumps and kicks, Missy’s perfectly coiffed hair never seemed to move, her eye makeup never smudged or smeared. Missy was Miss Perfect. At least in her own mind.
“Okay, that’s it for today, ladies,” she said. “Wonderful work. We are really looking quite good. There are, of course, a few things we need to work on to be ready for the upcoming tournament games, but we can fix those easily enough. Same deal tomorrow. Please get here on time, so we can all get started together. That’s it.”
The cheerleaders’ post-practice meeting broke up, and the girls began moving toward the gym doors leading to the women’s locker room. Missy caught Betty Ann by the arm and walked alongside her. Betty Ann was an adorably cute but slightly pudgy young woman, and Missy never stifled an opportunity to remind her.
“Betty Ann, stay off the chocolate. If that pimple on your forehead gets any bigger, we’re going to give it a name.”
The girls walking nearby laughed aloud at Missy’s caustic comment, but Betty Ann, a year younger than most of the others and sensitive about her body, quickly covered her face, which had already flushed a deep shade of red.
“And what are you laughing about, Mary Jo?” Missy said. “Your maid must be using extra lard and flour in whatever she’s been cooking.” Missy playfully slapped Mary Jo on her butt. “If that behind of yours gets any bigger, you are going to qualify for the Union squad!”
The group of very white cheerleaders giggled at Missy’s racial quip.
Mary Jo did a flirtatious sort of bump-and-grind move and stuck out her tongue at Missy. “You’re just jealous, Missy Hamilton. Tell the truth. You got all your stuff up front.” Mary Jo pushed out her chest in Missy’s direction. “And you’re just mad that you don’t have any motion in your caboose.” Mary Jo sidled along in front of Missy, purposely exaggerating her hip movements.
“Yeah, and you are out of your mind,” Missy said. She let Mary Jo move on ahead as she slipped up closer to Betty Ann. “Buy some Clearasil, girl,” Missy added quietly.
“Okay, Missy,” Betty Ann said barely above a whisper. “I will.”
The cheerleaders sauntered by the bleachers where Eddie was sitting with a towel draped over his shoulders, his gaze focused on the scrimmage action on the court. Eddie knew that shooting was his primary role on the team, but almost like an additional coach, he studied his teammates, looking for new ways they could take advantage of their strengths while exploiting the weaknesses of the opposition. His coaches welcomed his input and trusted his ideas. Most of all, they appreciated his example to the other players.
“Stay underneath, Alton!” Eddie stood up and called to his teammates. “Don’t let them draw you too far outside, Tim. You’re lettin’ our belly wide open!”
He was so focused on the action on the court that he barely noticed the attractive group of cheerleaders. But they noticed him and his strong, toned body, his shorts and basketball shirt revealing the ripples on his bare muscles. Every cheerleader flashed Eddie her best smile as she passed by, whether or not he noticed.
“Hey, Eddie,” Mary Jo said. “Hi, Eddie!” the others echoed.
Eddie nodded at the girls but continued staring right through them, his eyes glued to the action on the court.
Missy approached Eddie. She flashed him her perfect smile and tilted her head slightly. Her flirtation was flagrantly obvious, but it had an effect on him, nonetheless. He stepped down from the bleachers to face her.
“Hi, Eddie,” she said in her best sultry voice.
“Hello, Missy.”
“Where did you go after the game the other night? We missed you at the party, mister.” Missy smiled.
Eddie looked down at the hardwood. “Oh, I had some things to do.”
“Like shooting baskets in the gym after everyone else went home?” Missy asked.
It was Eddie’s turn to smile. “Maybe . . .” He cocked an eyebrow.
Missy shook her head. “You are something else, Eddie Sherlin. You aren’t human. If you aren’t playing basketball, you are watching or thinking about basketball. You probably dream about basketball too, don’t you?”
“Well, as a matter of fact—”
“Don’t you ever think of anything else, young man?” Missy struck a sexy pose, tilting her head slightly to the left and placing her index finger on her lower lip as she stepped closer to Eddie, her body nearly touching his.
“Oh, I think ’bout other things.” Eddie waggled his eyebrows playfully.
Missy slapped his shoulder. “Yeah, sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.” Missy placed her hands on her hips. “Speaking of seeing you, I will be seeing you at my birthday party, won’t I?”
“Of course. I’ll be there.” He wrinkled his nose. “When is it again?”
“On my birthday, Eddie.”
“Oh, yeah. I knew that.”
“And you will be coming. Do you promise?”
Eddie glanced around to see if anyone watching them could hear him. Standing nearby, Maureen, one of Missy’s friends and a fellow cheerleader, saw him but turned away. “Yes. Sure. I promise,” Eddie said warmly.
“That’s my baby,” Missy said. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t want you to buy me a birthday gift.”
“It’s your birthday,” Eddie protested.
“I know. I know. But I also know you have been practicing night and day and haven’t had time to earn any extra money.”
“Yeah—”
“And your folks work real hard for every penny, so I don’t want you borrowing any money from them.” Eddie stared at Missy in disbelief.
She patted his arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time for you to buy me expensive gifts after you are a rich and famous basketball player.” She smiled condescendingly. “Or baseball player . . . or whatever ball you’re tossing around when the time comes.” Missy puckered her lips and blew Eddie a kiss. “See you later.” She waved as she sauntered away. “Come on, Maureen.”
Maureen fell into step behind Missy, pausing long enough to lean in close to Eddie as she passed him. “Don’t be a fool,” she whispered. “She wants a present. And it had better be a good one.” Maureen swept away from Eddie, chasing after Missy.
Eddie watched both young women sashay out the door. He scratched his head in confusion.
The bell shrilled, signaling the dismissal of classes and sending a flood of students swirling into the hallways. A trio of senior boys—Scott, Terry, and Neil—gathered around Terry’s locker, in no hurry to get to class. “Your daddy is going to whip your stupid butt,” Neil wa
rned Scott. “Looks like you flunked another test, didn’t ya?” Neil pointed at the large forty-nine written in bright red ink on Scott’s paper.
“Oh, let the moron alone,” Terry said. “Can’t you see you are hurting his feelings? You know how sensitive he is.”
“Aw, shut up,” Scott said.
Terry laughed at his own weak joke and was about to punch his buddy in the arm when he stopped short. He frowned at the sight in the hallway a few yards away.
Walking in his direction were two of Gallatin High’s black students—Leah Rogan and Jepthah Swank, both bright and articulate, both new since the push for integration in the county. Jepthah was slight of build and bookish in nature, a feature exacerbated by the large black-framed glasses with Coke-bottle lenses he wore. Petite and classy, Leah carried herself with dignity and sophistication. She was always dressed in a sweater, blouse, and skirt combination.
As the two newcomers walked by, Terry turned to Scott and spoke loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “I bet even Jepthah there did better on his test than you did, Scott.”
“Is that right, Scott?” Neil added. “Did you let colored do better than you, Scottie boy?”
“I said shut your mouth,” Scott retorted.
Terry jerked on Scott’s arm, pulling him down the hallway behind Leah and Jepthah, with Neil trailing right behind them. “How ’bout it, Jepthah?” Terry said the name as if it were a dirty word. “What did you get on your test? Come on, darkie. Don’t be bashful. You can tell us.”
Leah said nothing. She touched Jepthah’s arm and the two of them kept walking. Jepthah tucked his books close to him and eased his body closer to the lockers alongside the hall.
The first day Leah had ridden the school bus, several white girls had refused to allow her to sit down and spat on her, dotting her dark black hair with saliva. Both Leah and Jepthah learned quickly that the best way to avoid foolish conflicts and unnecessary confrontations at Gallatin High was to keep moving.
That’s what they attempted to do, but Terry and Neil were relentless, squeezing in between them, pushing Leah aside and sandwiching Jepthah between the two of them.
“Come on, boy.” Terry nudged Jepthah. “What’d ya get? I really want to know.”
Jepthah looked at Terry squarely for the first time. “Ninety-five.”
“Ninety-five!” Terry bellowed. “You boys hear that? This darkie scored ninety-five out of a hundred.” Terry looked at Scott. “Man, what did you have, Scottie? Forty-something? Wow, he got almost double what you scored. How’s somethin’ like that happen?”
“Yeah! How does that work?” Neil chided. “How does a white man do half as well as a colored man?” Neil shoved Scott against the lockers. “Maybe you should take the test twice, Scott, so you can do as good as this darkie.” Terry and Neil laughed uproariously. Scott bristled.
“Hey, Jepthah,” Terry taunted. “Are you and Scottie related?”
Leah and Jepthah attempted to move farther down the hall, trying to ignore their tormentors, even though they were encircled by the boys’ derisive laughter. “Maybe you should get this darkie to take the test for you, Scottie.” Terry pointed toward Leah and laughed.
Suddenly the laughter died.
Terry and Neil looked up almost at the same instant, recoiling at the large, imposing presence of Principal Dan Herron standing in the center of the hall. Mr. Herron nailed Terry, Neil, and Scott with a glower. He turned briefly to check on Leah and Jepthah. Evidently discerning that they were physically unhurt, he waved his hand at them. “Move on. Get on to your classes.”
Terry started to move past the principal, but he raised his hand to Terry’s chest. “Not you.” He glared at Neil and Scott, who had stopped in their tracks. “You two get to class. I don’t want any more trouble from either one of you. Do you understand?”
Neil and Scott lowered their heads and hurried away. Terry tried to smile. “We’re just havin’ a little fun, Mr. Herron.”
“Go to my office,” the principal ordered. “Now. Wait for me there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Principal Herron shook his head as he watched Terry shuffle down the hall toward the administrative offices. It was going to be a long afternoon.
The commotion in the Gallatin High School parking lot captured the attention of everybody inside the building, as well as onlookers outside. A large number of cars converged on the visitor parking spaces, and what looked to be about forty Negroes, mostly women, stepped out of the cars and headed toward the school’s majestic front entryway. Someone inside the building yelled, “Watch out, it’s a protest march sponsored by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People!”
“No, it’s not,” someone else said. “It’s that Southern Christian Leadership group.”
Actually, they were teachers and staff members from Union High School, all there to attend another of what were intended to be frequent meetings that would, hopefully, make the integration process smoother in Gallatin.
Complicating matters enormously, however, was the decision of the local school boards to completely close down Union High School after the conclusion of the 1970 school year. The Union students, faculty, and staff would be merged into the Gallatin High School program. That was the general plan, but everyone affected by the change had lots of questions.
The administrators of the schools scheduled a series of discussions with local, county, state, and federal government officials. The meetings were intended to help explain how the transition could be made peacefully and most efficiently. A number of similar community confabs already had been held in local churches and civic buildings. Most of the meetings had started out calmly enough but quickly turned vitriolic when parents realized that both coloreds and whites would be closely interacting, which included not only being seated next to one another in classes but also eating in the same cafeteria, using the same restrooms, and even drinking from common water fountains. This afternoon’s meeting was the first between the people whose lives were going to be affected daily by the merger—the teachers, administrators, and other staff members of both schools.
Because attendance by the coaches was mandatory, basketball practice wrapped up early, so Eddie packed his gym bag and headed out the front door. He had no sooner gotten off school property before a car pulled up the street and stopped along the curb closest to him. A man in the car waved. “Hi, Eddie! How ya doin’?”
He immediately recognized Mr. Long, a slightly balding man in his midfifties who owned a local sporting goods store. “Oh, hi, Mr. Long. I’m fine. Good to see you today.” Mr. Long had been extraordinarily kind to Eddie over the years. He gave Eddie more sports equipment than he ever sold to him. Whether he needed a new baseball bat or glove, or a new pair of running shoes, Mr. Long always set a price he could afford—even if that price was zero. When Eddie didn’t have enough money to order his Green Waves letterman jacket, Mr. Long said, “Eddie, don’t worry about paying me. I’ll order the jacket for you, and if you can pay for it, great. If not, that’s okay too.” As it turned out, when the jacket arrived, Mr. Long gave it to Eddie for free.
Mr. Long turned off the car and stepped out, pulling his Sansabelt trousers up over his ever-growing potbelly. The store owner shook Eddie’s hand. “What’s going on at the school today?” he asked as he closed the car door.
“I don’t know for sure,” Eddie replied, “but I think it is one of those integration meetings. All the teachers and coaches are required to attend, so we got out of practice early.”
“I guess they’re never going to let that desegregation thing go, are they?” Mr. Long shrugged. “Well, I’m glad I bumped into you. I have something to show you.”
“To show me?”
“Yep. You alone?” He glanced first one way, then the other. “Lookee here what I just got in the store.” Mr. Long retrieved a shoebox from his car and slowly, almost reverently, lifted the lid.
Eddie was intrigued. He watched intentl
y as Mr. Long peeled back the tissue paper in the shoebox. “Look at these. Direct from the factory to my store—the latest Converse All Stars. But these babies aren’t made of canvas. They’re made of leather!”
Eddie gazed at the shoes in amazement. He had been wearing Converse All Stars with green shoelaces for some time, just like members of the Boston Celtics and other pro teams. Some of the superstars were even switching over to Converse high-tops, although that trend hadn’t hit Gallatin yet. But not even Eddie had ever seen leather Converses.
“Wow, Mr. Long! These shoes are fantastic!” He caressed the shoes as though he were examining a priceless treasure. “Oh, man, they’re nice.”
“Look at that padding, Eddie,” Mr. Long pointed out. “Just like the professionals wear. Same thing.”
“Really?”
“Yep, and they are all yours.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “For me? Mr. Long, are you kidding?”
“Ha! No, I’m not kidding at all. I special ordered them for you, Eddie. Nobody else in the state has a pair of shoes like these. Only you.”
“My goodness, Mr. Long. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. Wear ’em and enjoy ’em. It’s the least I can do for the cause. Do you think you boys can take Springfield in the District Twenty semifinals?”
Eddie stroked the fine leather on the Converse All Stars. “Well, Springfield is pretty tough, but I think if we get our offense working well, we have a good shot at beating ’em.”
“I sure hope so. Win one for Gallatin High. Of course, every time you win, I win too. My business booms. All the kids want the same sort of wristbands that Eddie Sherlin is wearing.”
“But they’re the same white wristbands that everyone else is wearing.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Mr. Long laughed. “It only matters that you are wearing them. I can’t wait to see how many parents want to order leather Converse All Stars for their kids if you guys beat Springfield. Er . . . I should say, when you boys beat Springfield.”