by Ken Abraham
Gallatin pulsated with excitement all week long leading up to the district basketball championship game. Like many folks in small-town America, people in Gallatin and the surrounding area took their high school sports seriously. In 1970, Nashville did not have any major professional sports teams, and Southeastern Conference college teams such as the Tennessee Volunteers, the Alabama Crimson Tide, and the Georgia Bulldogs seemed like untouchable gods who deigned to let outsiders attend their games; therefore, local spectators got wrapped up in high school sports. Football, of course, was king, but when basketball was hot, it was a close second. And in the spring of 1970, basketball was hot in Gallatin!
“Good mornin’, Gallatin!” Jesse hooted into the WHIN microphone. “What do we got today, Al?”
“Well, you don’t even need me to tell you,” Jesse’s cohost teased. “Everyone in these parts is talking about only one thing—the big district tournament championship game coming up this weekend. And we’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that Gallatin can’t lose! We have two—count ’em, Jesse—two teams from Gallatin schools in the district finals, Gallatin High and Union High, so we have a lock on the division title, folks. Someone in Gallatin is gonna be taking home a big trophy on Saturday night. That’s the good news.”
“And what’s the bad news, Al?” Jesse set up his partner.
“Well, the bad news is we’re talking about Gallatin High School playing Union High School, and, folks, it ain’t never happened before and ain’t never gonna happen again because, as most of you know, the school district is closing down Union after this term. So this is the very first and the very last time these two teams will meet! And they aren’t gonna meet in just a scrimmage game. Not even in a regular season game. No sirree, Bob. They’re meetin’ in the District Twenty tournament championship game.”
Don Savage, the owner of the pawn shop, sat in his rocking chair behind the counter and smiled as he listened to Jesse and Al and thought about the chain he had helped Eddie pick out for his girlfriend. I hope that gold chain with Eddie’s ring hanging on it made her happy, he mused.
Down at the whites-only barbershop, Bob White unlocked his door and turned on the red, white, and blue barber’s pole outside the doorway to let people know he was open for business. He adjusted the volume on the radio so his customers could hear Jesse and Al, but not so loud that the radio hosts would impede customers’ discussion of the game while in the shop. After all, arguing over high school sports was a barbershop tradition in Gallatin.
On the other side of the street, Roscoe Robinson, the owner of the Negro barbershop, did much the same thing. In almost every store in town, radios blared. All were tuned in to one topic—the big game.
Jesse pitched his partner a cue. “Yes, sir, Al. Gallatin and Union took care of their semifinal opponents in such convincing fashion it almost made folks feel sorry for Springfield and Westmoreland. Those are two mighty fine teams, but Gallatin and Union are simply a cut above.”
“You are right, Jesse.” Al picked up the banter. “And this Saturday night, these two teams are going to be evenly matched. The oddsmakers don’t even know which way to call it. You’ve got five future college starters on the Union team, with Bill Ligon leading the way and captain Roy Jackson providing the fire. And then you have Gallatin with Eddie Sherlin, one of the leading scorers in the entire state. In fact, for most of this season, Eddie has been among the top scorers. In mid-February, our hometown boy took the lead, becoming the number one point producer, scoring more than 800 points—33.5 points per game—more than any other high school basketball player in all of Tennessee. I mean the boy can plumb shoot the eyes out of the basket!”
Over at the Dari Delite, Jim Scanlin smiled. He knew Eddie would be ready for this game. And Bo would be right there on the sidelines rooting him on. Jim sincerely hoped Eddie could win this one for Bo.
And down at the Drive-In, all the waitresses were decked out in the colors of Union High School.
Out on the tobacco farm, Mr. Bonner and Roy Jackson’s grandfather both sat down to breakfast with the radio tuned in to basketball talk. Farther out of town up on the hill, Charles Hamilton Sr. sat down in the sunroom of his sprawling Southern mansion with the Nashville morning paper and turned not to the stock report but, rather, to the sports section.
Principal Herron walked outside onto his porch to retrieve the morning paper. He stopped short and glared at the blackened cross standing on his lawn. He made a mental note to call someone before leaving for work to have the eyesore hauled away.
At the Ligon home, Bill, Tyree, and Delores listened to the radio as they gulped down their breakfast before heading off to school. “Hear that, Bill?” Tyree asked. “It is anybody’s basketball game.”
“Hmm, that’s profound,” Bill replied whimsically.
Tyree nudged Bill playfully. “Well, it’s better than them saying that Gallatin is gonna whip our butts!”
Bill smiled. “Oh, no, they wouldn’t say that. They know better.” He got up from the table, ready to take on the day.
At the Sherlin home, Bo and his parents listened intently to Jesse and Al’s analysis of the upcoming game. Delilah and Debbie scanned the newspaper for new pictures of Eddie.
“You can’t take those guys too seriously,” Eddie said as he walked into the kitchen. “They’re just drumming up conversation.”
Al intoned, “We’ll be open all day for ‘Sports Beat Call-In,’ so y’all give us a jingle and tell us who you think is gonna win the big game and why. We already got one caller on the line. Go ahead, caller.”
“Gallatin’s going to win,” the caller said.
“Why do you think that?” Jesse asked.
“Because of Sherlin. He’s got the touch. Eddie Sherlin is going to score thirty or more points all by himself. That’s about half of what they need to win.”
Eddie cocked his head and smiled. “Mmm, maybe they know more than I thought they did. See ya later, everyone. We’re practicing late tonight.”
By Wednesday, besides bubbling with the normal excitement over the basketball game, the entire town of Gallatin braced itself for potential racially motivated problems. Mayor Knapp called for a meeting with Principal Malone and Principal Herron, as well as the chairman of the city council. The mayor welcomed his guests into his office and sat down behind his desk, with his secretary, Elizabeth, poised to take notes.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Mayor Knapp began. “I do appreciate it. I’m sure you are quite busy this week. First, congratulations to both schools and your fine athletic programs. Gallatin is proud of all of our boys—our two favorite sons.” The mayor chuckled at his remark, but nobody else in the room did.
He cleared his throat. “Well, now, all right.” The mayor rustled some papers on his desk but didn’t even look at them. “Let’s get down to it. We have a situation comin’ up—the two schools playin’ on Saturday. ’Course, when you have crosstown teams, it’s natural to have a healthy rivalry. In our case we all agreed . . .” the mayor paused and looked up at Principal Malone. “Well, most of us agreed, that having the schools—a predominantly white school and a predominantly colored school—play each other might not be the best idea.”
The mayor stood up and walked around the room as he continued to speak. “Over the years, we thought it was prudent to avoid any undue pressure and let things flow their natural course. Take our time, you know, on all this integration talk. But now the government has mandated integration, so we no longer have a legal choice. We’ve tried the Freedom of Choice program, which allowed parents to choose to send their children to either school, and frankly, I thought it was doing fairly well. I thought we already were integrated in Gallatin. Why, we even have a colored woman on our city council.”
Principal Malone rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. He was about to remind the group that Freedom of Choice was not, in fact, working, but the mayor continued.
“We’ve been making
steady progress on white and colored matters, and things have been relatively peaceful around these parts, except for a short time after the assassination in Memphis a couple of years ago. But we’re back on track and doin’ well.” The mayor took a deep breath, sat back down in his chair, and folded his hands in front of his face.
“But now we have this game . . .”
Even through Mayor Knapp’s fake smile, both principals and the chairman of the city council could tell the mayor was worried.
Mayor Knapp picked up a pencil and idly tapped a coffee cup on his desk. “So I ask you, gentlemen, what can we do to help make this an exciting and safe event—something the good city of Gallatin will be proud of for years to come? What are your thoughts?”
Nobody said a word. The mayor looked from person to person. Each face bore a glum expression. “Please,” said the mayor. “Mr. Herron, if you will.”
Principal Herron sat even more rigidly than usual, his back pressed against his chair. He answered in firm, terse statements. “Sir, in one word: discipline. We have instituted a strict code of conduct at Gallatin High. That includes all student activities on and off school grounds. I expect the basketball team, our teachers, and all of our students to adhere to that code. I have made that quite clear.” Principal Herron relaxed his tone and shrugged his shoulders slightly. “While I can’t promise 100 percent compliance, due to the unpredictable nature of particular individuals—some of whom are associated with unsavory organizations in our community and in various parts of Tennessee—any infractions will be dealt with harshly and in haste.”
“I see.” Mayor Knapp seemed taken aback by Principal Herron’s brusque, militaristic approach. His face wrinkled with concern, and he tapped the coffee cup more vigorously. But he quickly reasserted his political sensibilities and the politician’s smile popped back onto his face. “Well, then. Very good. Principal Malone?”
Principal Malone spoke much more softly but just as emphatically as Principal Herron. “As far as Union High is concerned, we will be meeting several times this week with our teachers and encouraging an open discussion with our students. Regarding the discipline of our team, I have every confidence that Coach Martin and his staff will bring out the best in our boys.”
The mayor seemed to relax somewhat. “Well, that’s fine. So—”
But Principal Malone was not done. “As far as the community is concerned, you are dealing with decades of anger, hostility, disappointment, and distrust. What kind of symbol this game is taking on beyond mere basketball, I cannot say.” Principal Malone looked around to each person in the room and then directed his comment to Mayor Knapp. “Mr. Mayor, we’ve brushed these issues under the rug for a long, long time. Now, we’re lifting up a corner of that rug. I’m not sure what we’re going to find or what might pop out.”
For nearly thirty seconds, the group sat silently as each person pondered Principal Malone’s statements. Finally, the mayor put on a happy face and broke the silence. “Okay. Well, thank you both for your thoughts. We have ourselves a busy couple of days, don’t we?”
The mayor stood and escorted his guests to the door, shaking hands with and thanking each person for attending the brief meeting. He smiled broadly. “I wish you all the best, and I look forward to an exciting exhibition of basketball over in Springfield on Saturday night. Good day.”
The mayor closed the door behind them. His smile disappeared instantly as he turned to his secretary and said coldly, “Get me Chief of Police Braden on the telephone.”
25
MAINTAINING ORDER IN SCHOOLS was always difficult during the early days of spring in Tennessee. Once the dreary winter subsided and the weather turned warmer, kids had a difficult time concentrating on schoolwork. Springtime could easily lull a person into thinking the joys of summer had arrived. But wise old Tennesseans knew that with the warmth also came the potential for quick-rising storms, as well as brief cold spells that could kill the budding growth and spawn destructive tornadoes, resulting in lives lost and the decimation of entire towns and areas of the countryside in a matter of seconds.
The same type of tumultuous atmosphere hovered over Gallatin during the week of the District Twenty basketball championship. Everyone sensed the excitement about what was happening, yet there was also the pervading awareness that something ominous, something awful could happen at any second, blowing the community apart.
At Gallatin High, Eddie was upbeat, as usual. Trying to walk to class was even more difficult, however, due to the constant compliments and encouragements flying his way as he weaved his way through the crowded hallways. “You guys really put it to Springfield last weekend, Eddie. Way to go.”
Several students patted Eddie on the back as he walked by.
“We’re behind you all the way!”
Some of the students’ encouragement came tinged with racial overtones, and other comments were outright racist. “You show ’em, Eddie. We can’t let a bunch of darkies steal our trophy from us.” Eddie nodded or waved slightly to all of the well-wishers, despite their motivations. He didn’t stop to talk, though, as he made his way to his first-period class. But just as he arrived at the classroom, the door flew open and several students rushed out into the hall, nearly bumping into Eddie. He stepped aside to let them pass and then entered the classroom. He was surprised at what he saw. The class was in total disarray—students were talking, laughing, and goofing off. Most everyone was standing; few students were actually sitting at their desks. It was more of a party atmosphere than a senior class. Clearly, no teacher was in the classroom and no normal class was being conducted.
Eddie noticed Buddy flirting with a girl on the far side of the room. He walked over and, when it seemed polite to interrupt, asked, “What’s going on? Where’s the teacher?”
Buddy shrugged. “Not sure. She hasn’t shown up yet!”
Eddie left the classroom and went farther down the hallway, looking inside the classrooms as he walked. In each room, the scene was much the same, with the students out of control, rabble-rousing, and having a blast. But no teachers were to be found.
Eddie moved down the hall toward the school’s front office. When the office conference room door opened, the mystery was solved. Inside were all the teachers, the office staff, and others, all listening raptly as Principal Herron spoke to them, stone-faced.
Ben, another student, exited the office in Eddie’s direction. “Hey, what’s going on?” Eddie asked.
“Oh, they’re talking about the big game,” Ben said.
Eddie looked back toward the conference room. “Really? Why so worried?”
“They’re all bummed out about a race riot possibly taking place at the game.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. They want the state police to surround the Springfield gym on Saturday. They’re convinced something bad could happen if they don’t keep tight reins on the situation.”
Eddie still didn’t catch the student’s drift. “What situation?”
Ben looked at Eddie quizzically. “Well, some bad stuff has occurred in several other areas of the country where coloreds and whites have played against one another, and you know we’ve had some cross burnings and things like that right around here. Someone even said there may be a group of people driving all the way from Pulaski to come to the game. And you know that can’t be good.”
“Why?”
“Eddie, Pulaski is where the KKK first got started. There are still a bunch of KKK members in the area, and they hate Negroes.”
“Oh.” Eddie nodded. He looked back curiously toward the conference room, where Principal Herron was still speaking in somber tones to the teachers and staff.
At Union High School, the scene was much the same. As Bill walked down the hall, he was surprised at the lack of order and discipline among the students. The hallways were crowded with kids fooling around, talking, laughing, and having a good time. But there were no teachers in the hallways; nor were they in the classrooms
.
“Hey, Bill,” a student called out. “You’re gonna mop the floor with those white boys this Saturday.”
Everywhere Bill went at school, students cheered him on and called out words of encouragement. “After this weekend, there will be only one team known in Gallatin. The Union Devils! You show ’em, Bill!”
Bill appreciated the enthusiastic support. He saw Charlene walking down the hall with several of her girlfriends, so he thought it might be a good opportunity to talk with her, but Charlene walked right past Bill, as though she hadn’t even noticed him.
Bill shrugged. “What?” he called after her, but she didn’t turn back to speak with him.
Bill walked down the hall toward the school office. He figured if something was up, his mom would know, since her classroom had a clear view of the office. Bill stopped outside the office door, where he saw Joe. Bill waved to Joe and was about to call out, but Joe put his finger to his lips. “Shhh!” Joe had cracked open the door to a room filled with teachers. His dad was addressing the faculty and staff about the tension surrounding Saturday’s game, and Principal Malone’s tone sounded deeply serious.
He noticed the door ajar, so as he continued to talk, he walked around the room and spoke from in front of the door. With a barely noticeable shift of position, he reached around and closed the door, nearly catching Joe’s nose in it. Joe got the hint. He hurried out of the office and joined Bill in the hallway.
“What’s going on?” Bill asked.
“Everyone is talking about the game on Saturday night.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Not really,” Joe said. “They’re talkin’ as though by game time it is going to be somethin’ like the Watts riots in LA, with people fightin’ in the gymnasium. Do you remember how it was after Dr. King was shot, how they banned guns, ammunition, beer, and gasoline here in town?”