Oops! I tried to paste a class photo of us (the one we posed for when we were in the gym on the Saturday reunion tour) at the end of my first entry, but the result was a blocking out of the entire post that you can see if you tried to open it up. So I reposted the story and photos here. I'll try to fix the class photo problem. .......Thanks to the computer gods--after a good night's sleep, I awoke to find the block was gone.....  Now there are two of the same stories posted (but with a different photo).                 

Kinston a few years ago.....

Mom and I used to walk up the hill on Holman Street together and wait for the bus out front of Jimmy Rochelles’s house to take us downtown when we lived in Kinston.  We only had one car then and Dad had that at work, and besides, Mom didn’t get her driver’s license until a couple of years later after we moved to Raleigh—then dad bought her Mr. Prescott’s old 1949 Buick which we nick-named “Old Betsy”, a real heavy hump-back of a ride with a straight-shift.  You could hear mom grinding those gears on frosty mornings.

I loved riding that ole bus—a blue and white dog-nosed city bus.  We would grab a seat and let the fun begin—loved cruising down Queen Street past the Park Theater and our neighborhood grocery, past Nancy Williams’ Tutor-style house at the top of Queen, then down into town to do Mom’s shopping.  The best part was getting to ride with the maids in the rear of the bus on that bench seat up against the rear window, and I would move there as soon as I could. I remember Julia our maid riding on the bus with Mom and I.  A lady in an aisle seat told me not to sit there, that I wasn’t supposed to sit back there, but I did anyway.  Mom thought it was cute, as did Julia. I was a kindergarten activist. But the maids with their big paper shopping bags knew Julia and welcomed me to sit with them.  And I took great joy in doing so.  A kindergarten activist—I like the sound of that……

 

From little Kinston, at the age of six, I moved with my family to Raleigh and became a first-grader at Frances Lacy School.  No more Jimmy Rochelle, no more fun bus rides to town.  We now lived on the outskirts of the big city.  As a seven-year old I would occasionally ride my bicycle to school with my big brother who was eleven (think about that).

Our family settled in to Raleigh life as the city absorbed Coley Forest and we took on municipal services like garbage pick-up. 

At the age of eight I remember an outing with my mothe, a visit to Dr. Bugg’s office for a measles’ shot—a scary time.  Afterwards, as a reward for my bravery on such an outing, my fun mother would treat me to pancakes at the Cameron Village Kerr Rexall lunch counter.  And boy were they good!  That lunch counter over the years became our go-to place when there were setbacks.

The first visit there I noticed two side-by-side gray stand-up water fountains near the red Formica counter as I swiveled around on my revolving stool. One of the water fountains had a sign which read ‘Colored’. I thought Kool-Aid…..So I quickly went over to have a drink. But there was a reckoning—Even before I pressed down on the foot pedal, I knew—just like when Julia and I rode together in the back of the bus in Kinston.  There in Cameron Village’s Kerr Rexall in 1958 I became an 8-year-old activist. The waitress did point me to the other fountain, but I resisted, and instead sipped the clear ‘colored’ water.  Mom only smiled.  She was proud of me.

In 1965 the color barrier moved from the physical town dividers (Colored Towns) to the more vague and mystical notions of abilities and academic acceptance and scholarships.  And, of course, to college athletics— Bear Bryant probably was the most influential leader who spread integration across the South and into the national gridiron limelight.  Southern Cal’s Sam Bam Cunningham led his Trojans to a complete route of the Crimson Tide in Birmingham one fall Saturday.  Coach Bryant afterwards appealed to his alumni—basically he asked, “Would you rather have segregation or winning football?”  A no-brainer of course—Winning Football!  And ‘N’ Towns and ‘Colored’ water fountains started to go away.  But I still think the Kool-Aid idea was a good one.  :-)

Sam "Bam" Cunningham

Alabama's Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant (The Bear)

Then there was Ed Leftwich..... a friend and teammate, and a really good college basketball player--virtually unstoppable. Ed was the first big-time African American recruit for State.  From Burlington, New Jersey he was a looming 6'5" 220 pounder who could bull his way pretty much anywhere he wanted.

During our freshman year we only had ten players, and on the first day of practice, I got caught tying my shoe laces while the other subs quickly latched onto a man to guard.  When I looked up, guess who was left?  At 6'1" and weighing about 150, I was given the daily task of guarding big Ed in our practice sessions, taking his pushes and shoves, and bumps.  I was sore for most of the season.

 Big Ed Leftwich

But we got to know each other and on a road trip to play the Citadel in Charleston, we kind of both came of age together.  That Klan sign seemed a joke to me.  Ed just shook his head not knowing what to expect.  He could have gone to UCLA, anywhere, but.....And now we were headed to Charleston, the old city with its slave history and slave markets. 

Klan sign erected on the western edge of Smithfield (now removed)

Charleston Slave Market Museum

 

 

One night after our win at the Citadel, I slipped away from our hotel taking Ed with me on a bit of an adventure to explore old Charleston in the dark-- walking  along its winding cobbled-stone streets until we reached the  downtown area which was well-lit up with low-country restaurants, blues bars and jazz clubs, most of those places spread along a long corridor of old markets.  I paused at a historical marker as Ed lumbered by me up the steep steps of a stately antebellun building.  He turned and looked down as I pointed out the historical significance of the slave trading perch where he now stood.  I believe my words to him were (tongue-in-cheek, of course) along the lines of, “How much do you think I could get for a 6' 5" 220 pound black man on the open market today?” I said it with a smile but remember this lumbering 220 pounder pursuing me through three jazz clubs before we both came to a stop at an old antique bar. I bought Ed a Pabst and we called a truce.

A Truce with a Pabst 

On the bus ride home the next morning we again passed that foolish KKK sign outside of Smithfield.  About then, our trainer came down the aisle saying we had better watch ourselves--seems Coach Sloan and Coach Esposito were both in one of the nightclubs and had seen us. But I felt insulated--the All-American was with me.  :-)

Our reunion was a lot of fun. There were a lot of laughs.  We came through those years pretty well--we are a good group.  And last I heard, Ed was doing well just East of San Francisco.  He's probably still unstoppable--I hope so.

Dan(ny)

And a few years later we are still coming of age. 

Halftime at the State Alumni game at dear old Reynolds with my daughter Anna.  :-)