STORIES FROM THE STEPS,  VOLUME 2, CHRONICLE 3: REDUX, AN EASTER STORY FOR MLK DAY.  

“To make an apt answer is a joy to a man,
and a word in season, how good it is!” Proverbs 15:32

On this day when we celebrate Dr. King & impact on humanity,  it seems a good day to pull out this letter from Easter ‘21, a gift to my first granddaughter, then 8 months old, about two other men of color & impact…


AN EMPTY GYM & AN ANGEL WITH A DUST MOP, let me tell you an Easter story: Some time back, on a damp, gray Friday afternoon, my coach walked me out of this gym & down a long hallway. Coach was telling me I wouldn’t be a starter on the basketball team any longer. He had enough respect for his players to tell us things privately. On this cold, rainy December day, there was a third person in the hall. As we walked toward the large picture window that lit the staircase at the end of the hall, I heard the rattle of a dust mop. Our school custodian, Mr. Chapman was tidying up Mr Haskins’ science room on our left. We passed as he was exiting, & he must have sensed what was happening. He stopped, dropping his head as men did in those days when a funeral procession went by, & retreated back into the classroom. He stayed until we made our return trip toward the locker room. After two days away, Monday brought a new week, & my first time in the gym since my “firing “. By a quirk of scheduling, I had 5th period English, the class period after lunch, every year. By this time, I must have built up enough good citizen points that I could take a special route to class. That old gym had yet to become my  muse but was already a sanctuary. My path would take me up a back stairwell from the cafeteria through the far end of the gym & out its big double doors to a 45 degree turn into Mrs. Pitts English room. My trip was normally solo but on occasion, Mr. Chapman, armed with his dust mop, would be sweeping after a gym class or an elementary rainy day recess, prepping the floor for hoop practice. He, I would find out on this Monday, knew my route too. As I hit the top landing of that back stairwell, seated at the junction where steps descended from the bleachers, was Mr. Chapman. The business end of his dust mop on the floor, the handle propped against his shoulder, his deep mahogany hands & face popping out of the collar & cuffs of the green shirt of his janitor’s uniform like the neon “hot doughnuts ” Krispy Kreme  sign pops in the night. My feet striking the landing brought these words from his mouth,  “…young man, keep your chin up, keep walking, & good things will happen.” In the collision of ignorance & arrogance that is the standard issue train wreck for adolescent boys, I can’t remember my response or if any was offered. I did, fortunately & unwittingly, bank the fire of these words.  A little over 8 years ago, well, no use kidding you, 2,997 days ago, these words were uncovered. As I have gotten older, I’ve come to realize Mr. Chapman spoke from having walked a road of hurt. Being a black man in the south, I’m sure he had experienced more hurt in a week than I have in my lifetime. He recognized my hurt & wanted to lighten my load. As my days speed by, & on this day in particular, I think of another man whose skin is darker than mine, that kept walking on a road of hurt so good things would happen. A road trekked to lighten not just my load but the load of us all, because like Mr.. Chapman, he knew & knows our routes, knows when there are days of distress, knows the days when there is a change of plans, knows there are days, walks, & words that hurt. Days that begin like the one 3 women & 11 disciples had at an empty tomb, like I had in a schoolhouse hallway, a day when victory’s forest couldn’t be seen through the saplings of defeat. As I stood in ashes & rubble nearly 3,000 days ago, stood on what used to be a ceiling, & made numerous trips carrying charred remains to a dumpster, the words “keep walking ” from a cherub dressed in olive drab, returned. The words of an angel long ago were, “…He’s not here…”, that’s just a heavenly riff on the bars & measures of keep walking.  Either version, from an angel at an empty tomb or an angel with a dust mop in an empty gym, for those days when plans fall apart, their words have the same effect, their words turn a prison into a gateway. I hope you have an encounter at an empty tomb, I hope you meet a dust mop wielding angel in an empty gym, just so you’ll always remember to, “Keep your chin up, keep walking, and good things will happen.”…