THE POWER OF WORDS IN SHADES OF GOLD, RED, EBONY, & IVORY:
A golden anniversary, a polite way of saying a half century has passed. And here I am, in a golden sunset, reflecting backwards to an overcast Thursday October 7, 1976.

Circumstances of the past month caused by a stroke, have sent me on occasion to confusing trips down memory lane where I’ve laughed at the times I cried & wept at the times of joy & laughter.

This past weekend, wracked with post stroke neural fatigue mixed with rain, I chased rabbits down the hole of YouTube. I stumbled across the October 20,1973 University of Tennessee vs Alabama football game. Those two guys pictured were part of the Vol backfield that day.

Almost three years after that game, 50 years to the day I write this, the guy wearing 32, Paul Careathers, showed me what a powerful thing believing in someone & the words accompanying that belief can be.

We at Elbert Long School were playing the Irish of Notre Dame that October Thursday. In the first half, I attempted 3 passes & completed all 3…to the Irish. Our halftime custom was that Coach Careathers & I would trail the team to our mid game huddle & have a quick strategy session.

His words that day were short & cutting. With his arm over my shoulder & 7-0 deficit on the scoreboard, he said “I appreciate those guys were open, but they’re wearing white shirts & we’re wearing blue”. I spent the rest of halftime preparing to get the hook & my backup taking snaps.

As I was making a few warm up tosses before the second half kickoff, he approached & my stomach churned anticipating the worst. He slung his large black arm over my shoulder again, leaned his mouth close to the ear hole of my helmet & whispered, “…there’s one guy that can bring us back & I’m talking to him”. At that moment, I would’ve saddled up if he had said we were assaulting the Gates of Hell with water pistols.

The Trojans came back that day, I even completed some passes to guys in blue jerseys & got one of those interceptions back playing defense but what I learned most was that words & belief in someone are robust entities. My Catholic friends & family will say that the patron saint of hope & faith is St. Jude. I would argue that his name was Paul & he wore 32 for the Big Orange.

The next day, enter the toughest, the most all she wanted was all ya’ had, most pull the best out of you educator I ever encountered & an encounter I won’t forget. Her name was Rebecca Farrow.

A reader might ask, “How tough was she?”. So tough that I made a 99 on a SCIENCE essay test for misspelling a word. Every test had to be taken home & signed by a parent, there were never any surprises at report card time with Mrs. Farrow. The 99 had a note attached with “sorry old buddy!”, a red ink smiley face, & a big red ink circle around the offending word.

Neither of my parents went charging into the schoolhouse to intercept my trouble or express offense. My dad told me to check my spelling & that was that. I also brought home a test (among the many my mom kept that were found cleaning out her house) with a grade of “74?”. It too, in red ink.

The question mark not questioning my ability but certainly questioning my effort. As I’ve gotten older & thought of what consequence might result from an action or in hindsight dealt with the consequences of my actions, along with the fact that red ink is now frowned upon in certain educational circles, I view through those lenses a red ink “99” & “74?”, that essentially,  life is about showing up & never giving up, checking your work, & giving your best effort to avoid the question marks.

The Friday morning, October 8,1976, encounter. As explained on the preceding day, our football team made a second half comeback to defeat Notre Dame. A day noted in the yellowed patina of newsprint as, “…one of the biggest football triumphs in the history of the school”. A day, a second half, I was privileged to both steal an Irish pass & fire off a pass that ended in six points to make up for those 3 first half misfires & help make our way to a 22-7 victory.

As I made my way toward the pictured stairway that post victory Friday morning up to Mrs. Welch’s homeroom, I could see Mrs. Farrow outside her classroom, silhouetted by the big picture window at the stairway landing. It was obvious she had her crosshairs fixed on me & she slid out to block my way.

I was met with a big hug & then with her ebony hands, her palms cupped my chin & her fingers clutched my white cheeks & her words still warm as she told me how proud she was of “me & the boys”. A black teacher & a white student, locked in a hug, ebony & ivory keys on life’s piano, enjoying the chords of a gridiron triumph.

I like to think it was the endgame of Rosa’s opening gambit of “Nah”, when asked to vacate her Montgomery bus seat or what Martin was dreaming about on the Mall in ’63.

It’s hard to think those days have reached their golden anniversary. I like to think that I’ve conducted myself the same in the days since where ebony & ivory are concerned. I know some words I’ve delivered, some actions I’ve taken have drawn red ink from my own pen but any tinged in gold, were touched by an ebony arm & ebony hands.