THE AFTERNOON of Missy Hamilton’s birthday party, Anna Ligon hurried home from teaching at Union High School to change clothes and iron the white, heavily starched blouse and dark-colored skirt she would wear to the party. Not that she had been invited. No, nary a chance of a colored person being a guest at a party thrown by one of the most affluent white families in the South. But Anna’s friend Naomi had called the day before to ask a favor.
“Miss Anna, I’m working the birthday party at the Hamiltons’ on Friday night, and I am a bit shorthanded. They have their own butlers and maids, but they’ve also hired Mr. Cox and our team to help with the serving duties, making sure everyone’s drinks are filled, picking up empty glasses, washing dishes, emptying the garbage, and the likes.”
“That sounds like a lot of work, Naomi,” Anna said.
“It certainly is. And we could use a few extra hands. Would you be willing to help me out? Mr. Cox pays real good, and you can even eat dinner at the party—there will be gobs of food—and you will probably be home before midnight.”
“Well, I don’t know. That is a school day, and I will have already worked a lot this week.”
“Oh, please, Miss Anna. I’d be most grateful. And I know Mr. Cox would be most appreciative as well.”
“Well, okay. I’ll be glad to help you. What time do I need to be there?”
Now that Friday afternoon had come, between finishing her responsibilities at Union and rushing home to get ready, Anna was wondering if she had made a mistake. But Naomi was a good friend, and the extra money might cover a few expenses necessary for Bill’s graduation.
Bill and his friend and teammate Roy Jackson were already there when Anna arrived home. She greeted the boys and quickly set about putting up her ironing board. Bill was reading The Militant, a newspaper focused on racial equality issues, while he watched over Roy, who was struggling through his math assignments.
Anna hurried around the house getting her “serving clothes” ready. “Bill, honey, I’m going to have to leave in a few minutes. I’m working tonight, helping Naomi. Delores can get you boys something to eat.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Mom,” Bill said. “Roy and I are going to the Drive-In later on . . . after he finishes his math homework,” Bill emphasized.
Roy looked up and shrugged. Anna smiled. She was glad Roy was trying, whether or not he got to play basketball. She busied herself ironing her clothes for the party. Just about the time Anna put a firm crease in the sleeve of the white blouse, she heard a loud knock at the front door.
Seeing his opportunity to escape his taskmaster of a tutor, Roy bounded to his feet. “I’ll get it, Mrs. Ligon.”
Bill didn’t even look up from his newspaper. “Sit down.” Roy sighed and bent over his math assignment again.
“I’ll get it, Ma,” Bill called. He gave Roy a steadying glance before going over to the door and opening it.
Bill recognized the tall, lean frame of Robert Klein, head basketball coach at Austin Peay State University, located in Clarksville, about an hour north of Nashville.
Bill turned and looked behind him. “Keep at it, Roy. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside, meeting Robert Klein on the porch. “Hello, Mr. Klein. How are you?”
“Hi, Bill. How’s it goin’? How’s my favorite center?”
Bill smiled at Mr. Klein’s smooth pitch. “Oh, I’m all right.”
“Are you boys ready for the big game? Semifinals, that’s hot stuff.”
“We’re ready. I know they’re tough, but we’re gonna put up a good fight.”
“I know you will. Bill, I heard you went up to Princeton recently. How’d that go? Personal escort by Bill Bradley. That’s impressive. The man could shoot a set shot, that’s for sure. Now he’s playing for the Knicks and talking a lot about politics. But a good fellow.”
“Yeah, Princeton was great,” Bill said. “Not sure I’d want to be there in the wintertime. It was cold in the late summer when I visited. Plus, basketball isn’t all that important to them. You know they don’t scholarship their athletes directly. You gotta get into the school academically before they’ll take a look at you on the court.”
“Well, you being a Merit Scholar should take care of that,” Mr. Klein said.
“Yeah, they were nice to me. Made me feel real welcome.”
“We’d make you feel real welcome at Austin Peay, Bill. I know we can’t compete with the major universities you are looking at, but you could be a standout star at Austin Peay, and who knows where you might go from there. I know you are a Detroit Pistons fan, and I could easily see you getting a tryout with them.”
“Thank you, Mr. Klein. I appreciate that,” Bill said sincerely.
“I know there’s not much we can offer you compared to the big boys, but you could go to school for free. Wouldn’t cost your mama a red dime.”
“Yes, sir, that is an advantage—”
“And I tell you, Bill. You’d be the biggest star to ever hit our school. We don’t get many top nationally ranked recruits up in Clarksville. We’re not exactly Los Angeles or Chicago or New York. But I’d hate to see you get caught up in the crowd at one of those big schools when you could be Mr. Everything right here at home. And your mom and your brother and sister could drive up occasionally to see you play.”
“I know, I know, Mr. Klein . . . and I appreciate your generosity—”
“We have a strong basketball program, Bill.”
“Yes, sir. You do have a good program, Mr. Klein. I’ve seen your team play, and you’re a great coach. No doubt. And I’m grateful for your interest in me.” Bill paused and took a deep breath. “But I have to be honest with you. Going to college in another small town after growing up in Gallatin just doesn’t have much appeal to me. Don’t get me wrong. Clarksville is a nice place. We stopped there a couple of times on the way to visit my aunt. And I have to tell ya, compared to Gallatin, Clarksville is downright progressive!”
Both Mr. Klein and Bill laughed, since both rural communities were anything but progressive. Indeed, Gallatin’s recalcitrance in the face of government-mandated integration was widely known.
Bill continued. “We know things are supposed to be changin’ around about these parts, but these little towns . . . it’s gonna take a while. Right now they don’t seem as if they are ever going to change, you follow me? And frankly, Mr. Klein, I can’t imagine what it would take to ever stimulate real change around here regarding racial matters.”
“I understand, Bill. But keep us on your list. We’re interested. Very interested.”
“I sure do thank you, Mr. Klein. But in all honesty, if basketball can get me out of these small-town attitudes, I want to get as far away from them as possible.”
Bill shook hands with Mr. Klein and walked back inside the house.
Anna had finished ironing her blouse and was in the other room changing clothes. Roy looked up from the math assignment with which he was struggling. “What was that all about?” Roy asked.
“Nuthin’,” Bill said. “Nuthin’ at all.”