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?”

Bill nodded.

“Well, they’re talking downtown like they might have to do something like that again. They don’t want no more of those Molotov cocktails being tossed around.”

“That’s crazy!” Bill said. “It’s a basketball game.”

Joe shook his head. “I know that. And you know that. But those KKK-lovin’ maniacs are mad that we’re even going to be in the same gymnasium with all them white folks. Can you believe that—in 1970?”

Bill nodded pensively. “Yes, it’s 1970, but here in the South it might as well be 1870.”

The teams tried to prepare for the big matchup as though it were just another basketball game—an important one, but simply a game nonetheless. However, feelings of racial tension slipped in, even on the practice court. As Eddie and the other Green Wave players scrimmaged one late afternoon, Eddie took a shot and missed. A second-stringer rebounded the ball right in front of starter Joey Graves. The second-team guy whipped the ball outside to another sub, who took an easy shot for two points.

Alton Rourke, Gallatin’s center, was furious. “Come on, Joey,” he yelled. “You gotta box out the defenders under the boards. Keep ’em away from the basket. If you don’t, those big gorillas from Union are gonna run all over you.”

Alton turned to Eddie for support but found none. The expression on Eddie’s face clearly revealed that Eddie was annoyed by Alton’s gorilla remark. “What?” Alton railed.

Just then, Coach Vradenburg walked into the gym and blew his whistle.

“Okay, guys,” he called. “That’s it for today. Hit the foul lines, and as soon as you sink fifty, come on over. I want to talk with you.”

When the boys all gathered around, Coach Vradenburg motioned for them to sit on the gym floor. The team sat in a semicircle around their coach, who stood, looking down at his players. “First, I want you to know right up front that I am proud of you. We have had a great year, and I congratulate you. You have handled your success with grace and humility. Character matters, and you boys have it.” He paused and looked around the semicircle of players.

“This game isn’t about Negroes and whites. We’re simply playing another tournament game. A big one, for sure. A good team? Oh, yes. Absolutely. But we’re going to play them like any other team. We’re going to play tough. We’re going to play hard. We’re going to play fair. But we’re gonna play to win!”

Coach Vradenburg stopped and made eye contact with each of his players. “Does everyone understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” several of the boys responded.

“Okay, that’s good. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“All right. Hit the showers and dream tonight about that ball going through the net.”

About the same time, Coach Martin called the Union team off the old court across town. The team gathered around their coach.

“We have a big test ahead of us on Saturday night,” he began.

“Don’t worry, Coach,” Roy Jackson jumped in. “We’re takin’ those white boys down.”

The coach raised his hand, indicating for Roy to pipe down. “I’m not worried about the white boys,” Coach Martin said coolly. “I’m concerned about us—our team, our school.” He paused and looked at his players, wondering if they really understood the significance of this game. “There’s going to be a lot of talk between now and the game—not all of it good. You’re gonna hear some things you don’t want to hear, maybe things you’ve never heard before. People might call you names or make derogatory statements about your mother or your lineage. None of that matters.”

The coach slowly moved his gaze to meet the eyes of each young man on his team. “What I expect from you . . . no, let me say it differently. What I demand from you is your best, on and off the court, and that you show sophistication and class.”

The Union players listened intently, admiration and respect shining in their eyes.

Coach Martin continued. “Now, folks are talkin’ about this game far and wide. A lot of eyes are going to be on you boys. Not only are you representing your school, you are representing a whole lot more—and I don’t think I need to spell that out for you. How you handle yourselves will be noted, either positively or negatively. We didn’t choose this road, but we are going to run down it, and we won’t be backing off. We’re going to play hard, and if we do what we do best, we’re going to win this game. We’re going to win the big one for Union! But let me tell you something, fellows. Win or lose, the way you conduct yourselves on and off the court is more important than the final score. Everybody got it?”

The players responded with positive enthusiasm.

“All right, let’s call it a night. Get some rest.”

Roy and Joe and Bill exchanged looks as they headed to the locker room. “Obviously, this game goes far beyond Gallatin,” Joe said.

“You got that right,” Roy replied. “Thank you, guys, for making me stick to my math.” He looked at Bill. “I know I wasn’t exactly a willing student. But I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for anything.”