MORE THAN FORTY YEARS LATER, people in Tennessee still talked about that hug. The two old friends, Eddie and Bill, now in their sixties, shared a special reunion when they met in downtown Gallatin to reminisce. They walked the town together, talking as they went.
“Isn’t it amazing,” Eddie said to Bill, “that people still remember that game and the two of us embracing afterward? Although we didn’t realize the significance of our actions at the time, something happened in our town that night. We were a part of something really special, something good.”
“Yeah, I ran into a guy from the Gallatin class of 1981 the other day,” Bill said. “A black guy. He knew more about that hug than he did about the game. He thought that Union had won. So I didn’t tell him any differently.”
Both Eddie and Bill burst out laughing.
“Yep. Folks are convinced that what we did at center court that night had something to do with making things better around here,” Eddie said. “That somehow it opened the way for racial reconciliation in our neck of the woods.”
Bill nodded and rubbed his chin. “There may be some truth to that. After all, not long after that game, they not only integrated the schools, they also integrated the Palace Theater and everywhere else in town. We got black kids and white kids going to the same movie house and sittin’ together on the same levels now, and some of ’em even eating popcorn out of the same popcorn buckets.”
“I hear that they can sit anywhere in the theater,” Eddie said with a smile. “And believe it or not, I’ve even seen a white boy and an African American girl walking down the same side of the street, holdin’ hands, right here in downtown Gallatin.”
Bill shook his head. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Nowadays, kids of all races go into the diner and sit wherever they want to, with whomever they wish, and nobody even blinks an eye.” Bill cocked his head, and with a twinkle in his eyes asked, “Are we that old, Eddie?”
“Ha! Nah, we’re not old, but we’ve come a long way, and we’ve had an amazing journey. You and I realized as kids that we were no different from each other, except you had a darker suntan than I did.”
Both men chuckled.
Eddie continued. “Basketball brought us together. And in an odd way, basketball brought our town together.”
“That’s right, Eddie. Look over there.” Bill pointed to a school bus that had stopped to unload some kids coming home from school. “Black kids and white kids getting off that bus, and nobody thinks nuthin’ of it. That would not have happened in our high school days, but now it is commonplace. That’s progress, Eddie.”
Bill stretched his long legs against the curb. “And despite some difficult obstacles to overcome, the integration of the schools went fairly well that fall.”
“That’s right,” Eddie agreed. “And just two years later, your brother, Tyree, and the integrated Gallatin basketball team won the Tennessee state championship.”
“Yes, they certainly did. They were unbeatable once Union and Gallatin joined forces as a team. Of course, you and I didn’t get to see much of that.”
“Right, you were off to college. What was the name of that dumpy little school you attended, Princeton or something?” Eddie smiled and nudged Bill’s shoulder playfully.
“Nope. Turned Princeton down. Had the entrance packet and everything, but I went to Vanderbilt instead. I got in academically first, and then later they gave me a basketball scholarship. I was glad to be playing in Nashville because they broadcast the Vandy games on television. So there I was, a couple of nights every week, the only black fellow on the team, on live television.”
“Ah, so that’s how the Detroit Pistons found out about you? All that TV time!” Eddie teased. “And you signed with the Pistons, pursued your dreams, and played professional basketball. Good for you, Bill!”
“Thanks, Eddie, but what about you? Instead of attending college and playing basketball at the University of Tennessee, you pursued your dreams and signed with the Pittsburgh Pirates baseball team, right out of high school. I don’t know how you did that. Gallatin High didn’t even have a baseball team, but the pros recognized your ability. How did they know you could hit?”
“Turns out, I couldn’t,” Eddie joked, and both men laughed. “But my dad was mighty proud of me.” Eddie shook his head. “Isn’t it amazing, Bill, how much we can do if we just lay aside our differences and try to understand one another? Who knows what we could accomplish if we’d work together instead of against one another?”
“We still got a long way to go, Eddie,” Bill said. “We ain’t in heaven yet.”
“I know that’s true,” Eddie mused. “Here we are, both of us back in Gallatin. We’ve had some success, and we’ve both made some mistakes. But if people can just learn to love one another, and forgive one another, no problem is insurmountable. What was that song you guys used to sing? ‘We Shall Overcome’? We really can overcome the pain we’ve all experienced in the past, and any problem in the future, if we will help one another. I believe God will guide us as we do that, if we will ask him.”
“I know that’s right, brother. Preach it!” Bill patted his friend on the back.
“Naw, I ain’t no preacher,” Eddie said. “I’m just a sports nut, like you. But here we are, back in our hometown, where we still have a chance to make a difference every day.”
“That’s pretty cool,” Bill agreed. “But speaking of a difference, I wonder if we played some ball today if we might have a different outcome?”
“I don’t know, but let’s find out. Look where we’ve walked.”
The two friends were standing in front of Gallatin’s park, the same park where they were not allowed to play together as boys, close to where Bill formerly lived. Some young boys, black and white, were playing basketball on the new asphalt courts. They looked to be about eleven years old.
“Let’s ask them if we can join them,” Eddie suggested.
“Are you kidding?”
“Surely we can keep up with a couple of kids.”
“Okay.” Bill called to the kids on the court, “Hey, do you guys mind if we play too?”
The boys stared skeptically at the two sixty-something men wearing street clothes. They exchanged doubtful looks. Finally one of the boys called, “Sure, you can play—if you can shoot.”
“Oh, we can shoot, all right,” Eddie called. He and Bill hobbled over to the court.
“I’ll take the big guy,” one of the black boys said.
“Aw, come on, you always give me the short guys,” a white boy said.
Bill interrupted them. “But sometimes those short guys can really shoot.” He looked over at Eddie and winked.
Eddie and Bill joined in the boys’ game and were holding their own with them for a while, until Bill went up for a jump shot from above the foul line. Eddie leaped up to block Bill’s shot, and both men tumbled to the asphalt. Eddie bounced back up, but Bill was slow in moving.
“Oh, you got me that time,” Bill said. “Ow, my achin’ back.”
Eddie stood over him and reached out his hand. “Come on, you’re not hurt.”
“Are you kiddin’?” Bill protested. “I can hardly move! Let’s go get somethin’ to eat.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go over to the Dari Delite and grab a burger.” He smiled. “I hear they’re lettin’ black folks in there these days.”
“Naw, man,” Bill said, as he let Eddie help him up. “Let’s go to the Drive-In and get some good fried chicken. If we can get in, that is. Since you white folks discovered what good fried chicken tastes like, we African Americans can’t hardly get in over at the Oakes Drive-In. Hmph. Integration, they call it.”
Bill threw his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, and they waved good-bye to the kids as they walked away.
A black boy and white boy stood together, watching the two friends walking into the sunset. “Old people,” they both said, shaking their heads.
“Who can figure them out?” the white boy asked.
The black boy raised his eyebrows, glanced heavenward, and said, “God only knows.”