Discussions on racial relations in this country are healthy even when, sometimes, they bring out the worst in some of our citizens. Our views on race are shaped by a lot of things: what we hear, what we see, the things we watch, the things we read and the people we choose to listen to. But most importantly, our racial outlook is molded by our own experience. A child is not born with prejudice in their heart, it’s acquired.
My own views were fashioned in large part by my parents, my generation, my exposure to minorities and by my involvement in athletics, particularly basketball. The most basic misunderstandings between races occur when a divide exists that prevents interaction. Cultural and racial misconceptions abound when different races lack the opportunity or the inclination to interact with one-another.
My first lesson in race relations occurred when I was very young, before I even began school. I was probably five or six years old at the time and an older boy in our neighborhood goaded me into calling a young black child, who lived a couple blocks away, the “N” word. I had never heard the term before and I had no idea what it meant. The insult no sooner passed my lips when the young black drilled me in the mouth with a right cross. That was lesson number one. When I ran home crying to my mother and related the injustice to her, she let me have it too. My mom then explained to me in simple terms that everyone is entitled to be treated with respect. That was lesson number two.
I think back to my mom and dad’s generation and wonder how anyone raised in that era could avoid not being prejudiced. There was very little interaction between the races except in subservient roles. Blacks were denied access to professional sports. Their only roles in motion pictures were as maids or as insulting caricatures. African American homes in most cities, including Lima, were tightly restricted to sub-standard neighborhoods. Blacks were even denied full participation in the most important accomplishment of the “Greatest Generation,” their victory over fascism in World War II. African-Americans made important military contributions to the war effort but were segregated from whites in combat.
Some of the barriers creating separation began to crumble in my youth. My first two professional athletic heroes were both black: Frank Robinson of the Cincinnati Reds and Jim Brown of the Cleveland Browns. I had their pictures taped on the wall next to my bed. I wonder now if my dad, whose heroes as a youth (Frank McCormick and Ernie Lombardi) were limited to only whites, understood the irony of my fascination with those two African-American athletes.
Basketball played an impactful role in my life in terms of embracing the benefits of diversity. As a teenager, my determination to elevate my game guided me to basketball courts at Bradfield Center and playgrounds in the south end of Lima. It was there I first began to forge friendships with young black players who were in pursuit of the same dreams. Cleo Vaughn, a Lima native who was the first African-American to play basketball for Ohio State University, took me under his wing and helped fan the flames of passion for the game. Vaughn’s story about his own journey in the basketball world impacted my outlook on more than just the game itself. I learned that, despite some cultural differences, blacks and whites share the same dreams, the same hopes and the same frailties.
I also learned that, although things had improved for African-Americans in the world of athletics, it was still not a level playing field. In the springtime of my senior year in high school I was offered basketball scholarships by several colleges in the south that annually made recruiting trips to states in the north looking for talent. There was plenty of great black basketball players right under their noses but many of the colleges in the south still practiced segregation and refused admission to African-Americans. I remember one coach from a Florida school sitting in my living room and using his best pitch to convince my parents and I to sign scholarship papers. When he proudly advised us that his school still practiced segregation, my mom and dad politely but firmly escorted the coach to the front door.
Segregation barriers began to disappear but it was still a difficult climb for black athletes. Progress, even on the basketball courts, was slow. African-Americans began showing up more often on college and professional rosters but it was a slow trickle. The rule of thumb was an African-American had to be much better than a white player if he wanted to secure his spot on a team.
I played summer ball in Lima with a number of young African-Americans in the 1960s who were as good or better than I was but no college coach came knocking on their door. If they had been born in later generations, most would have been recruited and received the opportunity to use their basketball skills to further their education at the college level.
Clearly basketball has come a long way in recent generations. But it’s still important that our young athletes, black and white, understand and appreciate the history of their game and the role that race has played in its evolution.
There is often a bond of friendship that is formed by athletes who compete with and against one another. This is true regardless of racial or cultural differences. If you look closely at players following a passionately contested game you can recognize another quality that bonds athletes. It’s called respect.
We can all learn a lesson from their example.
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