Morning Thoughts: September 25, 2017

When I first enrolled at the University of Arkansas, African-American students were segregated into one dormitory. I can’t remember its name for the life of me. I seem to remember it was a wood frame building that looked more like a barracks than a dorm.

They had done away with it by the time I left and had integrated the dorms, years after they had integrated the classrooms. Justice came slowly in those days, hardly like a mighty river, more like a sluggish bayou.

Over the years, I have witnessed more than a few incidents that demanded courage. I’ve witnessed some that produced courage. One in particular stands out in my memory. It demonstrated a bravery almost rapturous in its glory.

The U of A had some sort of beauty contest each year in the Greek amphitheater. All the sororities would send their top picks across the stage dressed in their finery, and every male heart in the crowd would spend an evening pining for the unattainable. It was quite a sight. Each fraternity had a favorite sorority and the contest could get raucous at times. The students had a good time.

Then one year, from out of nowhere, the African-American dorm announced that it was entering a contestant. That caused quite a stir and, if I remember, boosted that year’s attendance, more from curiosity and a chance to mock and demean than for any other reasons.

I suspect it was a last-minute decision, for when the contestant’s name was called she appeared in a modest white dress, more suitable for church than a beauty contest. She hurried across the stage without looking at the crowd, then disappeared into the annals of campus history.

The stage was small, as I remember, but that must have been the longest walk a human made that night. The catcalls were, I can only imagine, painful to the core. The laughter must have been worse. The bravery was, to a boy from the segregated South of Arkansas, galvanizing. There are many faces of courage. Rescuing a wounded comrade under fire is one. Making a short walk through an almost visible curtain of hatred is surely another.

There is no chance that this girl received even a scintilla of consideration as winner of the contest. Yet, she towered over all of us there like a colossus. I’ll never forget the ephemeral journey she made from one side of the stage to the other amidst the taunting and disbelief. I still like to believe that it changed my life for the better.

I’ve no idea who she was, or what may have happened to her. If she is still alive, she is at the age where she could have a grandson playing professional sports. As I read the news this morning, she came to mind, and I wondered what she might think of a loved one making a brave stand to bring attention to racism and to produce justice for his people.

Courage: pass it on.