Crossing

Summer vacation between the eighth and ninth grades was almost over. I had decided to play football for the school team that year, and practices would be starting soon. I had finished with the band for awhile, or they with me, for they had gotten an older drummer. I had mixed emotions about this. Although I had tired of hanging out and doing band things all the time, my heart hurt over being discarded. I played with a few other guys my own age and we had gotten some gigs, but they were nice guys and so we were destined to go nowhere. Steve and Wayne were obsessed maniacs. It was the only way to thrive.

But James Brown was coming to town and Steve had gotten two tickets from his sister. The concert was going to be in an open football stadium, the Kumquat Bowl, at night, and we would go. I told my parents I was spending the night at Steve's which was true, but I didn't mention the concert. I knew they wouldn't let me go. So as the sun went down, Steve and I walked out to the highway and hitchhiked a ride close to the stadium. The night was dark and warm, and as we walked the many blocks to the stadium, we were the only white faces in the crowd. It was the mid-sixties and race riots were on television every night, but we didn't think they had anything to do with us. They were elsewhere, California, someplace called Watts. We didn't know.

And so we took our place in the stadium, on bench seats near the stage. James Brown did things we had never imagined. He was no Elvis Presley, no Mick Jagger. Nope, this was something far more dangerous than anything we had ever seen, and we sat mesmerized as he seemed to collapse on stage, handlers coming out to his rescue, bringing his cape, helping him up, the band still playing, horns still wailing, but at the last minute, he shrugged them off running back to center stage possessed of some new hudu energy, legs vibrating, feet flying, his throat emitting that most famous "Owww! I feel good. . . ." The reaction from the crowd was maniacal, magical, transforming. And when he finally left the stage, we were worn, too, as if we had performed the entire night.

And so we filed out of the stadium with the rest of the crowd, making our way back to the highway to hitch hike home. But there in the darkness, separating ourselves from the river of people, we heard voices crying to us from across the street. It was a group of boys a bit older than us. "Are they talking to us?" I asked Steve. "I don't know," he said, but we soon found out. When we reached a point where our path would have diverged from theirs, they ran across to us, now a bigger group, their cries having attracted others. Suddenly we were surrounded by Negroes at Night, something completely alien to us here in our southern town, for everything was completely segregated, separate and unequal. It was a racist town to its core.

"Give me your watch," one of them said to Steve, but he didn't respond. We just kept walking and looking ahead, unsure what to do. Then there was a cacophony of voices and a crazy blow. It came from behind, a fist to the side of my neck. It didn't hurt, but my legs simply buckled. And next came the flurry of blows, fist and feet like thunder and hail. But with so many people trying to pummel us, nothing was really connecting. We were not getting hurt much, but there was no fighting back. There was only one thing to do, and we did it. In the adrenaline rush that was now fueling me, I came to my feet in an instant and ran. And Steve was right beside me. All the mythological tales I'd been fed about negroes were now flooding my brain.

And then it was over. They chased us for a minute, then it was done. They had let us go.

When football practice started a few days later, I was still having trouble turning my head, and I had strained something in my leg that made running difficult. Steve was now at the high school, so I saw him less and less. Wayne had already dropped out. My new coach said I looked like a palm tree in the wind when I ran and told me I had to cut my hair. And I did. For now, there would be no band, no running around with maniacs, only the warm embrace of teammates and victory.

That is what I thought.