Free Sweetness by Jeff Pearlman Page B

everyone.”

    Walter’s senior year of high school began on September 7, 1970. Now that Columbia High was officially integrated, there were no more picketers or threats of defection to Columbia Academy. For the first time, the black and white students were mixed into one classroom. Any past physical divisions were over.
    It was a new era in the town’s race relations, and to the chagrin of many white parents, their children seemed to like it. In the aftermath of all the warnings and hysterics, the black kids were, by and large (gasp!) nice. They weren’t tail-dragging mutants, out to bring down the genteel Southern society whites had strived to create. They were respectful and decent and shockingly friendly.
    Oh, and they could play football.
    Not all of them, obviously. But as the Wildcats prepared for their September 4th opener against Prentiss High at Gardner Stadium, there was a renewed sense of optimism. It had been years since Columbia High brought much suspense to the gridiron. Under Wilkerson, the Wildcats generally wound up as a solid-yet-predictable team, bogged down with a dull offense and so-so overall talent. Now, thanks to desegregation, one couldn’t deny a refreshing energy throughout the town. The fascination was genuine: How would this play out?
    Located twenty-five miles to the north of Columbia, Prentiss’ Bulldogs had dominated the Wildcats, winning twenty-one straight games against their conference rivals. Like Columbia, the school was in the midst of fullfledge integration, and also like Columbia, the process had gone relatively smoothly. “It was easy,” said Larry Fike, the Bulldogs’ star halfback/linebacker. “We were about fifty percent white, fifty percent black, and I don’t remember any fights at all.” If anything, Prentiss’ white players utilized their new teammates as informants to the ways of opposing blacks. “All week leading up to the game, we kept hearing, ‘Watch out, they have this stud running back,’ ” said Fike. “But when you’re seventeen or eighteen years old, you think you’re a stud, too. So we went over there believing Walter was just another good running back who we’d easily stop.”
    The opening game of the season began at seven thirty P.M., on a warm Mississippi night perfect for September football. With the sun setting over the stadium, the sky was an orange-pink canvas. The scent of popcorn filled the air. The squeals of young children running beneath the stands provided a familiar soundtrack. A sellout crowd of nineteen hundred spectators paid three dollars per ticket, there as much for the curious spectacle as for the sport itself. Those who couldn’t attend gathered by their radios, listening to the game on WCJU, Columbia’s AM station. Davis was the new coach, and he brought with him a pro set offense. Johnson was the quarterback, with Payton and Moses starting in the backfield. Lining up split to the right was Lee Bullock, a white—and deaf—wideout who learned to read Johnson’s lips as he called the plays. “It was a wonderful moment,” said Graves. “We had had the offensive linemen to be a good team, but we lacked running backs and a quarterback. At Jefferson, their linemen were OK, but they had great skill position players. You merged us together, and it was beautiful.”
    Along the sideline Columbia High’s seven cheerleaders—all white, with green skirts and white pom-poms—kicked their legs and shouted their encouragement. In a small section of the bleachers, black and white members of the school’s integrated marching band sat side by side.
    As is often the case, the game failed to meet the hype. At least early on. Through one and a half quarters of play, neither team scored. The Prentiss defense, geared up to stop Columbia’s one-two rushing tandem of Payton and Moses, stuffed the line of scrimmage with eight men, daring the Wildcats to pass. The Bulldogs, meanwhile, mustered little offense of their own. “You could see