A Tale of Tennessee

This morning in the local newspaper I read a powerful and touching story of some very rich and revealing local history.

It is being filmed as a documentary by ACT 2 Communications, a Nashville based media production company.

To parapharase the events. It all began in 1963 with two brothers asking a group African-American boys if they could join their after school pick up basketball games in the park that separated their two neighbourhoods. One of the brothers and one of the African-American boys became close friends until they both entered high school. They went to segregated high schools here in our town! The brother went to Gallatin High which still stands and the African-American boy went to Union High School, I have no idea where that building is today.

In their senior year at school their two basketball teams met in the finals for the year, up in Springfield, where Grandpa works, (more connections). The team from Gallatin High School won by 8 points. The brother walked toward center court where his childhood African-Amercian friend stood crying over the loss, but ready to congratulate his friend and the team from Gallatin High School.

At that moment the crowd grew still, the brother grabbed his childhood friend at center court and hugged him as they both cried and cried. You see the Union High school was being closed down and all the youth from the town of Gallatin would be attending Gallatin High together in September. The hushed crowd broke into cheers.

This union at center court broke the ice for this community that still exists today. These two men are still in this area and have both become successful in their careers. They are helping with the retelling of their story for this documentary.

I can hardly wait to see it. I didn't retell this story very well, left out many details, but it truly touched my heart this morning and endeared me more to my new surroundings.

I remember the one and only time I ever saw segregation. My parents took us on a road trip to Kentucky when I was about 12. We stopped at Calumet Farms, we should try and find that, since we live here now. Anyway we went into the lunch room for a meal. A sign on the door read: Whites only to the right. I remember thinking how strange is that. We often went to downtown Detroit and ate at the lunch counter at Kresge's and everyone sat together. I grew more aware in my teenage years of the struggles going on in the South.

Praise God He made each one of us, we are all His precious children.
BAB