Rolling into Atlanta up I-85 north, I approached the interchange outside of downtown that offers the possibilities of north, south, east or west depending on your destination. I chose I-20 west and the flood of memories began.

I spent nearly six years driving this portion of the interstate while working on a television show that lives on in memory, reruns and in many, many hearts. In the Heat Of The Night was my first recurring television experience. Carroll O’Connor hired me as his city councilman, Ted Marcus, on the show.

I rode into downtown Covington, Georgia that had doubled as Sparta, Mississippi on the show and could not stop grinning. I passed the library, which, with signage and several police cars parked out front, doubled as the exterior of the police headquarters. There was the department store that I remembered standing in front of with Howard Rollins as we waited for the director to shout “action,” before walking up the sidewalk and me, (Ted) trying to convince him to run for police chief. It would be my first scene ever on the show and one of the first I’d ever shot. I was a little nervous. I must have passed the test because the producers continued to hire me for the next five years. I passed the park where Carroll, Denise Nicholas and I shot a scene from the episode of “First Girl.” The memories were now a flood.

I had not been back this way since the mid nineties when the show wrapped for good, after 8 years on the air. A reunion of In the Neat of The Night fans and fellow cast mates brought me back to my beginnings.

I parked and walked toward the restaurant where we were all meeting. There were people standing outside. “Ted Marcus is here, ” someone announced as I was walking up the street. Ted was alive once again. It felt good to be Ted again.

Most of the fans had come from several states away. They are all dedicated to the show, know most of the episodes and could quote me Ted’s dialogue from most of the shows I worked. A few of the people gathered called me Thom but most stuck with my TV name Ted. “Ted remember in such and such an episode you said such and such to so and so?” “Ted, remember when you tried to get Virgil to take the Chief’s job?” Ted remember…”

It was like a family reunion on steroids.

I had been contacted last year to attend the first reunion, which I understand was a major affair with over 700 people in attendance and the actors signing and taking photos most of the day. Many of the actors returned for that reunion. I had not been able to attend, as I was fortunate enough to be working another show Containment, at the time. This reunion was smaller, maybe 50 participants. But it was just as special to me.

People came from Indiana, New Jersey, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama and so on and so forth. The have a closed group Facebook page. They are a classy group. The page begins:

Welcome to In The Heat Of The Night Fan Page!

Along with this being a fun group of Heat fans to gather and share love of the show, and movie, there are common sense expectations to follow in the group including, but not limited to- NO NEGATIVE, OR BELITTLING, comments about any actors from the show. No advertising which includes for other groups/pages. (Heat related events and etc. are okay) No political talk. Respect other member’s posts and opinions in the group. Thank you!

It is a great group of people.

While in Covington they go on tours of set locations including to the owner’s houses that doubled as homes for the characters on the show. The owners allow them to tour their homes. The owner of the home where Virgil and Althea lived on the show welcomed a couple of the female fans to spend the night. This has not happened on any other show I’ve worked.

I’ve done about 75 episodes of television, a dozen movies, a couple of hundred commercials, industrials and other productions but there is something different and special about The Heat. It still airs every day sometimes twice a day. Across the country I’ve met fans that are almost religious about it. Many younger people will tell me “my Grandmother loves that show.” “My Dad watches it every day.” It touched souls. It made people happy. That is satisfying to those of us who worked it.

I always knew why it was special to me. It was one of my first. I landed a recurring role on a top ten show and got to learn from some pros. I got to befriend Carroll O’Connor, Howard Rollins and the other actors and crew. It gave me the confidence to continue going forward to what became a career.

Leaving Covington, (Sparta), that evening I knew why Heat was so special to others. Covington, (Sparta) will always be in my heart. Beyond just a television show, obviously we created memories not just for ourselves but also for fans across the country. They thanked me over and over for coming. I thanked them over and over for having me.

There are many coaches to thank for a college football career that helped propel me to later careers as a professional actor, writer, and communication consultant.

Richard Porter, my high school basketball coach, guided me through the physical fundamentals of sports and the emotional experience of integration in the 1960s at John Carroll High School in Birmingham, Alabama. Hugh Craig was my first football coach also at John Carroll. He believed in me even though, in the tenth grade, I was playing organized football for the first time. At Auburn University, Coach Ralph “Shug” Jordan rewarded my hard work with a scholarship after I walked on my freshman year. Gene Lorendo, the offensive coordinator at Auburn believed in me and made me a starter on some great Auburn teams. Still, after all these great leaders had shaped and formed me, it was Coach Doug Barfield who stepped in and saved my football career at Auburn University.

Being awarded a scholarship after my freshmen year led to a redshirt year my sophomore year. Not playing was tough but I made the travel squad and watched as Pat Sullivan won the Heisman trophy that year. The next year we went 10-1 and created the legend of the “Amazins,” an Auburn team that is still celebrated today. The following year, in 1973 we slipped. Injuries, divisiveness, dissension, and bad attitudes crippled us. We went 6-6 after being highly rated. We were not a happy bunch. I ripped a hamstring and missed three games. Games that, maybe, we would have won if I had been able to contribute. When I returned after my injury, I did not regain my starting position and things spiraled downhill. I played very little.

Things got ugly. The coaches hardly spoke to me. I got little practice time and was demoted. Was some of it personal? Maybe. But being injured when needed on a struggling football team does not endear you to your coaches. I was miserable. Because I had been redshirted and was ahead in my degree program, I contemplated graduating and not playing my senior year. I talked it over with my parents who understood the drama I was going through but did not want me to leave.

Enter Doug Barfield to the rescue.

We were headed to El Paso, Texas to practice for the 1973 Christmas Day “Sun Bowl” game versus Missouri. Sitting alone on the bus, Coach Barfield chose to sit by me. That act of kindness caught me off guard. No one had bothered to talk to me in a while. Injured players become ostracized. I knew what I needed to do to get my job as a starter back, but what can you do if you are not playing or practicing?

There were rumors Coach Barfield would be promoted the next season to the offensive coordinator position. Coach had a gentle, folksy style. He led with it. “Are you coming back for your fifth year?” he asked. While keeping my eyes glued to the passing scenery outside the window and not looking at him, I responded that I didn’t know. He said, “If I am the offensive coordinator, I want you on the team.” I was skittish. Not many outside the game, know about the head games an athlete goes through during a college career. I turned back to look at him. “Will you think on it?” he asked. He was serious. I turned to look back out of the window and confirmed, “Yes coach.”

We quickly fell behind in that Sun Bowl game. I was inserted into the game and the two touchdowns I scored almost brought us back. It was a reminder of what I could do.

Coach Barfield was named offensive coordinator in 1974, and I did return for my senior year. What a year we had! We went 10-2 and finished number 9 in the country. I was the leading receiver. As a team, we were big, fast, and had some great athletes. I had the best time I’d ever had playing organized football. Coach Barfield was a player’s coach. He made the game fun for me. I could talk with him about football and about life. He gave me leadership responsibilities. I could suggest plays during the game. It was the best football time of my life.

Once, in the middle of a game, while jogging back to the huddle, I found a quarter lying on the field. I stopped and picked it up, then jogged over to Coach on the sideline and gave it to him. He could only laugh. We had fun and could still win games.

To this day, any player I’ve ever run into who played for Coach Barfield, love the man. He treated us like young men. He would sit and talk with us. I’ve always said that the 1974 team, particularly on offense, was the precursor of today’s game; big, fast, and we were respected as individuals, yet molded into a team. Coaches have the ability and opportunity to grow boys into men. I’m grateful to have had that experience under Doug Barfield.

Bryan, the truck operator for the lawn and pest control company, arrives for his monthly treatment of the lawn. He’s been coming now for about 5 years. He wears his customary, dirty, oil stained Alabama Crimson Tide cap pulled tightly and low on his head. The cap is old, worn and he is never without it.

Bryan’s ritual is to back his big, liquid, lawn treatment filled truck into the driveway and pull into the space we reserve for him. Before doing anything, he saunters over to the front door and rings the doorbell just to announce that he is there, a practice I think is pretty cool.

Bryan walks slowly. He talks a lot. He talks slowly, has a deep voice, and is never in a hurry. Did I say he talks a lot? It’s not good to get caught out in the yard when Bryan arrives. Thirty minutes to an hour, gone. If he was getting paid by the word…

Today isn’t my day!

Bryan catches me driving in. He waits at my car door. Ready to talk. I slowly exit the car. Before I can speak, he begins.

Bryan: You didn’t tell me. Man, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!

TG: What?

Bryan: You played at Auburn!

TG: Oh. Man. Yeah. It was a long time ago!

Bryan: Naw! Really! Wow that’s cool, dude. But you know, I keep up with it, but… I’m not really into it like that.

TG: (Starts to walk off) Hey, Okay.

Bryan: I wear this Alabama cap. (Beat) I follow Alabama. (Beat) Watch all the games. (Beat) Wear my jersey on game day. (Beat) Get the kids all psyched up. My ole lady, she a Bama fan… (Pause) But, You know. Some people just can’t let it go.

TG: (Again starts to walk off) Yeah, I know.

Brian: (Following TG as he starts to walk toward the door) People see me with the Alabama cap, (he shrugs), but… I’m not really into it like that.

Brian: (Confesses) (Pause) Got a couple of stickers on my car, well at least four stickers…. I started to put a Saban sticker on it but… I didn’t want to overdo it.

Like this cap. Had it twenty years. I got a Alabama room in my house. Posters. Pennants. Got some neat stuff. My friend got his whole house decorated.

TG: Okay Bryan, I’ll see you. I’ve got to get to work.

Bryan: You know I try and keep it all on an even keel. Not get too much into it like that. You know.

Bryan: So did you want to play at Alabama? (He laughs). Hey! Hey! Hey! I’m just kidding. Hey! Hey! Hey!

TG: No. Not really.

Brian: Well, ya’ll got some good recruits this year. But Hey! We got another number one class. Hey! Hey! Hey! So, we starting out the season good. (Beat) Hey, you guys lost a tough one. Hey! Hey! Hey!

TG: Uh uh!

Bryan: You heard about this prospect in the second grade. I mean I don’t keep up with it that young. But…Think we gon offer him. Say he gon be real special. Let’s go ahead and sew him up. You know. May as well. Mama went to Auburn but hey, I betcha in ten years you see him in a Bama uniform. Hey! Hey! Hey! You know what I’m saying.

TG: Yeah.

Bryan: (pause) I guess I better get busy.

TG: Okay! See you buddy.

Bryan: (Heads toward the truck). Put my cap in the truck, don’t want it to get sweaty. My Daddy got this cap for me one time when he was on campus doing some construction work. Never been myself.

TG: Where?

Bryan: …to the campus. You know. One day I’m going. (Beat) What cha think about the game this weekend? We twelve point favorites. I don’t bet though. Saving up. Told the ole lady we gon get a new flat screen. Sit in my special room. She come in there some time. You know. Hey! Hey! Hey! She ain’t really into it like that.

It’s football season! The flags will be flying, notes will be passed in mailboxes, a family will skillfully navigate a football rivalry, and hopefully my next-door neighbor will disappear back into the witness protection program.

Let me explain.

College football season is special in the south. It brings out the child in many of us. Favorite teams, favorite colors, season tickets, tailgating, and talk shows are all staples of the Southern fall pastime. Living in a southern community that is not dominated by any one-college team but instead has supporters of many teams makes for a fun neighborhood once the games kick off. Most of my neighbors aren’t season ticket holders of any one team and don’t go to many games. They all have an affiliation and are occasional game visitors but the television is their dominant viewing pleasure.

On any given Saturday…

My next-door neighbor on the left side of us, an Auburn man, flies his big Auburn flag above the two boats in his boat house on the Choctawhatchee Bay. Two boats you wonder? One is for fun and one for fishing. Doesn’t everyone have two?

On windy days that big ole Auburn flag unfurls beautifully in the wind above the Bay. Kevin, the neighbor, and I visit often across the little fence in our backyards. He is a great neighbor.

Kevin visits Auburn for two or three games a year and on many other Saturdays during the season, he will host viewing parties at his home with lots of friends, beverages and good food. Neighbors drift up to his dock in their boats. Kevin always makes sure we are invited. I did say he is a good neighbor!

Kevin is Auburn through and through but he is not braggadocios or obnoxious. He’s even tempered about the whole thing, and whether Auburn wins or loses, he and his wife Laurie will often load up and go fishing after the game.

Then there’s Marvin.

Marvin went to Georgia. He is my golfing buddy. Marvin is a retired Air Force officer, a good guy and also a great neighbor. Marvin gets more upset over hitting a bad tee shot than he does over a football game. He has on occasion put a note in my mailbox with the score of the game when Georgia wins. The last time he did, it backfired on him. It was a game when Georgia spanked Auburn badly (take your choice of years). I went out to the street to my mailbox and there was a note with the score of the game in bright Georgia colors. I knew immediately Marvin was the culprit. Unfortunately for Marvin, it was a day when the other six guys who I played with at Auburn and who live in the area were all over Kevin’s house. It was a mini-reunion of sorts for us. I took the note in and showed it to them and suggested we go visit Marvin.

Marvin weighs in around 160 pounds. Every one of us easily top 200+. We rang Marvin’s doorbell and waited. I still see his face. None of the guys were smiling. They all had their arms folded and asked, “Are you Marvin? We all played at Auburn.”

He nearly s_ it his britches when I held up the note he’d left and asked in a brusque voice “Marvin did you leave this in my mailbox?” He stammered an inaudible response.

I spoiled it all when I couldn’t hold my laughter any longer and busted out in a loud holler. The guys started laughing, and finally relieved, Marvin realized it was a joke and he laughed. Everyone hugged him and he had the story of a lifetime. Marvin tells me he’s gotten lots of mileage out of that story with his Georgia friends and relatives.

Ken and Sarah have since moved to another neighborhood but their story is interesting. They lived two houses over. Ken is an Auburn grad and Sarah graduated from the University of Alabama. Do I need to say any more? They’ve made it work for nearly 30 years and two children. Ken says on the day of the annual game between Auburn and Alabama they remind each other to be nice. In Auburn’s six-game win streak during the early 2000s Sarah lucked out because Ken was deployed most of the time in the Middle East so she did not have to bear the brunt of his jokes. During the Alabama win streak of late Sarah says Ken finds it convenient to study since he is now involved in a PhD program. “I wish I could watch the game with you,” he fibs. She smiles and walks away. They have a rule. In their family the winner never gloats. A sly smile will do.

There are others.

The lawn service man, an Alabama fan, is deserving of his own story. That one will follow soon. Look for it.

The two Mississippi State families down the street live next door to each other. Between the two houses there are at least seven big pickup trucks. All are Mississippi State maroon. I want to know if the horns on the trucks ring like cowbells when you blow them. I haven’t gotten up the nerve to ask.

And that brings me to my next-door neighbor on the right side of us. Right is generally a word I don’t use in relation to him. He is a dyed in red Alabama fan that out of place in a neighborhood that is fairly easy going about their college football. On game days he dresses in red, hangs his ALABAMA banner out of his back deck, pulls his red vehicles with the red tags and the big white A on their front bumper, in prominent position in his driveway for others to see and struts and sticks his chest out in his red sweatshirt as if he is going to play that day. I doubt seriously if he has ever played, any sport, but don’t confuse him with facts. When Alabama makes good plays you can hear him in his house hollering and cheering up and down the street. When things don’t go well he again hollers but his language is not suitable for this blog.

Alabama has been on a roll these last few years, which has brought him back to college football. In their turbulent years of the late 90s and early 2000s he was “not too much into college football,” according to him. Funny, how winning changes things.

The first year we moved into our house, Alabama won and when I went out to get my morning newspaper, a la Marvin, there was a note with the score of the game in my paper. After that Alabama lost to Auburn six times in a row. There were no notes in my newspaper during those years. After those games he was nowhere to be found. His house would be dark, no lights, no sound, nothing. I told my wife the trauma must have sent him into the witness protection program, and that he moved to Arizona and took a new name.

The neighborhood is again buzzing, flags are flying and possibly notes will be passed among the neighbors. The Mississippi State trucks are rolling up and down the street, a mini-parade. Marvin is sharpening his crayons in anticipation of another Georgia victory over Auburn and if I’m lucky this year, Mr. Alabama fan will once again disappear into witness protection.

I met the champ, Muhammad Ali, in 1973. I met him at Auburn University. He was on campus for a lecture entitled “The Intoxications of Life.”

As a part of our Journalism class, the professor arranged for students to cover Ali’s press conference. It was being held in the same building our class was in, Haley Center. Excitedly, we packed up our belongings and headed downstairs to see the champ.

I have been a Muhammad Ali junkie since 1964, when I was twelve years old and he beat Sonny Liston in Miami. A young potential athlete, I invested my time and attention on athletes who had a social conscience, who wanted to make a difference, who had something to say and who often became controversial if they chose to speak about human rights. Ali had something to say and the boxing ring could not contain him.

He changed his name from Cassius Clay, his given name, to Muhammad Ali, which he said meant, “worthy of all praise most high.” He upset the boxing world by beating the “Big Bad Bear” Sonny Liston. He became a Muslim minister. He declared himself the greatest heavyweight champ of all time, which did not set well with the previous generation. He shook up the world with, “Just take me to jail.” As a conscientious-objector, he refused to serve in the US Army after being suspiciously reclassified 1A. He had originally been disqualified for military service. Ali said that he would not fight the Vietcong, and was stripped of his title.

Ali lectured on college campuses across America. Gave people hope that they could have better lives. He became a different symbol of courage. Eventually the US Supreme Court unanimously reversed a lower court decision and granted Ali his conscientious-objector status. He came back to boxing and lost for the first time to his rival Smoking Joe Frazier, (a fight I saw closed-circuit in Columbus, Georgia). He lost to Ken Norton (saw that one too), who had broken his jaw. Now, he was in Auburn, just a few feet in front of me.

I sat there with my reporter’s pad and pen. I was in heaven.

The champ spoke about the “Intoxications of Life.” Ali talked about humbling himself after his two defeats, which he attributed to his immersion into life’s intoxications; too much money, too many women, long nights, not enough training, and not enough godly living. It seemed a perfect message for those of us from the past year’s football team. We had finished the season 6-6 after two seasons of 9-2 and 10-1. Perhaps we had gotten too full of ourselves as well.

After the press conference, Ali put on a show at my expense in the lobby of the auditorium. The photo captured by university photographer Les King, hangs on a wall in our home. The champ has a playful but serious look on his face as he squares off in perfect boxing form shouting at me, “JOE FRAZIER, JOE FRAZIER.” My hands are up in a defensive pose. My fists are not balled up and I am laughing really hard. I too am wary though. He was incredible fast. I dared not make a false move. Afterward, I was interviewed and asked what it was like to square off with the champ.

Our paths would somewhat cross again 22 years later when I performed the one man play “Ali” in my hometown of Birmingham, Alabama. I sought out the script and director, then played the champ as a young man who would morph into the older version of himself as he was beginning to struggle with the same Parkinson’s disease that eventually KO’d him. I prepped like an athlete. I researched Parkinson’s, watched film, read magazines, hit the heavy bag, listened to tapes of his voice, studied his walk, and trained… and trained. For the run of that show, to the audience, I was Muhammad Ali.

I still have the robe. Identical to the white one he wore in the ring with his name on the back in big red letters. I still have all the research materials, including the 1971 Life Magazine issue with Ali and Joe Frazier on the cover with photos from the epic fight taken by Frank Sinatra.

In his own words, Muhammad was the greatest boxer of all time. In the play he asks, “Do you know what it’s like to be the best in the world at something? The best in the world?”

He became more than a boxer. To many he was a symbol of hope. Also, in the play he says, “I could knock on anybody’s door in the world and they would invite me in.”

“I shook up the world,” he concluded.

Yes he did.

The Big O is gone.

My friend. My teammate. The man who helped me through the biggest cultural change of my life is gone. James Curtis Owens died today, March 26, 2016. I knew it was coming. We all knew it was coming. But knowing and living beyond it leaves a hurt and pain deep down in my soul.

I first saw the Big O on a Friday night at John Carroll Athletic Field on Montclair Road in Birmingham, Alabama. I was a junior at John Carroll High School, playing my first full year of organized football. We were a small, rag tag, undersized bunch playing about two classifications above our ability and size level. We didn’t win very often.

The opponent was Fairfield High School. They were good. They had a starter named James Owens, who would later sign with Auburn University, becoming the first African American to integrate a major state university in Alabama, Georgia, and Mississippi… the Deep South. Now, he was warming up across the field from me. A running back, he was tall, lanky and wore a horse collar around his neck. He was about 6’2” and weighed close to 210 pounds. He looked dangerous. Ready to kick some you know what!

Our coach had warned us about him. He’d then gone on to tell the lie that coaches tell outmanned teams when they are about to get slaughtered by a bigger, faster, better team with bigger, faster, better players.

Referring to Owens, our coach said, “Hey! He’s no better than you. He puts his pants on one leg at a time just like you do.”

We all knew that was bullshit. Putting his pants on like we did had nothing to do with playing the way we did. This guy was All-State in football and track. He ran the 100 hundred-yard dash and threw the shot-put. He was a monster. I was glad as hell I wasn’t on defense.

It wasn’t pretty. He left carnage on the field. I don’t remember the score but it wasn’t close. After it was over, I watched him walk off the field where he had dominated us. Having integrated Fairfield High School football he was now heading off to be one of the first blacks in the Southeastern Conference.

Two years later, I would join James and Virgil Pearson, also from Fairfield, and Auburn’s first African American Athlete, Henry Harris, at Auburn University.

As a basketball player, Henry often travelled in different circles. For Virgil and me, James became our Daddy. We nicknamed him “Daddy O.” He was strong like our fathers, but gentle towards us, who had followed him. We not only respected him, everybody, on and off the field and in the athletic complex, held James in high esteem. Integration made things socially awkward but everybody respected James for his quiet, dignified courage. That respect lasted all of his life.

Our special friendship lasted from 1970 until his death. Like close friends we drifted apart throughout the seasons of our lives but we always found each other again because of the love and respect we had for our shared experience.

Henry left Auburn University after his senior basketball season. Virgil left his sophomore year, looking for a different experience. For the next two years on the varsity football team It was just James and me, as athletes of color. For the rest of his life we always relived that experience.

Between us we realized there was no one else in the world who shared that loneliness, that moment in our lives where we carried the pail of integration uphill without much assistance from those who could have helped us along. Those times were about providing for those whom would follow. We knew that. It kept us going.

James kept me grounded. He talked me down many times when, emotionally, I was way over the top. Over time, we embraced our teammates and they embraced us with that special bond that comes from the shared experiences of being teammates and winning games. During the two years when James and I were the two black pioneers on the team, we won 19 games and lost 3. We were a part of something bigger than us.

Throughout the decades that followed we talked a lot about those times. We always circled back to that experience. What had been a painful part of our lives had become, by the 21^st century, a memory of achievement, a gift that we gave to all who followed at our university, not just the black athletes. We also grew to love our teammates and they loved us back. Today we are teammates for life. It ‘s more than a slogan. We live it.

James is an Auburn University icon. He doesn’t need for me to tell everyone about his contributions. Look around the university and you will see his accomplishments in the faces of the young men on the football team, the basketball team, the track team, the baseball team and in the faces of the young women on the softball team, the basketball team and all the other sports that did not exist before integration.

He will always be remembered for what he gave to Auburn University, the state of Alabama and college football. I will always remember him as my friend.

One yard. A big giant step. One yard and your life changes. One yard from glory.

Former ballplayers have the best stories. The good talkers can take an incident from a game many years ago and make it the centerpiece of speeches that they give long after they have finished playing. The “formers,” can be funny, heart wrenching, give inside looks at the teams in their respective eras, inside look at great stars. Randy Campbell is good at it.

Randy is one of the good guys. Today he is a financial advisor in his business Campbell Wealth Management. We serve on the Auburn University Foundation Board together. Imagine that two former football players. We made the transition.

I didn’t know Randy well before he came on the board a year ago. We played in different decades at Auburn. I knew of him. He played quarterback in the 1980s, on some great Auburn teams. He is a great speaker. Randy jokes he was famous for handing off to all-everything runner Bo Jackson. There is some truth to that. Bo was the truth so why not?

Still, Randy was no slouch. He is well remembered. He was 20-4 as a starting quarterback. In the 1983 Tangerine Bowl, he became the answer to a TV trivia question. “The 1983 Tangerine Bowl featured two Heisman Trophy winners, Bo Jackson and Doug Flutie. Who was the MVP?” The answer, Randy Campbell!

Back to Randy’s story. He relishes telling it. It’s like the secret only he thought of.

Here goes.

It’s the 1984 version of the Iron Bowl rivalry game Auburn vs Alabama. It’s a game that Bo will make famous with his “Bo Over the Top” leap at the goal line to give Auburn the victory over Alabama 23-22.

Randy tells the story.

“It’s third down, we’re threatening to score. I throw a swing pass out to Bo. Bo takes it down to the one-yard line. He almost scored. He came up a yard short. Of course he then goes over the top on the next play for the winning touchdown.”

I’m waiting for the punch line. Randy wears his “I’ve got a secret” look on his face.

“If he had scored on the swing pass, instead of “Bo Over the Top,” the headline could have read, “Campbell throws the winning TD in victory over Alabama.” Instead Bo was close, so close, tackled at the one-yard line. Man, I was one yard from glory.”

He looks me in the eye. I grin. It’s a great story. Crowd pleaser. Crowds like self-deprecating humor, especially from athletes who have been at the top of the food chain.

Sports is full of close, almost, damn near, shoulda, woulda, coulda, one play here, one play there type moments. If only such and such, stays safely locked in our memories many years later.

One yard from Glory!

I’ve embellished Randy wanting to be the hero. He is a pretty humble guy. All winning team oriented athletes will tell you, what mattered is that their team won far more than they lost. The team is what counts.

Randy says that. But like many of us “formers” he likes to have fun with his stories.

He says, “I told that story to Bo. I said, ‘Man, if you hadn’t gotten tackled on the one-yard line, the headline would have been “Campbell Tosses Winning TD” instead of Bo Over the Top.’ He wasn’t amused.”

Randy repeated, “Campbell to Jackson for the winning TD.”

He smiled.

The news of death travels at Internet speed. I found out about my friend “Wash” while trolling along on Facebook. He’d died that morning.

“Book” was the type of guy you didn’t envision dying. Not suddenly. Not of pneumonia.

There is no single descriptor for “Booker.” Just like his many different friends called him by the many variations of his name he was a character, one with deeply held convictions of righteousness and caring for those with less than.

“Try and do as much right as you can in the world,” was one of his quotes on a You Tube interview you should see. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nguzYcltZOk).

He tried. He was a child protester in the Birmingham Civil Rights movement at age 14. At 18, he did his duty in Vietnam. He was a foot soldier all of his adult life for human rights. He was a political activist and an agitator. Man, he’d agitate the heck out of you. He liked getting up under your skin.

We traveled in different circles. Me, in the upscale world of shirts and ties, “Book” in his overalls, white T-shirt and a hat sitting astride his head, grinning. Always grinning.

Our common ground was a heart for humanity, a love of poetry and drama and bicycles. Poetry and drama unites the unlikeliest of humans. Joins us through the power of words. Joins us through our mutual humanity. We shared that. Our love for humanity expressed in the words of writers, actors, poets, on stage, in church, and on the street.

Bicycles. We would ride up and down the hills near Shades Crest Road when I lived in Hoover, Al. On those rides we debated our mutual humanity and how best to serve others. We always agreed on the expected outcome. Getting there would sometimes lead us down different paths.

The last time I heard from my friend was through a mutual friend, Judge Mike Graffeo. They both live in Birmingham. I was in Los Angeles. It was a call I couldn’t answer for whatever reason of importance at that time. Mike left the message he was with Booker and they were giving me a call. But they would be gone in a few minutes.

On his You Tube interview, Booker leaves us all a message.

“ If you truly believe that every human being is important. …that the greatest thing on earth is another human being and that the greatest thing on earth is our collective mind.

…And if we could ever tap into that, ever just realize that the only things holding us back is us.

…If we could pursue peace like we pursue war. We would already have cured cancer and be a thousand years ahead of where we are now.

Try and do as much right and as much good as you can. Try to spread as much love and joy and peace in the world as you can.”

The words of Washington Booker III, born January 20, 1949, died January 20, 2016.

Learn something everyday!

Keeps you fresh. 

Going backwards is not an option.