Wit and Wisdom: Prejudiced But Didn’t Know It; Part III

When Coach whistled us off the court, Eugene and I sat together on the bleachers – two outsiders having found common ground, sitting together as new-found friends.

For the rest of the day, I remembered in shame my initial reaction to Eugene. I asked myself hard questions that produced uncomfortable answers. The biggest truth I discovered? I was prejudiced and didn’t know it. How subtly the influence of the culture I lived in had woven itself into the fabric of my character!

In 1968, the fact that changes needed to take place in America was clear to me. What I’d failed to notice was what changes needed to take place within me.

Eugene and I remained friends throughout high school. He served as the manager of the basketball team, his asthma not allowing him to play the game he loved. Because I spent plenty of time on the bench during my basketball career, we watched the games together.

For over thirty years I never heard a word about Eugene, though I thought of him often.

One day I was in Martin, TN, about ten miles from Dresden, having a new set of tires installed at The Tire Barn. As I sat in a straight back chair waiting for the job to be completed, a black man came in. I glanced up and noticed his whitening hair then went back to reading.

The man spoke to someone about getting a tire fixed. Then he laughed.

A memory stirred in me. The laugh was familiar.

I looked up again and saw a broad, infectious smile. The door on my memory bank creaked open a bit more.

Could it be?

I let him catch my eye and smiled and nodded at him. He returned the nod and turned back to a friend who was with him.

I must be mistaken.

Suddenly, he paused and turned back to look at me.

It had to be Eugene.

Standing up, I walked toward him with hand outstretched. “Are you Eugene McDonald?”

He took my hand. “Sure am.”

Standing this close to him I see his eyes look clouded, possibly from diabetes.

“You look familiar,” he said.

“Eugene, I’m David Johnson. We graduated from Dresden High School together.”

“David Johnson? I’m not sure…..”

“You probably remember me by my nickname, ‘Virgil.’”

“Virgil?! Of course! Man, how are you?”

We spent a few minutes catching up on what our lives had been like for the past thirty years. Then I told him the story of my first day at Dresden, of my having moved from Alabama, and how I initially felt about him being in the locker room at the gymnasium. “I’ve always felt I needed to apologize to you for that.”

Eugene laughed that same easy laugh I remembered from years ago. “Man, that was a long time ago, a different time, a different place. Let it go. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh, but I do. More than you’ll ever know.”

* Taken from The Wit and Wisdom of David Johnson, Volume III: A Harrowing Halloween Tale