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205 16 NO ORDINARY FOOTBALL GAME If Mother’s Day, 1961, in Birmingham, Alabama, had unleashed a level of racial hatred I’d never witnessed before, Thanksgiving Day, 1962, in Washington , D.C., was a close runner-up. The difference was that in the latter instance, the people swinging the fists, and even some chains and other weapons, were black. They were my people. They were our youth. They also were out of control. I had never seen anything like it in my life. And it shocked me beyond description. The Thanksgiving Day classic in D.C. at that time was the annual high school football championship game between the top Catholic league team, St. John’s, and the public school champs, Eastern High School. The St. John’s team, like the private high school, was predominantly white, while the Eastern team was all black, drawn from a school that despite desegregation, had only a handful of white students. It was a great day for a football game, and my two sons, Simeon, 11, and Jimmy, 9 (both of whom later played varsity football at St. John’s), were equally excited. Along with another adult and five young friends, we joined 50,000 fans at the new municipal stadium near the banks of the Anacostia River in Southeast D.C. Most of the fans, about 80 percent, were black, so the deafening roar that erupted when the Eastern team entered the field, versus the boos for St. John’s, was not particularly surprising, although somewhat unsettling. When the Eastern team scored the first touchdown, the whole stadium seemed to shake, so thunderous was the cheering, stomping, and applause. The crowd was ecstatic. But just as suddenly, when St. John’s pulled ahead in the second quarter with a 13–7 lead, the mood changed, as if a dark cloud had drifted over the stadium. Behind me, I could hear shouts of “Kill him” on tackle plays. My sons whispered to me that kids behind us were drinking alcohol. At halftime, some of the white fans who left their seats for the bathrooms or concession stands were jostled, some even beaten, and others lost No Ordinary Football Game 206 their seats to young blacks who decided to move down in the stands. Most of the incidents went unnoticed by all but a few bystanders in the immediate vicinity. Many people became apprehensive, however, about small, roving bands of rowdy black youths who seemed to be looking to make trouble. Still, when play resumed, most were thinking of little else than getting on with it. But the game was not going well for Eastern. The Ramblers fumbled the ball on the opening kick. St. John’s Cadets recovered it and ran for the touchdown. The score was now 20-7. Then a fight started on the field. An Eastern player was ousted. I heard someone say, ”Let’s get out before the fighting starts.” But most people kept their seats, despite some eruptions here and there in the stands. St. John’s kept the lead. The mood in the stands was turning worse than ugly. I told my younger son, oblivious to the danger, to quit waving his St. John’s sign. Then the game ended and all hell broke loose. The scores of police ringing the field were not enough to keep hundreds of Eastern fans from swamping the field, sweeping in the direction of the St. John’s stands, and grabbing anything with the Catholic school’s name on it, while some pummeled anybody in their way. The fighting spread and spilled out into the streets. My friend and I tried to herd the seven kids to safety, along with hundreds of other parents trying to steer through the rage and pandemonium. My older son was pushed to the ground and trampled as a group of black kids chased a white boy. All around us, I saw fear, terror, and panic as happy family outings turned into an unbelievable nightmare. All I could think of was protecting the children we’d brought to the game. When it was over, all I could think was, how could this happen? I couldn’t sleep that night. Racing through my mind were the images of blacks chasing and beating whites—men, women, and children alike. I had never seen that in all the violent attacks I’d covered in the South. The face of hatred and blind fury had always been white...

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