Catch The Express!

Lately, I haven't been particularly excited or motivated about running out and seeing Hollywood films like I once did. Frankly, life is quite busy now and my well worn living room is far more convenient, comfortable, affordable, and enjoyable than most modern movie going environs.

What can I say? The movie biz is a dog eat dog world and we're all living in a wait for the used DVD era.

Being a broke as a joke armchair sportswriter and a bit of a homebody has made it pretty tough to beckon me out from my humble but cozy abode. Leaving mi casa means fighting through Los Angeles traffic, enduring rude audiences, sticky floors, snooty attendants, and exorbitantly loco cineplex prices all to experience a picture the old fashioned way... on the big screen. It has become a rare event.

But every now and then a certain film bursts through the minutia to call me out and force me to enter one of those El Grande I-MAX theatres.

One such film had me at hello - The Express.

Ernie Davis’ amazing life story is not only poignant in regards to football, race, and the American past - it also reflects today's America in respect to the central issue of the 2008 Presidential election - racial prejudice.

The film wisely explores some of the same questions white Americans faced nearly 50 years ago about football, the Heisman Trophy, and tolerance that we are dealing with today in politics.

Is America ready for someone other than a white man to cross the color line and become a hero? A Heisman Trophy winner? A President?

Ernie Davis’ life history is germane to the history being made by Barack Obama today.

Some stories must be told. Catch The Express!

Viewing this inspirational tale though a prism of our current, “take off the gloves” angry mentality that some people are expressing right now at this very second about Barack Obama are some of the same exact feelings expressed in reaction to Ernie Davis being the first African-American to win the Heisman Trophy. Those old racist feelings of days gone by seem to mirror the irrational resistance to Barack Obama that we’re witnessing today.

This picture was worth every penny of my hard earned (but depleting in value) cash. As a son, brother, citizen, uncle, and most importantly as a teacher I was pleased that I'd plopped my overworked underpaid butt down at my local megaplex. It was worth it for the history lesson alone. As an avid amateur sports historian who's read a sports page everyday since I could read, I was shocked that I had never heard of Ernie Davis until now. For the record, I grew up despising the Browns.

Some stories are not told because they are the too truthful. Catch The Express! It is a must see.

Growing up in a typical rust belt city like Toledo, Ohio, we were taught that everyone in America was and is equal. But I never had a Black classmate in grade school. I was never taught about the great Cleveland Browns running back known as The Elmira Express and how he was drafted by the NFL but never made it onto a professional field because tragedy struck the star before he ever got his chance to shine.

I didn’t know that the myth of equality taught in school was just that... a myth.

Ernie Davis, among countless other African Americans from generations past, have already shattered and crossed color lines time and time again but Barack Obama and his supporters find themselves up against some of the same types of fear, hatred, and bigotry once again.

My beloved Ohio childhood in the 1970's and 1980's was sadly marked with my own confrontations with fear, ignorance, and racial insensitivity. I was raised in a house and neighborhood that referred to African Americans in the crudest of terms and had little or no real interaction with Black people. We did watch people of color on TV (Sanford & Son, Chico & the Man, The Jeffersons, Good Times) and in movies (Blazing Saddles, Beverly Hills Cop) but they weren’t real. They were only allowed to be funny. My first real interaction with African Americans didn’t happen until Junior High.

In 7th grade, I tragically betrayed my first and very cool Black friend when he walked into the gym locker room from behind and caught me saying the “N” word to another white boy. I was trying to be funny but wasn’t. I turned around and saw my unnamed friend’s face. He was horrified, hurt, and frozen. His eyes cut right through me. I melted away awash in shame. This moment still shakes my soul and leaves me humiliated and is always with me. I knew I was wrong.

I didn’t have anything against Black people but I had fallen prey to that insidious monster mental disease known as racism. Right then, I promised myself I’d change. I knew I didn’t feel any differently about my Black friends than my white friends so, why be an idiot? I didn’t hate anyone. Never have, never will. I was being a follower and decided to become a leader.

Later that year, I invited my Black basketball team mates to my house so they wouldn’t have to hangout at the school waiting for practice to start for two hours after classes let out. They lived too far from school to make it all the way home and back again. We became close friends and I realized I had changed. It felt right and true. Although my Granddad, who was a bit like Archie Bunker, did embarrass me by telling them that they were two of the nicest “colored boys” he’d ever met while giving us apples. I yelled, “Granddad, people don’t say colored anymore, it’s Black.” He said he was sorry. They didn’t seem upset. How could they be? It was an all-white neighborhood. He was a man. They were kids.

When I was a freshman our high school had a predominantly white student body. The racial make up was 85% White to 15% Black. But by my senior year the ratio was closer to 60% White and 40% Black. I witnessed several incidents between my white brethren and Black soul sisters and brothers that have permanently seared my memory like acid. Our school bussed Black kids in from the inner city and a lot of the white kids didn't take too kindly to outsiders and accept them with warmth. Most of the incidents were simply kids being badly informed kids but that does not mean racism and white privilege didn't rear its ugly head.

We were very segregated at lunch, in our bands and clubs, and inside the locker rooms and class rooms. Very few of the AP (advanced placement) or foreign language classes had Black kids enrolled in them even though two years of a foreign language were required to get into college. That’s systematic institutional racism!

Sorrowfully, the most memorable clash happened during my senior year in 1984. It was a very ugly name calling incident in which a close friend and fellow white football team member who was my starting center (I was the quarterback on the team) was asked in front of our entire classroom why he didn't like a particular classmate who happened to be Black. Our class had already been forced to sit in a circle facing each other by our teacher, counselors, and dean to defuse the tense altercations and work it out.

Our verbally assaulted Black female class mate also happened to be a gifted basketball player who led the girl's team in scoring despite having only three fingers on her left hand. She was very cute, nice, and well liked by everyone - Black and White. My former white classmate, buddy, and the guy who's ass it was I had to put my hands under when he snapped the ball to me, sat back, crossed his arms, smiled, then calmly stated in front of everyone exactly why he didn't like her.

He said, "Because, she's a stupid nigger bitch."

We heard the words as they just hung in the air for what seemed an eternity. The room fell silent in shock. I saw an awkward teen sitting there with a stupid, smug, stubborn look on his face who didn’t care what anyone thought. I saw the dean, a very wise dark Black man in his late fifties with graying hair and bloodshot eyes, maintain his control and teach us how to react. He looked into all of our eyes and then turned to my former buddy. We heard him calmly say, “Come with me, please.” We watched them disappear towards the office. Our classmate was suspended and forced to write an apology to the girl and her family. We watched him apologize to the entire class upon his return but I knew he really didn't mean it. Witnessing these events opened our hearts and minds to the destructiveness of racial hate.

I tried forgiving my friend but I never forgot. It was never the same. Nothing ever is after something like that.

The Express once again proved to me that history never dies.

Right now, in this very pregnant moment in American history, we must all embrace our differences in order to change, grow, and learn as a country. We must overcome our past and seize this moment which has been thrust upon us and not let anyone throw it away or steal our history. If you have a friend or family member who is still afraid of facing change and is reluctant to move forward and cross the color line then take them to see The Express. It will help them look back and understand that we've already been here so many times before.

We've been duped. By the news media, by politicians, and by false promises of movie makers. We've all trusted those slick studio trailers designed by Ivy League marketeers who can manipulate our emotions. We've believed boatloads of charming celebrity pitches on Letterman between witty jokes and repartee only to walk out halfway through another disappointing movie scratching our heads asking why we went to see that piece of junk. But this story - steeped in history - has risen up and piqued my jaded interest and found my shrinking but surprisingly vulnerable sweet spot. I think it is my soul. Something from the past triggered that little voice inside my brain and kept telling me to go see this incredible true story about football hero Ernie Davis.

There it is again. Catch the Express! Did you hear it?

Don’t be left behind standing at the station. Besides, my team has a bye week.

By the way, the beautiful woman in the above photo is April Grace, my beloved wife of nearly 17 years. She appeared in the critically acclaimed movie Finding Forrester, which starred Sean Connery and Rob Brown in his movie acting debut. Mr. Brown is the actor who stars as Ernie Davis in The Express and delivers an Oscar winning performance. April says he was a great kid too.

Thanks for reading the Hustle and remember… Give peace a chance.

Love, Danny