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Foster's Legacy Marches -- and Steps -- On
Dr. William Foster
Before there was Dr. William Foster, there was no halftime in football.
Well, there might've been, but there certainly wasn't anyone around to see it.
In 1946, Foster brought the funk; he brought the noise; and he brought the step to college bands.
Now, the halftime show, the fifth quarter, is the highlight of the game, the centerpiece of million-dollar Classics. And every time the Human Jukebox or the Sonic Boom of the South or his own Marching 100 takes the field, they owe a tip of the hat to Dr. William Foster.
To the tune of 'Alexander's Ragtime Band,' William Foster and his Florida A&M band began halftime pageantry.
That he created an enduring symbol of the African-American community on a dusty Tallahassee field isn't even his greatest legacy. Rather, it is that in the midst of the racial unrest of the middle part of the century, Foster built an art that was African Americans' and African Americans' alone. He built a show, and he built a statement of a people, a statement of pride and of talent.
Carlos and Smith Paid High Price for Statement
John Carlos and Tommie Smith
On a swealtering summer night, a pair of black-gloved fists ripped through the hushed tranquility of the American anthem. Nearly 40 years later, those fists haven't come down.
It was an image that would live on longer than the records and medals of the games themselves. It was an image of power, or resistance; it was an image of an entire people raising their fist up to God, president and country demanding that if they can't get something done, then we would.
Their actions have become such an admired part of the American fabric that we forget how courageous they were. And more than any other civil rights icons of the second half of the 20th century, we forget to say "thanks".
Like the men of Iwo Jima, Tommie Smith and John Carlos have lost their names to the power of the icon. They went out barefoot, to symbolize children in poverty in the South. Smith raised his right hand symbolizing black power. Carlos raised his left for black unity, forever defining 1968 America.
Reaction was swift as it was negative. Brent Musberger called them, "black-skinned storm troopers." The Associated Press described it as a "Nazi-like salute."
They returned home unwelcome. Smith was discharged from the army for "un-American activities." Carlos had an even tougher time. He burned furniture to keep warm. His wife took her life because of the stress.
Each survived and now coach high school track, but as we look back full of pride during Black History Month, each stands as a testament to the true cost of the American civil rights movement.
For more information:
World Book
Newsome Represents New Generation of Black Achievement in Sports
Ozzie Newsome
By the time Ozzie Newsome retired from the Cleveland Browns in 1990, African Americans had pushed the farthest frontiers of integration on the playing field.
So Newsome set out to find new frontiers.
While the myth of African-American athletic inferiority had long been shattered by Jack Johnson, Jackie Robinson, Jesse Owens and a host of others, even in 2005 African Americans find themselves having to prove their worth in the front office.
Newsome has all the proof anybody will ever need to see -- a 2001 Super Bowl ring.
He retired from the NFL in 1990 and began working in the front office of the then-Cleveland Browns. By 2001 he was team president and one of the highest ranking black executives ever to win a championship. In 2002 he became the first black general manager in the NFL and while Newsome may not have made-for-TV heartaches and suffered the kinds of brutal racism that Robinson, Doby and Johnson faced, there are plenty who, publicly or privately, long for him to fail. In the media glare of the NFL, Newsome reminds us every day that all pioneers carry a burden, no matter how easy they might make the trail seem.
And that heroes aren't always a thing of the past.
Texas Western Stuns Kentucky in Iconic Showdown
Texas Western Miners
In 1966, the national collegiate basketball championship wasn't just for a title, it was Brown vs. the Board of Basketball. For the first time in history five black starters played, and defeated, the powerful University of Kentucky for the national championship.
The buildup for the game is a study in institutional racism in sportswriting. In truth, the Miners were a lunch pail group. They held teams to just 62 points per game. None were outstanding athletes and they outclassed by the Wildcats and their star, future NBA coach Pat Riley. But the newspaper reports described them as "flashy players" and "fancy ballhandlers" (New York Times). West Virginia star Rod Hundley said, "They can do everything with the ball but sign it." Kentucky coach Adolph Rupp, a man whose legacy is forever wallowed in racism, vowed he wouldn't lose to "five negroes."
In a brutally contested championship game in 1966, he did just that.
While the game itself may have more historical reverence than it factually deserves –- the University of Michigan competed in the NCAA tournament that year with four black starters and San Francisco had won the tournament in 1956 with five black players, just not starters –- it became an icon, a statement of black pride in a time before Ali's heyday or the 1968 Olympics.
History has forgotten their names by and large and among the greats of the college game, they probably won't be remembered as champions.
But as one iconic image of black resistance in the midst of America's most trying time, they’ll be remembered as heroes.