It was Mother’s Day of 2002. Charles Barkley and I were just putting the finishing touches on his book I May Be Wrong but I Doubt It, which was Chuck’s take on the world and the world of sports. He said—and I remember the words exactly—“I’ve got an idea for another book. . . . Tell me what you think of this . . .”

It was so clearly thought out, it was as if he had done an outline for this new book in his head. “Racism,” he said, “is the biggest cancer of my lifetime. And I know I can’t cure the cancer, but doesn’t somebody have to attack it?” That simple idea was the inspiration for this book.

“I want to interview people who are influential in their various fields,” he continued. “I want to talk to them about how race affects their lives and the industries they work in. It just seems to me people are afraid to talk about race. We’re richer than ever, more educated than ever. The country is more diverse than ever. But I think we’re more scared than we’ve ever been when it comes to talking about race. We spend more time and effort trying to cure racism than we spend trying to prevent it. Nobody wants to talk about what they think about people who are different until something really terrible happens, and once you reach that point nobody is rational. At that point, people are just stuck in their positions hating each other.

“I’m not expecting to find concrete answers,” he said. “Maybe there aren’t any to find anyway. I know people will disagree whenever race is a topic, but that’s part of the point. We shouldn’t be so scared to disagree or to argue that we just avoid something that everybody knows is so destructive. I want to try and start a dialogue. I want to sit down with people and have open, positive discussions about race and how they feel about where we’re going, what’s good, what’s bad, what smart people ought to be thinking.”

Charles stopped. “So what do you think about that as a concept for a book? And don’t lie to me. If you think it sucks, tell me it sucks.”

I loved his idea then and I’ve loved it even more since, as his editor, accompanying Charles along the journey he set out on. I loved it when we sat with U.S. senator Barack Obama one month before his election in Illinois and heard him talk about his vision for his state and the country. I loved it when we were having lunch with Samuel L. Jackson in Beverly Hills, hearing him talk about the times his paycheck was so small the bank teller smirked when he made the deposit. I loved sitting with Rabbi Steven Leder (who, as it turns out, I went to college with in the Midwest) in his office in Los Angeles, talking about what in the world has happened to a once strong rapport between Jews and blacks.

I loved listening to überproducer Peter Guber in his home on a Saturday morning talk about the forces necessary to break “tribalism” and how that affects Hollywood. I loved hearing Charles and Morgan Freeman, over dinner at Jezebel in New York City, argue like only two southerners could over the merits of NASCAR. I loved hearing Tiger Woods talk about why he will not compromise or reduce the fullness of his racial heritage for the convenience of those who can only deal with racial simplicity. I loved it when Ice Cube and George Lopez, both working on location, welcomed us into their trailers to talk about race and the entertainment industry.

I loved it when Justice Clarence Thomas, even though he couldn’t talk to us on the record because he has his own book coming out, welcomed us into his office in the Supreme Court and told Charles this book was an undertaking he had better complete. Justice Thomas told Charles not to let anyone trivialize his agenda, as he was on to something important, something worthy of serious discussion, and not to be afraid of disagreement, that you can’t sharpen a knife without friction and that different and contradicting positions are necessary. He said that Charles has this platform, and he wished him all the success in the world with this endeavor. I loved it when Charles called excitedly from New York and said, “I just had lunch with President Bill Clinton in his office . . . you won’t believe what he had to say.”

People of great influence and sometimes fame picked up the phone or answered the door (sometimes only after great coaxing) because Charles was the one calling or knocking. And when they did, almost always they expressed to Charles that he would have better luck pursuing this particular dialogue on race, conversations that almost always begin awkwardly, than would politicians or religious leaders. Bill Clinton told him, “Charles, you are widely admired, because people think you speak your mind. If they don’t agree with you, they at least think you told them what you think is the truth. And that’s one thing you can do with this book.”

It was clear that everybody who said “yes” to be interviewed had a sense of Charles’s curiosity and his compassion. That was never more evident than in a discussion with Reverend Cecil “Chip” Murray, the senior pastor of First AME Church in Los Angeles for twenty-seven years. He had only one more month on the job when he welcomed us into his office one afternoon. His years of serving one of the most important churches in California included battling the L.A. riots, AIDS, police brutality, gang warfare, and hunger and facilitating the influx of a new wave of immigrants to Los Angeles, many of whom turned to his church for assistance. I had met Reverend Murray in May 1992, two weeks after the riots to be exact, when I was working on a series of pieces for the Washington Post. So I was happy Charles was meeting him before he stepped down. Murray has been a pivotal figure in Los Angeles, so respected that former governor Gray Davis came to First AME to share in that final Sunday. Reverend Murray told reporters, after his final sermon, “The black church must be a servant church or we are all in default. The church must reach beyond its walls. It must have more than prayer, more than worship. The word must become flesh.”

Continued...

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-from Who's Afraid of a Large Black Man?, by Charles Barkley.
Copyright © April 2005, The Penguin Press, a member of The Penguin Group, Inc.,
used by permission.