I Met a Man Named John (Newsletter published January 1999)

I have been going through boxes and stored items so that I can get rid of things that I've saved over the years that I will never need. One of the benefits of doing this is that I am also finding things that I've saved because I wanted to keep them, like old Newsletter publications in which I wrote articles about things other than industry topics and our company's services. 

Several of the articles had to do with my life as a single, custodial father of two daughters. This particular article got more positive comments when I wrote it than any other article I wrote for the Newsletter. With that introduction, here is "I Met a Man Named John," which is most likely slightly edited because I don't have to make it fit and also because I'm anal like that. 

(The thing that seems most funny in rewriting this article is that I am now about the age of the "elderly, well-dressed Black man." As I look back on things, I seem to have learned a lesson from my encounter with the man who had the riches that money cannot buy.)

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I Met a Man Named John

Recently, my eleven-year-old daughter participated in the Elks Hoop Shoot at Al Davies Boys & Girls Club. Taking my place on the bench, I watched her practice her shooting. It wasn't long before an elderly, well-dressed Black man took the seat next to me. We introduced ourselves, and started talking about why we were there. He had brought his grandson who was wearing his Gary Payton jersey. His mother had another commitment but would be there in time for the contest.

If you have never been to Al Davies Boys & Girls Club, it is a beautiful but modest facility located in the Hilltop area of Tacoma. It replaced the old Downtown Boys Club. John was interested in the fact that several Olympic medalists and world champions have learned their skill through the boxing program at these clubs.

John told me about what they used as a basketball court when he was in high school in Florida. They would dig clay from a pit and spread and compact it onto a flat dirt area. It was a segregated school which provided "separate but equal" opportunities. He chuckled about games raining out, and how the uneven court redefined ball control. 

Discipline in his school in the 40s and early 50s was mainly administered via a willow switch with a note sent home to the parents in hopes they would get it again.

What seemed to perplex me more than anything about this 66-year-old man was his sense of humor about the conditions rather than any contempt for having been subjected to the obvious inequity of social status. I directly asked him about it. He told me that the inequity taught him a strong work ethic. He knew he had to be a little bit better, and felt he was better off for it. 

He told me that he had the strength to raise his two daughters in a loving, single parent home, which was quite unusual for a man in his day. He was able to enjoy work, and he knew that he had to earn that which he would acquire. 

When the contest started, I was recruited to help with shagging basketballs and scorekeeping. John's daughter showed up with her sister and her two children. I watched as he got hugs from his family and the kids scurried to get the seats next to their grandpa. 

His grandson didn't get a trophy, but he was greeted with an enthusiastic "atta boy!" I watched John leave holding hands with his two oldest grandkids while the mother carried the youngest. All I could think was how I want to grow up to be as rich as he is!