well at a meet, he and some of his school friends came by our house and started speculating about whether he could beat me in a race. Al was sixteen, about to enter his junior year; I was fourteen, a rising freshman.
“Yeah, she think she's bad but I can beat her easy,” Al crowed.
“Bet you can't,” one of his friends said, taunting him.
“I'll race her right now and show you!” Al said, standing up and sticking out his chest.
I ignored them and continued talking to my girlfriends. I wasn't going to dignify any of it with a comment.
“Come on, Jackie, let's race now and settle this,” Al demanded, beckoning me to the street.
I was so sick of hearing him boast that I agreed—just to shut him up. “Okay, let's race from the front door of the Community Center to the mailbox in front of the tavern.”
“Fine, let's go.”
Like a scene out of the
Little Rascals
series, Al and I walked out of our yard and marched up the street, surrounded by a group of neighborhood kids. We walked the fifty meters to the front door of the Center. Our spectators, about ten boys and ten girls, gathered around the mailbox, the finish line. It wasn't quite a battle of the sexes, though. In addition to all of the girls, some of the boys were cheering for me. The men in front of the tavern watched, but didn't choose sides.
At the starting point, Tyrone Cavitt yelled, “On your mark, get set, go!” The kids all screamed—but Al couldn't stay with me. I beat him by several steps. Everyone surrounded me and patted me on the back, laughing and cheering. Al looked deflated. Word of the race results spread like a forest fire the following day at school. Al's friends teased him mercilessly. I felt sorry for him, but I had to teach him a lesson. I never heard another word of trash from him after that.
The defeat prompted him to go out for track and get in shape. Confirming Mr. Fennoy's prediction, Al was an instant sensation, qualifying for the state championships in the sprint hurdles his first season on the team in the spring of 1977. In his senior year, the coach asked him to try the triple jump and he won the district championship with a leap of 47′ 9¾″, the second-longest in district competition that year in Illinois. He finished third at the state championships. At the AAU Nationals a month after he graduated from Lincoln in 1978, he triple-jumped 51 feet on his first attempt. The meet officials and everyone in the crowd watched his leap in stunned silence. Amid wild cheering, the officials scurried around, trying to devise a method for measuring the distance. Their tape measures didn't extend past 50 feet! Up in the stadium, Daddy kept yelling, “That's
my
boy!”
Later that summer in Lincoln, Nebraska, Al won the AAU Junior Olympic triple jump with a leap of 50′ 2½″. Everyone in town was ecstatic, and for his part, Al reveled in his notoriety and welcomed the spotlight. Like his hero, Elvis Presley, he'd burst onto the scene from nowhere and left everyone breathless with his performance. He turned down several scholarship offers from good track programs, including Illinois and Missouri, to accept one from Tennessee State. The school had a respected women's track program and Al believed the coaches were going to build a men's team around him. Unfortunately, he arrived in Nashville to find that his scholarship was really a tiny student loan. He was always strapped for money, enduring one semester without textbooks. So, after a year, he transferred to Arkansas State. In Jonesboro, he continued his athletic progress, breaking a number of collegiate triple-jump records. But with no scholarship and only loans, his college career was a financial struggle.
A yellow school bus carried a big crowd from East St. Louis, including Della and Daddy, to the state track championships when I was a junior. Momma didn't attend many of my competitions. She felt it was her duty to stay at home with my ailing great-grandmother. The people
“Yeah, she think she's bad but I can beat her easy,” Al crowed.
“Bet you can't,” one of his friends said, taunting him.
“I'll race her right now and show you!” Al said, standing up and sticking out his chest.
I ignored them and continued talking to my girlfriends. I wasn't going to dignify any of it with a comment.
“Come on, Jackie, let's race now and settle this,” Al demanded, beckoning me to the street.
I was so sick of hearing him boast that I agreed—just to shut him up. “Okay, let's race from the front door of the Community Center to the mailbox in front of the tavern.”
“Fine, let's go.”
Like a scene out of the
Little Rascals
series, Al and I walked out of our yard and marched up the street, surrounded by a group of neighborhood kids. We walked the fifty meters to the front door of the Center. Our spectators, about ten boys and ten girls, gathered around the mailbox, the finish line. It wasn't quite a battle of the sexes, though. In addition to all of the girls, some of the boys were cheering for me. The men in front of the tavern watched, but didn't choose sides.
At the starting point, Tyrone Cavitt yelled, “On your mark, get set, go!” The kids all screamed—but Al couldn't stay with me. I beat him by several steps. Everyone surrounded me and patted me on the back, laughing and cheering. Al looked deflated. Word of the race results spread like a forest fire the following day at school. Al's friends teased him mercilessly. I felt sorry for him, but I had to teach him a lesson. I never heard another word of trash from him after that.
The defeat prompted him to go out for track and get in shape. Confirming Mr. Fennoy's prediction, Al was an instant sensation, qualifying for the state championships in the sprint hurdles his first season on the team in the spring of 1977. In his senior year, the coach asked him to try the triple jump and he won the district championship with a leap of 47′ 9¾″, the second-longest in district competition that year in Illinois. He finished third at the state championships. At the AAU Nationals a month after he graduated from Lincoln in 1978, he triple-jumped 51 feet on his first attempt. The meet officials and everyone in the crowd watched his leap in stunned silence. Amid wild cheering, the officials scurried around, trying to devise a method for measuring the distance. Their tape measures didn't extend past 50 feet! Up in the stadium, Daddy kept yelling, “That's
my
boy!”
Later that summer in Lincoln, Nebraska, Al won the AAU Junior Olympic triple jump with a leap of 50′ 2½″. Everyone in town was ecstatic, and for his part, Al reveled in his notoriety and welcomed the spotlight. Like his hero, Elvis Presley, he'd burst onto the scene from nowhere and left everyone breathless with his performance. He turned down several scholarship offers from good track programs, including Illinois and Missouri, to accept one from Tennessee State. The school had a respected women's track program and Al believed the coaches were going to build a men's team around him. Unfortunately, he arrived in Nashville to find that his scholarship was really a tiny student loan. He was always strapped for money, enduring one semester without textbooks. So, after a year, he transferred to Arkansas State. In Jonesboro, he continued his athletic progress, breaking a number of collegiate triple-jump records. But with no scholarship and only loans, his college career was a financial struggle.
A yellow school bus carried a big crowd from East St. Louis, including Della and Daddy, to the state track championships when I was a junior. Momma didn't attend many of my competitions. She felt it was her duty to stay at home with my ailing great-grandmother. The people
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