COOTIE CHAPMAN

Circa 1966: My mother was working as a Head Nurse @ Sharon General Hospital when she approached a young African American in his 20’s, named Cootie Chapman. Coot was an Orderly that was once an All-American High School Basketball Player from Farrell, PA. She approached Cootie and asked him if he could help me with my basketball fundamentals. Cootie graciously accepted the offer, picked me up from my house and drove me to the Carver Center gym, a boys club open to the locals in the city of Farrell. Located in the middle of the projects, Carver Center never had a ‘white guy’ play on its hardwood floors- until my debut.

I was in 6th grade at the time, (a wet-behind-the-ears 11 years old), and I vividly recall the first time I stepped foot in that building. With a butch haircut, I nonchalantly carried my gym bag across the gym floor, clueless to the inception I was about to embark upon. Naive to the political turmoil of the times, the egregious injustices African-Americans endured daily, the tumultuous struggles for justice, and amidst Civil Rights protests that escalated across the country- I infiltrated their safe haven. In essence, I ENTERED THE NEST. Man, I looked just like a character straight outta the TV Sitcom ‘Leave It to Beaver’. I mean, the very instant I entered the gym, about 50 brothers stopped dead in their tracks. Not a ball bounced. No one moved! It was as if everyone JUST FROZE!

There was dead silence in the gym: All conversation- ceased. Any laughter immediately halted, and all heads turned toward me. Not a sound, Blood, not a sound. YOU COULD HEAR A PIN DROP, Man! Innocent, kinda-stupid-goofy curious, and perfectly unaware, I just kept walking toward the locker room to change clothes. It was [a total SET] that a dear friend of mine (Flint) would years-later encapsulate as, “EYE-OLOGY!” …Yikes! To this day, I can clearly see dozens of stunned faces staring at me in disbelief. Most looked incredulously toward Cootie, as if to say, ‘Coot- whatchu bring’n up in here?’ …I was sized up and down, and then some little blood was sent into the locker room to retrieve my name, age, and where I was from. That, my friend, was the beginning of a journey to discover my humanity...

When I look back, it was a combination of being UTTERLY OBLIVIOUS and instinctively bold- that ingratiated me to the tribe. Unquestionably, Cootie (as Program Director) put out the word that I was not to be harmed, however that did not prevent the many challenges, awkward encounters, and threatening confrontations I faced every second I was under the Carver Center roof.  Oh, I was tested, trust me on that one. I can tell you many stories- but that’s for another time. That’s a book in and of itself. Let’s just put it this way, unorganized street ball is extremely social: Lots of words accompany ball’n, Brah. Trash talk’n is the norm and expectation. I had to be a quick study to thrive in that environment.

Having the same complexion as [the Oppressors] and being from a different culture- I stood out, LIKE A TARGET!  Hence, the more talented youngsters around my age were handpicked by the older ones to play me 1-on-1. In those instances, half the court was cleared, and EVERYONE circled around to watch the battle. I even had fathers from the hood (Mr. Sims in particular), come to watch their son play against the ‘white boy’. Oh, I lost many of those games at first, but as time progressed (attending B-Ball camps and emulating the moves of Pistol-Pete Maravich and Earl-the-Pearl Monroe), I became more and more victorious. It was survival of the fittest, gladiator-style: Shamed or be shamed was the name of that game. Sadly, several of the young locals socially pressured to whup me but got whupped- never returned to the Center.

Under Cootie’s tutelage, as well as the older skilled players that openly shared their insights- I began to think out-of-the box (Street Style). I absorbed it all. I literally fell in love with the sport and the culture. I practiced my Handles relentlessly (easily 8 hours a day in the Summer). After years of passionately toiling solo with the basketball, I learned to infuse Stutter-Stepping, Skipping, Feigning, and Jab-Stepping while whimsically executing the Cross-Over, Between-the-Legs, Behind-the-Back, and the Spin Dribble (or a combination thereof). I discovered that being pigeon-toed and having good Handles made it difficult for the defender to know where I was going and what I would do next. As my skill levels sharpened and creatively expanded, I was no longer referred to as a ‘cool white guy’, which I never identified with anyway. Nah, I was just another Brotha that dug Ball’n. Folks who saw me play way back when say I was ahead of my time, (appreciate that), as I learned how to freestyle and adlib moves, expressing my creativity as artistry. Eventually I earned a place among the respected elite players in the gym.

From 6th grade forward to my senior year, I was welcomed. When I think about it: Open-heartedness [combined with prowess] trumped the color barrier and I was- TRUSTED. Unbeknownst to Cootie, this unique experience eternally CHANGED ME and gave me SOMETHING that allowed me [later in life] to travel in circles, company, organizations, and in any setting where Black Consciousness was expressed. What was THAT SOMETHING? That’s simple to answer: LOVE.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had push-back from those resistant- Detractors, and Doubters that questioned authenticity or accused me of ‘Perpetrating’. For those Non-Believers that did not and do not have [the eyes to see] what’s 4REAL- I have an extremely effective response.  My response? Oh, that’s another blog.

Despite opposition [from whoever], despite acceptance [from the nay-sayers], and despite this [world’s sick self-serving bigotry]- I was forever TRANSFORMED, and IT WAS EVIDENT. To prove my point: When I occasionally attempted to play pickup games with some older skilled white players from my area, I was purposefully shunned and [N bombs] were dropped on me for [playing like a “N”]. Yeah, I remember them…Oh, I remember them: I was literally scorned, ostracized, and spited. Their hostility increased as my unorthodox street skills elevated, and they NEVER embraced me as [one of them]. As far as the white populace was concerned- I was BLACK, blue black! And that was Ok with me…In fact, I embraced it. All that foolishness and ridiculous hatred just pushed me to where I felt at home- Carver Center and the project playgrounds.

For the most part, I learned one thing about Black folks- IF YOU’RE DOWN- THEIR DOWN. As I reflect upon this beautiful soul named Cootie Chapman, I am so honored, extremely humbled, and eternally grateful for the CULTURAL DOOR he opened for me:
· He exposed the illusion and myth of color without preaching a single sermon.
· He destroyed any Color Identity I had through Inclusion. He saved me.
· He planted the Seed of Humanity in my heart by welcoming me to [The Tribe].
· He revealed to me, through his love and protection, that the only race- is [The Human Race].
· He sponsored me and showed me that one doesn’t have to be [Born of the Tribe], to be a [Valued Tribe Member].
· He taught me that it’s not about [COLOR]- it’s all about [CONSCIOUSNESS]!
· He is the reason I do not need approval [from anyone] that advocates Color over Consciousness.
· He was the impetus and reason- why I became a [One-Man Revolution].
· I love you, Cootie!

P.S. Cootie open that [First Door to Humanity] for me. His gracious act of opening his heart and world- allowed me to enter, understand, and adopt Black Consciousness (Human Consciousness). Granted, it was a gradual unconscious assimilation that naturally occurred, but it is a big part of my identity. How I view the world, the rhythm in my poetry, my verbal descriptors, the free-style creativity applied to any endeavor, my humor, the air about me, the vibe I give off, and my cool- was garnished through osmosis from the African American community. I take credit for nothing! …All props! I am forever beholden, for I belong to the tribe of mankind, called [Humanity] ! ………from the Lookout Post

B.P.S. I recently learned that my niece and 3 nephews, who I infinitely adore- woke up one day in their youth and learned that Uncle T (me) was NOT Black.  For a minute, they couldn’t wrap their heads around it………..Triiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip ! 😊 But LOVE never fails.