Roy Exum
Several years ago, when a happy crowd of the old Brainerd High Rebels were showing off their children and laughing about the happy days spent on the football field with the late Pete Potter, the most invincible of them all told a story as the room grew real quiet. It had been almost 40 years since they last played together and up until then, not a one had an inkling of the intense drama that once unfolded at the old Eastdale Elementary School just off Wilcox Boulevard.
As grown men know, when you grow up together through junior high and then life-long friendships are forged on the practice fields in high school, there are admittedly not many secrets between teammates.
This was especially true at Brainerd in the early 70s, when America still had a lot of growing up to do, because some of the racial scars from back in the day are still pretty visible if you look hard enough.
Brinkley Walton was one of few black kids at Eastdale Elementary but not many noticed even then. He was intensely likeable, bright and funny. He was also, from an early age, a God-gifted athlete but – get this -- he was so very scared back then he could hardly keep himself from trembling. Again, the black-white thing was ugly and he and other black kids were careful, very careful, after being forced by segregation to swim in sea of mostly white faces.
“About two of three years ago I was back in Chattanooga and a bunch of us gathered for dinner,” said John Zachary, a member of those Brainerd teams who today is a highly-successful production designer in the glitter and glitz of Los Angeles. “We were having a great time just being with each other when we started talking about people who made the biggest differences in our lives. I still get very emotional whenever I think about what happened that night.”
“I first got to know Brinkley at Dalewood Jr. High and I could have cared less that he was black. He and Jeff Sears immediately became two of my best friends at Dalewood and I never had the slightest hint of what they were going through. I was white, I couldn’t see it, and if I had I still couldn’t begin to grasp it.
“Brinkley told us that every day he went to elementary school he was terrified. At first it was laughable. Are you kidding me? Here is the most gifted, versatile athlete I have ever been around, a guy everybody loved, and that night a dinner he told us how he got over being scared,” said John. “It was all because of Coach Hicks.”
I called the Hamilton County School Board yesterday to find a “Coach Hicks” and there was none in the record base. “That’s right … he was not on the staff – he was a little league coach. He was just a guy who cared about kids. He had two sons, Larry and Gary, but he treated all of us like we were his own. And none of us ever knew about it but the fact Brinkley was black probably made Coach Hicks try even harder.”
What are you talking about, I asked John. “Oh, Coach Hicks was on Brinkley from the start, trying to get him on the team, but finally Brinkley broke down, sobbing, because his mother didn’t want any trouble. She was scared white people would be mean to him … you know, taunt him and say stuff because he was black … so that afternoon Coach Hicks marched to the front door of Brinkley’s house.
“Brinkley told us that Coach Hicks, who was white, promised his mother that he would make sure nobody was mean or hateful, and he said he would personally pick Brinkley up at the house, drive him to practice and bring him back home with his sons sitting on either side of Brinkley. He also told her that if Brinkley was going to fit in, be one of the guys, that sport was the great equalizer, and that Brinkley had the ability to make his color invisible if she would just give her son a chance to do it.”
“Coach Hicks finally won her over. And Brinkley finally told us that night Coach Hicks literally changed his life.
“For 40 years none of us realized what a step of faith it was for Brinkley to overcome his fears. When we were at Brainerd all we knew what that Coach Potter and all the coaches adored Brinkley. He was our running back and played the entire game, going at defensive back, too. But there was a whole lot more. He was the star in every sport. He was our go-to guy, everybody’s best friend. He was one of my closest friends for all my life and I had no idea the burden he carried. None of us did.
“I just remember that Brinkley and Jeff Sears were the greatest friends I could have ever wanted. I didn’t think anybody on our team noticed they were black but when they finally told us how hard it was, it broke our hearts.”
Sometime on Tuesday word swept through those old Rebel teammates that Charles Brinkley Walton, age 59, had died in a local hospital just like his fears did once long ago. The funeral will be Monday in the chapel of the John Franklin Funeral Home, where Brinkley will be remembered as a dear friend, a great, yet totally unselfish competitor, and as very much a winner. His teammates will weep.
Those same teammates will also remember that somewhere in the shadows, be it in a little league dugout, watching from the stadium door, or high in the bleachers of the gym, our “Coach Hicks” will savor his greatest triumph and, Lord knows, he better be ready.
The weighted crown he will be bestowed in heaven will be just exactly what Brinkley requested that the first day when he, as a small child, took the field at the old Eastdale Elementary School. This, after his fearful mother finally agreed her son could play for a white man every kid knew back then as simply “Coach Hicks.”
royexum@aol.com