I Was "Little Brother" Growing Up in My Sister's Shadow

        I was probably four or five years old before I knew I had a name.  Because I had an older sister, I was simply called “Little Brother.”   My sister, Nancy, was three years older and I grew up in her shadow.

        Nancy was a brilliant student.  I don’t think she ever made a B in school.  She graduated as Valedictorian of her High School class and number one in her Law School class.  That was a tough act for me to follow!

        The first day of school usually went something like this:  “Oh, you are Nancy’s little brother.  She’s so smart.  I’m sure you are just as smart as she is.”

        Wrong!

        Not that I was a bad student, but growing up in my sister’s shadow was an ominous burden to bear.  Education was always a priority for us.  We attended elementary school in a building that had our great-grandfather’s name on the cornerstone.  Our principal, “Fessor Burleson,” taught our father and our grandfather.  Our grandmother taught in a one-room schoolhouse and our father was on the School Board.  Yes, education was very important.

But even more important was our faith.  We had a great-grandfather who was a Baptist minister.  Our father was a deacon in the church and taught Sunday School.  Our mother worked with mission groups.  Our grandmother was in charge of the Missionary Society and I always had a suspicion that she really ran the church!  Our church was not just a part of our life; it was the foundation of our life. 

My sister excelled in church just as she did in school.  Once again, I was “Little Brother” who was growing up in her shadow.  But as I look back on it now, I realize that growing up in her shadow was not detrimental, but instrumental—for she set the standard for excellence and I was always inspired to work a little harder, to climb a little higher, to run a little faster because my big sister inspired me to give my very best.

        My big sister was always there for me when we were growing up.  Her legacy not only preceded me through Elementary and High School, but when I enrolled in Samford University, she enrolled in their law school.  She married after   graduating from Law School and asked me to perform the wedding.  I didn’t have a clue what to do, but I had been trying to keep up with my big sister my whole life and I wasn’t going to let her down now.  When she moved away to New York I realized that for the first time in my life, I was no longer in my sister’s shadow.   

        She was a busy lawyer in New York and later in Alabama.  I was a busy minister in North Carolina.  As the years went by we grew apart.  Over twenty years ago my sister was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.  She battled valiantly and courageously until four weeks ago when the battle ended.    

My nieces and nephews asked me to speak at her funeral service.  While I conduct funerals on a regular basis as a minister, this was different.  I felt as inadequate as I did when she asked me to perform her wedding.  But this was my big sister and once again, I wasn’t about to let her down.

        My thoughts went back to those formative years when I was simply, “Little Brother.”  The shadow that she cast over me was one of exceptional achievement.  Within that shadow I learned about hard work, honesty, integrity, commitment, and loyalty.  Together our family and our faith community instilled deep and lasting spiritual values within us.  We learned about service, sacrifice, compassion, forgiveness, and faith. 

        As I stood before her church family in Tuscaloosa and later in our hometown cemetery, I felt her shadow over me once again.  Only this time her shadow was not an ominous burden to bear, but a comforting presence that surrounded me with faith, hope, and love.  And because of those values that I learned within her shadow, I could share the good news that my big sister had fought the good fight, she had finished her course, and she kept the faith.  Once again, she has excelled!

The Washington Post Article

        The Washington Post has published an article on Davidson County, North Carolina titled:  “Facebook post exposes racial divide.”  The article paints our county as being bigoted, backwards, prejudiced and racist.   The reporter called me and said he was told I knew a great deal about the history of our county.  He said he wanted to understand the true culture and the true spirit of Davidson County.  I took him at his word, but he didn’t take me at mine.  I was not only misquoted, but the Davidson County that I described to him was not the one he portrayed in the article.  

        The article first appeared in the Post and then was reprinted on Monday, October 28 in both the Winston-Salem Journal and the Greensboro News and Record.   I want to share two responses.  The first is a reflection on the article I shared with City leaders.  The second is a Letter to the Editor that I am submitting to both the Journal and the News and Record.



         I want to share my reflections on the Washington Post Article.  Obviously, I am greatly disappointed in the article.  The reporter told me he really wanted to understand the culture and the spirit of our county.  I told him that if he really wanted to accomplish this, he needed to know the name of Charlie England.  I also referenced the 1963 incident as an example of how our community responded to a racial crisis in a positive and redemptive way.  He never mentioned the name of Charlie England and he used the 1963 incident in the same way the national media did in 1963—never bothering to tell the full story.

            I was misquoted also.  I never told him people cautioned us about living in the city.  When he asked about the perception that the county was more prejudiced than the city, I told him that first of all, things were much better now than they were 30 years ago when I moved to Lexington.  I told him that some people told us that we should have our kids in county schools and others said they should be in city schools.  No one ever told us not to live in the city.  We did buy a house in the city.  I also told him that it was only a perception.

            I was quoted correctly when I told him that our church and most mainline churches are all white.  I told him that while most of our members have acquaintances who are black, we don’t normally socialize and go out to eat together.  He made the leap to say most of my members don’t have black friends.  Oh, goodness!

            This is a good example of how a reporter can skew a story in a certain direction.  

Editor:

          The Washington Post story “Facebook post exposes racial divide” doesn’t tell the whole story, in fact, it misses the real story.

          The Davidson County I know is not the county portrayed in this article, nor is it the county I described to the Post when I was interviewed.  I told the reporter that if he wanted to know the true spirit of Davidson County, there was one name he needed to learn—Charles England.  Coach Charlie England was the legendary football coach of Dunbar High School winning five state championships before integration.  He willingly stepped down to become an assistant coach at Lexington High School to facilitate integration.  He spent his entire life working for racial reconciliation. 

          I told the reporter that whenever we had a racial incident in the past, it had always been mediated in a positive and redemptive manner that promoted healing and reconciliation—the Charlie England way.  The name Charles England never appeared in his story and the historical references only reinforced the negative, divisive, and prejudiced picture that he paints. 

          But the biggest mistake that the Washington Post and everyone else made was that they missed the real story.  The story was not the one student who painted the racial slur, but the other students who immediately painted over the unacceptable words.  They made a powerful statement.  The slur did not represent them, their school, their families, or their community. 

          The Post article does not reflect who we are in Davidson County, but the South Davidson students who stepped in certainly do! 

Dan Rather, Charles England, and Two Paths in the Summer of '63

One was a legendary news reporter with CBS Television, the other a legendary football coach in the small town of Lexington, North Carolina.  Their paths crossed briefly in the summer of 1963 due to one of the most unfortunate events in Lexington’s history.  The event propelled their paths in different directions.  The reporter would soon become a celebrity in Dallas, Texas as he reported on the Kennedy assassination.  The coach would soon become a reconciler of races in the community he loved.

        The unfortunate event took place on the night of June 6, 1963.  A large crowd of angry white citizens gathered at the Red Pig.  They were upset over the actions of some black citizens who had been testing the segregation policy in uptown Lexington.  Some businesses had welcomed them, some had not.  The racial tension had been building for weeks, not just in Lexington, but across the nation.

        The crowd left the Red Pig and walked up First Street where they encountered a much smaller crowd of black citizens.  The police department estimated the blacks were outnumbered 10-1.  Insults were shouted, objects were hurled and finally a gunshot was fired.  A man was killed. 

        I have talked to many people through the years about this incident that the media immediately branded as a “race riot.”  Most have told me that it was not really a “riot.”  In fact, the crowd immediately dispersed when the shot was fired.

        But the die was cast and the national and international media descended on our town.  That’s when Dan Rather showed up, reporting for CBS News.  The media left as quickly as they came. That was a shame, because they never bothered to report on the rest of the story.

        The Lexington City Council acted immediately and decisively.  One week after the incident they ordered the immediate desegregation of all city offices and encouraged businesses to do the same.  They also appointed a biracial committee, the “Good Neighbor Council,” to work on race relations.  One of the most prominent members was the highly successful football coach at Dunbar High School, Charlie England. 

        The actions of the City Council and this committee prevented any more major events from taking place.  It also led to the first black student being admitted to a Lexington City School the following September. Three years later complete desegregation became a reality when Dunbar High School closed and Coach Charlie England, who had won five state championships, stepped down to become an assistant coach at Lexington Senior High. 

        Coach England was one of the greatest men I have ever known.  His players will regale you with stories about their beloved coach and share the life-lessons he taught.  His mantra was “Be somebody.”   Everybody can be somebody!  Coach England did more for race relations in this town through his willingness to step down and become the “servant of all.”  He was somebody!

        Dan Rather came to town and focused on a problem; Coach England focused on the solution.

        Dan Rather was a reporter; Coach England was a healer.

        Dan Rather spoke of riot; Coach England spoke of reconciliation.

        Dan Rather only told part of the story; Coach England lived out the rest of the story.

        Dan Rather worked for headlines; Coach England worked for peace.

Dan Rather would later step up to become the anchor of CBS News; Coach England would later step down to become an assistant coach in an effort to facilitate desegregation. 

        Twenty years ago the Lord called Coach Charles England home.  The Smith Civic Center could not hold the huge crowd who came to honor him.  Young and old, rich and poor, black and white—every life had been blessed by this great man.   And he continues to bless our community.  Every day the young students at Charles England Elementary School are challenged to “Be Somebody!”

        The summer of 1963 sent two men’s lives in different directions.  For one, it was a quick stop on the road to notoriety and fame.  For the other, it was the beginning of  the road to redemption and humble service.  Of the two men, I think I know who really was “Somebody!”

                      
        I was blessed to call Coach Charlie England my friend.

Duragno Was A Lexington Icon and the Richest Man in Town

         Kenneth McKinnish, known by most everyone as Durango was a Lexington Icon.  How do I know?  He told me so.  And you know what, he was absolutely, 100% correct. 

        Kenneth lived his entire life in Lexington and earned the nickname “The Durango Kid” for the popular Saturday kids’ matinee Western movies in the 40s and 50s.  Most people didn’t know his real name, he was simply Durango, one of Lexington’s characters, a Lexington Icon.

        There was one person who didn’t like the name Durango, and that was his wife, Annette.  She was listening to the radio broadcast one night from Holt-Moffit Field.  Durango ran the hand-operated scoreboard for years before a modern, electric scoreboard was installed.  She heard the announcers refer to Durango on the scoreboard too many times, so she marched to the ballpark, grabbed her husband whose name was Kenneth, and made him come home!

        It was at Holt-Moffit Field that I got to know Durango.  I worked with Harold Bowen broadcasting the American Legion Baseball games.  Kenneth never missed a Legion game, home or away.  Jim Lippard took care of Durango, even having the bus pick him up at his boarding house for away games and giving him a stipend to buy his meals.  He would sit behind home plate and yell at the umpires, offering them his glasses when they missed a call. 

        Durango was also a fixture at the Davidson County Agricultural Fair every year on the third week of September.  He would help us at the gate, usually handling the “pass out” stamp for folks leaving the fair who planned to return.  There were times that members of the Kiwanis Club would not report for duty, but I could always depend on Durango—he was always there, loving every minute. 

        When Annette died, Kenneth was devastated.  For the rest of his life he carried her picture in his wallet.  He could tell you the day, the hour, the minute, and the room number at Baptist Hospital when she died.  But it wasn’t too long after her death that he told us he had a girlfriend.  I remember Harold talking to Durango as a father would talk to a son, telling him that he didn’t need a girlfriend. 

        “But she loves me,” Kenneth said. 

        “No, she doesn’t,” Harold told him. “She loves your money.”

        Kenneth couldn’t see that what Harold was saying was true.  He was too trusting, too good for his own good.  His “girlfriend” took all the money he had.  He lost his house and moved to the boarding house across from the police station.  He rode his bicycle, smoked his pipe, sat on the bench in front of the police station, attended Legion games, helped us at the fair, and rode with his good friend, Jimmy Snyder, to Wake Forest football and basketball games. 

        He lived a simple life, but a life that was profound in his loyalty, his friendship, and his commitments.  Durango would do anything to help you.  I have a number of little trinkets that he gave me, so proud that he had something to share with me. 

        Kenneth had no material possessions when he died.  We talked about a simple cremation as the least expensive option, but Durango was a Lexington Icon and he deserved better.  Jack and Dan Briggs at Davidson Funeral Home graciously said they would donate their services.  The Wilbert Vault Company donated their services also.  Friends at First Baptist Church, the YMCA Thursday morning Bible Study, and the Kiwanis Club collected money to pay for the rest, and on a cloudy Friday morning we all gathered at the Lexington City Cemetery for a dignified and honorable funeral. 

        Durango would have loved it!  All of his friends were there.  The town’s leading citizens stood by his grave.  Representatives from the Police Department, the City Council, the Kiwanis Club, Legion Baseball, and Davidson Funeral Home were all there.  His friends, church family, and his classmates payed homage to a Lexington Icon.  It was like a scene out of a movie. 

        No, he didn’t have any material possessions, but on this day the Durango Kid was the richest man in town!