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By ALBERT BREER and BARRY HORN / The Dallas Morning News DURHAM, N.C. – Frank Clarke doesn't allow the visitor to reach the front door. His lithe, 74-year-old body, showing no scars from his football past, bounds down the stone walkway of the suburban home for the intercept. He grabs a hand and shakes it, but this is no invitation to come inside.
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Frank Clarke: Story behind story of former Dallas Cowboys receiver
Politely but firmly, Mr. Clarke explains that he had spoken his piece in numerous telephone conversations starting in February. Now, six weeks later, there is nothing left to talk about. Besides, he has work to do inside. Behind the front bay window, a young mother cradles her infant son. Her older son is busy at the dinner table. The children are Mr. Clarke's work. Franklin, as he is known in this neighborhood, is the gray-bearded nanny to Quinn, 5, and MacAllan Clarke Tugwell, 1. Once upon a time, the nanny was the most prolific receiver in Cowboys history. He was fast, smart and determined to prove wrong critics of his toughness. He joined a ragtag expansion team in 1960 and was the last original Cowboy to retire. The NFL Championship Game of 1967, the storied Ice Bowl, was his final game. Mr. Clarke's career had been largely archived until last fall, when Terrell Owens approached his team record for touchdown catches in a season, set in 1962. Mr. Owens' record-breaking 15th scoring catch came down Interstate 85 in Charlotte. Mr. Clarke, invited by the Cowboys to make the 150-mile trip, chose to watch the game on television.
Mr. Clarke did do perfunctory media interviews via telephone at the time. Mostly, he said he was happy for Mr. Owens. If he mentioned that he found his calling as a nanny after reinventing himself in the mid-1970s, it went unreported. In the course of the reinvention, he divorced the mother of his three children, gravitated to the Living Love Center in counterculture Berkeley, Calif., and lived in a Kentucky commune blissfully named Cornucopia. "I'm one of the luckiest people you ever imagined knowing, not having plans for any of this," Mr. Clarke said in a general discussion of his life back in February. In the series of phone interviews with The News, Franklin Delano Clarke, born during the inaugural term of the 32nd president, outlined a most unusual life. He preferred, however, to let specifics rest in peace. Questions about Living Love, Cornucopia and his decades-long experiences as a nanny were dismissed. His stock reply: "I've already told you about that." For the record, Mr. Clarke has been a nanny for more than a quarter of a century – the last four years in the home of Jennifer Weaver, an attorney, and her husband, Todd Tugwell, an environmental consultant. Previously, Mr. Clarke was the first black football player at the University of Colorado. He was the first black star on a Cowboys team playing in racially divided Dallas. He then became the first black sports TV anchor in Dallas and the first black NFL analyst at CBS.
Courtesy photo
Frank Clarke has been a nanny for more than 25 years - the last four in the home of attorney Jennifer Weaver and her husband, Todd Tugwell.
At home, he was a doting father of two sons and a daughter whom he and his wife, Sandra, reared in the strict Catholic tradition of his childhood. Even before Mr. Clarke retired from football, newspaper articles in 1966 speculated about a run at the Texas House to become the first black state representative since Reconstruction. But he decided politics were not for him. Still, in the wake of the 1968 assassination of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., Dallas Mayor Erik Jonsson enticed Mr. Clarke to serve as coordinator of the city's Council for Youth Opportunities. "We all thought the sky was the limit for Frank Clarke," said Pettis Norman, a former Cowboys teammate whose family once lived next door. "I know he is happy now doing what he is doing, but he is eminently qualified to do other things. It has been such a transformation."
Life-changing moment
Mr. Clarke has shared few details about that transformation with former teammates, old friends or even his children. Most still have questions. Many have sparingly seen him. All are happy Mr. Clarke has found contentment. "It has never been important for me to ask why he walked away from everything he knew," said his youngest son, Jeffrey, 51, who lives near San Diego and has seen his father once since graduating from high school in 1976. Still, he calls his father "a remarkable man." Daughter Stephanie Pelton says her father's Christian beliefs have led him to want to work with children. "My dad is in love with the Lord," she said. "He knows children will lead us." On the phone, Mr. Clarke talked sparingly about his own family and life after they left their east Oak Cliff home, where quarterback Don Meredith would often strum his guitar after games. Mr. Clarke headed to the San Francisco Bay Area in 1973 to work once more for Cowboys owner Clint Murchison, who once promised Mr. Clarke a post-football job for life, in corporate communications. Mr. Clarke said he underwent the life-changing moment that allowed him to discard the shackles of his past a year later. On his 40th birthday, unfulfilled by his lot in life, he received the gift that became his road map to true happiness. The Handbook to Higher Consciousness was a pop-culture best-seller written by paraplegic self-help guru Ken Keyes. In those 215 pages, Mr. Clarke discovered how to live with no facades or inhibitions. The book eventually led Mr. Clarke, who divorced in 1976, to Mr. Keyes' Living Love Center, a converted fraternity house on the fringe of the University of California at Berkeley. Living Love irritated its neighbors before it outgrew the frat house in 1977 and was moved to a former convent in rural Kentucky. Mr. Clarke, a regular visitor at Living Love, followed the next year. On the 150-acre commune christened Cornucopia, the former Dallas youth counselor was eventually assigned to child care. When the commune fragmented, his connections led to life as a live-in nanny, mostly for the children and relatives of friends he met in Kentucky. "Have you heard them say, 'Life begins at 40'?" Mr. Clarke asked during an early telephone conversation. "Hallelujah. I know it does."
Life with the Cowboys
Frank Clarke was 26 when he arrived to play for the Cowboys, exposed in the expansion draft by the Cleveland Browns. His coaches at Colorado and Cleveland criticized his blocking, but the Cowboys were still intrigued by the 6-1, 215-pound receiver.
FILE PHOTO 1965
Frank Clarke finished his eight-year Cowboys career with 281 catches for 5,214 yards and 51 touchdowns.
"He was the most attractive guy on a list of old, injured, disposable players," recalled Gil Brandt, the longtime Cowboys player personnel boss who was charged with putting together the team's first roster. It didn't hurt that Mr. Clarke could blend into new environments. One of only a handful of blacks on the Colorado campus in the mid-1950s, Mr. Clarke was elected the university's equivalent of homecoming king. He and John Wooten, the only other black player then on the Colorado team, were segregated from teammates on some road trips. They quietly accepted such indignities, but it wasn't long before their teammates wouldn't go to places that didn't welcome them. "Frank didn't have to say anything," said Gary Nady, a retired Dallas businessman who was Mr. Clarke's roommate on those trips. "He was the most popular guy on the team. No one wanted to see him and John hurt. It strengthened us as a team." In Dallas, Mr. Clarke said he was stunned to find separate public drinking fountains. He was told living in North Dallas was not an option. Life was different inside the Cowboys' locker room, where rookie head coach Tom Landry wouldn't tolerate the slightest sign of bigotry. "We were concentrating on making the team, not on changing the politics of Dallas County," Mr. Clarke said. "Tom knew if anyone had an ax to grind because of color, it wasn't going to work." Behind the scenes, Mr. Clarke pushed quietly to improve the plight of minorities around the city. Former City Council member Al Lipscomb, one of Dallas' most prominent civil rights leaders, recalls Mr. Clarke as "a leader." "He didn't shut his eyes," said Mr. Wooten, who followed Mr. Clarke to Cleveland and ultimately joined the Cowboys' front office. "He was a stand-up guy who always pushed for what was right. He would say, 'This is what we have to do to make it better. Who is going to stand up with me to make it better?' " Instead of picking at Mr. Clarke's deficiencies, Mr. Landry chose to accentuate his strengths. The coach appreciated Mr. Clarke's speed, his ability to run precise routes and his soft hands. Mr. Clarke finished an eight-year Cowboys career with 281 catches for 5,214 yards and 51 touchdowns. At age 33, he was ready to move on from football. Younger, faster legs had arrived. Bob Hayes had already pushed him to tight end. Mr. Norman shoved him to the bench. Besides, his future outside the game appeared limitless.
From football to TV
On weekends, Mr. Clarke anchored sports reports for WFAA-TV (Channel 8) when not working NFL games for CBS. During the week, he threw himself into work at a bank and the youth council.
FILE PHOTO WFAA
Former WFAA-TV sports anchor Verne Lundquist (left) gives part-time sportscaster Frank Clarke some pointers.
"He had the respect of little toughies and got them back in the main vein," said Mr. Lipscomb, the ex-council member. "He had the ability to talk to street toughs and CEOs and hold their attention." Channel 8 liked the idea of showcasing a former high-profile Cowboy on its air. "The Cowboys erupted on the scene with the NFL Championship Games against Green Bay in 1966 and 1967," said Verne Lundquist, Channel 8's lead sports anchor when Mr. Clarke joined the station in 1968. "The idea was to find the most pleasant, handsome, bright ex-Cowboy and put him on the air." But by 1973, Mr. Clarke was ready for another change. Television work at CBS and Channel 8 had lost its allure. There were signs his marriage was coming apart. "They got married at an early age," said oldest son Gregory, 55, a Dallas firefighter. "Maybe after my dad left the limelight, he was trying to find himself. Some things were not there. Maybe his marriage was one of them." If the Clarke children resented their father for the breakup of their parents' marriage, they say they have long since re-embraced him. Jeffrey gave up a promising college football career at Washington State to help his mother after the divorce. "She needed me," Jeffrey said. "There was no choice." Sandra Clarke, 71, lives in the Dallas area. Her children report she isn't well. "I can speak for my mother," said daughter Stephanie, 48, of McKinney. "My mother has always been in love with my father and always will be." The move to California offered no professional elixir for Mr. Clarke. He said he felt like a "fish out of water" in the corporate world of construction. On Feb. 7, 1974, his 40th birthday, he received The Handbook to Higher Consciousness, which lists 12 pathways to "unconditional love and oneness." Mr. Clarke said the book taught him how to take responsibility for himself and a life structure to find happiness. "I've learned to trust and follow my heart," he said. That heart led him to Berkeley and Mr. Keyes' Living Love Center. Even in a liberal community, the center caused concern. A beat-up old bus always parked out front was considered an eyesore. Inside, rituals included members standing nude in front of the assembly and describing their own bodies. "At that point, you don't have to pretend anymore," said Roedy Green, a Living Love alumnus who is now a Web designer in Victoria, British Columbia. "You'd do the same thing mentally. All the things you had to hide, you came forward with and faced a nonjudgmental crowd." Mr. Clarke embraced such concepts. Even in an accepting community, Mr. Clarke stood out. Carole Thompson, a Living Love leader, said his NFL experiences made him different. "He was seeing that everyone didn't live in a competitive, kill-or-be-killed world," said Ms. Thompson, who dated Mr. Clarke after his divorce and now serves as a minister in San Angelo, Texas.
Commune Cornucopia
In 1977, nearly a decade after his playing days were done, Mr. Clarke faced a decision. With the Living Love Center facing mounting criticism and a desire to expand, Mr. Keyes and his followers purchased the 150-acre Catholic convent in St. Mary, Ky., and established a commune. The atmosphere in Kentucky was different. Rituals and exercises were less explicit. Families were reared, and children were welcome. But the primary tenet remained the same: the search for personal happiness. Mr. Clarke was one of the few blacks in the commune, but something else made him noteworthy: He earned a reputation as a gentle giant. "I think it was a place he got respect. And as a black person, that was hard to do," said Mr. Green, who also moved to Cornucopia. "Part of it was he was a person who liked helping people. He could calm them. He could help people in emotional turmoil." Mr. Clarke reveled most, however, in working with the children. "My calling," he called it. "People started having children, and Frank loved being around children and they responded to him. It was just a natural fit," said Deborah Ham, another Cornucopia alum. Like all Cornucopia residents, Mr. Clarke's days were regimented. In addition to assigned tasks called "karma yoga," there were workshops, group sings and training sessions for visitors. At first, Cornucopia's neighbors in St. Mary found the newcomers alien. Commune residents sometimes arrived in town tethered together in an exercise to better understand each other. They frequently would also appear on townspeople's doorsteps volunteering to help with chores. "People thought it was a cult at first," said Susan Spicer, a longtime town resident. "But some of the people were able to kind of insinuate themselves into the community, and quite a few people stayed here." Cornucopia dissolved in 1982 because of a power struggle. Mr. Keyes and his followers moved to Coos Bay, Ore. Mr. Clarke followed to take care of Ms. Ham's twin daughters. Ms. Ham credits Mr. Clarke for saving the girls' lives when the brick siding on an incinerator collapsed on them. He heard the commotion and managed to lift the wall. Later, it took five men to move the wall that Mr. Clarke lifted, Ms. Ham said. "He's so present in the moment with the children," Ms. Ham said. "He laughs and plays with them. It's a joy to behold. And they love him."
No car needed
Cherry blossoms line the Duke Park neighborhood that Mr. Clarke now calls home. The trees help shield him from the outside world. He has no car. Mr. Wooten recalls Mr. Clarke telling him at the 50th reunion of Colorado's 1956 Orange Bowl team that he didn't need one. "I don't have anywhere to go," he said, according to Mr. Wooten. It wasn't easy finding Mr. Clarke and persuading him to attend the reunion. "No one believed he'd come," said Bill Harris, director of the school's alumni association for athletes. "No one had heard from him in years. People always called asking for him. I had no idea where he was. Finally, I had to put John Wooten on the case, and he convinced him to come." Once there, Mr. Clarke gave an impassioned speech, thanking his former teammates for standing up for him and Mr. Wooten. Those teammates had no idea that when Mr. Clarke moved to Durham, he packed all his possessions in a single suitcase and took a train from Oregon to live with the Tugwells, who are related to a Cornucopia member. He is in his 27th year as a full-time nanny, living off what he calls a work exchange – caring for children and keeping house for room and board. Even when he returned to his native Wisconsin to care for his elderly mother, he worked as a nanny. When he stayed with son Gregory for several months in the late 1980s, Mr. Clarke served as nanny to his granddaughter. Reviews of his work have been exemplary. Gal Looft, who says Mr. Clarke worked in her rural Kentucky home for several months, describes his work as "great." Ms. Weaver and Mr. Tugwell say they couldn't be happier with their situation. A month after Mr. Clarke arrived, the parents took infant son Quinn out of day care and entrusted him to the newest member of the household. "I can't even tell you how grateful I am," Ms. Weaver said. "I keep walking around saying to myself that I must've done something right at some time to be given this gift." Mr. Clarke is involved in community activities and is known to many in the neighborhood as "The Mayor of Duke Park." Asked whether they know anything about his football background, most neighbors simply shrug. Mr. Clarke prefers it that way, reiterating that he "lives in the moment." Mr. Tugwell said he had no idea of his nanny's NFL past when he met Mr. Clarke. "I had to Google Franklin," said Mr. Tugwell, a longtime Washington Redskins fan. "I said to him, 'I can't believe you didn't tell me about all this.' " Mr. Tugwell has been able to draw some football stories from Mr. Clarke. The men followed intently as Terrell Owens pursued Mr. Clarke's touchdowns record. After the record fell, Mr. Clarke received an autographed football from Mr. Owens with a message: "Proud to be in the same class as you." If Mr. Clarke's sojourn from the Cotton Bowl to Duke Park doesn't resonate, he is content to let the world try to figure him out. All he knows is that he is happy. That's what he believes really matters. "You keep doing what you're doing," he said. "That's where I am, knocking on the door of 75, and I'm ready for another 74 years. The rest of my life couldn't possibly be what the last 74 have been, and I'm ready to go tomorrow, if that's what the plan is for me."
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Hillary Clinton expresses her support for Barack Obama
Hillary Clinton has joined Barack Obama at a rally - their first public event since she pulled out of the race to be the Democratic presidential candidate.
The rally in Unity, New Hampshire, was an opportunity for supporters of the party to come together after the divisive primary battle.
The event follows a joint dinner in Washington where Mr Obama offered help to clear Mrs Clinton's campaign debts.
Mrs Clinton urged supporters at the Democrat rally to vote for Mr Obama.
JUSTIN WEBB'S AMERICA
Being lucky is important in politics and Obama does have that aura about him
"If you think we need a new course, a new agenda, then vote for Barack Obama and you will get the change you need," she told the cheering crowd.
"He will work for you, he will fight for you and he will stand up for you every day in the White House."
After her speech, Mr Obama joined the crowd in chanting "thank you Hillary".
He said the Democrats needed Mrs Clinton and her husband, former President Bill Clinton, if they were to win the presidency.
"We need them badly - not just my campaign, but the American people need their service and their vision and their wisdom," Mr Obama said.
Debt burden
Although he and Mrs Clinton had started the campaign for the Democrat nomination with different agendas, Mr Obama said they had "made history together".
The BBC's North America editor, Justin Webb, says the get-together in Unity is rich in political symbolism.
As well as the name, it is also the town whose Democrats were evenly split - 107 voted for Obama, 107 for Clinton.
Mr Obama and Mrs Clinton greeted each other with a kiss and a handshake when they caught the flight to New Hampshire on Friday. They also sat next to each other on the plane, the Associated Press reported.
Prior to Thursday's dinner, the two had not met in person since two days after the last primaries.
Latest opinion polls suggest that while Mr Obama has made headway in winning over Mrs Clinton's supporters since she withdrew from the nomination race, one in five of them has indicated they will vote for the Republican candidate, John McCain.
Our correspondent adds that Thursday's fundraising dinner was important for both sides - the Clinton campaign needs an injection of cash to pay off $20m (£10m) debts, but Mr Obama needs the financial muscle of the Clinton money raisers.
Mrs Clinton's advisers have warned Mr Obama that her ability to campaign on his behalf will be limited if she has to spend the summer raising money to pay off her debts.
Story from BBC NEWS: http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/americas/7477825.stm
Nelson Mandela joined music stars on stage at a concert in London's Hyde Park to celebrate his 90th birthday.
As well as marking the former South African president's personal milestone, the concert raised funds for Mr Mandela's HIV/Aids charity 46664.
Mr Mandela told the crowd: "Even as we celebrate, let us remind ourselves that our work is far from complete - our work is for freedom for all."
Up to 50,000 people watched stars including Amy Winehouse and Queen.
Mr Mandela arrived on stage flanked by stars of the show, including Geri Halliwell and Leona Lewis.
The 46664 charity was named after the prison number which Mr Mandela was given during the 27 years he spent behind bars for his stand against South African apartheid.
Referring to the Free Nelson Mandela concert at Wembley 20 years ago, he said: "Many years ago there was a historic concert which called for our freedom. Your voices carried across the water and inspired us in our prison cells far away.
"Tonight we can stand before you, free."
He added: "But even as we celebrate, let us remind ourselves that our work is far from complete.
"Where there is poverty and sickness including Aids, where human beings are being oppressed, there is more work to be done. Our work is for freedom for all."
He added to applause: "Friends and those watching all around the world, please continue supporting our 46664 campaign.
"We say tonight after nearly 90 years of life, it's time for new hands to lift the burdens. It's in your hands now, I thank you."
Earlier, actor Will Smith kicked off the concert with his wife Jada Pinkett Smith, announcing: "The party begins now."
He quoted singer Peter Gabriel as once saying: "If the world could only have one father, the man that we would choose to be our father would be Nelson Mandela."
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Highlights from the birthday concert
Lewis was one of the biggest hits of the night, singing her ballad Bleeding Love as well as Better In Time.
The X Factor winner said: "When I was younger I remember my aunty and grandmother used to tell me stories about this incredible, wonderful, great man, Nelson Mandela.
"We used to sing songs about him. It's incredible to sing here today at his 90th birthday celebration. I feel so honoured, I just can't begin to explain."
Razorlight also performed, with frontman Johnny Borrell speaking out against the situation in Zimbabwe.
Formula One star Lewis Hamilton introduced the Sugababes, describing it as an "honour and a privilege" to be at the concert.
The Sugababes, who prompted the crowd to wish Mr Mandela "Happy Birthday" sang their hits Push the Button and About You Now.
Annie Lennox, who performed at the Free Nelson Mandela Wembley concert 20 years ago, took to the stage wearing a T-shirt saying "HIV Positive".
In a message to Mr Mandela, talking about HIV and Aids, she said: "We must do something to prevent a virtual genocide upon your people."
Peter Gabriel then introduced rapper Emmanuel Jal, a former child soldier. Gabriel said the performer had the "potential of a young Bob Marley".
Other performers include Andrea and Sharon Corr, Eddy Grant, the Soweto Gospel Choir and Simple Minds.
Momentum
Winehouse defied her detractors and left hospital for the evening to take to the stage.
Wearing a "Blake" heart in her signature beehive style and a huge pair of platform shoes, Winehouse sang her hits Rehab and Valerie, drawing cheers and applause from the crowds.
The night was brought to a climax with a rendition of The Special AKA hit Free Nelson Mandela, written by Jerry Dammers, which became an anti-apartheid anthem in the 1980s.
Many African artists also flew in for the birthday gig, including Papa Wemba of DR Congo, and South African singers Loyiso and Kurt Darren.
Families travelled from across the UK to watch the gig, including Andrea Hawker from Sussex and Debbie McElhatton from Surrey, both of whom brought their daughters.
"We came to be a part of the excitement," said Mrs McElhatton.
Story from BBC NEWS: http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/entertainment/7475717.stm
By JESSE J. HOLLAND, AP Labor Writer 37 minutes ago
The AFL-CIO endorsed Barack Obama for president Thursday, uniting the nation's 15 million union workers behind the Illinois senator and giving him full access to labor's massive bank accounts and political machinery.
As expected, the leaders of the nation's largest labor organization voted unanimously to endorse the Illinois senator, freeing the organization and its 56 unions to spend parts of its $200 million war chest on his campaign.
"We're proud to stand with Sen. Obama to help our nation chart a course that will improve life for generations of working people and our children," said John Sweeney, the AFL-CIO's president.
Union support is key for Democratic candidates because of labor's ability to turn out union voters and deep pockets.
Between the AFL-CIO and its chief rival, the Change to Win labor organization, the nation's labor movement plans to spend around $300 million on the 2008 elections. Change to Win, made up of seven powerful unions that broke away from the AFL-CIO in 2005, already has endorsed Obama. The AFL-CIO represents 9 million union members; Change to Win, 6 million.
The AFL-CIO says one in every four voters going to the polls in November will be a union household voter, and its planned campaigns will reach more than 13 million people, including in key states like Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota.
"We want to engage our members and all working people on the need for action on the issues that make a difference in our daily lives," said Ed Hill, president of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.
Labor unions are also reliable Democratic donors.
In the 2004 elections, organized labor gave $53.6 million to Democratic candidates and party committees in a losing effort to capture both the White House and Congress, according to the Center for Responsive Politics. That number rose to $57.5 million in 2006, when Democrats successfully took the House and Senate from the GOP.
The AFL-CIO endorsement has been expected since Obama's main Democratic primary rival, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York, dropped out of the race and endorsed Obama. The AFL-CIO stayed neutral but allowed its unions to endorse individually during the primary. A dozen of its unions supported Clinton.
Gerald McEntee, president of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees, was one of Clinton's top union supporters and is also the AFL-CIO's political committee chair.
"We'll work our hearts out for Barack Obama," McEntee said. "Our program is going to be worker to worker and neighbor to neighbor. We're ready to mobilize. We're ready to rock and roll. This country and our people are ready for change."
Obama met personally with AFL-CIO leaders at their Washington headquarters last week, receiving an enthusiastic reception from the top unions.
The AFL-CIO already has been campaigning against Republican nominee-in-waiting John McCain, but now will start promoting Obama's candidacy to its members and their families and friends.
The AFL-CIO's general board, which made the endorsement decision, noted that Obama has voted with the labor movement 98 percent of the time while McCain voted with them 16 percent of the time.
"Of the two candidates for president, there is no comparison," the board endorsement said. "Senator Obama deserves our full, united and unwavering support."
The AFL-CIO will spend the next couple of months introducing Obama to its members, said Karen Ackerman, the AFL-CIO's political director. After that, the organization will turn its attention to get-out-the-vote efforts, she said.
By Lizo Mzimba Entertainment correspondent, BBC News
Will Smith is in London promoting his latest film Hancock - the story of a failed superhero.
But as well as discussing the movie, he is more than happy to talk about the man who he regards as a political superhero, presidential hopeful Barack Obama.
He chooses carefully the people he gives his support to, with Obama one of the few people who falls into that category.
Smith goes as far as to compare him to one of the great political figures of the last 50 years.
'Pretty good judge'
"Nelson Mandela is kind of the one person I've said yes to. And Barack Obama was probably only the second person that I've really to this level said yes to.
"And that's because I believe I what he believes in.
"I travel around the world a lot, and I was kind of used to people being happy when the Americans showed up. That sort of changed over the last eight years," says the actor.
"So I'm excited about the new possibilities of hope and change that Barack is bringing."
He has the ears, we both share the ears Will Smith jokes about why Hollywood has embraced Obama
The film star also explains why he thinks people in his position should get involved with and try to influence people when it comes to politics.
"Individuals have to decide what they want to do," he says.
"I think I'm a pretty good judge if someone's a good person. So I just lend my support to people that I believe are good people."
He is not the only Hollywood star in the Hancock cast who feels this way.
South African-born Charlize Theron, who can vote in the US for the first time this year, is also a big supporter.
"I'm very excited because what a really historical moment to be voting this year with someone like Barack Obama in the running.
"He's my man, definitely. Whatever happens [I've] just been really, really inspired by him."
So how has Obama managed to get the support of some of Hollywood's top stars?
"He has the ears, we both share the ears," reveals Smith, pulling them out. "People dig the ears."
Story from BBC NEWS: http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/entertainment/7474836.stm
Voici un article de Vladimir Fédorovski - Essayiste, professeur à HEC & Ancien diplomate russe - mis en ligne sur www.FranceForBarackObamaBlog.com (le blog du Comité français de soutien à Barack Obama) : Par Vladimir Fédorovski, Essayiste, professeur à HEC & Ancien diplomate russe — Quel que soit le candidat remportant l’élection présidentielle de novembre 2008, dans le contexte de la crise économique et morale, l’Amérique entre à reculons dans une nouvelle ère. Les traits de son nouveau visage sont encore flous, mais ils laissent entrevoir des facettes inédites de son mythe historique. Le philosophe anglais Francis Bacon avait déjà mis en exergue cette Nouvelle Atlantide, débarrassée des inégalités et des cruautés de son temps, hissant au plus haut le flambeau de la liberté humaine. Pendant des années, cette image enflamma le cœur de nombreux immigrés. Pour eux, la statue de la Liberté n’était encore qu’une vision apparue dans la brume. Un espoir fou, ce rêve qui habite les candidats à l’immigration dès avant leur embarquement pour le voyage de la dernière chance. Ce sont ces douze millions d’étrangers qui, entre 1892 et 1954, ont fait la traversée depuis le Vieux Continent, pour échouer à Ellis Island, à quelques miles de ce Manhattan aux mille lumières, qui scintillait comme l’or; douze millions d’hommes, de femmes, d’enfants qui avaient quitté la misère des pays d’Europe de l’Est et du Sud, ou de plus loin encore, pour la terre promise. La terre où tout était possible sur un simple coup de dés ou, autre scénario, à force de travail, de volonté et de foi. [...]
Dès le début du XXe siècle, l’Amérique devint un centre scientifique mondial, orienté vers l’application pratique. Quand le fléau hitlérien s’abattit sur le Vieux Continent, le pays rassembla la fine fleur de la physique et des mathématiques modernes. Plus tard, ses fabuleuses réalisations économiques se répandront à une vitesse vertigineuse sur le reste de la planète, portant au pinacle le plan Marshall entre 1948 et 1952. Même dans les années quatre-vingt, l’Amérique semblait encore incarner une partie de son mythe, contribuant à l’accélération des échanges internationaux et stimulant, par ses importations, l’économie japonaise en crise ou encore la croissance chinoise post-maoïste. Dans le même temps, le gendarme américain revenait en force en Bosnie, au Kosovo ensuite, pour porter secours aux Européens indécis. Puis, en quelques années seulement, avec George W. Bush, le message de l’Amérique fut de plus en plus contesté dans le monde. En effet, Washington semblait briser l’entente quasi universelle, pratiquant le gaspillage irresponsable des ressources naturelles, bouleversant l’écologie et systématisant les cultures d’organismes génétiquement modifiés, ou affichant sans vergogne son fondamentalisme religieux. Sans oublier le visage d’une Amérique gouvernée par un président fervent partisan de la peine de mort. Ce Nouveau Monde était en train de rompre le lien viscéral avec la vieille Europe, renouant avec un lourd héritage des folies des XIXe et XXe siècles : nationalisme exacerbé, intolérance religieuse, mais aussi prétentions impériales et exaltation de la force militaire. [...]
Avec Bush, l’Amérique abandonna toute prudence dans le domaine stratégique, au profit d’une conception de la reconquête impériale ouvertement proclamée. Les effets de cette stratégie sont en tout cas bien là : l’intervention militaire au prix de milliers de vies sans perspective politique en Irak, protectorat coûteux de facto établis en Afghanistan, et l’incapacité de régler le conflit israélo-palestinien. À dire vrai, l’Amérique de Bush semblait devenir l’obstacle majeur à la naissance d’un ordre mondial plus juste, et sa puissance, loin de stabiliser la situation, fragilisa le monde. Mais l’ère Bush s’achève. Barack Obama crève un abcès, et les humeurs putrides qui s’en écoulent emportent l’inévitable Hillary Clinton. Déficit du commerce extérieur, bourbier irakien, obsession du terrorisme pour justifier tous les abus, élus vendus aux lobbies (Biopharma, assurances, agri-business, énergie), fantôme de la crise de 1929… Comme à la veille de la guerre de Sécession, comme à la veille de la grande crise de 1929, l’Amérique est en train de changer de structure. Une nouvelle donne s’impose, remplaçant peu à peu les certitudes du passé. Dans un tel contexte, Obama devient l’emblème de cette Amérique émergente. [...]
Toute une génération, comme en 1960, entend tirer un trait sur le passé et cherche un leader pour assurer le renouveau de l’Amérique. Le flamboyant sénateur de l’Illinois réussit à dépasser les clivages entre les partis établis depuis ces trente dernières années, sachant que les Clinton en ont joué, et ont finalement ainsi contribué à l’affaiblissement du pays. « Les Américains recherchent le candidat qui rassemble, qui efface les divisions présentes », et Obama semble davantage capable de séduire. Obama en 2008? 2012? 2016? Le jeune sénateur incarne désormais une Amérique métissée, refondant une gauche ringarde et promettant «la révolution» à la Maison-Blanche. Sa percée féerique l’a d’ores et déjà fait entrer dans les annales, quels que soient les résultats de la présidentielle de novembre 2008.
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extrait de la préface du livre ”Barack Obama : le roman de la nouvelle Amérique” aux Editions du Rocher
Le 22 septembre dernier, Hewan et Max-Laure, initiatrices de Kheperankh-Street, un nouveau concept de transmission culturelle à travers le chant et la danse Hip-Hop, donnaient une conférence de presse pour présenter leur projet.
Etaient présents dans la salle, des médias communautaires et généralistes, des associations, des parrains, des supporters et des curieux. Après l'exposé du projet, le public est invité à poser ses questions et les créatrices s'attendent à donner plus de détails sur l'organisation et le contenu des cessions de transmission. Mais l'attention du public est en réalité focalisée sur un seul mot : « Noir ». Partant du constat que « à enseignement et talent égaux dans le Hip-Hop, ce sont toujours les même qui réussissent et toujours les mêmes qui restent sur le tard… », Kheperankh-Street est dédié à la « Jeunesse noire » et s'appui sur « les arts de rue Noirs ». Une affirmation tellement extraordinaire qu'elle en étonne une assistance pourtant à 90% noire. La première question qui fuse est donc : « Kheperankh-Street est-il ouvert à tout le Monde ? ». Personne n'a de mal à comprendre le sens de ce « ouvert à tout le Monde ? », qui veut dire en réalité « ouvert aux Blancs ? » Et les créatrices de réaffirmer un positionnement pourtant clair et sans concession : « Kheperankh-Street est fait par Nous, pour Nous et avec Nous ». Comme incrédules face à une telle "transgression", certaines personnes dans le public s'entêtent et reposent la question : « Kheperankh-Street est-il ouvert à tout le Monde ? ».
C'est alors qu'une jeune femme métisse prend la parole pour dire : « Moi je suis Métisse, mon fils il est métis, la race noire c'est plein de nuances de couleurs, du très foncé au très clair, dans l'histoire il y plein de métis qui ont fait plus pour la cause des Noirs que les Noirs eux-mêmes, donc quand vous parlez de Noirs, vous parlez de quoi exactement ? ». Cette intervention est aussitôt suivie de la prise de parole d'une autre invitée qui vient occuper la scène pour affirmer son métissage « corse-guadeloupéen », sans se soucier du fait que son ego n'a aucun rapport avec le sujet de cette conférence de presse. Et de fait, on se demande si ces personnes sont là pour s'intéresser au projet de fond qu'est Kheperankh-Street ou si elles s'en servent comme exutoire à leur malaise identitaire. A ce stade tout le monde comprends que le message de Max-Laure et de Hewan va être brouillé, parasité par cette revendication du métissage, qui remet constamment en cause la notion même d'identité noire, et par conséquent, toute initiative visant à la valoriser, à la singulariser, à l'affirmer.
Un métissage qui, comme par hasard, remet toujours en question l'identité noire, mais jamais l'identité blanche… Inutile de dire que l'intervenante "guadeloupéenno-corse" n'aurait jamais, au grand jamais, osé revendiquer son métissage devant une assemblée de Corses et encore moins leur reprocher leur manque « d'ouverture ». Mais au sein de la communauté noire, le métissage est une « vache sacrée », tout le monde doit s'en émerveiller. La question-piège fonctionne donc à la perfection, les créatrices de Kheperankh-Street sont prises entre deux feux : réaffirmer leur engagement communautaire et passer pour des racistes anti-Métis et anti-Blancs ou céder au chantage du métissage, de l'antiracisme, de l'ouverture, de la tolérance et autres "bien-pensances", et accepter de diluer leur message. Cette anecdote, qui est en fait une véritable récurrence, est une parfaite illustration de la manière dans la rhétorique du métissage neutralise l'identité noire de l'extérieur comme de l'intérieur…
De l'extérieur, car les médias généralistes présents ont édulcoré sans états d'âme la dimension identitaire du projet Kheperankh-Street. La journaliste de Libération, présente à la conférence de presse, a totalement dilué le sens de l'initiative visant à prendre en main une jeunesse noire en perte de repères, et à lui ré-inculquer des valeurs culturelles qui lui sont propres, à travers des arts qui lui sont propres. Quant au magazine Vibrations, qui a également relayé l'information, le mot « Noir » n'est pas cité une seule fois dans sa chronique. Ces choix éditoriaux ne sont pas le fait du hasard et concourent à cette construction idéologique paternaliste et politiquement correcte qui vise, d'une part, à ne jamais donner la moindre visibilité aux Noirs, surtout lorsque celle-ci est positive, sous prétexte « d'antiracisme », et d'autre part, à s'approprier leur créativité en l'englobant dans des concepts vagues, impersonnels et totalement creux. Ainsi, jamais on ne parlera de « cultures noires » mais de cultures « urbaines », « métissées », « plurielles », de « diversité », de « multiculturalisme ».
Ce sont les publicitaires et agences de communication aux Etats-Unis qui ont été les premiers à diffuser ces concepts marketing, car dès la fin des années 70, il était évident que 90% de la culture américaine sur le plan musical, vestimentaire, vernaculaire, voir gestuel, provenait des ghettos noirs tels que Harlem. Il leur fallait donc trouver un moyen pour que la population blanche puisse s'approprier le Baggy, le Bling-Bling, le Hip-Hop et autres codes culturels noirs, sans avoir à admettre qu'elle était fascinée par la créativité de ces populations marginalisées et encore moins à reconnaître qu'elle la copiait. C'est ainsi que le concept de « culture urbaine » est né, pour se substituer à celui de « culture noire ». De l'extérieur donc, c'est-à-dire dans le discours marketing, médiatique et « républicain », tout est fait pour que les Noirs ne puissent jamais revendiquer ou affirmer la paternité de leurs attributs culturels, savamment dilués dans un discours « universaliste ». Et le mécanisme est tellement bien ficelé, que si l'envie leur prenait de passer outre, ils devraient s'attendre à des accusations de racisme et de sectarisme.
De l'intérieur, le métissage a toujours été un bouclier historique et ô combien efficace des populations blanches contre la rébellion des populations noires. Il a même fait l'objet de véritables politiques « raciales » dans de nombreux pays d'Amérique latine et d'Afrique durant les périodes esclavagiste, coloniale et postcoloniale. A la fin du 19ième siècle, alors que l'esclavage vient d'être aboli au Brésil, les classes dominantes prennent peur en constatant leur infériorité numérique face à cette population noire en liberté. Le gouvernement met alors en place la politique du « branqueamento », qui veut dire littéralement « blanchiment », et qui va consister à favoriser l'immigration massive et subventionnée d'immigrés européens afin de stopper la croissance démographique de la population noire, en la diluant, en la blanchissant racialement, mais aussi culturellement. Le jeune pays d'Amérique latine en quête d'européanité, veut se débarrasser de l'influence « africaine », perceptible à toutes les échelles de la société. Mais au-delà de son idéologie eugéniste, le « branqueamento » répond surtout à une urgence sociale : neutraliser chez cette population à peine sortie de 4 siècles d'esclavage, toute velléité de révolte ou de vengeance. Brésil, Argentine, Colombie, Angola, Mozambique, Namibie et Afrique du sud, Martinique, Porto-Rico, le métissage a toujours servi à créer de multiples teintes, correspondant à autant de strates sociales, et permettant aux classes dominantes de désamorcer l'éternel duel Noir-Blanc.
Tout à leur fascination des teintes claires, qui affirment au sein de leur propre communauté, la suprématie des canons de beauté blancs et toutes les valeurs y attenant, les populations noires sont bien plus occupées à s'auto-dénigrer, à s'aliéner et à se battre entre-elles, qu'à se focaliser sur leurs véritables oppresseurs. Ces hiérarchies savamment instrumentalisées servaient à créer l'illusion d'une proximité, d'une blancheur accessible, d'un lien social et affectif entre maîtres et esclaves. Formant une classe intermédiaire, en quête de reconnaissance et d'élévation sociale, les Métis ont toujours servi de remparts et très souvent d'alliés aux colons blancs lors des insurrections d'esclaves. Hier déjà et aujourd'hui encore, l'idéologie du métissage fonctionne sur le principe de « la carotte et le bâton ». La carotte de l'ascension sociale et raciale, de l'élévation vers une blancheur salvatrice et le bâton d'une négritude humiliante et marginalisante.
Les plaies de l'esclavage et de la colonisation étant encore grandes ouvertes, la culture occidentale s'empresse de se parer des habits de l'humanisme et de l'universalité. Tout à coup, cette science qui a été pendant des siècles la caution de l'asservissement des peuples en leur niant toute humanité, déclare que « les races n'existent pas ». Le métissage en est la « preuve », il est le symbole de « l'amour entre les peuples », de « l'universalité », le gadget républicain d'une société qui ne veut surtout pas rendre des comptes. Et au moindre soupçon d'affirmation identitaire, de revendication communautaire, à la moindre prononciation du mot « Noir », le métissage est dégainé tous azimuts. A la question de la sous-représentation des Noirs dans les institutions politiques et médiatiques, on répond par une sur-présentation de petites têtes bouclées au teint à peine exotique dans les campagnes publicitaires.
Les publicitaires valorisent des Métis plutôt que des Noirs, car ils présentent deux avantages : Ils sont moins « noirs », (il paraît que la ménagère de moins de 50 ans est terrorisée par les Noirs), et en plus, ils mettent les marques à l'abri de toute critique de « lèse-diversité ». Comme toujours, le métissage joue parfaitement son rôle d'alibi, dans un mélange savant d'universalité neutralisante. Car si les Noirs osent contester cette sur-présentation des Métis aussi bien dans les médias généralistes que dans les médias communautaires, ils passent au mieux pour des « racistes-communautaristes-extrémistes », au pire on les accuse de vouloir « diviser le peuple Noir ». Ce qui crée des tensions intra-communautaires opposant ceux qui dénoncent ces manipulations et cette aliénation à ceux, toujours plus nombreux, qui font le choix de conjoints blancs et d'enfants à la peau claire et aux cheveux lisses. Résultats des courses de la « diversité » : Les Métis sont instrumentalisés, les Blancs s'en tirent à peu de frais, et les Noirs restent les dindons de la farce….
La recette est immuable et la rhétorique du métissage redoutable. Car, en effet, comment se rebeller contre ses oppresseurs lorsque l'enfant qui sort de ses propres entrailles porte leur couleur ? Comment affirmer la fierté d'une identité noire que l'on dilue en toute conscience ? On n'est donc toujours dérouté face aux attitudes paradoxales de tous ces Noirs qui tiennent les discours les plus extrêmes contre la domination blanche, et qui, par leurs choix de vie, se font les vecteurs de cette même domination. La plupart d'entre-eux parvient par une impressionnante dissociation mentale, à prôner, quasiment dans la même phrase, désaliénation et mixité, rejet des valeurs occidentales et métissage. En effet, la véritable force de cette propagande "métissante" vient du fait que ce sont les Noirs eux-mêmes qui en sont les principaux prophètes. « Le métissage c'est le futur », « le métissage c'est l'avenir », formules magiques répétées sans la moindre réflexion et surtout sans la moindre logique. Comment, en effet, un peuple peut-il voir son avenir dans sa propre dilution ? Cette rhétorique proche de la schizophrénie est pourtant notre lot quotidien et devrait susciter bien des interrogations quant à l'ampleur de notre aliénation.
Pour beaucoup, le scepticisme est donc de rigueur concernant la crédibilité et l'engagement de certains « Frères » qui, dreadlocks au vent et "Nation nègres et cultures" sous le bras, n'ont que les discours de Malcolm X et de Bob Marley à la bouche, mais préfèrent les blondes… Le plus drôle étant, bien entendu, qu'ils n'y voient aucune contradiction… Ce qui est sûr, c'est que cette méfiance d'une part, et ce besoin d'imposer ses choix de vies aussi paradoxales qu'ils soient de l'autre, ne favorisent pas la cohésion communautaire. Et d'ailleurs, rien dans notre éducation ne la favorise en réalité. Prenons un exemple contemporain : Aujourd'hui les discriminations à l'embauche ralentissent et limitent l'élévation sociale et économique de la population immigrée, en particulier noire. Au lieu d'inciter sa progéniture à se rebeller intelligemment contre cet état de fait, certains parents favorisent la carte « mariage mixte », comme ascenseur social. Ainsi, même l'espoir de progrès passe par une étape de blanchiment, à l'endroit ou la fierté identitaire devrait être le principal moteur.
Qui a jamais entendu un Japonais vanter le métissage ? Qui songerait à dire à un traiteur chinois de proposer des macaronis ou du cassoulet dans ses menus, histoire d'être plus « ouvert » ? Qui ne s'extasie pas devant l'ancestralité préservée de la culturelle indienne ? En France, au nom du "métissage des cultures", les compagnies de danse contemporaines ont obligé des troupes de Hip-Hop à danser en tutu et ballerines, en costume à paillettes de Wonder-woman, pour obtenir des subventions. Qui pourrait commettre le sacrilège de demander à Marie-France Pietragala de danse en boubou sur du raï ? Personne. Car le communautarisme et la spécificité culturelle sont des caractéristiques naturelles, voir admirables lorsqu'elles sont véhiculées par d'autres peuples, mais en aucun cas lorsqu'elles sont prônées par les Noirs. L'injonction au métissage dans la publicité, le marketing, les médias, etc. s'adresse presque exclusivement à ces derniers. Et ça, c'est parce que le contentieux historique qui lie Noirs et Blancs est bien plus oppressant du fait de sa violence, de sa proximité historique et surtout de sa continuité. Toute volonté d'union et de communautarisme est donc perçue comme une menace. Une menace bien facile à neutraliser du fait de la fragilité économique, politique, culturelle et morale des populations noires.
Il est donc impératif de leur imposer des valeurs et des représentations qu'elles n'auront pas les moyens de contester. Leur acceptation dans la société va donc être conditionnée par leur allégeance aux classes dominantes. Et cette allégeance passe par l'assimilation, la mixité et le métissage. Pour reprendre le titre d'un article de l'express* sur la question, c'est : « l'intégration par l'amour »…Que ce soit dans la publicité, les médias, le cinéma et les valeurs de République en général, un Noir n'est représenté de manière positive que dans un rapport de dépendance et de fascination, dans une relation amoureuse, amicale ou fraternelle avec un Blanc ( à ne surtout pas manqué sur France 3, « les Mariés de l'île bourbon », un must du genre…). Alors qu'à contrario toute représentation de Noirs « entre eux » est systématiquement négative (mariages forcés, excision, ghettos, gangs et trafics en tout genre). La seule fois où un couple noir a fait l'objet d'une campagne médiatique dans la presse et à la télévision française, c'était pour une campagne… contre le Sida… Alors que le couple mixte est toujours valorisé, on admire la tolérance, le courage, la modernité de ceux qui osent braver tous les préjugés, et puis c'est tellement beau le métissage… Le message à peine subliminal qui s'en dégage est que : « pour exister, tu dois pactiser ».
L'universalité est une notion louable en soi, mais elle ne doit pas être un leurre, qui occulte le déséquilibre, la domination et l'écrasement d'une identité au profit d'une autre. Tant que les relations entre Noirs et Blancs seront socialement, économiquement et symboliquement inégales, le métissage ne sera autre chose que l'expression de notre reddition, de notre soumission et de notre aliénation, car il en est un des instruments les plus efficaces. Mais avant de le penser en terme de Bien ou de Mal et de se lancer dans une confrontation manichéenne où les accusations de racisme et d'intolérance ne manqueront pas, il serait peut-être temps de se poser les vraies questions. Puisque nous aimons à nous répéter que « Le métissage c'est tellement beau », que « Le métissage est une richesse », que « Le métissage c'est l'avenir », il serait peut-être temps de se demander : Le métissage c'est tellement beau par rapport à quoi ? Par rapport à qui ? Le métissage est une richesse pour qui ? Le métissage est l'avenir de qui ?
Avec l'apologie de métissage, la culture occidentale est passée de l'assimilation de l'autre par la violence à son assimilation par "l'amour". Ce qui la rend encore plus efficace, car on peut se révolter contre la violence, mais on ne peut pas se méfier d'un sentiment aussi noble que "l'amouuuuur"…. Dans les deux cas de figure, le résultat est le même, une assimilation reste une assimilation. L'identité « noire » est malade de plus 5 siècles de domination, et on ne veut surtout pas lui laisser le temps de reprendre ses esprits et encore moins de guérir. Mais elle-même ne semble pas vouloir prendre ses médicaments, pire, elle semble prête à creuser sa propre tombe…
Fig. 4 Cette toile du peintre brésilien Modesto Brocos y Gomes date de 1895 et illustre le processus du Branqueamento, alors en cours au Brésil. L'oeuvre s'intitule : "A redenção de Can" ou "la rédemption de la canne", ( en référence à l'esclavage dans les plantations de sucre). Elle montre une famille dont la grand-mère noire, ex-esclave, remercie le ciel d'avoir "blanchi" sa descendance en à peine deux générations. En effet, sa fille au centre est une Mulata ou Mulâtresse, dont l'époux , à droite, est un immigrée italien, et leur fille, qui se trouve dans les bras de sa mère, est blanche.
t's true, what she says about the graves. I went to see them not long after I heard Lonise Bias tell an incredible story to a group of South Carolina high school students: While witnessing the burial of her son Jay, she looked down and realized she was standing on the grave of her eldest son, Leonard. I had assumed it was a rhetorical flourish, a metaphor crafted for effect by a guest speaker who was getting paid to whack some sobriety into a room of spaced-out pubescents with self-image issues. But then I drove to the cemetery, in a Maryland suburb of Washington called Suitland, and I trudged up a hill, and I found the markers, a couple of rectangles blotched with age, stamped into the dirt and rocks and tufts of grass. And it is true -- there is perhaps a foot of space between her boys. They are, quite literally, resting side by side.
Rob Tringali for ESPN.com
Len and Jay Bias, brothers who died less than five years apart, are literally now resting side by side.
The graves, tucked together like this, are a stark testimony to the complexity of Lonise Bias' grief. It is impossible to comprehend the hellish depths she has plumbed, and it is equally difficult to see how she emerged with such palpable vigor, determination and self-assurance. This is what makes her come across as a bit strange, especially to a roomful of teenagers; instead of crushing her spirit, unspeakable family tragedy has stripped her of the angst and self-doubt that paralyzes much of her audience. She opens her speeches by telling people she does not particularly care what they think of her, which permits her to bellow phrases like, "I AM THE LEGACY THAT WAS LEFT BEHIND!" and "I CAME THROUGH TO SHOW YOU THE WAY!" and somehow make them sound authoritative rather than bombastic.
"I've been termed as being ABNORMALLY ENTHUSIASTIC," she is saying. "But I am full of passion BECAUSE I BELIEVE IN YOU. I am standing here to TELL YOU that you CAN MAKE IT."
It is a Monday morning, and Lonise Bias is sweating underneath the spotlights on the stage of a high school auditorium in a quiet corner of South Carolina. The assembly is mandatory. And it doesn't matter that no one in this room knows who she is anymore, or who her sons were, or where they came from, or why her story means anything at all. It doesn't matter that she was hired blind by a teacher who read her biography on the Web site of a speakers' bureau and thought, "Well, that sounds kind of appropriate for a schoolwide assembly," and it doesn't matter that she momentarily forgets where she is, and refers to the students of Greenwood High School as the students of Greenville. It doesn't matter, because it is hard not to listen when a woman with this kind of overbearing presence IS TALKING RIGHT AT YOU.
She has always possessed a robust set of vocal cords. When she was in elementary school, and the faculty needed a child to speak loudly enough for a large group to hear, they chose her. She grew up tall and imposing, with a natural-born gravity; after her speech at Greenwood, more than one student said Lonise Bias reminded them of their mothers. Perhaps, she always thought, she would teach someday, but she imagined it would be in Sunday school, not in a place like this, a public school several hundred miles from the suburban Maryland county where her life has played out like a soap opera.
She was working as a customer service manager at a bank back in June 1986 when her eldest son's death became a national headline. If you were alive then, and you cared at all about sports, or about drugs, you most likely remember it well. It was one of those moments -- like JFK, like Martin Luther King Jr., like the space shuttle Challenger earlier that same year -- when we, as a society, stopped and stared collectively into the void and declared that human existence was entirely unjust.
Here, though, is what's weirdest of all about Lonise Bias: She, of all people, does not believe the events of that day were unjust. In fact, she believes the events of that day were unavoidable. She has never allowed herself to project into the future, or to examine the possibilities, the endless permutations of what-ifs that guide the discussion of her son whenever his name arises. For her, there was only this future. For her, there was only this possibility. In the days after her son died, her public demeanor was so stoic and unflinching that she received letters from people declaring her a phony. And she admits that among the other emotions her son's death brought on, it brought relief.
Not long after Len Bias' death, she made a life-changing appearance on a Christian television program, "The 700 Club," in which she explained why. She described the premonitions she'd been having, and the dreams, and the inexplicable emotional breakdowns, and the visions she assumed were coming directly from above, all imbuing her with a heavy and inextricable feeling that her son was not meant to play professional basketball. Her son, who in his senior season at the University of Maryland was widely regarded as the best college basketball player in America, a can't-miss talent with absurd hang time. Her son, who had been drafted with the No. 2 pick by the NBA champion Boston Celtics on June 17, 1986. Her son, who would be described in an autopsy report two days later as a "well-developed young Black male," 6-foot-7, 221½ pounds, otherwise fit and healthy and clean, with the exception of the copious amount of cocaine in his system .
"I can remember speaking to this woman once before Len died, and she had said, 'Things are going to be so wonderful for you all,'" Lonise Bias says. "And I remember telling her this very clearly. I said, 'It looks like I can go over to that table and pick up whatever's on that table. It looks like I can do it, but there can be something that can stop me from doing it.' So I guess what I'm saying is, while everyone else was cheering, I was still waiting to see if it was going to happen, because ..."
For a moment, she is somewhere else, her gaze fixed on a table a few feet from where she sits in an office adorned with photographs of her posing next to presidents and congressmen as a well-compensated motivational speaker of some renown, as a proud foot soldier in the war on drugs. Twenty-two years have passed, and Len Bias has been dead as long as he was alive. And clouds of doubt and shame and confusion linger, and truthfully, no one wants to talk very much about the long-term meaning of Len Bias except Lonise Bias, who cannot stop talking about it. All because, several years before her sons would come to lie side by side in those two narrow burial plots and several months before her life became altered by grief, the mother had a vision of her eldest son as a martyr.
Rob Tringali for ESPN.com
As a motivational speaker, Lonise Bias tries to help others learn from her son's tragic death.
CAUSE OF DEATH
Autopsy No. 86-999
Prince George's County
Leonard K. Bias
June 19, 1986
DIAGNOSIS:
1. Cocaine Intoxication
OPINION:
LEONARD K. BIAS, a 22-year-old Black male, died as a result of cocaine intoxication, which interrupted the normal electrical control of his heartbeat, resulting in the sudden onset of seizures and cardiac arrest. The blood cocaine level was 6.5 milligrams per liter. Toxicological studies for alcohol and other drugs were negative. Due to the ongoing investigation of the circumstances surrounding his death, the manner of the death is ruled UNDETERMINED at this time.
AP Photo/Isaac Brekken
Len Bias said his dreams came true when he was selected by Boston with the second pick of the '86 draft. Less than two days later, he would be dead.
A DISCLAIMER, OF SORTS
I do not know whether Len Bias was a martyr, or whether in death, as his mother often says, he has brought life. I do not know whether, as Jesse Jackson claimed in eulogizing Bias -- likening him to Martin Luther King Jr., Mozart, Gandhi and Jesus -- that the Lord "sometimes uses our best people to get our attention." I do not know whether Len Bias died for any reason at all, divine or otherwise, beyond the fact he ingested a massive amount of dangerously pure cocaine in a brief period of time, short-circuiting the electrical impulses to his heart muscle. I do not know whether, as many claim, the Boston Celtics would have extended the Bird-McHale-Parish dynasty by several seasons if Len Bias had lived. I do not know if he was the catalyst for another decades-long New England curse. I do not know whether he would have been better/as good as/in the same stratosphere as Michael Jordan if he had lived to play in the National Basketball Association. We can argue these issues all we like, but I believe that, because the answers to such questions can never be determined, the questions have become irrelevant, obscured by the mythology that Autopsy No. 86-999 has engendered.
I do know death -- especially sudden and premature death -- has a way of obscuring many truths (see: Dean, James; Cobain, Kurt; et al.).
I do know I was 13 when Len Bias died, and it scared the hell out of me. It was supposed to scare the hell out of me; this was a moralistic passion play, an after-school special come to life.
I do know the public narrative was deceptively simple: Len Bias had just experienced the most euphoric moment of his life, and he had an unquestionably bright future, and he had chosen to experiment with illicit substances for the first time -- perhaps, some errant rumors went, it was crack cocaine -- and in a freak occurrence of bad karma, his heart had stopped.
And I do believe that because of this public narrative and the consequences of this narrative, the death of Len Bias can be classified as the most socially influential moment in the history of modern sports.
A DISSENTING VIEW
Or perhaps -- as Len Bias' former college basketball coach, a crusty old Southerner named Charles G. "Lefty" Driesell, told me -- Len Bias changed absolutely nothing at all. Perhaps it was just a "bad accident." Perhaps the meaning of the demise of Leonard Kevin Bias is this: "Some guy was doing cocaine, and he died."
AP Photo/Bill Smith
Joined by her husband James, right, and son Jay, in green shirt, Lonise Bias holds up a jersey presented by Red Auerbach on June 24, 1986.
THE MORNING AFTER
The Len Bias Morality Play began with a single bizarre phone call, placed from a dormitory on a college campus to a 911 dispatcher whose Baltimorese hammered flat the word "phone" and who, from his tone of voice, apparently assumed this whole thing was a put-on, a prank by a bunch of rowdy university kids with nothing better to do. It was approximately 6:30 in the morning. The voice of the caller was slurred and hesitant, and the voice kept repeating the victim's name until the dispatcher declared, "It doesn't matter what his name is." But Brian Tribble was also (presumably) prodigiously high, and this was really happening to him -- his friend was having a seizure on the floor of his suite, 1103 Washington Hall, on the University of Maryland campus. So Tribble kept repeating the name, and uttering panicky phrases like, "This is Len Bias. You have to get him back to life. There's no way he can die."
A moment earlier, we have since learned, Len Bias sat up on a bed, bent over a mirror, proclaimed himself "a horse" -- a nickname his teammates had used for him because of his on-court grace and physical presence -- and snorted one last line of cocaine. A moment earlier, Bias was fine, just a young man celebrating his future the way many young men have/will celebrate their futures. Then he got up to use the bathroom, and he stumbled, and he sat back down on the bed, and he lapsed into a seizure. There were three other men in the room. One, Terry Long, placed the handle of a pair of scissors in Bias' mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue; another, David Gregg, held Bias' legs. Brian Tribble phoned his mother, who told him to call 911.
Filmmaker Kirk Fraser will release a documentary on Bias' death later this year.
The 911 call prompted a dozen more phone calls, the story quickly rippling outward. The paramedics arrived and transported Bias to Leland Memorial Hospital, as Tribble and two of Bias' Maryland teammates, who had been partying with him, began to clean up after themselves. Another teammate, Keith Gatlin, phoned Lonise Bias to tell her Len had had a seizure and was clinging to life; in their haste, she and her husband, James, rushed off to the wrong hospital. Before Bias even arrived at Leland, a source phoned a television reporter named Dave Statter, who did not cover sports but knew Len Bias because everyone in D.C., and especially in Prince George's County, knew Len Bias, because he was a kid who had grown up within walking distance of the Maryland campus, because he had played ball at nearby Northwestern High School. And because hours earlier he had moved close to becoming a millionaire, agreeing to a lucrative endorsement deal with Reebok that he planned to sign the next week, and proclaiming that by being drafted by the Celtics, his dream had been realized.
Statter phoned a woman at the dispatch center. She confirmed his tip. He phoned his supervisors at Channel 9 in Washington. His supervisors phoned the station's sports anchor, James Brown, and Statter went live on the air as the first reporter at Leland Memorial Hospital. He knew Len Bias was in critical condition. He did not know why. At this point, only four people knew why, and one was dying and the other three were too freaked out to say anything. To this day, they have spoken about it only rarely, though Tribble, along with several of Bias' Maryland teammates, has recently talked to a local filmmaker, Kirk Fraser, whose documentary on Bias reportedly will be released later this year. They will recount a story that has been revealed over the years in bits and pieces, through leaks and rumors and sworn testimony, most notably in a Prince George's County courtroom more than a year after Bias' death, when Brian Tribble -- either a scapegoat or a murderer, depending upon your point of view -- went on trial, charged with providing the drugs that killed his friend.
At 8:51 that morning, according to the autopsy report, Leonard Bias was pronounced dead. Larry Bird, reached by phone at his home in French Lick, Ind., declared to a reporter -- in a quote that would be woven into the legend -- that this was "one of the cruelest things I've ever heard." Bias' body was wheeled out of Leland Hospital, in front of TV cameramen and newspaper photographers, in front of onlookers and teammates who had gathered near the entrance to the emergency room. Statter, who has covered fires and murders and seen all manner of dead bodies, said the sight of Bias underneath a sheet, his outline long and lean, chilled him to the bone.
Meanwhile, Lonise Bias, who had arrived at the hospital and heard the doctors say they were doing all they could, felt the fulfillment of her prophecy was at hand. She listened, and she nodded, and then she told herself, "He's already gone."
Icon SMI, far left, and Getty Images
A force both in the paint and above the rim, Bias looked like the modern prototype for an NBA power forward.
THE NOON NEWS
In the first hours after Bias' death, there was nothing but shock on the afternoon news. One broadcaster, George Michael, actually broke down on the air. Another, Frank Herzog, had taken his kids to see Bias speak at an event a couple of weeks earlier; he imagined, like many others, that Bias must have had a congenital heart condition. Hundreds of Maryland students, upon hearing the news, gathered at Cole Field House to cheer on a ghost. "Lenny elevated above mortal men," one of them told Tony Kornheiser of The Washington Post.
Over the years, we have come to expect the worst from our public figures, and there is little question, if Len Bias died today, the immediate speculation would have been unfettered. But the television news was different back then, still in the middle stages of its transition from sobriety to sensationalism. This was eight years B.O.J. (Before O.J.), and the market was not yet saturated, the cable news channels were in their infancy, and the broadcasts themselves had not been subsumed by the modern troika of scandal, cynicism and splashy graphics. An athlete's personal life was still sketchy territory.
"I think today, it would be different," Statter says. "We've seen so many of these things happen to athletes, people expect it more now. We're so jaded now that if it's a real medical condition, we're almost surprised."
Also, it should be noted that we were in the heart of the Reagan era, at the midpoint of the second term of a president Time magazine put on its July 7 cover. Headline: "Why Is This Man So Popular?" As a nation -- even in the wake of the January space shuttle explosion that the president blamed on "a carelessness that grew out of success" -- we were generally optimistic. Iran-Contra had yet to break; a month earlier, Ivan Boesky had delivered a commencement speech during which he declared, "Greed is all right, by the way. ... I think greed is healthy. You can be greedy and still feel good about yourself." We maintained a certain amount of faith in public institutions, and in the notion of laissez-faire democracy that dictated the Reagan philosophy. We were in the mood to believe in dreams.
And the media, Herzog admitted, was "so naive" about drugs. Few imagined a human as healthy and robust and muscular as Bias could actually die from a substance like cocaine. This was not John Belushi we were talking about; this was not a man who abused his body to its breaking point. This was just the opposite. Bias had the potential, according to Indiana Pacers personnel director Tom Newell, to "become one of the best to ever play his position," the very model of a futuristic NBA power forward, an inside-outside threat, both intimidating and graceful, with the uncanny ability to hang in midair while his opponents shrank beneath him. There is one extraordinary sequence -- available via YouTube -- against North Carolina during his senior season that illustrates Bias' ability to redefine the parameters of his position: With his team trailing by eight, Bias hit a long jump shot, then galloped toward the baseline, stole the inbounds pass and, with a defender closing, dunked with his back to the basket, before landing in a tangle of limbs on the floor. Maryland would win the game in overtime.
Focus on Sport/Getty Images
Bias averaged 16.4 points per game in his Maryland career and was named ACC Player of the Year in 1985 and 1986.
How could someone who could do that die like this?
Equally confounding to Herzog, a question that seems incredibly innocent in retrospect: Where did a college athlete get the money for such extravagances?
Of course, there are many things we know now that we did not know then, both from a larger perspective, and a smaller one. We know, for instance, Brian Tribble was once a member of the Maryland JV basketball team, and would later spend time in jail on drug charges, and once had been accused by Driesell of stealing balls from the gym. We know Tribble and Bias had been friends for several years and had spent a great deal of time hanging around a nightclub in Southeast Washington called Chapter III. We know Bias' moods had been growing more sullen as his senior year passed, and he had essentially stopped attending class, acquiring, according to The Washington Post, "the style of one about to become rich and famous."
"Whether Brian got Lenny started doing drugs, I don't know," says Derrick Curry, who was friends with Tribble and Jay and Len Bias. "I've heard stories from people who were around him much more than me, but personally, I had never seen Lenny use drugs. Lenny didn't even drink at clubs."
To do so would have contradicted the public persona of Bias, who was, like his mother, a born-again Christian and who considered himself a role model for children. This was the dawn of the era of image consciousness among athletes: The burgeoning success of Michael Jordan had opened a whole new world, that of the athlete as sponsorial cipher. It was not just about the game anymore. There were shoe contracts and endorsement deals to be cultivated and protected. It was unquestionably a business, and Bias was either self-aware or innocent enough to pass every drug test he ever took, and to emerge clean from all the pre-draft physicals. Bias' advisers claimed to have told him, in the days before the draft, that if he even happened to be in a car with someone smoking a joint, he should remove himself immediately.
Yet Leonard Bias was also 22 years old, just coming to terms with his own maturity. He liked to draw and had imagined pursuing a career in interior design, until advisers at Maryland, seeming to act on the advice of the basketball coaching staff, reportedly steered him into a less demanding curriculum. He had an introspective side, but he was slow to mature (both on and off the court), and often petulant in his dealings with opposing players and officials, and not immune to peer pressure. "If you put him with a bunch of bums, he'd be the best bum," his high school coach, Bob Wagner, once told a reporter. "Put him in with good people, and he'd be the best there, too."
As the legend grew and Maryland students hung life-sized posters in their rooms (Caption: I'm Bias), Bias developed an affinity for the high life that drove the cultural narrative of the era, a high life he imagined he'd be living soon enough. In the months before his death, he purchased fine suits and stereo equipment and jewelry, including a $1,300 gold necklace he bought on the installment plan so he could wear it during a television interview. He took out two personal loans and used most of the money to lease a cobalt blue Nissan 300ZX with a T-top. And he vowed once he signed his NBA contract, to buy a pair of Mercedes -- one for himself and one for his mother.
He used his celebrity to pick up girls. Early on the night of his death, he made a trip to a local liquor store to buy a couple of six packs of Haffenreffer Private Stock malt liquor, and then returned shortly afterward to buy an $18 bottle of Hennessy. He called at least one of his girlfriends. He was allegedly pulled over for speeding on the Maryland campus as many as three times. Portions of the timeline of that night remain obscure and unsubstantiated. What seems clear is Bias, on the night of his return from Boston, was celebrating. More important, he appeared to be escaping -- from his parents (his father had traveled to Boston and back with him), from the friends who thought they knew him, from the reporters whose questions tried his patience, from the weeks of pre-draft workouts, from his role as a neighborhood hero, from the inherent responsibilities that would soon guide his adult existence, from the notion of authority itself.
After completing his noon broadcast, Statter received a call from a source, who told him cocaine had been found in Bias' system. Statter, Brown and their colleague Mike Buchanan confirmed it with two other sources, then Statter went on the air with it. By that evening, the entire story had changed. There was a chill on the airwaves, and we all began to feel as if we had somehow been conned. Statter and his colleagues received death threats for broadcasting details of the previous night, details that suddenly seemed frighteningly intimate. All across the country, we began to question everything we thought we understood about drugs and athletes and our perceptions of modern celebrity. No one wanted to believe it, but this was the new reality. There were no secrets anymore.
"I had a guy who called me and said, 'Listen, he wasn't doing lines of cocaine,'" Herzog recalls. "'Len Bias and I did mounds of cocaine. Mounds.' And I'm saying, 'Holy cow.' But I couldn't find anybody to confirm it. I'm sitting there listening to this guy and he's scaring the hell out of me. And I'm saying, 'What if he's wrong? What if he just wants to be on television?' It didn't make sense on a lot of levels at the time.
"It was awful. But then, with everything that came after, you started to say, 'Yeah, what's your problem? What are you doing that we don't know about?'"
GREED IS ALL RIGHT, BY THE WAY
Nathaniel S. Butler/NBAE/Getty Images
Even before he was drafted by the Celtics, Bias had developed an affinity for the high life.
As the news congealed, as police discovered several grams of cocaine under the seat of Bias' leased sports car, as the autopsy was issued, as it became clear cocaine was the cause of Bias' demise, as denial turned to anger, we began to widen the scope of our outrage. We began to contemplate not just the mistakes of one man, but the mistakes of the institutions that led such a man to his death. Was it our fault? Were society's priorities so utterly skewed that we couldn't see the path down which we'd guided a star athlete?
What had we done?
Although college sports have been ripe for corruption since the turn of the 20th century, the 18 months leading up to June 19, 1986, were especially raw for the NCAA. The violations were not just rampant, but blatant. Regard for the rule of law had been entirely subsumed; several coaches complained they could not win without cheating. At North Carolina State, Chris Washburn was suspended for stealing a stereo. At Baylor, basketball coach Dan Haller resigned amid allegations he gave a player money for car payments. At Tulane: point-shaving. At Vanderbilt (Vanderbilt!): a strength coach accused of distributing anabolic steroids. At Memphis: potential ties between the basketball program and gamblers. At SMU: probation for the football team. At TCU: possible cash payments from boosters to football players. At Kentucky: cash and gifts for basketball players. At Clemson: steroids. At Tennessee: quarterback Tony Robinson arrested for drug trafficking. At Georgia: a former instructor alleged athletes were given special academic treatment.
Ultimately, only seven of the 18 players chosen in the first round of the 1986 NBA draft had earned their degrees. That draft would be remembered not just for the death of Len Bias but for its sheer multitude of colossal busts and burnouts, young men who entered the world entirely unprepared for what was coming, for the ever-increasing demands of celebrity.
At Maryland, the scrutiny began immediately, and the scrutiny was relentless: Reporters from the Post and The Baltimore Sun and the TV stations chased down leads for months. A grand jury was called, and a Prince George's County prosecutor named Arthur A. "Bud" Marshall happened to be running for re-election, and what better opening was there than for Marshall to find the persons/places/things that had killed Leonard Bias? To Marshall, and a certain segment of the public, suspects included not only Brian Tribble, but the entire athletic culture at the University of Maryland.
"Money," James Bias would lament in the weeks afterward. He later filed an unsuccessful lawsuit against both Bias' agents and Reebok (he has since retired from his job as an equipment repairman). "That's what it's all about. It's all about making money for the university. It's not about athletes. It's not about athletes and how you feel about them."
In the days following Len Bias' death, the basketball team's academic counselor submitted her resignation amid revelations Bias and several other players were flunking their classes. Task forces were assigned to study several areas of the university's infrastructure. The headlines were brutal as the grand jury dragged on, interviewing some 80 witnesses. And leaks abounded:
UM PLAYERS CONSISTENTLY USED DRUGS, OFFICIALS TOLD
REPORT CHASTISES MARYLAND ON PROGRAMS FOR ATHLETICS
BIG-TIME COLLEGE BASKETBALL IS AN EXERCISE IN HYPOCRISY
The whole thing took on the grand scope and skewed morality of a Tom Wolfe novel: Driesell, the longtime Maryland coach, was accused of covering up his initial knowledge of Bias' cocaine use (he testified in court and was never charged). He clashed with university chancellor John Slaughter, a dignified man with a background in engineering, and with athletic director Dick Dull, who had extended Driesell's contract by a decade just one year earlier.
In the end, all three would resign. Marshall would lose the election for prosecutor. Brian Tribble would be acquitted for lack of sufficient evidence that he was the drug provider that night.
"If I did anything wrong, why am I in the Maryland Hall of Fame?" Driesell asks. "You're bringing up all this crap that happened, but there's nothing to it. There's some stuff that went on there, that I haven't talked about, but if you've got any sense, you can figure it out yourself. Go ahead and figure it out. I don't want to talk about this junk, man."
Twenty minutes after he says these things and hangs up, Driesell calls back and indirectly apologizes for his tone of voice. Still, he refuses to admit he made any mistakes, even in the face of evidence that he might have pressured the school to accept athletes who might not otherwise have been accepted at Maryland. He speaks of the team's graduation rates during his tenure, which he insists were solid. He reminds me that Len Elmore and Tom McMillen, who played at Maryland in the 1970s, were both superior students. He calls Slaughter "a jerk," and says the academic adviser who resigned was "trying to save her butt."
This is the essence of Driesell: He is famously brash and combative and stubborn. He comes across -- often on purpose -- as an unsophisticated hayseed, but he graduated from Duke. He once challenged a reporter, the Post's Ken Denlinger, to a street fight after a particularly critical column. But he also has a way of softening and endearing himself to his critics. (This, says Denlinger, is "Lefty being Lefty.")
Lefty's stubbornness also might have contributed to a certain myopia. In an era when athletes were growing accustomed to a culture of permissiveness, Driesell had simply lost his way and "started recruiting a different kind of kid," according to Denlinger. In turn, Driesell might have inadvertently changed the atmosphere within his program.
"Lefty didn't buy the drugs for Len Bias, and he didn't encourage him to take drugs," says Mark Hyman, who covered the aftermath for The Sun. "But the question is, was his style of discipline such that the kids thought it was OK to do this?"
As Lonise Bias told me recently, "When you're talking about the life of a child being lost, regardless of how it took place, it's going to fall on the university. There was no covering."
AP Photo/Bill Smith
James Bias, fourth from left trailing his son's casket, said in 1986, "It's all about making money for the university. It's not about athletes."
A QUAINT NOTION
So, what has changed? Certainly, academic standards have been raised at many schools, including Maryland, and athletic departments are much more tightly regulated and controlled than they were back then. "If it hadn't been Lenny, and it hadn't been right before the draft, and it hadn't been the Celtics, nobody would have noticed," says one longtime Maryland official who is still wary of speaking publicly about it. "I guess that's the good that came out of it."
But let us examine the key recommendations of the academic task force at the University of Maryland, formed in the weeks after Bias' death, to realize how far college sports have drifted toward the business end:
We recommend that coaches and other officials charged with the coordination of competition schedules endeavor to minimize the number of classes missed. ... We believe that postseason games, tournaments and all-star games should be restricted to occur over semester or holiday breaks or after the end of an academic year. ... The Task Force recommends ... an end to freshman eligibility in men's and women's basketball and in football.
That task force was chaired by J. Robert Dorfman, then the acting dean of the College of Computer, Mathematical and Physical Sciences. Dorfman was not, and is not, a basketball fan, but he holds no hostility toward athletes, either. At one point, he says, he and Driesell fell into a "discussion" about the meaning of statistics. "It's a little hard for me to describe how he viewed things," Dorfman says.
Dorfman's own view has been that a university's mission should be in education; when he encountered certain members of the athletic department, he realized their thinking was entirely different. Hence the task force recommendations, which today, in the era of Tuesday night football and Maui-Anchorage-Festival-Challenges and the O.J. Mayo saga, seem refreshingly quaint.
"I don't mind quaint," Dorfman says.
But most of us have moved on from such lofty ideals. It is too late to turn back. All of us who escape to major college athletics for solace have a little bit of Lefty in us. We would prefer to view the death of Len Bias not as an indictment of an entire system rife with hypocrisy, but merely a poor decision by a young man who should have known better.
"There was nothing I did wrong -- what did I do wrong?" Driesell says. "Leonard Bias was a great kid. I loved him. But he was not under my jurisdiction in any shape or form. It wasn't anything I had something to do with. He made a bad decision to try cocaine for the first time."
AP Photo/Tom Reed
Like the mourners gathered outside the Pilgrim A.M.E. Church in Washington for Bias' wake, America was stunned by the basketball star's death.
TWO COMMONLY TOLD ELEMENTS OF THE BIAS NARRATIVE THAT ARE ALMOST CERTAINLY FALSE
1. Len Bias was experimenting with cocaine for the first time that night.
Origin:
Q: Could this have been his first encounter with cocaine?
A: That is possible, yes.
-- Maryland medical examiner John E. Smialek at a news conference June 24, 1986
Contrary evidence:
Court testimony of Terry Long, who claimed "Len Bias introduced me to coke," and portrayed Bias as a "courtesy middleman" in the drug trade. "One time he knocked on my door and he had a dollar bill and he said, 'Try this,'" Long told the court.
University of Maryland basketball star Len Bias, who died June 19 of a cocaine-induced heart attack, probably was not a first-time user of the drug, the state medical examiner said.
Why this matters:
Perhaps this doesn't matter at all.
Focus on Sport/Getty Images
Bias led Maryland to the Sweet 16 in 1984 and 1985, but the Terps lost in the second round of the NCAAs in his senior season.
"What can I do about what anybody says?" Lonise Bias tells me. "The only thing I saw in 1986 was dirty laundry being put in a dead man's coffin who couldn't speak for himself. You don't know if there's another story that hasn't been told yet."
So perhaps this is one of those wishful notions -- perpetuated by Len Bias' negative drug-test results (easily manipulated), and by the claims of friends and family, and by the medical examiner's initial opinion (later revised) that this might have, indeed, been Bias' first experience with cocaine -- that benefits everyone and harms no one. Perhaps, in burnishing a legend, the claims of Driesell and Lonise Bias (who still believes her son had never tried cocaine before, and might, in fact, have tried it accidentally, or even been poisoned that night) actually proved far more positive for society than the truth might have.
As evidence, I return to myself, at age 13, and all the other children of my generation, products of the skewed value system of the '80s, for whom the most potent advertisement for the "Just Say No" campaign might have been the notion that a single splotch of cocaine -- and this is how I imagined it as a child, that Bias had simply touched several stray crystals of processed coca leaves to his nostrils, and shortly thereafter departed this mortal coil -- could kill us without prejudice, if our bodies were so genetically inclined. This is no doubt a major reason why I have never touched cocaine myself, and why, several years ago, when an acquaintance of mine who was a product of the same generation tried cocaine for the first time, he thought immediately of Len Bias, as I'm sure hundreds or thousands of others did, too.
"All of us like to generalize our experience," says Eric Sterling, an expert on drug policy. "But it's a big country, with a lot of different kids. I wouldn't say that it 'worked.'"
Still, I ask: Would Bias' story have achieved the same status as a cultural touchstone if we had known he -- while probably not a habitual user -- had dabbled in cocaine for months, or that his close friend was apparently dealing cocaine, or that the truth was far more nuanced than the mythology? Is there then something to be said, at least in this case, for a (seeming) lie proving far more powerful than the truth?
2. Len Bias was using crack cocaine that night.
Origin:
University of Maryland basketball star Len Bias died after smoking a pure form of cocaine free-base, the assistant state medical examiner who performed the autopsy on Bias has said. ..."Crack" is a relatively new and increasingly popular form of free-base cocaine extracted from the adulterated powder by using water, heat and baking soda, drug experts say. (The Evening Sun, Baltimore, July 9, 1986)
Contrary evidence:
Eyewitness accounts, court testimony from Long and Gregg.
See also: Smialek told reporters as he left the courthouse that it did not appear Bias freebased the cocaine found in his system. Earlier this month, Smialek's assistant, Dr. Dennis Smyth, who performed the autopsy on Bias, said the redness in Bias's windpipe and a high concentration of cocaine in his blood indicated the athlete "most likely" smoked cocaine rather than snorted it in powder form through his nose. ''We don't have any evidence to support that [freebasing] right now," Smialek said. (UPI, July 21, 1986)
Why this matters:
"In the month following Bias's death, the [television] networks aired 74 evening news segments about crack and cocaine, often erroneously interchanging the two substances and blithely asserting it was crack that killed Bias." (From "Smoke and Mirrors," by Dan Baum)
Why this matters, II:
Because of Derrick Curry.
Ron Tringali for ESPN.com
Derrick Curry dreamed of following in Bias' footsteps on the court. Instead, he spent more than a decade in prison.
WHO IS DERRICK CURRY?
If there is a human thread to tie all this moral complexity together -- a Zelig-like figure who bore witness to the complexity of this entire saga -- it is Derrick Curry. He, too, was a basketball player at Northwestern High School, a fleet guard with Division I prospects who was a close friend and classmate of Len Bias' younger brother, Jay. He claims to have spent time in Len Bias' dorm room hours before his death, hanging out with David Gregg, another Northwestern graduate. Curry knew -- and liked -- Brian Tribble.
The night after his brother's death, Jay Bias, who would turn 16 the next day, went out to play a basketball game as a tribute to a brother who had always warned him away from drugs. But over time, Curry saw the way Len's death ate at Jay's own sense of identity and his own passion for the game. He sought solace on the court, but what he carried, both within himself and through the projections of others, were a mythic set of expectations, as if Jay could carry on what his brother could not. On the court, he often resembled his brother, and he was endowed with undeniable talent: In their junior year, Curry and Jay Bias led Northwestern to the state championship. Jay scored 28 points in the finals, at Cole Field House on the Maryland campus, the gym where his brother had made his name.
Jay Bias averaged 25 points and 12 rebounds his senior season, and was generally regarded among the top recruits in the nation. But something wasn't right. He got into disputes with the Northwestern coaching staff. He started fights. He fell into tantrums. His grades and test scores were poor, and he chose to enroll at a nearby community college. After a year and more problems, this time with the Allegany Community College coaching staff, he quit school and took a job, hoping, at some point, to enroll at American University.
"After Lenny died, it took away [Jay's] love for the game of basketball," Curry says. "Part of him wanted to play and be the second Lenny, but the pressure people kept putting on him took its toll. Finally, Jay said, 'Man, I'm just tired.' He used to keep so much stuff inside."
Rob Tringali for ESPN.com
Curry watched the burden of Len's death eat away at Jay Bias.
By then, the Len Bias legend had swelled to the point that it carried a strange cachet (and still does -- today, in the D.C. area, there is a rock band named after him). In the drug business, amid the perverse logic of celebrity that we would soon grow accustomed to, Tribble was seen as a rising star; he considered writing a book and hosted several parties at a local nightclub, posing for photographs with the attendees. His guilt also led him back to Jay Bias.
"Brian used to look out for me and Jay, particularly after Lenny died," Curry says. "He'd give us money to take our girls out to the movies. He'd take us out shopping. Brian didn't look for anything in return -- he never asked me to do anything illegal for him.
"I think what happened with Brian is that Brian was a very likable person, and Brian knew a lot of people, and they said, 'Do you want to make some easy money?' And Brian probably figured, 'Well, doggone, this is easy.' I can say that from his family's standpoint, he wasn't living in the ghetto. His family wasn't doing bad. Brian is and was a very intelligent person.
"But sometimes people get into it so much that they can't get out of it."
On Dec. 4, 1990, Jay Bias, then 20 years old, went to a shopping mall. He told Curry he planned to buy an engagement ring for his girlfriend. Curry was going to go with him. He chose to get a haircut from a friend instead. Midway through his haircut, Curry saw a television news report about a shooting at the mall. The victim was Len Bias' younger brother. According to reports, the sales clerk had accused Jay of flirting with his wife, and Jay left and got into his car, and the suspect drove up behind him in the parking lot and shot him in the back. Curry later heard that Jay Bias and the man who murdered him had gone together in a limo to their prom a couple of years earlier. At the hospital, Eric Bias, the last living male progeny of Lonise and James Bias, kept repeating the words, "My brother's not dead."
It made no sense, but what did make sense anymore? What logic could anyone extract from this without clinging to divine inevitability, to the theories of predestination and martyrdom favored by Lonise Bias?
Like many of us, Derrick Curry was still terribly naive about the realities of the drug trade in the late 1980s. He was 20 years old, the son of a high school principal with a Ph.D., but he still reverted to sucking his thumb during stressful moments. He had enrolled at Prince George's Community College, but still had aspirations for a Division I basketball career at Georgetown, and he was something of a playground virtuoso, whose vertical leap was once measured at 43 inches. He had friends in the neighborhood, and those friends were -- like Tribble -- involved in illicit activity, in a drug ring that would later come to be known as the Woodridge Group, whose cell phones were being monitored by authorities. Curry did not do drugs, and he insists he did not profit from drugs, but a man he considered a friend and a role model, Norman Brown (whose cocaine supplier, according to a 1994 Washington Post report, was Tribble), had asked Curry to run some errands for him. "Curry needed what Brown's lifestyle offered: a casual acceptance of crime and danger; a casual defiance of the American power structure," Richard Leiby wrote in The Washington Post several years later. Maybe that sounds overly psychoanalytical, but it is hard not to wonder whether the relationship between Len Bias and Brian Tribble was guided by some of those same elements.
One day after the death of Jay Bias, and two months after Tribble pleaded guilty to conspiracy to distribute cocaine, federal agents broke up the remainder of the Woodridge Group. (In part, Curry says, they acted because they feared retaliation from the Woodridge Group against Jay Bias' murderer and his accomplices.) Curry, who had been driving Brown's car, in which a one-pound rock of crack was hidden, imagined he would pay a price; he imagined he would serve a short jail sentence and then be given a chance to atone for the sins of his naivete. He had no criminal record. One FBI agent called him a "flunky."
But there were federal laws, hurriedly passed by Congress, and those laws decreed that drug offenders were subject to mandatory minimum sentences, and those who trafficked in crack were especially susceptible. Despite sympathy from a judge who could do nothing to help him, Derrick Curry was sentenced to 19 years and seven months in prison for his role in a drug conspiracy under laws that had been passed in the summer of 1986, in the midst of an unprecedented cry for reform in the wake of the death of Leonard K. Bias.
AP Photo/Tom Reed
Jay Bias, third from left, is comforted by Jesse Jackson, left, his father James and an unidentified man at a private funeral service for Len Bias. Less than five years later, Jay would be dead as well.
SPORTS MEETS POLITICS
This is America, after all, and it does not take long for tragedy to bleed into political strategems. Here is how this element of the Bias saga progressed: The speaker of the House of Representatives at the time was a Democrat named Thomas Phillip "Tip" O'Neill Jr., and Tip was an old-school Boston politico, and you can imagine how a politician with ties to both D.C. and Boston, two cities devastated by the Bias tragedy, would react the morning after such an event.
Sterling, a lawyer for the House Judiciary Committee, came into work the next day and was overwhelmed by the response. Overnight, America's "vulnerability" to drugs had become the seminal issue in Washington. O'Neill was thinking about the midterm elections in November 1986; he was thinking about regaining the House from a popular second-term president. It didn't matter that Bias had nothing to do with crack -- Bias was a major story, and crack was a major story, and to conflate them was simply a shortcut to political progress. O'Neill thought Democrats should take the lead on getting tough on drugs, and that meant stricter sentences for drug offenders. It also meant both Democrats and Republicans were swept up in hyperbole and emotional appeals, in trying to out-tough each other, in a debate swept clean of nuance. Crack had altered the media's image of a typical cocaine user from white to black, from rich to poor -- in 1986, for the first time, more blacks were imprisoned than whites. Now, here was the perfect call to action, a young man of modest means on the verge of becoming rich, an athlete who had instilled pride in white and black communities, suddenly gone -- and for no good reason. That Cleveland Browns safety Don Rogers fatally overdosed on cocaine eight days later only served to reinforce the anti-drug rhetoric that was building to a fever pitch on Capitol Hill.
"In death," Dan Baum wrote in "Smoke and Mirrors," Len Bias "would become the Archduke Ferdinand of the Total War on Drugs."
Amid the fury and panic and ignorance, amid what Sterling calls a "legislative frenzy," Congress acted in a bipartisan fashion, passing the Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1986. One Oklahoma legislator admitted it was "out of control," but added, "of course I'm for it." The law established mandatory minimum sentences for drug offenders; it also decreed that possession or sale of 1/100th of an amount of crack cocaine as compared to powder cocaine (5 grams versus 500 grams) would trigger those mandatory minimum sentences. That number was based entirely on fears of this new drug. What it had to do with the death of Len Bias, no one seemed to know. But it was all part of the same narrative now.
In our haste to address what had been framed as America's most pressing problem, in our haste to atone for the sins of Leonard Bias, we took it too far. That is now widely acknowledged by both Democrats and Republicans and borne out in studies by advocacy groups like The Sentencing Project and Families Against Mandatory Minimums. The racial disparity, the targeting of black neighborhoods, the overcrowding of prisons with low-level drug offenders rather than major traffickers, and the outright absurdity of what happened to Derrick Curry and thousands like him, has prompted the introduction of seven bills between the House and Senate ?- sponsored by conservatives, such as Orrin Hatch of Utah, and liberals, such as Charles Rangel of New York -- to amend the laws passed in 1986.
Derrick Curry (whose original sentence was nearly three times that served by most murderers) was 31 years old when his sentence was commuted by President Clinton in 2001. He worked out with the Knicks, but he tore up his knee, and any hope for a pro basketball career was gone. He still maintains contact with Brian Tribble, who was sentenced to 10 years for conspiracy to distribute cocaine and now works as a trainer at a local gym, and who seems determined to begin his life anew. For a time in prison, Curry and Tribble shared a cell. They would talk sometimes about what happened, and they would talk sometimes about what would have happened if that night had never happened.
"I think if Brian was a real friend -- and I know personally that he loved Lenny, and I have seen Brian break down from talking about Lenny -- he wouldn't have let him do it," Curry says. "I know how Brian felt about Lenny as a friend, and he shouldn't have put him in that situation."
Rob Tringali for ESPN.com
The impact of Len Bias' death still reverberates 22 years later.
WHETHER IT BE A LIE OR THE TRUTH
But here we are, and what's done is done. Time has been served, and the bodies have been buried, and a mother continues to tell the only story she knows, the only story she cares to believe. She has heard of the controversy over mandatory minimum sentences and the role of her son's death in the process, and she has heard of the continued corruption of college sports and of the Hall of Fame career of Lefty Driesell -- she still attends Maryland games with her grandchildren on occasion -- but these push-and-pulls over legislation and administration are not her greatest concerns.
Her concerns, and the mission she has been charged with, are more concrete, more personal. She has aspirations of building a youth center in Prince George's County, named after her children. She believes that by addressing the way these modern children see themselves, she can affect the decisions they make. She believes this is her calling. She believes her son died for this very reason, to be a cautionary tale, to be a martyr. And we can fret all we want over the legacy of Len Bias, or the lack thereof, over whether, as one newspaper columnist wrote in the aftermath, ignorance should be a reason for heroism, or whether, as Lonise Bias says, "He went down to give life." Because she knows she is right.
"It's not that I'm just some airhead that's just full of faith," she says. "It's just that you have to move on. And through your faith, you believe that things are working out for good, and when you see you're impacting people's lives as a result of this horrific thing that happened, and whether it be a lie or a truth, you continue to move forward in the midst of it."
Rob Tringali for ESPN.com
"It's not that I'm just some airhead that's just full of faith," Lonise Bias says. "It's just that you have to move on."
So she sits here, in a classroom in Greenwood, S.C., eating a fried-chicken salad, granting an exclusive audience to the members of the boys' and girls' basketball teams before she rides back to the airport.
"COMPARISON RUINS CONTENTMENT!" she told them earlier.
"THERE ARE CONSEQUENCES THAT ARE GOING TO FOLLOW YOU!" she told them.
The girls are cozying up to her. A boy named Sam Montgomery, who is a star player on the football team, a Division I recruit, tells me Lonise Bias reminds him of his mother, a "strong black woman" with a resonant message. Everything Sam says indicates he could not imagine poisoning his career with drugs. Everything he says seems heartfelt and truthful. Everything he says gives you hope for the next generation.
And that's the thing: All of this is so admirable. Everything Lonise Bias preaches is backed by a moral certitude you can't help but find compelling. A woman who lost two of her children -- a woman who straddled the graves of two of her children -- is helping ensuing generations. Where are the flaws in such a story? What isn't redemptive and appealing -- what isn't downright American -- about a narrative like this one?
"Did you know your son was doing drugs?" one of the girls asks.
"It's been said it was his first time," Lonise Bias says.
The Posture Cure
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Stand Taller, Train Like a Bodybuilder
by Dr John Rusin |
[image: The-posture-cure]
Here's what you need to know...
1. Everyone Needs Posture Wor...
t's true, what she says about the graves. I went to see them not long after I heard Lonise Bias tell an incredible story to a group of South Carolina high school students: While witnessing the burial of her son Jay, she looked down and realized she was standing on the grave of her eldest son, Leonard. I had assumed it was a rhetorical flourish, a metaphor crafted for effect by a guest speaker who was getting paid to whack some sobriety into a room of spaced-out pubescents with self-image issues. But then I drove to the cemetery, in a Maryland suburb of Washington called Suitland, and I trudged up a hill, and I found the markers, a couple of rectangles blotched with age, stamped into the dirt and rocks and tufts of grass. And it is true -- there is perhaps a foot of space between her boys. They are, quite literally, resting side by side. 
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