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San Diego Free Press

Grassroots News & Progressive Views

Entering a New Age

by

ageBy Ernie McCray

When it comes to age I’m about to turn another page. I’ll be 76 if I’m still on the scene on April 18th, 2014.

Life, on the whole, has been very good to me. Somehow, I’ve managed, in my time, as I’ve evolved as a human being, to let the good moments override the moments when I’ve wanted to scream or just cold-cock some redneck yokel out of his misery into another galaxy or burn down the “system.” The hypocrisy of it all has always bothered me immensely.

So I just ride the high from the pretty moments, like the one the other day when Maria and I, on a little getaway, were walking along the main drag in Julian, enjoying a soothing sunny day, fully at ease with ourselves and with each other. While strolling through a group of boys, in front of a market, one of them said to me, “You’re tall,” to which I replied, “Yes, I am that” as we stepped through the threshold of the little store. “Can you dunk?” he continued. “At one time. Not anymore.” “Too old?” “You got it.”

“Did you ever play in the NBA?” I answered “No” and talked about how I gave it a try, though, how I was drafted in 1960 by the Cincinnati Royals who now are the Sacramento Kings. I told the boys how I had played with Oscar Robertson, the great Big-O. “Who is that?” they wanted to know. The next thing I knew I was autographing three basketballs and about five pairs of funky basketball shoes as grownups passed by with expressions on their faces that wondered “Who is that celebrity, dude? Bill Russell?” I get that all the time.

Those kids gave me such a glow. They got me to thinking about other idyllic moments in my life, like the very vision of Maria stretching her lovely bones on the bed reading, so still and so faraway from worries about her mentoring at SDSU.

I thought about a time when I sang on stage with Pete Seeger; a time when I hung out with “Satchmo,”; a time when I played catch with another Satch, Satchel Paige; a time when the aforementioned, Oscar Big-O Robertson, hit me with a no look pass for an easy basket that didn’t seem possible, a pass that would have taken my head off if I had not been looking as I ran through a passing lane, after a busted play; times when I laughed at the antics of Tim Moore, “Kingfish” on Amos ‘N’ Andy, a family friend, over barbecued ribs and handmade peach ice cream in bass playing Fess Jackson’s backyard .

I thought of less grandiose times, like when I ate the most pancakes a boy my age had ever eaten at the Tucson Y Camp; like when I danced as Mother Ginger in The Nutcracker with a host of tiny clowns hidden under my voluminous gown who exited this space enthusiastically and danced and cart-wheeled and scurried about and returned to their places under my gown.

I recalled winning a war bond as a prize for a story I had written about a dodo bird in 4th grade; jitterbugging on a truck in La Fiesta de los Vaqueros Parade while my dad tickled the ivories boogie-woogie slide piano style; joining church and getting baptized at age 9, freeing myself, in my mind, of the dark fearful thoughts I held about Hell and burning forever and ever and ever, so relieved that I was “saved” – and with the devil gone I phased out of religious life gradually as I aged except for the parts that ask us to love the world and one another much like the boys in Julian and I demonstrated in our brief moments together.

Of course some of the unappealing moments of my life begged for attention in my reminiscing. Like a day when I stood outside the Union, Mississippi train station waiting for my mother to take care of some kind of business inside. I watched as some local Jim Crow Aficionado threw one of our suitcases in the air into some mud as though it was an Olympic Games event – because I had placed the piece of luggage in front of his.

That ridiculousness, however, was rather benign compared to a trip my mother and I took to Detroit in 1949 and found ourselves escaping being burnt to a crisp by the KKK who set our cousin’s house on fire because he was “integrating” the neighborhood.

That they didn’t want that to happen they truly wanted understood.

But I had to lay those reflections aside because it just didn’t fit the setting, the quiet and the hilltops and chaparral forests and green grounds and blue sky with scattered clouds and Golden Hawks wooing one another that made up the scenery surrounding me. And, oh, did a wonderful memory come alive again in Surround Sound and Technicolor. I remember it, as they say, like it was yesterday. It was a celebration. The Sixth Grade Promotion at the end of my first year of teaching at Perry Elementary. The principal said “Let me introduce the sixth grade teachers.” I was last.

He went down the list and there was nice applause for everyone as would be expected especially since they were, each one of them, wonderful educators. He said, when he came to me, “And now the teacher in Room 22,” and I could feel a kind of vibrating energy suddenly build in the room, “Mr. Ernest McCray.” And the auditorium erupted. People were up on their feet clapping as though JFK or somebody had just graced the premises. I was startled. I had no idea I had made that kind of impact on a community, that my love and respect for those children in my room had been felt outside of our learning environment. I was just being myself, an athlete, a writer, a father, a husband, a social and political minded man, a lover, a friend, a dude who likes to have fun.

And through the years since then I’ve felt that they and all the other thousands of young people I’ve facilitated learning experiences for both 3R’s-wise and “how to get along as a human being-wise” – well, I’ve felt that they remain my students for the rest of my life. You can’t just drop some knowledge on somebody and take off. I’ve felt obligated to keep role-modeling how a learned citizen of the world should act. Because they could be watching me and many are as I run into students of mine all the time. And I’m so glad that I can face them with my head held up high, knowing that I’m still about what I encouraged them to be about, creating the world in which we’d like to live. I’ve managed to walk the talk. Somehow.

So at age 76 I’ll be up to my same old tricks.

Photo courtesy of https://www.flickr.com/search/?q=aging&l=comm&ct=0&mt=all&adv=1

Ernie McCray

Ernie McCray

I was raised in a loving and alive home, in a black neighborhood filled with colorful characters in Tucson, Arizona. Such an environment gave me a hint that life has to be grabbed by the tail as tight as a pimple on a mosquito's butt. With no BS and a whole lot of love. So, from those days to now I get up every morning set on making the world a better place. On my good foot*, and I hope my writing reflects that. *an old black expression

Comments

  1. Happy Birthday Ernie! I am having such a great time imagining you as Mother Ginger in the Nutcracker. I hope there are some photographs…
    Ernie- I walk in your landscape. & what a landscape it is. Con cariño, Anna

  2. Salud!
    And I got big buzz from the Big O’s no-look pass that caught
    you aware, knowing no one does it alone.
    I had to come up with a line on my own birthday last
    Sunday, about what I was grateful for, and I thought it’s
    good that as I get older time is slowing down a bit, not
    racing as it used to. Here’s to all the other old goats out
    there.

  4. Hey, I’m just honoring the Charles Wright Watts 103rd Street Band’s funky admonition to “Express yourself,” just trying to “Do the Do” in a way James Brown put it down, “On the Good Foot” (smile).

  5. yes it’s true ern ….. you are altitude enhanced while I am vertically deprived …. I kinda wish I were only seventy-six and knew what I know now …
    your life-pal stan

    • With what you know now you’d be hard to handle, dude, at age 76. I don’t know if the world would be ready for that.

    • I get senior moments when I count backwards, math does that to me sometimes, but I feel good (smile) – I get in a lot of walking and dancing with an occasional swim, keeping in shape to have fun. Ain’t it wonderful?

      • Ah yes, dancing. Like Satchel said, it’s “jangling around gently as you move” only set to music. And that music can be in your head; nobody else needs to even hear it.
        Keep on keepin’ on, Sir!

  7. Ernie… You still got it !

    Signed…
    77
    A pair of sevens (You can’t transpose that… : )

  8. Happy Birthday to one of the most beautiful brothers on the planet. You have inspired so many with your beautiful words and wisdom. I am proud to be on the planet at the same time with you. One day I would like to form a basketball team of old badgers in heaven featuring you, me, Jesse Peoples, Chester Willis, and Neal Chappell. Until then, continue to enrich the world through your life’s journey. Take care and be well. Peace.
    Delano

  10. 76 Trombones played the hit parade. That’s the way I explained it in December when I was asked how old I was. Will have to think of something else for my 77th.

  11. WOW! Ernie … You do it again and again … A grand article every time! I’ve been chasing you all my life; I’ll hit 75 next month, but I feel we have been able to maintain our youth due to our passion for teaching, mentoring and enjoying youngsters and oldsters alike. Like Gladys sings: “Life’s had its ups and downs; but the downs have been few.” I believe the thrills of our teaching careers came from our mutual EXTREME passion for sharing knowledge, joy and love with those we influenced. Did you know your former Muir School student Carmi Strom is now the principal at Webster Elementary School? He and I work together at Oak Park School during my final years of teaching. We spoke about you often. Teaching others to love themselves is the greatest thrill of all!!! While my dealings with racial grief were not as overt as yours with the KKK and suitcase, over the years I have also weathered the storms of covert instances with the faculty at a local high school, a professional baseball career and entry into the Hall of Champions sports official’s section. But in spite of these few hurts, I have yet to winch nor cry out aloud! Congratulations on tacking another year on your “age tree,” and may you run into dozens of your former students prior to your 77 year reflections.

  12. Ernie, Ernie, Ernie!!!! You simply amaze me! Wish Ty were here to read your stories. He so adored you. I’ll be in the neighborhood pet sitting and hope to see you at Grant’s for coffee. Am so glad you are a happy man…much love and many hugs, Gloria

  15. HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY ERNIE!!! I hope you have fun celebrating all month long.
    Love,
    Elaine

    • Happy, happy birthday Dear Ernie. I love that we were born on the same year – you are the best and I so! enjoy reading everything you have to say – birthday hugs.xxJune

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