Though, as I said, he began uncertainly, by the end of his speech these words of Cicero’s came to me: “No rarer thing than a finished orator can be discovered among the sons of men.” Bryson was a mesmerizing speaker. He stood easily at the lectern, his hands punctuating his most important points as though he had been born to the stage. His voice rose and fell in cadence so that just at the moment when we might have drifted away, he would snatch us back with some trick of the timbre of his voice—like an old-time Baptist preacher. I had never seen such control in one so young. And I had never heard such nonsense in my life. He was spitting in the face of the very place that might help him develop this gift and get somewhere in his thus far benighted life. He was spitting in my face. “Some civilization a thousand years old.” When I thought of all the talks I’d had with him, the hours of extra practice and special care, the effort to get him not to claim some kind of victim status … and it all meant absolutely nothing to him. He was determined to throw his gifts away. My stomach contracted with disbelief.

His effect on the boys was electric. Some sat up nodding and looking properly chastened. Others looked as contemptuous as I felt. Some seemed simply baffled. Fox’s face was red and his hands were folded tightly in his lap, but he betrayed no other emotion. “The future is in our hands. It’s time that this school steps up and leads—not follows—based on some ancient idea of what manhood is about,” concluded Bryson. “It’s time.”

Absolute silence followed. Then the sound of one pair of hands clapping. I looked around—it was Gerald Davis, Bryson’s friend, who now rose to his feet, applauding even more vigorously. He was followed, slowly at first and then with growing vigor, by all the Negro students and then a great many of the white ones. Some boys, among them Max Harrison and Ben Gould, remained stubbornly in their seats, staring defiantly at the floor, their faces red. But all in all, slightly more than half of the student body stood, accompanied by a few faculty members—Jana among them. I saw Fox give her a tight-lipped look as he walked to the podium to dismiss the assembly. Bryson still stood there, a slight, hard smile on his face, his hands resting lightly on the lectern. He looked much older than fourteen.

“All right, gentlemen. Let’s have a little decorum, please.” Turning to Bryson, he said, “Thank you, Mr. Bryson, for that most … unusual chapel talk. We will give it all due consideration. Gentlemen, I believe it is time for your classes. Onward!” The boys filed out, abuzz.