That is as my mother would have it. That is, I’ve come to believe, how it should be. I can’t bring him back. I couldn’t save him. Neither could she. Why he couldn’t fight harder to save himself, I will never know. That was why I feared that Jana’s faith in young Mr. Bryson might be misplaced, save for his talent as a runner. As the season wore on, it was becoming more and more apparent that he was the kind of athlete a coach might see once in a lifetime. He had almost no awareness of his gift, which made it even more impressive. While I was not wholly in agreement with Jana about his chances, I thought we should work to save him if only to encourage that ability. It would only wither and die at some squalid city school. And if, by some happy chance, Jana was right about the rest, that his work could be brought along … well, so much the better.

I guess I should say, too, that though I thought it unwise to indicate so, I was somewhat impressed by the way he confronted me about calling on him in class. I had been overlooking him, simply out of my belief that he would not be with us long. I also felt it particularly important that our Negro students realize that the world would give them no quarter. Why should I? In any event, he seemed to possess a clarity that could perhaps be fostered. I was undecided as to what course of action to take, but I thought perhaps I should make some gesture. I ducked my head, barely avoiding a low-hanging branch as I quickened my pace for a brief final sprint to my driveway. Finally, my thoughts slowed as my feet sped forward, gravel crunching beneath them. I stopped and jogged in a few brief circles, waiting for my breathing to slow. Normally, I feel more at ease after a run than at any other point in the day, but today my legs hummed with effort as I finished and there was a peculiar tightness in my chest.

I was forced to rush through the rest of my morning routine as my ruminations had served to slow my run. I headed toward campus slightly rattled, feeling as though I’d forgotten something. A busy day lay ahead. My usual full load of teaching and then a trip to New Haven to speak with Negro alumni and recruit new students from among their sons. This trip had been arranged some time ago, and while I had planned for it carefully and worked hard on my speech, I confess to mixed feelings about it as well. I had been handpicked by Ted Fox some days ago to accompany him.