Thick silence filled the room, and as I looked quickly at Fox, I could see his face reddening. After a moment, he cleared his throat and went to the lectern again. “I’m afraid that Jerry might have created an erroneous impression, Derrick. There may have been a time that it seemed that Chelsea was run only for white boys,” he said slowly. “But rest assured that that time has passed. That’s why we’re here today. I won’t deny that the Chelsea School has not had the best record in attracting and holding African American talent. Especially among the faculty. But that’s exactly why Jerry and I are here tonight, to try to enlist your support as we move into the twenty-first century. Your sons can make the difference for us. Your dollars are the ones that are needed. We are willing to make the difference for you. Jerry was too intent on conveying what he loves most about the Chelsea School, but he definitely agrees with me. We were speaking about this very thing in the car on the way here, and he said to me, ‘I’m glad you asked me to join you for this, Ted. Because God knows that we need more diversity at Chelsea. I hope that I can help achieve that.’” He turned to me with a broad, confident grin.

A nervous but hearty laugh echoed through the room. I could feel a foolish smile plastered to my face as I looked around the room and caught the eye of Derrick, the boy who had spoken up. He was not smiling. He fixed me with an unwavering gaze. Fox’s comments seemed to have loosened the tensions in the room considerably, but there was still some wariness. One young man asked exactly how we planned to change our recruitment efforts so that we could attract more black students. Fox ticked off a series of actions: a mailing to alumni and to certain Negro organizations, increased scholarship fund-raising, a more active relationship with race-specific scholarship agencies. He implied that I would be heavily involved in all these activities, producing satisfied nods from some of those present. I raised no objection. There were more questions, a few handshakes, and, in the end, a few checks pressed into Fox’s hand—though not from Derrick Harper. He did have some words for me, however. He came up to me as I moved to gather up my things and join Fox to leave. “How are you, Mr. Washington?”

“I’m well, Derrick, I’m well. You’re looking well yourself. What are you doing now?”

“I’m an attorney—I do a lot of housing rights work in Hartford.”

“An attorney. Might I ask where you attended law school?”

“Howard, undergrad and law.” He gave me a tight smile. “I needed a change after Chelsea.”

“I see.”