About Flagpole. (Athens, Ga.) 1987-current | View Entire Issue (Dec. 25, 2024)
continued from p. 18 I could connect to the building that had stood at South Milledge and West Broad for 60 years—will no doubt soon be cleared before my next visit, as plans move ahead for yet another mixed-use development. But some things in Athens never seem to change, including the invisible borders between the Black and white neighborhoods. 45 years ago, I, along with three room mates, spent my junior year in a cinder block quadplex at the corner North Billups and Glenhaven, which is still, seemingly, a line of demarcation between the two commu nities. As part of our combined $139 monthly rent, our landlords, an ancient white couple, graciously allowed us to use their clay tennis court wedged between the quadplex and their home on Hill Street. The Black VFW, which was below my bedroom window on Glenhaven, was available after-hours for a “look the other way” purchase of a $2 six-pack of E> Schlitz late on weekend nights g when the rest of Athens had shut „ down. The tennis court is gone, g but the VFW still proudly stands. m A month ago, I was invited by Clarke Central High School to participate in the reunion of the school’s inaugural 1970 football team, which was formed when the legacy Black and white high schools were—against the wishes of many in both communities— forced to merge. An immensely talented squad—driven by racial divisions exacerbated by a racist head coach—fell short of its goals in its first season. Fourteen of the estimated 50 players from that team made it back to the reunion. The attend ees were split equally between white and Black former players, but like all old warriors, they reconnected with a natural ease that erased the years that had passed since they last spoke to each other. The former players were all in their early 70s and in vari ous forms of health, some limping from injuries suffered on the gridiron over a half-century ago. So, it was no surprise when the party broke up before halftime, and the players left the stadium, but not before walking gingerly up the concrete steps of the stands, saluted by the marching band and the cheer— perhaps the final ones that many of these former teammates would ever hear—from the crowd. In the parking lot they laughed, shared some final memories, hugged and wished each other the best before driving off into the warm October night. It is memories like this shared sacrifice and brotherhood that must sustain us as winter approaches and we march into a future that few of us anticipated and none of us can predict with any degree of confidence. Hold tight to these memories, because they reflect the very best in human nature. But it is also best to take a lesson from nature— observe, be mindful, and always aware of your surround ings as an uncertain new year unfolds. Mark Clegg is the author ot The Crimson and Gold: Football and Integration in Athens, Georgia. The Bizarie Fiddler By Zachary George Deep in the woods along a stream flowing to the river is a cottage that the King has never visited because he does not know it is there. Few places in the kingdom escape the King’s notice, but this is one such place. Inside the cottage there is a fire and a stout man seated in front of it. The stout man plays a fiddle all day and all night to the fire, and the music is carried away with the smoke through the chim ney. The music is so bizarre that the smoke turns all matter of blue, purple and green when it hears the notes. One day, a hunter tracking a stag through the woods heard the bizarre sounds and saw the colorful smoke danc ing through the trees. Frightened, he abandoned his hunt and rode straight to the castle. He told the King of the strange sights and sounds that had terrified him. At once, the King rallied his cavalry and set off to investigate. As they rode along the stream away from the river deeper into the woods, the King was appalled at his ignorance about this part of his realm. In his anger, he was determined to discover the source of the disturbance—the King and his men pressed on. Soon, the riders approached the spot where the strange smoke was swirling and strange music was sounding. The cottage appeared through a thicket and the music grew louder. As the King dismounted, his horse stood up on hind legs and began dancing wildly. The cavalry’s horses followed and soon all were jumping and spinning. The King ordered his soldiers to knock down the cot tage door and put a stop to the unnatural scene. As they approached, the purple and green smoke shrouded them so they could not make sense of heads or tails. In their dizzi ness they toppled one on top of the other into a pile of clanking armor. Maddened, the King lit a torch and set the cottage ablaze, hoping to stop the bizarre music once and for all. As the cottage burned the strange music ceased and the colorful smoke vanished. Satisfied, the King rode back to the castle to share his victory with the Queen. As the King approached the castle, he was stunned to once again hear the bizarre music and see the oddly colored smoke coming from his court. He rushed inside to find a stout man playing fiddle for the Queen. He drew his sword intent on cutting down the bizarre fiddler, but upon seeing joy on the Queen’s face he stopped himself. Confused, he demanded to know how the Queen came to know the strange fiddler. The Queen told the King that the fiddler came to the castle seeking help because his cottage caught fire. He rode by boat down the stream to the river all the way to the castle as soon as the flames came to his door. In waiting for the King to return, the Queen asked the fiddler to play for her. The music was so enchanting that even the hearth’s smoke set off dancing. The Queen promised a new cottage and a large payment for the fiddler in exchange for more of his music. The fiddler was overjoyed and the King, although bewildered, honored the Queen’s promise. Requiem for W.C. Hart By Laura Johnson 1. “The black cat is yawning,” she sang with a lustre from craters, “walking on the numbers,” said another, but needn’t we get into what Eliot ignored, just to see what the bull ate- nevertheless we did. A great stupefaction as the names and dates tuck us into movement and locality How much time is there left? I feel warmed by a fallen branch You were the bearer of a glow in the dark stars that had created themselves. I remember it was right before Thanksgiving, 2000 The new band played one of their first shows at Flicker It was just one large piece of music I remember singing of flight, I remember the different members getting up to play when it was their time. We went to Harris Teeter afterwards. I had a jean jacket on but still my “uncool” wire rims Your voice was an exhaling bird and its wingspan all the same I didn’t know you as I don’t know many who dot the hills Are we still disguised in the donkey across the desert? Elephant and Donkey sure have a different meaning here... 2. came to a hault like nothing before plywood on floor cool surface to wood the days slid into place, everything is calling, what will this shed? we have arrived, a lovely universe enclosed but whispers are re-animated it’s seeping out and nothing told us we needed to do this, out here in the rain, the view will forever shift in its sameness, small apparitions reveal the greater dna- glory be 3. There was an unzipped opening See what it colors it can project and produce Stay for the vibrations But you were a bird, yes your flight was a ledge on which other birds could perch. Don’t fear the elasticity. It’s the brutality that does it, leaving us birds to scavenge the crumbs You connected to a room It’s ready, it’s fast The candles of the day are permanently turned around, turning inward as you said, though it’s not what the public thinks turning inward is But what is turning outward I said look at the naughty bird in my first serious poem You said “grow sideburns!” Miles and miles, out in the gypsum field a medallion is mounted A bird, scavenger noir Something is awry But the sundial arrives at the exacted moment You charter something which both day and night revealed and that which is beyond Permanence of movement 4. The inner revolutions Highlighted Never sapped Renewed- like a brush rubbing up against a wall >■ continued on next p. 22 20 FLAGPOLE.COM ■ DECEMBER 25, 2024 & JANUARY 1, 2025
