July 12, 2007 Issue

The fall of 1966 in Atlanta, Ga. promised to be an exciting one. The Atlanta Braves were new to town and the Atlanta Falcons were on their way. I was 11 years old and while I might not have been fully aware of the controversy surrounding the Vietnam War, I knew that the civil rights movement was in high gear. The city of Atlanta was a more progressive place than Birmingham, Ala., the town my family had moved from. Instead of people like Eugene “Bull” Connor, George Wallace, and Albert Boutwell, the leaders in Atlanta were Carl Sanders, Charlie Hartsfield, and Ivan Allen.

I was going to be a sixth grader at Rock Springs Elementary school on Lindbergh Avenue, and that was excitement enough. And if it wasn’t, the Junior Varsity was bringing chilidogs and onion rings and was opening just down the block from our house.

At the end of our first day of school, it was a tradition for the sixth graders to play the seventh graders in softball. We had some great athletes in our class. My best friend, Larry Littleton, would later go on to play major league baseball with the Cleveland Indians. Stevie Crawford went to Georgia Tech and as a 160-pound defensive back, started for four years. It was hard for any of us to concentrate on school with the softball game approaching.

The biggest surprise of the day was a new student in our class. His name was Herman Jeter. He was bigger than most of us, and he was very quiet. He also looked like he could probably play softball, which was our biggest concern.

Physical education was our last period of the day, and the big game was on. Herman got to bat in the first inning, and batting right-handed he hit a home run to put us up 1-0. The seventh graders scored and as the game wound down, the scored remained tied 1-1. In the last inning Herman came to bat again. This time he approached the plate left handed. As our 11-year-old jaws dropped, Herman hit another home run, and we won 2-1.

Herman lived just across the street from Rocks Springs Elementary. Herman had been going to H.R. Butler Elementary School in downtown Atlanta since the first grade. He rode a bus right past Rock Springs every morning on his way to school. Even though he lived so close, none of us had ever known Herman. But on that September afternoon in Atlanta, Herman made a lot of friends very quickly.

Herman lived in a little area called Piney Grove. There were ten10 houses almost hidden in a little alcove off of Lenox Road. The houses weren’t much, but they had been there for 60 years, perched on a ridge in the trees, on a little dirt road.

Herman was the first black student at Rock Springs. For most of us, he became our first black friend.

That was more than 40 years ago. We all went to North Fulton High School together. Herman was a star in football and track. He was a natural athlete. If there were ever any complaints about Herman, they were that he made things look so easy. So easy, in fact, that sometimes he didn’t even look like he was trying. The same things were said about another pretty good athlete in Atlanta at the time—Hank Aaron.

I saw Herman this past week for the first time in 35 years. We have been in touch, though not often, through the past decades. About every five years I would get a call from Herman. “Hey Charles,” he would say. “What’s up, Herman,” I would reply, as though we’d spoken the day before. Even after all those years, neither of us had to identify who the caller was. Herman has always had a distinctive, soft voice.

Herman followed in the footsteps of his late father, Herman Sr., and has worked at the General Motors plant in Doraville, Ga. since 1976. He is now the union representative for the United Auto Workers in Doraville. His mother, Parthenia, a domestic worker, just sold her house in Piney Grove, which happens to be in the center of Buckhead, this past year. I hope she made a fortune.

Larry Littleton and Paul Angel, lifelong friends of mine, haven’t seen Herman since high school. They knew he was coming to Destin for the July 4th weekend. “I’ll bet you anything he’s bald,” Paul told me. “He’s probably pretty fat by now,” Larry said.

Herman’s girlfriend, Tracie Housel, is the physical trainer at the General Motors gym in Doraville. She sees to it that Herman isn’t overweight. And he’s got more hair than Larry and Paul put together.

Our 35th high school reunion is in Atlanta at Chastain Park on August 18. It will be the first one Herman has been to. Larry and Paul will find out about Herman at the reunion.

Herman has three children and three grandchildren. Two of his grandchildren play baseball and they look like little athletes. One day, when they are older, I’m going to take them aside and tell them about Herman. I’ll tell them about the day that Rock Springs Elementary was integrated. I’ll tell them about that softball game when Herman was the hero. I’ll tell them about the first day of school on that glorious September afternoon when their grandfather entered our lives.

More from Charles Morgan