Sugar Jam – Scottsdale, Arizona
I often describe my youth in rural, agrarian Peñasco as “bumpkinly naïveté.” I may have been book smart (and insolent) enough to intimidate some of my teachers, but insofar as experiential smarts, I was one pretty sheltered guy. The very first black people I ever saw up close were Drew and Shane Roebuck, gazelle-quick running backs for Menaul High School. I wanted to kill them…not because they were black, but because I couldn’t catch them. You see, I had a reputation as a fierce tackler. It didn’t matter the race, ethnicity, religious affiliation or favorite breakfast cereal, I wanted to tackle everyone in a uniform that didn’t have Peñasco’s blue and gold. In basic military training for the Air Force, I shared close quarters with young men of every demographic. It was the start of many beautiful friendships. Over the course of an entire military career, many of my best friends were black. Some of those friendships were borne of proximity and job, but flourished from the heart. Even today–some 28 years after my retirement–fond recollection of such wonderful black friends as Dwayne (not The Rock) Johnson, Patrick Fields, Michael Gordon, Moe Myers and so many others remind me…
