9.
Alben and Jay met up the following Monday at the Perkins Pancake House about two miles outside downtown. Jay came to appreciate Perkins since returning to Gettysburg. The food was cheap, slightly above Lincoln Diner quality. Perkins also placed a never-empty pot of coffee on every table, a long-standing company policy.
Jay cut into his dinner salad as Alben dunked a French fry into a glob of ketchup, neither saying a word.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jay said. “I’m sorry. I did all I could.”
Alben chewed his fry slowly though there were plenty more left to. “Barry Hughes is an idiot. Stefani is the better player. Bonita says so. Her dad says so, too.”
Jay took a bite of his salad. “Why can’t Bonita’s father take over? She’s the star. He’s ex-NBA. I’m sure the team would learn a lot from his example”
“You’re right. He’d be a good coach. So would you.”
Jay dropped his fork. “Excuse me?”
“Stefani’s team needs an assistant coach. You’re perfect for the job,” Alben said. “Bonita recommended you to Coach Hughes and Kayla Franz, the athletic director.”
“Bonita recommended me? She had no business in my business.”
“Well, not only Bonita. I called Kayla, too. Gave her your name, told her about college game experience, your bank and the TV ads, you know. Faces About Town, the ones that show your bank’s employees coaching baseball and softball. Herman Blount put in a call, too. Given Bonita’s obvious talents Kayla wouldn’t ignore his wishes.”
Jay felt embarrassed. He went into First Colonial’s training program, hoping it would lead him on the fast track into senior management, with no plans to be the face of anything anywhere. Faces About Town featured friendly, well-manicured, branch managers, loan officers and tellers actively involved in sports, the arts and volunteerism The ads portrayed branches as neighborhood banks with caring employees, not cogs in the machinery of a corporate financial giant.
“Can’t they find someone else? What about the coach that Stefani liked? Coach Foster? Why can’t she come back?
“She went back to school for a master’s degree. Look, maybe you’ll get more business if you coach. It would really help you in town if our girls really win,” Alben said
“What if they don’t? I’ve never met this coach. No idea what he’s like. All I know is he doesn’t like Stefani. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“I have, but he’s been right so far about Stef. Her attitude’s the whole problem.”
“Well, that’s not my problem. It’s hers, and yours.” Jay gripped the arms of his chair as if he wanted to get ready to leave, even with good food still left on his plate.
“C’mon, Jay, please, think about it,” Alben said. “Stef’s a handful, but you can do this.” Alben wiped his hands in his napkin with glee, like a mad scientist ready to spring a diabolical plan into motion. “Talk to Herman, too, before you decide.”
10.
The Blounts lived in an old, but well maintained, brick house two blocks from Gettysburg College. A net and backboard were mounted on a regulation ten-foot pole planted on the side of the driveway, not above the garage door, where other basketball families mounted their backboards. The side mount probably led to Bonita's uncanny ability to hit practice shots from odd angles.
Lorena Blount answered Jay's knock at the front door. Five-ten, willowy, her face closely resembled Bonita's, though curly black ringlets fell past her shoulders. Casually dressed in a blue sweatshirt and faded jeans, she offered Jay a soda and invited him to sit at the kitchen table.
“Herman says Stefani’s game’s much better since you came around. Come out back. I know he wants to meet you.” Lorena grabbed Jay's hand anxiously and led him to the study.
A basketball game blasted from the TV followed by shouts of “Damn it, ref!" from the room. Momentarily surprised after his wife clicked the light switch beside the door, Herman Blount blinked, got up from his couch, and turned off the TV. Six-six or six-seven, wide and broad-shouldered, with well-trimmed, close-cropped hair, he looked more like a football player than the basketball player he’d been in college.
“Mr. Siler, we meet at last.” Herman’s hand completely engulfed Jay's. “Can't thank you enough for coming.”
Like Alben Baker, the Blounts had an office with a family shrine to education and past sports glories. A framed Philadelphia 76ers jersey, number 35, hung on the wall surrounded by black and white photos of a younger Herman, and a younger Lorena. Three framed diplomas, Herman's bachelor’s degree in business, Lorena's in communications, both from Virginia Union University, and Herman’s law degree from the Penn State’s Dickinson School of Law hung beside the jersey.
"How long did you play for the Sixers?" Jay asked.
"Got invited to camp after college. Didn't play much and never got an invite again. My agent found a spot on a team in Greece, just over a year before Lorie and I had our blessed event."
He got up, walked over to his bookshelves, and picked up a picture of Bonita as a baby. Her tiny teeth were the beginnings of her celebrity smile.
"We raised her starting while I worked my way through law school," he said as he handed the phot to his guest. “Now she wants to be a lawyer.”
“Follow in your footsteps?”
“Something tells me she’ll make the WNBA as a player first.”
“If she’s that good, and gets to a top college team, she might make more than she would in the pros. Some of those name-image-likeness endorsement deals are incredible.”
Herman laughed. “She’s heard from solid schools, but no one’s offered the really big money like Caitlin and Angel got. But I’m confident that Bonita can help Loree and me in our golden years.”
Other paneled walls were lined with awards that recognized Herman’s stature as an attorney. A pile of books, some open, others marked with Post-its, rested on an end table along with several yellowed papers and photographs. Bonita’s many certificates, medals and polished silver and gold trophies topped by tiny basketballs and female figurines dominated the shelves. Bonita had accumulated more awards than any male athlete Jay ever knew in high school or college as well as his older sister.
"She's earned each and every one," Herman said. "But I gotta show you something." He moved the open living room door aside, picked two trophies off the shelf behind it, and handed over one. The inscription read: Bonita Blount, Co-MVP, Gettysburg Generals 2022-23.
"Now look at this one," he said.
Only the year on the inscription—2021-22—was different.
“Guess who’s Co-MVP. Both times.”
Jay didn’t need more than one guess. “Megan. Stefani griped about her after tryouts.”
Herman nodded. “Yeah, Megan Reynolds. She played okay, but nothing like an MVP. Bonita deserved the award for herself. ‘Co’ is an insult.”
Stan Reynold’s daughter? Jay wondered.
“Herman, he doesn't know the whole story,” Lorena interjected.
“Lorie, please,” Herman said.
Jay got more curious. “What do you mean ‘whole story’?”
Herman cleared his throat. “I asked Hughes why Bonita had to share the award. He just looked at me and said something about it being “beyond his control.” Herman rolled his eyes.
“Those trophies, are they really that important?” Jay asked, as he surveyed the Blount’s wall of fame. “Bonita’s won so many. What’s another one?”
“Those two are a joke, all about politics. That’s Hughes’ game. That’s why I hide ‘em behind the door.” Herman returned the two trophies to their place. “Coaches around here already know about Bonita. She's done camps since she was seven, summer leagues since ten. Delone Catholic offered us the moon to bring her aboard, but she didn’t want to go. She’s stayed at Gettysburg because Hughes lets her play her game. She’s also seen how good Stefani could be, if she got serious coaching.” Herman said. “Hughes doesn't coach much. He's just along for the ride. So, I hope you’ll come on board. This team can be something really special if Stef gets her ass in gear. I’m sure Kay believes that, too.”
“I’ve got another question. What’s the story about that pile?” Jay asked, pointing to the stack of books, papers and photos. “That looks interesting.”
“Oh, that’s material for a story that’s almost never been told, except maybe times when Bonita presented a history paper for school.”
“Really? And what were the papers about?”
“The Black experience in our fair town. There’s a lot that people don’t know that needs to be told. Gettysburg was more than the site of a big battle. It was also a station on the Underground Railroad. Free Blacks were taken against their will by Confederate soldiers They were enslaved, never returned home after the war was over. One of my ancestors was from here, taken to Virginia.”
“What’s the reaction when Bonita presents those papers?”
“Bonita’s a really good student. She does her research, writes and speaks quite well. She’s never gotten less than an A-minus on any paper in any class. But she gets blank looks and yawns when she presents her findings, and the teachers do nothing about it. That’s not unique to her; the smart white kids get the same looks, too, unless they’re in the popular crowd.”
“I’d think Bonita would get more respect, because she’s such a great athlete.”
“Luckily, she gets respect for her smarts. The girls’ sports rank below football and wrestling when it comes to attention in Gettysburg. That really sucks when I consider that Bonita might be the only Gettysburg senior who’s going to graduate with a D-1 athletic scholarship and endorsements. She’d win lots of academic scholarships if she wanted to do D-3 or skip playing altogether.”
“Stefani thinks she will play D-1, too.”
“Well, we’ll see. She hasn’t played enough to be noticed.”
“Herman, I must admit I never got to know Gettysburg’s history in college. I’m learning bits and pieces only now.”
“I’m an adjunct professor in Poli Sci and Africana Studies. There are quite a few untold Gettysburg stories. Lots of them are posted online, including some I wrote about my ancestors.”
“I’m sorry that I missed your classes. I double majored in Econ and Math. Didn’t take any history courses and didn’t go beyond the intro in Poli Sci.”
Herman laughed softly. “All’s forgiven, Jay. I’ve never had the time to watch D-3 ball. Had to look you up online. Seems you were pretty good when you played.”
“High praise coming from an ex-pro.”
“Well, I wasn’t in the pros too long. I’m just lucky that I had the grades to get a scholarship to a good law school.” Herman reached for a rolled-up map behind the table and opened it atop the books and photos. “Check this out,” he said. It was a street map of Gettysburg and the arterial streets leading there. Eleven X marks and notes filled the map. “Connect the Xs and you’ll see the route for a pretty compelling Black History Trail. I’m helping some people create a digital one. Hope it will lead to a Gettysburg Black History Museum someday. Maybe you can talk with the management of your bank, ask if they can help.”
“Can’t speak for the bank. I’m too low on the totem pole. Besides, will the local pols buy into this?
“Some. Parts of the trail won’t cost anything, except to make a sign or a marker. A museum? Well, that’s a lot more money, beyond the resources of the college and a small town. But I have my doubts about people like Stan Reynolds and his pals. I don’t think they believe that Black people would be good tourists.”
“I hear comments about wokeness from people who drop by the bank. But I’ve also met quite a few who really care about the history.”
Herman stood up then looked down into Jay’s eyes. “So, you’ve gotten a little taste of the politics. Lots of battles between those who care a lot and those who care a loy less.”
Jay laughed. “That’s as much as I’m likely to get. I’ll be back in Baltimore after school is out. Branch manager’s a rotational gig. Lucky for me my predecessor was liked and respected.”
Herman grinned widely and offered his hand. “Well, Jay, I’d like to ask, will you use this year, your only year in Gettysburg, to help my daughter, her team, go on the run to a title that they really deserve?”
Jay shook hands. “I’ll try.”