Post by aggierattler on Feb 18, 2015 21:49:31 GMT -5
From CBS Sports (link includes video): www.cbssports.com/collegefootball/feature/25071832/sec-integrated
SEC Integrated
In 1967, Greg Page and Nate Northington were supposed to break the SEC's football color barrier together. Only one lived to tell the story.
By Sarah M. Kazadi
February 17, 2015
CBSSports.com
The standing ovations come in waves. First, when the man is introduced to the packed theater at the Muhammad Ali Center in downtown Louisville, near where he grew up. Then, at the end of the film about the man's journey, a 45-minute voyage into a vault bolted shut for the past 40 years. Lastly, after the man takes the microphone, soft-spoken in reflecting on the magnitude of what he did.
Each time the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces showers him with applause, the man smiles, waves and nods, his lips mouthing a "Thank You" only he can hear. It all feels a little surreal, being considered a hometown hero when The Greatest Of All Time grew up a couple of blocks away from you.
The film -- Forward Progress: The Integration of SEC Football -- is the man's personal account of his contribution to American history, how in becoming the Southeastern Conference's first black football player, he changed the face of college sports in a region where team mascots dressed as plantation owners and governors pledged "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow and segregation forever!" For decades, he has been reluctant to fully share his story, discouraged by how it has been relayed. Age and the need to clear things up have led him here, speaking in this theater to people who can't stop taking photos of him. Though the evening is dedicated to his legacy, the man instinctively replaces "I" with "we." He's constantly paying homage to a man that isn't here.
'"We were there together," he says. "Even though Greg was not officially on the field, he was there."
***
The day 19-year-old Nate Northington drilled his name into history by wearing Kentucky blue and white in an SEC battle against Ole Miss, there was no parade. No trumpet horns or ceremony signaled the shattering of the status quo. It wasn't announced on the loudspeaker. Northington, initially a running back/punt returner who would later switch to safety, can't recall if there were cheers or racial slurs from the 37,000 fans at Stoll Field the first time he subbed into the game. His memory of September 30th, 1967 is spotty at best.
He does remember coach Charlie Bradshaw waking him up that morning with news that defensive end Greg Page had died. He remembers the Page family asking the university to not cancel the game. He remembers vowing to play for Greg, that day and every day. He remembers writhing in agony at the 30-yard line, clutching a bum shoulder that had ripped out of its socket yet again. He remembers sobbing in the locker room, grappling with the loss of his best friend, and the burden of letting him down.
"The pressure, the injuries, Greg's death all came crashing down on me," Northington said. "I just broke down at that time. As I lay there, making history meant nothing to me."
The game should have been a monumental step in a journey they began together. Despite growing up roughly 200 miles apart, separated by bluegrass and farmlands and life under Jim Crow laws, their shared experiences and the sport they loved put them on the same path. The field was a rare fixture in a world of steady change.
They were both in the first grade when Brown vs. Board of Education ruled segregation in public schools unconstitutional, in 1954. They witnessed the fight for civil rights -- the killings, speeches, marches, protests and more killings -- from their parents' living rooms, ears tuned to the news on the radio. Outside, they were usually at the park playing ball, even if getting there meant trekking through the more upscale "white-only" park, and being hit by rocks from white kids practicing their throwing motions. They both had older brothers who were standout athletes, providing a blueprint and constant motivation. They morphed into athletic stars of their own, known in their neighborhoods for their exploits on the diamond, the court, the track and especially the football field. They both admired Jackie Robinson but chose football, eager to see how far it would take them.
By 1965, no university in the SEC had a black player on any of its rosters. Some barely had black students. When University of Kentucky president John Oswald and Governor Ned Breathitt teamed up to desegregate the athletic program, they searched through homegrown talent for shoulders wide enough to carry the pressure.
Nate Northington signs with the University of Kentucky. (University of Kentucky archives)
Playing for the Wildcats meant living in deeply segregated Lexington, Kentucky. It meant road games in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Tennessee and Florida, violent battlegrounds in the fight for civil rights where whites lynching blacks only recently stopped being the norm. It meant facing the hatred head on.
Northington signed a letter of intent to fill this role after a fancy lunch at the governor's mansion, and left with the guarantee that he "wouldn't be alone."
"They said that they would recruit someone that would share the load, someone I could confide in and we'd support each other," Northington said. "That was very critical to me making the decision to go down there."
The University had its eyes set on Greg Page, a 6-foot-2, 200-pound All-State defender from Middlesboro. Northington and Page arrived on campus in August 1966 and quickly became best friends. The campus, comprised of an overwhelmingly white student body, often felt foreign. They rarely saw another black student in their classes, and could go days without seeing one walking around on campus.
"I'm probably being generous when I say there were 50 of us on campus, up against 15,000 students maybe," said PG Peeples, a black student entering his junior year at Kentucky when Northington and Page arrived. "You did get used to sometimes hearing the N-word, and it was usually from some fraternity house as you walk by or maybe a dorm, or a car that would drive by."
"I felt very uncomfortable at UK," said Wilbur Hackett Jr, an All-American linebacker recruited to UK after Northington and Page. "People looked at you different. We'd walk by the frat house and they would turn the dogs loose. It wasn't 24/7, but there was that separation where you felt like you weren't really welcomed on the campus."
On the field, players from northern cities -- who were accustomed to playing with and against black athletes -- were more social than others. Northington and Page couldn't play on the varsity team as freshmen, but used the year to adjust to life in Lexington and prepare for their sophomore seasons. They shared a room and a bond that seemed to grow stronger by the day.
Coach Bradshaw's coaching staff assured the pair that they would recruit more of the state's top black athletes, a promise that seemed unfulfilled by the start of the following season. As Northington and Page moved to the varsity team, Hackett and All-American fullback Houston Hogg joined the freshman team, but the majority of standout African-American football stars in the state were not recruited by UK. Frustrated, Northington and Page staged a walkout before the start of their sophomore season. They chose to return to campus only after Coach Bradshaw and Co. recommitted to the promise, a decision that would end up altering the course of their lives.
***
A pursuit drill looks the way it sounds: a chase of the ball-carrier by a defender. It's run at half-speed, and usually ends with the defender making contact with the ball-carrier but not using full force. The players don't sport full gear for this, shorts and shoulder pads are enough. It's a drill coaches normally run early in the season to get players reacquainted with the football field.
Coach Bradshaw's players ran this drill on August 22, 1967, as part of their conditioning after summer break. As the whistle blew, Greg Page collided with the ball-carrier, landed on the ground and stayed there, unable to move. Trainers eventually rushed him to the hospital, and Coach Bradshaw later announced to the team that Page had suffered a spinal injury and was now paralyzed from the neck down.
As the news spread, so did concerns. Some mentioned the NCAA investigation into Bradshaw's brutal coaching methods in 1963, which exposed the verbal and physical abuse that pushed many scholarship players to quit the team. Some thought it was too coincidental, how one of the only two black players on the team could suffer such a tragic, inexplicable injury.
Kentucky coach Charlie Bradshaw was not an easy man to play for. (University of Kentucky archives)
For Nate, the walls caved in. With his roommate gone, the bedroom bricks listened to him vent, cry and pray. He battled depression. He missed classes. Instead of providing an escape, playing football reminded him of his friend's absence. There were no team psychiatrists in 1967, no counseling for how to deal with immense loss. He couldn't escape the loneliness, the torment of sleeping in a room where his best friend used to lay.
"I could not help but break down," he said. "Every day after practice, I would sit there in that empty, lonely dorm room, thinking about Greg fighting for his life in that hospital bed."
After 38 days in the hospital, his frame having dwindled to a shell of its former self, Greg Page died. Over a thousand people filled the First Baptist Church of Middlesboro. Northington and a few others served as pallbearers. After burying Page, they were summoned back to campus for a three-hour practice.
"There was kind of a numbness going back," said linebacker Cary Shahid, "They told us to get dressed, it was nighttime and we were practicing on the stadium field. Of all the things Coach Bradshaw ever did, that was probably the worst thing he ever did."
***
The storybook ending would have Northington graduating from the University of Kentucky a few years later, overcoming the insurmountable odds to sit at the table of pioneers who already have films made about them. There would be a statue of his likeness on campus, maybe in front of Commonwealth Stadium, serving as a permanent reminder of his role in history.
"If you go back and think of all the things that could have happened and should have happened, Greg and I would have played together and been successful," Northington said, "Regardless of how it turned out, we accomplished the mission that we set out to do."
At 67 years old, Nate Northington is retired, a little heavier than his playing weight, and happy. He didn't stay at Kentucky. A few weeks after Page's death, the coaches canceled his meal ticket as punishment for missing some classes while Page was hospitalized and after his funeral. Northington would have to make "other arrangements" for his meals.
"I had no family in Lexington, and I did not feel I should have to go to someone, regardless of how much of a friend he was, to ask for meals," Northington said.
This was the final straw. Northington thought about his injured shoulder, how his coaches didn't have it surgically repaired but still forced him to play through excruciating pain. He thought about the broken promise of recruiting more black players, even after the walkout. He thought about that empty dorm room, the depression and loneliness while grieving Page's death.
Northington served as a pallbearer at Greg Page's funeral. (University of Kentucky archives)
"I never asked for a roommate at the time, but even a white roommate would have been better than being alone," he said, "It never even crossed my mind that they might have been playing Jim Crow by segregating me."
Northington decided to leave. He notified his black teammates, encouraging them to continue what he and Page started, to make sure that all of the sacrifices of the past two years weren't in vain. After getting their word, Northington left for Western Kentucky University.
There, he starred at tailback, married his high-school girlfriend and had two children by graduation in 1970. No NFL team called his name on draft night. He watched Herschel Walker, Bo Jackson and many other black athletes go on to rule the SEC. He built a career at the Louisville Metro Housing Authority, and became a minister at his local church. He had grandchildren. Life happened. Breaking the SEC's color barrier isn't the most important thing he has ever done.
Last September, he was invited back to Kentucky to address the football team for the first time since he left all those years ago. Standing in front of the group, with many young African-American players staring back at him, he told his story. He made sure they knew about Greg Page. He thanked them for continuing his legacy. During the standing ovation, he smiled and waved, slowly making his way off the field.
SEC Integrated
In 1967, Greg Page and Nate Northington were supposed to break the SEC's football color barrier together. Only one lived to tell the story.
By Sarah M. Kazadi
February 17, 2015
CBSSports.com
The standing ovations come in waves. First, when the man is introduced to the packed theater at the Muhammad Ali Center in downtown Louisville, near where he grew up. Then, at the end of the film about the man's journey, a 45-minute voyage into a vault bolted shut for the past 40 years. Lastly, after the man takes the microphone, soft-spoken in reflecting on the magnitude of what he did.
Each time the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces showers him with applause, the man smiles, waves and nods, his lips mouthing a "Thank You" only he can hear. It all feels a little surreal, being considered a hometown hero when The Greatest Of All Time grew up a couple of blocks away from you.
The film -- Forward Progress: The Integration of SEC Football -- is the man's personal account of his contribution to American history, how in becoming the Southeastern Conference's first black football player, he changed the face of college sports in a region where team mascots dressed as plantation owners and governors pledged "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow and segregation forever!" For decades, he has been reluctant to fully share his story, discouraged by how it has been relayed. Age and the need to clear things up have led him here, speaking in this theater to people who can't stop taking photos of him. Though the evening is dedicated to his legacy, the man instinctively replaces "I" with "we." He's constantly paying homage to a man that isn't here.
'"We were there together," he says. "Even though Greg was not officially on the field, he was there."
***
The day 19-year-old Nate Northington drilled his name into history by wearing Kentucky blue and white in an SEC battle against Ole Miss, there was no parade. No trumpet horns or ceremony signaled the shattering of the status quo. It wasn't announced on the loudspeaker. Northington, initially a running back/punt returner who would later switch to safety, can't recall if there were cheers or racial slurs from the 37,000 fans at Stoll Field the first time he subbed into the game. His memory of September 30th, 1967 is spotty at best.
He does remember coach Charlie Bradshaw waking him up that morning with news that defensive end Greg Page had died. He remembers the Page family asking the university to not cancel the game. He remembers vowing to play for Greg, that day and every day. He remembers writhing in agony at the 30-yard line, clutching a bum shoulder that had ripped out of its socket yet again. He remembers sobbing in the locker room, grappling with the loss of his best friend, and the burden of letting him down.
"The pressure, the injuries, Greg's death all came crashing down on me," Northington said. "I just broke down at that time. As I lay there, making history meant nothing to me."
The game should have been a monumental step in a journey they began together. Despite growing up roughly 200 miles apart, separated by bluegrass and farmlands and life under Jim Crow laws, their shared experiences and the sport they loved put them on the same path. The field was a rare fixture in a world of steady change.
They were both in the first grade when Brown vs. Board of Education ruled segregation in public schools unconstitutional, in 1954. They witnessed the fight for civil rights -- the killings, speeches, marches, protests and more killings -- from their parents' living rooms, ears tuned to the news on the radio. Outside, they were usually at the park playing ball, even if getting there meant trekking through the more upscale "white-only" park, and being hit by rocks from white kids practicing their throwing motions. They both had older brothers who were standout athletes, providing a blueprint and constant motivation. They morphed into athletic stars of their own, known in their neighborhoods for their exploits on the diamond, the court, the track and especially the football field. They both admired Jackie Robinson but chose football, eager to see how far it would take them.
By 1965, no university in the SEC had a black player on any of its rosters. Some barely had black students. When University of Kentucky president John Oswald and Governor Ned Breathitt teamed up to desegregate the athletic program, they searched through homegrown talent for shoulders wide enough to carry the pressure.
Nate Northington signs with the University of Kentucky. (University of Kentucky archives)
Playing for the Wildcats meant living in deeply segregated Lexington, Kentucky. It meant road games in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Tennessee and Florida, violent battlegrounds in the fight for civil rights where whites lynching blacks only recently stopped being the norm. It meant facing the hatred head on.
Northington signed a letter of intent to fill this role after a fancy lunch at the governor's mansion, and left with the guarantee that he "wouldn't be alone."
"They said that they would recruit someone that would share the load, someone I could confide in and we'd support each other," Northington said. "That was very critical to me making the decision to go down there."
The University had its eyes set on Greg Page, a 6-foot-2, 200-pound All-State defender from Middlesboro. Northington and Page arrived on campus in August 1966 and quickly became best friends. The campus, comprised of an overwhelmingly white student body, often felt foreign. They rarely saw another black student in their classes, and could go days without seeing one walking around on campus.
"I'm probably being generous when I say there were 50 of us on campus, up against 15,000 students maybe," said PG Peeples, a black student entering his junior year at Kentucky when Northington and Page arrived. "You did get used to sometimes hearing the N-word, and it was usually from some fraternity house as you walk by or maybe a dorm, or a car that would drive by."
"I felt very uncomfortable at UK," said Wilbur Hackett Jr, an All-American linebacker recruited to UK after Northington and Page. "People looked at you different. We'd walk by the frat house and they would turn the dogs loose. It wasn't 24/7, but there was that separation where you felt like you weren't really welcomed on the campus."
On the field, players from northern cities -- who were accustomed to playing with and against black athletes -- were more social than others. Northington and Page couldn't play on the varsity team as freshmen, but used the year to adjust to life in Lexington and prepare for their sophomore seasons. They shared a room and a bond that seemed to grow stronger by the day.
Coach Bradshaw's coaching staff assured the pair that they would recruit more of the state's top black athletes, a promise that seemed unfulfilled by the start of the following season. As Northington and Page moved to the varsity team, Hackett and All-American fullback Houston Hogg joined the freshman team, but the majority of standout African-American football stars in the state were not recruited by UK. Frustrated, Northington and Page staged a walkout before the start of their sophomore season. They chose to return to campus only after Coach Bradshaw and Co. recommitted to the promise, a decision that would end up altering the course of their lives.
***
A pursuit drill looks the way it sounds: a chase of the ball-carrier by a defender. It's run at half-speed, and usually ends with the defender making contact with the ball-carrier but not using full force. The players don't sport full gear for this, shorts and shoulder pads are enough. It's a drill coaches normally run early in the season to get players reacquainted with the football field.
Coach Bradshaw's players ran this drill on August 22, 1967, as part of their conditioning after summer break. As the whistle blew, Greg Page collided with the ball-carrier, landed on the ground and stayed there, unable to move. Trainers eventually rushed him to the hospital, and Coach Bradshaw later announced to the team that Page had suffered a spinal injury and was now paralyzed from the neck down.
As the news spread, so did concerns. Some mentioned the NCAA investigation into Bradshaw's brutal coaching methods in 1963, which exposed the verbal and physical abuse that pushed many scholarship players to quit the team. Some thought it was too coincidental, how one of the only two black players on the team could suffer such a tragic, inexplicable injury.
Kentucky coach Charlie Bradshaw was not an easy man to play for. (University of Kentucky archives)
For Nate, the walls caved in. With his roommate gone, the bedroom bricks listened to him vent, cry and pray. He battled depression. He missed classes. Instead of providing an escape, playing football reminded him of his friend's absence. There were no team psychiatrists in 1967, no counseling for how to deal with immense loss. He couldn't escape the loneliness, the torment of sleeping in a room where his best friend used to lay.
"I could not help but break down," he said. "Every day after practice, I would sit there in that empty, lonely dorm room, thinking about Greg fighting for his life in that hospital bed."
After 38 days in the hospital, his frame having dwindled to a shell of its former self, Greg Page died. Over a thousand people filled the First Baptist Church of Middlesboro. Northington and a few others served as pallbearers. After burying Page, they were summoned back to campus for a three-hour practice.
"There was kind of a numbness going back," said linebacker Cary Shahid, "They told us to get dressed, it was nighttime and we were practicing on the stadium field. Of all the things Coach Bradshaw ever did, that was probably the worst thing he ever did."
***
The storybook ending would have Northington graduating from the University of Kentucky a few years later, overcoming the insurmountable odds to sit at the table of pioneers who already have films made about them. There would be a statue of his likeness on campus, maybe in front of Commonwealth Stadium, serving as a permanent reminder of his role in history.
"If you go back and think of all the things that could have happened and should have happened, Greg and I would have played together and been successful," Northington said, "Regardless of how it turned out, we accomplished the mission that we set out to do."
At 67 years old, Nate Northington is retired, a little heavier than his playing weight, and happy. He didn't stay at Kentucky. A few weeks after Page's death, the coaches canceled his meal ticket as punishment for missing some classes while Page was hospitalized and after his funeral. Northington would have to make "other arrangements" for his meals.
"I had no family in Lexington, and I did not feel I should have to go to someone, regardless of how much of a friend he was, to ask for meals," Northington said.
This was the final straw. Northington thought about his injured shoulder, how his coaches didn't have it surgically repaired but still forced him to play through excruciating pain. He thought about the broken promise of recruiting more black players, even after the walkout. He thought about that empty dorm room, the depression and loneliness while grieving Page's death.
Northington served as a pallbearer at Greg Page's funeral. (University of Kentucky archives)
"I never asked for a roommate at the time, but even a white roommate would have been better than being alone," he said, "It never even crossed my mind that they might have been playing Jim Crow by segregating me."
Northington decided to leave. He notified his black teammates, encouraging them to continue what he and Page started, to make sure that all of the sacrifices of the past two years weren't in vain. After getting their word, Northington left for Western Kentucky University.
There, he starred at tailback, married his high-school girlfriend and had two children by graduation in 1970. No NFL team called his name on draft night. He watched Herschel Walker, Bo Jackson and many other black athletes go on to rule the SEC. He built a career at the Louisville Metro Housing Authority, and became a minister at his local church. He had grandchildren. Life happened. Breaking the SEC's color barrier isn't the most important thing he has ever done.
Last September, he was invited back to Kentucky to address the football team for the first time since he left all those years ago. Standing in front of the group, with many young African-American players staring back at him, he told his story. He made sure they knew about Greg Page. He thanked them for continuing his legacy. During the standing ovation, he smiled and waved, slowly making his way off the field.
