An Athlete Dies Old

Sadly, Walker Lindsay did not die like a hero, like the star he had once been. When the end came, he was running, which was what he had always done. But his thighs had grown thick in the two years since his last season. They no longer pumped like powerful black pistons as they had back in 1970, when Walker was the best fullback in Delaware County. That early Sunday morning, when the stakes seemed greater than ever before, his legs betrayed him, getting in each other's way as they strained against the seams of pants grown tight.

As he ran, his feet pounded against asphalt, not astroturf, and the roar was not from the throats of the adoring thousands who used to watch him carry a football, shoot a basketball, and hit a baseball, but from the barrel of a gun, a .357 Magnum in the hands of an off-duty Sky Marshall.

The bullet entered at the back of the neck, and exited through the right cheek. An hour later, Walker Lindsay was dead--no longer "a representative of Nether Providence High School," as the coaches had always reminded him that he was, but only one more dead black criminal, caught committing yet another felony while awaiting trial.

A lot of people, once "fans" of Walker's, breathed relief. Walker wouldn't have wanted to live paralyzed, they said, and he wouldn't have wanted to go to jail. Theirs was no grief for "a fine young life nipped in the bud" or "a good boy who made one mistake." Walker, after all, was a bad boy; he had always frightened teachers and young girls, and he had made too many mistakes on the order of assault and battery and burglary. They didn't read "To an Athlete Dying Young" at his funeral, the ode that is so customary at funerals for 20-year-olds, athletes or not. No, they concluded, this was the only way it could have ended.

The headline announcing Walker's death was the first most of these people had heard of Walker since the fall of 1970, his senior year. Then he had been in the newspapers weekly as Captain and Most Valuable Player of what was called by many "The Best Damn Football Team in Nether Providence History." The Bulldogs went undefeated that year, methodically demolishing most opponents by 40 or 50 points in dull games. One sportswriter wrote that it was not the talent of any one or two or ten individuals that made NPHS the scourge of Philadelphia and Delaware so much as it was the inspired comradery. In retrospect, talent probably had a lot more to do with it, but at the time, the belief in the transcendent spirit of the team over a nine-game season was a comfortable notion.

There had been some concern at the beginning of summer practice when one of the black sophomores refused to have his head shaved, as every sophomore Bulldog in memory had. (It would take too long to grow back, he pleaded.) And no one was pleased when the ten blacks on the team, led by Walker, asked if they could live in a separate "Soul Cabin" at football camp. (This put Coach McFadden in the awkward position of having to, upon immediate arrival, assign living quarters, "This cabin for seniors, those two for sophomores and juniors, and that one in back...")

But the sophomore looked like a star, and the Soul Cabin became the social center for the whole team throughout the one week ordeal. An impassioned Walker later said in a speech, "We sweated together. We slept under the same roof. We know each other." Some strong bonds were forged during the week of conditioning in the Poconos and from those bonds came a successful season. When it was over, there were tears, speeches, exchanges of gifts, and pacts of lifelong friendship. The next fall, NP went undefeated again, and "The Best Damn Team" was largely forgotten.

For most of the 1970 season, and for four others before that, I blocked and Walker ran. He was overpowering--the explosive center of the pregame huddled mass of players after their silent walk from the locker room. They were tuned to him, pressing forward to hear, blood rising with his.

Walker always began in a low, urgent voice, saying how we had worked hard for this game and how we deserved it and how it would all go to waste if we let it slip away. His volume would accelerate as he talked; fists would clench, adrenalin flowed fast. The sixty would become one, like an awesome animal flanking Walker in the center. At the climax came the question in a scream, "Are you ready?", and the animal's energy roar in response. This roar was what the fans waited for, the cue to rise and cheer for the victory to come. And for the players, it meant release from Walker's spell. It was this grip on the team's emotions more than anything else, more than even his tackling or scoring that made him our Most Valuable Player.

That last season, Walker's pep talks were more determined than ever. For this was to be his year, his season of redemption, the conclusion of a career of empty promise. When Walker entered Junior High School, he was 5'9", 180 pounds, fast and tough. He was touted as a future college star, even a professional. But Walker never grew, and other athletes, though not as tough, became bigger and faster, and Walker began to get injured when he tried to run over defenders. He was still the best fullback in a tough spot, but the talk of a pro career died away. Eventually, another black running back that does have a shot at the pros moved into the township and Walker began blocking for him. Walker's star had burnt out; momentum alone kept him going.

By his junior year, it was clear that Walker's football could take him no further than the local teacher's college; and in basketball, he sat on a bench for the first time in his life. His temper grew short, he drifted away from school activities, and he began to get in trouble for skipping classes. Teachers said he was bright and a natural leader, but that he had "a motivation problem."

But that last season Walker was determined to stay out of trouble, to make that last season at Nether Providence his best. As in seasons past, players from all-white opponent teams muttered to him in pile-ups, "Like them licks, nigger." But in the fall of 1970, Walker only laughed and said, "Look at the scoreboard, mo' fo'." We were behind only once that entire season, and then by only two points for less than two minutes, so his response flowed freely. In the fourth game of the season, it was I, ordinarily the team's voice of reason, that was fighting, and it was Walker who pulled me away, disarming me with his laughter and a reminder that the score was 47-8.

The season ended on an away field. I embraced two of the coaches, but solemnly shook hands with a limping, crying Walker. We carried Coach McFadden off the field, but it was too far to the buses, so we put him down. By the time the buses brought us back to our school, the season was already stale to us. It seemed a little forced when we threw Coach McFadden into the showers.

After the season, Walker and I went our separate ways. We ran an informal attempt to stop the racial brawls that were bringing guns and knives into the school, but little came of it. That was the last I really saw of him. As it turned out Walker barely passed, but he did manage to get into that teacher's college. And there he did play a little football, but at Thanksgiving of my college freshman year, I heard he had quit to take a part-time job. It was hard for me to visualize Walker not playing ball, and I wasn't surprised when a few months later, I heard he had dropped out of school to work full-time.

I saw him in the Spring, and he told me that he was just getting a little money together before going back to school. Mainly, though, we compared the 1971 undefeated team with our version, and speculated on how great it would be if "all the guys" could get back together some time, if only for a party like those that had occurred every weekend during the fall of 1970. But even those parties were given less frequently after loose and laughing Walker had turned mean one night when a white commented on his white dancing partner.

Walker didn't go back to school. He continued working instead, and he continued to get in fights like the one that night at the party. Nevertheless, I was stunned this March when I found out that he had been arrested for assaulting a young woman in an apartment and stealing $12.

Apparently, so was Walker. He was angered by the manner of his arrest, especially the identification where he was handcuffed in the line-up. He explained that he had a full-time job, and that the next day was payday. Why, he asked them, would he rob a woman of twelve dollars. They shook their heads, failing to understand this young black. Why, they asked him, did he rob a woman of twelve dollars.

I saw Walker while he was awaiting trial, and he told me he expected to be acquitted. They had a good idea of who really did it, he said. It was a heroin addict who had left for the South, someone who looked a lot like Walker. He told me he had been forced to give up his job after the arrest, but that he planned to go back to school this September. He was giving up football. He wanted to teach and coach at Nether Providence.

Shortly after I got to Cambridge for summer school, I heard from home that Walker had been convicted, but his attorney was appealing the case. A few days later, I received a call telling me he had been killed, caught breaking into an apartment and shot running away. Another assault had been pinned on him, and after his death, a resident of the apartments accused him of having raped her. The local paper identified him as "The former star athlete."

Now, I doubt that the team can ever get together again. Our MVP is dead, an old washed-up athlete at 20. And just, like George Allen, as we used to think that "Life is like football...," it is clear that things can never again be as simple as they were that fall. Then the goals were only 100 yards distant, the rules and demands exacting and unwavering. But most important that fall we always won. It is easier to follow the rules when you are a winner.

I don't know if we can win again at all either. The stakes are much greater, and we can't afford to lose. So we play for ties, for kisses from our sister. No game is as crucial as Walker's last; and many of his teammates are only going through the motions now. It is as if those unlucky athletes who fail to die young, are fated to be so unlucky.