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52 years later: a Ford Pinto, a flat tire, and poignant memories of Bear Bryant

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Bear Bryant gets a victory ride after the last game of his remarkable coaching career in December, 1982. (Photo courtesy University of Alabama)

Someone recently asked me: Who is the most unforgettable coach you have encountered in your long sports writing career?

The answer was and easy one, but requires some background. Indeed, it requires a story, which follows.

Rick Cleveland

This was back in September of 1971. I was an 18-year-old sports reporter, who could easily have passed for 13, for my hometown newspaper The Hattiesburg American. My beat was the Southern Miss football team, and they were about to play Bear Bryant’s Alabama Crimson Tide juggernaut. I was assigned to do a feature story on Bryant and was dispatched to Tuscaloosa for his weekly Tuesday press conference.

The Bear, as everyone called him then, had just unveiled a surprise Wishbone offense and stunned No. 3 Southern Cal at the Coliseum in Los Angeles, reversing a three-touchdown defeat the year before. Younger readers need to know that back in the the 1960s and 70s, Bryant was practically deity in the Deep South. The word “legendary” doesn’t begin to describe the hold he had on football fans in this part of the country. Some folks in Alabama claimed Bryant could walk on water. I was not so sure he couldn’t. I was in awe of him.

Five years into my sports writing career, I was finally making just enough money to purchase a new car — just not much of one. My 1971 Ford Pinto sounded like a sewing machine and maneuvered only slightly better. I left 30 minutes early to make the 180-mile trip with time to spare. Just across the state line, my left rear tire blew. This was during a September heat wave. I struggled and struggled to get the lug nuts off, and then had problems with the flimsy jack. So I sweated and I cussed and I got grease all over me. Then I sweated some more and cussed some more, knowing I was late and knowing I couldn’t make up time in my sewing machine.

Greasy, sweaty and quite embarrassed, I arrived at the Alabama athletic offices a few minutes after the press conference ended. Charley Thornton, Alabama’s splendid sports publicist, took one look at me and asked what happened. I told him, and added, “Mr. Thornton, if I don’t get an interview with Coach Bryant, they might fire me back home.”

Thornton said he’d see what he could do and he walked down the hallway. Then he came back and told me to follow him, and I did. We walked into this spacious office, filled with huge trophies and with a desk that seemed about as big as an end zone. Behind that mammoth desk, leaning back in his chair, eating a barbecue rib with his huge, socked feet propped up, was the man himself.

He might as well have been God.

Mr. Thornton said, “Coach said he has 10 minutes for you,” and then he left. It was Bear and me, all alone. He shoved a box of sweet-smelling ribs over and said in that deep, gravelly voice of his, “Charley tells me you’re Ace Cleveland’s boy. Is your mama as pretty as she always was? Here, son, have a rib…”

I would have choked on it. I was still hot and sweaty with a parched throat, and now I was nervous as all Hades. I said no thanks, but that I really appreciated him letting me interrupt his lunch.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “They’re mighty good. What can I do for you?”

I had prepared questions the night before, rehearsed them on my way over. In my haste, I had left all that in the sewing machine. I opened my mouth and . . . nothing came out. I froze. I choked.

Bryant waited several seconds, and then his lips curled into a smile. This is what he said: “Aw, shit, son, spit it out.”

It was as if he knew just what to say. My brain freeze ended instantly. I got a splendid interview that was more like a conversation and lasted much longer than 10 minutes. He of course told me he was really worried about Southern because they always played Alabama tough and he knew his boys might be cocky after winning at Southern Cal. He made USM, an average team at best, sound like the Green Bay Packers.

After a while, the great man asked, “Are you in a hurry to get back to Hattiesburg? Why don’t you come out to practice with me?” And then he drove us out to practice in his golf cart. And then he took me up on his tower with him. I noticed several veteran Alabama writers, who had covered the Tide for years, down below. I am pretty sure they were glaring up at me thinking, “Who the hell is that greasy little kid?”

Bear Bryant in his customary pre-game position: Leaning on a goal post. (Photo courtesy University of Alabama)

After a while, I told Coach Bryant I really did have to go home and get to work. He told me to hand him my notebook, and then he wrote down a man’s name and the tire store where he worked. “Tell Joe I sent you,” he said. And so I did. Joe put on a new tire and wouldn’t let me pay. “If Coach Bryant sent you, the tire’s on us,” the guy said.

Five days later, I returned to Tuscaloosa — in somebody else’s car — and watched Bryant’s boys dismantle Southern Miss 42 to 6. It could have been 70 to nothing had Bryant not been such a benevolent gentleman. I covered many more of Bryant’s games over the years, games against Ole Miss, State and Southern Miss and also in bowl games that won national championships. I was standing right next to Bryant at his press conference after the 1979 Sugar Bowl when No. 2 Bama defeated No. 1 Penn State 14-7 for the national championship. Bill Lumpkin, a longtime Birmingham sports writer, asked Bryant how close a Penn State running back came to scoring a game-tying fourth quarter touchdown. Answered Bryant, smiling and holding his index finger and his thumb about an inch apart, “Bill, he was about as close as the length of your ying-yang.”

I also covered Bear’s last game at the Liberty Bowl in December of 1982, silently pulling hard for the Crimson Tide to beat Illinois, which they did. And I covered his funeral a month later. Trust me, presidents and kings have been buried with less fanfare. I, as hundreds of others, cried.

Many believe Bear Bryant was the greatest coach ever. I agree. I know this for certain: Nearly 52 years later, he remains my all-time favorite. 

This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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On this day in 1939

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mississippitoday.org – Jerry Mitchell – 2025-01-05 07:00:00

Jan. 5, 1939 

The documentary on Pauli Murray was released in 2021. Credit: Courtesy of Amazon Studios

Pauli Murray applied to the University of North Carolina law school, sparking white outrage across the state. 

“The days immediately following the first press stories were anxious ones for me,” she recalled. “I had touched the raw nerve of white supremacy in the South.” 

A year later, she was jailed twice in Virginia for refusing to give her seat on a Greyhound bus. She graduated first in her class at Howard University School of Law, but Harvard University wouldn’t accept her because of her gender. (Harvard didn’t admit women until 1950.) Instead, she became the first Black student to receive Yale Law School’s most advanced degree. 

In 1942, she helped George Houser, James Farmer and Bayard Rustin form the Congress of Racial Equality, known as CORE. Four years later, she became a deputy attorney general in California. Thurgood Marshall described her 1951 book, “States’ Laws on Race and Color,” as the “bible” for civil rights lawyers. 

A year later, she lost her post at Cornell University because of McCarthyism. She left her law career to work on her writing at MacDowell Colony, a haven for artists and writers in New Hampshire, where she worked on her first memoir alongside James Baldwin. 

“Writing is my catharsis,” she said in an interview. “It saved my sanity. But you cannot sustain anger for years and years. It will kill you.” 

She researched her ancestry. “If you call me Black, it’s ridiculous physiologically, isn’t it? I’m probably 5/8 white, 2/8 Negro — repeat American Negro — and 1/8 American Indian,” she said. “I began years before Alex Haley did. I’m always ahead of my time.” 

She also penned a book of poems, “Dark Testament,” writing the words, “Hope is a song in a weary throat.” 

During her time as a professor in Ghana in the early 1960s, she began to accept that ancestry, she said. 

“The difficulty is coming to terms with a mixed ancestry in a racist culture,” she said.

She said she didn’t consider her experience unique. 

“I don’t believe that, ‘You came over in chains so how can you feel American?’ That’s poppycock. Thousands are just like me. In fact I probably feel more American than many whites. I just want this country to live up to its billing.” 

After returning from Africa, President Kennedy appointed her to his Committee on Civil and Political Rights. She worked with Martin Luther King Jr. and other top civil rights leaders and took part in the 1963 March on Washington. But she remained critical of “the blatant disparity between the major role which (Black) women have played and are playing in the crucial grass-roots levels of our struggle and the minor role of leadership they have been assigned in the national policy-making decisions.” 

She helped found the National Organization of Women. In 1977, she became the first Black woman to serve as an Episcopal priest. 

“Being a priest is the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she said. “The first 48 hours were the most difficult of my life. I found myself on the receiving end of tremendous human problems I didn’t know how to handle.” 

She rejected the idea that she should slow down. “We shouldn’t stop growing ‘til our last breath,” she said. She died eight years later, and in 2012, the Episcopal church named her as a saint. 

In 2021, a documentary on Murray was released, using her own voice and words as narration. The documentary also includes an interview with law professor Anita Hill. 

Even though Murray knew that the odds were often against her success, she kept fighting for what she believed was right,” Hill said. “It takes a lot of courage to be hopeful.”

This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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Trump, lauded by some as a free speech advocate, files a barrage of lawsuits against news outlets

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mississippitoday.org – Bobby Harrison – 2025-01-05 06:00:00

For many there is no more cherished right enshrined in the U.S. Constitution than the freedom of speech and, of course, its accompanying freedom of the press.

During the November election cycle, various people like billionaire Elon Musk and podcaster Joe Rogan spoke of the importance of free speech. Both cited part of their reasoning for supporting Donald Trump was his commitment to free speech.

Those and many other self-professed free speech proponents are noticeably quiet as Trump works to curtail freedom of speech to a degree that perhaps has never been seen in this country.

Trump, as part of a broad legal attack on the American press, is suing the Des Moines Register because the newspaper published a poll showing he was trailing Democratic Vice President Kamala Harris a few days before the November election. The president-elect also is suing longtime pollster Ann Selzer, whose poll the newspaper published. Granted, the Selzer poll of Iowa voters was way off, but because a poll is wrong has never been viewed as a reason to sue a news outlet that chooses to run it.

And ABC, one of the nation’s legacy broadcast networks, has already settled with Trump another lawsuit that many believe the network eventually would have won.

Historians and journalism advocates view Trump’s Des Moines Register lawsuit, ABC lawsuit and others as an effort to curtail press freedom. The lawsuits, they argue, create a fear of reporting on powerful people with deep pockets, and they force news outlets to expend large sums of money to defend lawsuits that have in many cases been viewed as frivolous.

A deeper expressed fear is that the Trump lawsuits are designed to convince a U.S. Supreme Court loaded with Trump sympathizers to curtail the press freedoms that this country has long enjoyed.

It is important to remember that at one time in the nation’s history, newspapers were largely extensions of the political parties and particular politicians — something that is no longer the case for most mainstream or legacy media outlets.

The late James Baughman, the late mass communications historian at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, said in a 2011 Center for Journalism Ethics speech, “Papers in opposition to Andrew Jackson in 1828 attacked him for marrying a woman before her divorce had been finalized. He was the violator of marital virtue, a seducer. Jackson, one paper declared, ‘tore from a husband the wife of his bosom.’ Pro-Jackson newspapers insisted on the general’s innocence and accused his critics of violating his privacy. There was no objective, middle ground.”

Baughman pointed out that in 1884, the Los Angeles Times did not like that Democrat Grover Cleveland had won the presidency, so the paper “simply failed to report this unhappy result for several days.”

The history of American media, however, may mean little to Trump. He is suing the Pulitzer Prize committee for reaffirming the coveted award to The New York Times and Washington Post for their reporting of Trump’s campaign ties with Russia during the 2016 campaign. He is also suing CBS and its news show 60 Minutes for how an interview with Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris was edited.

There are, of course, countless examples of Fox News and other Trump-friendly television networks editing clips of interviews or news segments in ways that could be seen as favorable to Trump. Fox has said simply the edits were made for the sake of brevity. Advocates of press freedom would argue the practice is Fox’s guaranteed legal right, though they may disagree with the conservative outlets’ decisions in terms of journalism ethics.

Fox did pay a record $787 million to Dominion, a voting machine manufacturer, because of allegations aired on the network that their machines changed votes to favor Joe Biden in the 2020 election. The lawsuit was based on financial harm incurred by Dominion as a result of the false reports.

Many of those allegations were made not by Fox employees, but by Trump supporters who were network guests. Emails obtained during the lawsuit reveal that the Fox staff did not believe the unfounded allegations but repeatedly allowed the Trump allies to make them.

The so-called legacy media, including Fox in this instance, have long been legally responsible for what other people say on their news outlets. A newspaper, for instance, can be held liable for making false claims about a person in a letter to the editor it publishes.

Free speech, of course, does not mean people or news outlets cannot face consequences for what they say. A company could choose to fire an employee for offensive speech, and outlets are certainly not obligated to publish what they view as offensive or false claims.

But this latest barrage of lawsuits from Trump, that so-called advocate of free speech, have many experts questioning how far the long-held American free speech principles could be stretched.

This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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On this day in 1965

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mississippitoday.org – Jerry Mitchell – 2025-01-04 07:00:00

Jan. 4, 1965 

MFDP protesters outside the U.S. Capitol.

Five busloads of Black Mississippians arrived at the U.S. Capitol to challenge the seating of Mississippi’s all-white congressional delegation. 

Those in charge in Washington initially had little sympathy because the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party had rejected the compromise at the 1964 Democratic National Convention, said SNCC leader Michael Thelwell. 

“We were absolutely persona non grata and the pariahs of beltway politics,” he said.

But their cause soon found some support on the floor of Congress when 149 members sided with them. Suddenly, the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party could question the state’s top leaders. Suddenly, these white politicians, the most powerful people in Mississippi, found themselves using courtesy titles toward Black Americans — something they had refused to do since slavery ended. 

Although those in Congress eventually took their seats, “it shook them,” recalled SNCC leader Victoria Gray. “That vote just really turned things upside down.”

This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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