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My
30-year Journey to Discover Personal Leadership
By
Edward L. Johnson
In 1973, I made a decision that
would affect the rest of my life. After a
decent high school basketball career at
Around campus I saw thousands of
other lost freshmen, some still with their parents, some looking at maps, and
others walking around in a daze. I
awkwardly realized that among these thousands of students, I was different. In
Fort Worth I lived in an all Black neighborhood, went to all Black schools and
churches, and lived in a Black cultural environment. At UT in 1973, out of approximately 40,000
students, I was one of about 400 Black students, 1% of the student
population. Because of my height (6’7’’)
and race, I stood out like a sore thumb.
The culture at UT was as foreign to me as if I were from another
planet. No radio station played music
that I was used to, the food was different from what I was used to, and
everyone dressed differently than me.
Some classes had 300-500 students, with maybe two or three minority
students. I remember sitting in classes with people talking around me as if I
were not even there. No one spoke to me
or acknowledged my presence. I felt out of place, uncomfortable, and in over my
head. The only place where I felt any
comfort was on the basketball court.
I did not play basketball formally until
the ninth grade, and I was pretty awkward at first. In the tenth grade, I spurted from 6’1’’ to
6’4’’ and progressively got better. I improved due to lots of hard work and the
encouragement of my mother. She
encouraged me, put a light in our back yard so I could practice after dark, and
attended every game that I played in my high school career. Corsicana, Dallas, Midland, College Station;
it did not matter, she was there.
Knowing that, I always gave my best and tried to make her proud of me. Once
I was at UT, my mother was bursting with pride.
We flew to DFW airport after playing a Christmas tournament in Portland,
Oregon and my parents picked me up so I spend a couple of days at home. My mother and I sat in the back seat and she
hugged me all the way from the airport to our house. We were scheduled to play Texas Christian
University (in Fort Worth) on February 12th, 1974. I had not seen my mother since Christmas, and
was very excited to be playing again in front of her. On February 11th, I received a phone call
from my aunt early in the morning. She told me that my mother had died from a
heart attack.
I cannot describe the devastation I
felt. My biggest fan, my reason for
playing basketball was gone. I coped by
shutting down emotionally. I played in
the TCU game, went to the funeral the next week, and went on as if nothing had
happened. But, something had
happened. I didn’t care any more. I didn’t care about school, basketball or
myself. I just went through the
motions. In December 1977, after being
placed on scholastic probation every other semester, I was finally dismissed
from school. In a way it was a relief,
but it also was a big disappointment. I had accumulated 120 hours, with no specific
major and a GPA (grade point average) of 1.4.
I made eleven “Fs”, and flunked a class called “Social Problems –
Racism, Sexism, and Class,” not once, but twice! I was embarrassed to go home
because I felt I had let my family down.
I was angry at the world. I got a
job at a corrugated box factory, got an apartment, and became a recluse. I was really hurting, but I did not tell
anyone. At the box factory, every one played basketball at lunchtime, but I
never did. They knew I had played for UT, and kept asking me to play with
them. One day I did, and angrily tore
down the rim on a dunk. They never asked
me to play again.
After a couple of years at the box
factory, I began to wander aimlessly from job to job. I worked at a men’s
clothing store, a credit-reporting agency, a tire company, with a friend
detailing cars, and on a catering truck. After I left the catering truck job,
for the first time in my life I was without a job for a couple of months. Then
something miraculous happened. Out of the blue, I received a check in the mail
from an oil company. It seemed that my
mother was heir to some land in East Texas, where she grew up. The oil company was drilling lignite from
that land, and sending royalty checks to the descendents. It seemed to me that my mother knew I was in
trouble, and was still looking out for me.
This gave me the impetus to stop the self-pity and do something with my
life. I decided that I needed to go back to school.
I
started with Austin Community College (ACC) because it was cheaper, smaller, and
I felt like I could lift my lowered self-esteem. From 1980 until 1988 I took seven courses at
ACC, and for the first time in my collegiate history made an “A”. In October 1985, I began working at the
After
starting at the hospital, I needed time to get my finances in order. In
December of 1985, I let my phone, lights and gas get
turned off. My friend Ron helped me and
I stayed with him if it got too cold. I
knew that I had a check coming from the hospital soon, and just tried to hang
in there. This is when my father stepped
in. My father was a hard worker. He worked for Sante
Fe railroad, and cut lawns when he was not working. He never allowed me to work except to cut
lawns with him, always saying that “he” wanted to teach me how to work. He never attended any of my games, but we had
a nice house, two cars, and never went hungry.
He made sure my mother had the option of whether to work or not. He did
not want her to ride the bus like most other women in the neighborhood, and she
had a cosmetology license, which gave her the freedom to work as she pleased. I
felt like I had disappointed my father, but he was the strong silent type, and
never expressed disappointment nor pride (at least to me; I heard that he had
been bragging to his friends about me). He found out about my “blackout,” drove
to
My
father frequently asked me “when are you going to finish school?” He would then
say “I hope you finish before I die.” I
hated to hear him say that. He quit
school in the third grade to help work on his family’s farm, so he had no idea
how difficult college was.
I
had to appeal to the Dean of UT to be readmitted, and my transcript did not
look good. I had enough hours to graduate, but the 1.4 GPA was problematic. I
was instructed that I had to make “A’s” and “B’s”, or I would just be wasting
my time and money. Then there was the matter of tuition. When I was on scholarship, UT paid for
everything. Now I would have to come up
with the money myself. The Dean of
Liberal Arts took a chance on me in 1988, and I responded with an “A” and a
“B.” I continued to save up money for
school and take courses as I could afford them: six classes in 1989, five in
1990, two in 1991, and one class in 1992.
In addition to courses at UT, I took correspondence courses, courses at
ACC, and pulled my GPA up to 1.6 by 1993. I needed a break, to recharge myself,
and save more money. I had decided that
I would not get any loans because I did not want more debt when I finished
school. My father had trouble
understanding this as well, since he was willing to loan me money too. But I wanted to do it my way. I went home for Christmas in December 1995,
told my father what I was doing, and he seemed pleased. On
It took until 1998 for me to gather
myself enough to return to school. I
took two classes in 1998, two in 1999, one in 2000, one in 2001, and finished
up my Spanish requirements at ACC in 2002.
My GPA was now at 1.96 after taking a whopping 184 hours. An advisor at UT informed me that I needed
only two more classes to earn a degree in Sociology with a minor in Social Work
– but I needed to make an “A” and “B” to reach a 2.0 GPA. I was confident that I could do it. I wanted to take both courses the same
semester, but could not afford it. Then,
on a whim, I decided to ask the athletic department at UT if they could
possibly help. To my surprise and
delight, they agreed to pay for tuition and books. Once classes started, I was very anxious,
knowing that I was near the end of a 30-year odyssey for a 4-year degree. In February 2003 I noticed a tingling on my
leg. I discovered that I had shingles, a
disorder brought on by stress, among other things. It hurt like heck, but I did not miss any
classes. I carried a picture of my mother
and father with me to class, and it gave me comfort and determination. On
All the feelings of failure, shame,
and of disappointing my family and friends were lifted from my shoulders on
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About the author:
Edward L. Johnson is currently an administrative
technician at Austin State Hospital in Austin Texas, where he has worked for 18
years. As hobbies, he deejays, performs magic
tricks, and gardens. He just completed his Bachelor's degree in
Sociology/Social Work at the University of Texas.