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Q&A with Neftalie Williams, Research Director of The African American Experience in Major League Baseball Project

Originally posted on Sport in American History:

In early October I read an article in the Los Angeles Times about a new oral history project aimed at collecting and preserving the stories of African Americans in Major League Baseball. The project was launched in 2013 by Dr. Daniel Durbin, the Director of the Annenberg Institute of Sport, Media and Society (AISMS) at the University of Southern California. Neftalie Williams, joined the project last September, and currently serves as its Research Director.

Because the project will be of great interest to sport historians, I recently reached out to Williams to learn more. Williams was eager to share his experiences with the project and answer my questions. He was excited to share its progress and goals with our community, particularly after reading Josh Howard’s excellent piece on the Pittsburgh Pirates’ removal of their Negro League heritage from PNC Park. On Tuesday afternoon, we chatted about his experiences…

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John Carlos and My Charmed Academic Life

I’ve lived something of a charmed academic life. I’ve been incredibly fortunate and lucky in the opportunities I’ve had. My advisors at every level have been top-notch and selfless. Incredibly encouraging and passionate about their student’s success. The institutions have been equally giving, even if no one has heard of my undergraduate institution or I get funny looks when I say my master’s degree is from Nevada.

Tonight I was reminded of this charmed life when I met 1968 Olympic 200m bronze medalist, John Carlos. The Black Cultural Center here at Purdue sponsored the talk. Carlos chose to speak here, instead of attend the track and field hall of fame induction ceremony. His Grandson is a current Purdue student (and a fraternity brother of one of my students this semester). You could tell that this familial connection was important to Carlos. So was talking to a young crowd. He shared a lot of personal, family stories. He spoke little of his athletic career or Olympic moment, and instead encouraged us to stand up for what is right, to not be fooled by the distractions of mass media, and reminded us that we can’t go back in time to change our choices. This last point stems from his experience in 1968.

A major theme of his talk was sacrifice in the face of criticism. Any movement, any major achievement, requires sacrifice. And that sacrifice is not momentary. It’s often lifelong. Sometimes it is a stigma, sometimes it’s mistreatment, other times it’s delayed gratification. Carlos experienced bits and pieces of all of theses. Yet, he’s extremely proud of his actions and statements. He knew he was right — and firmly believes that what’s right never changes. His actions were misunderstood — and continue to be — and opposed by many then, though now they’re largely celebrated. People thought he was advocating Black Power, but according to Carlos, “the only black power was my black ass running down that track.”

Narratives, however, painted him as radical and anti-American. This confusion has often overshadowed the Olympic Project for Human Rights and his own commitment to the larger civil rights movement. He laughs when people trying to re-write that history, but kindly explains what he was and continues to be about, encouraging them to join his cause.

Encouraging people to join his cause — the cause for civil and human rights — is important, increasingly so, he argues. This is our life, our history, and our time to deal with what’s right and wrong, he said. We can’t keep waiting for “more time” because it will never come. We’ve got to wake up and look beyond the media narratives that discounted him for so long, and continue to ignore or move past serious social ills, and act. Indeed, he is particularly worried and concerned about the future given the rise of police violence and continued systemic inequality.


John Carlos and Tommie Smith’s iconic salute on the 200m medal stand at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics

The talk was humorous, heartfelt, and inspiring. It was clear that it came from his soul. Carlos wants young people to continue the fight, think critically about the world they live in, and work to make a difference. One line from early in his talk to this effect particularly struck me. We have such a “fear of offending our oppressors” he said, but we must not let it limit our right to express ourselves and stand up for what is right. In the end, that is his message to all of us and the way he has tried to live his life.

Hearing those words from Carlos meant so much to me. I’ve long looked up to him and Tommie Smith. I had the iconic poster of the two of them on the medal stand at the 1968 Olympics on the wall of my dorm room my freshman year. I was a track athlete and loved their bravery, but back then I don’t think I ever fully understood what it really meant. That image, however, was one of my first introductions into the connections of history and sport.


John Carlos and I at Purdue University, October 2015.

Now, here I am tonight, sharing the story that I heard firsthand from a man I looked up for most of my adolescent life. I even had my photo taken with him on stage after the event. I live a charmed life.

What’s insane about all of this is, this isn’t the first time I have met one of my heroes. In the summer of 2010 I met 1964 Olympic 10,000m Gold Medalist Billy Mills for the first time. Mills was the main subject of my master’s thesis. That summer, I was in Lawrence doing research on him at KU and Haskell that summer, when I serendipitously learned he was in town and giving a free public talk. I already had a mutual friend with Mills — a fellow Baker University track alum, Mark Misch — who promised to introduce us, but providence intervened.


Billy Mills and I at the Haskell Cultural Center, June 2010.

Meeting him meant the world to me. I grew up in Kansas, running cross country and track. The state cross country meet for class 5A and 6A schools is annually held at the University of Kansas’ Rim Rock Farm. The course is decorated with silhouettes of Kansas’ most famous runners and many of its features — such as hills, curves, and bridges — are named for them. The final hill of the course bares his name. It’s called the Billy Mills Ascent. It was hell. A near 400m hill that separated you from the sprint. Your legs burned and ached as you pushed yourself to the summit, where you could see the finish line 400m away. The hill tested your resolve and endurance, and only the best prepared dared to attempt a final kick after it. In high school we trained all year with that hill in mind. Every Wednesday my team did hill repeats until our cool down was nothing more than a walk/job. That hill was on our minds. We knew it by name. We knew what it meant — perseverance, toughness, and survival. What today, in the traditional of Gerald Vizenor, you might call survivance. It was an ode to both Billy Mills’ championship and his struggle.

Mills and I met again 6 months later, this time at his house in Sacramento. He generously invited me to spent a cold January day with him and his wife, Patricia. I came away with over 6-hours of recording as we chatted about his life, pre-and-post ’64. It was a remarkably engaging and intimate conversation. He was so open and giving, willing to move beyond his usual rote and rehearsed talk. Without the generosity, my master’s thesis — and probably my academic career — would not have been possible.

My thesis was the first major study of Billy Mills. I connected his life to Jim Thorpe and evolving federal Indian policy to describe and interpret the conditions that framed his life and connect his impact to that larger history.  When I finished my thesis that summer, I shipped him a bound copy. Both he and Pat read it. They loved it and asked about getting more copies, prompting discussions about the future of the project.


Billy Mills, Purdue Native American Students, and I at Purdue University, October 2014.

Since then we’ve stayed in touch, mostly through Facebook, and become friends. They visited Purdue last fall and requested that I be invited to have lunch with them.  They wanted to catch up, and continue our conversation from years ago. It was another charmed connection. Another surreal moment with one of my heroes.

In addition to meeting these sporting heroes, I’ve also had the chance to meet a variety of inspiring academics. Last year I had tea with Michale Oriard — the eminent scholar of football. We sat and talked for nearly two hours about his books (which are required reading for any football scholar), my research, our thoughts on higher education, and more. Oriard played football at Notre Dame and later for the Kansas City Chiefs — my hometown NFL team. So, of course, Kansas City and barbecue was yet another topic. A similar moment occurred last week, when I was invited to have lunch with Bruce Schulman, a leading political historian from Boston University. Bruce was friendly and encouraging. He enjoyed hearing about my dissertation and, though it was a brief conversation, offered some constructive thoughts on the topic.

Perhaps I’m making too much of these moments. Maybe I need to let go of my inner fanboy. But whenever I think of them — and my insane ESPN appearance in August — I can’t but help wonder if I am living a dream. Meeting my heroes, hearing them share their stories, becoming friends with them, and then sharing those stories in my own classroom and publications is more than I ever imagined. I knew at an early age I wanted to study history. I stumbled into the history of sports in undergrad, but never knew any of this was possible.

These stories mean so much to me, not only because they’re dreams come true, but also because this journey has and continues to be incredibly hard. Writing is tough work. Teaching is at times exhausting. Together, they sometimes seem impossible. I have a lot of moments of self-doubt. There are days where it is damn hard to keep going. It is during these times, when I’m struggling to push through the distractions, that I reflect on all of these personal moments. They remind me that I can keep going. That I’ve been successful. That I’ve been put in this place for a reason.  One of the freakiest reminders is the progression of area codes from institution to institution. I completed my BA and MLA in 785, my MA in 775, and am doing my doctoral work in 765. It’s silly, I know. It’s probably meaningless, but it sure feels like I sign. It helps me know that I am where I supposed to be and doing what I’m supposed to be doing. It hints that maybe this plan isn’t all mine. After all, I’m living a charmed life. I have already been given a lifetime of unreal opportunities. With a little more hard work, who knows what else will come my way.

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Additional thoughts on the “Royals vs. Mets: Champions of the Expansion Era”

Andrew McGregor:

I’m back writing about the Royals at Sport in American History ahead of the World Series. It is the first World Series featuring 2 expansion teams. I explore what that means and how baseball has changed during its period of relocation and expansion. I also suggest that the Mets and Royals are the best symbols of this era.

Missing from my post is a discussion of race. As Dave Zirin of The Nation points out, because both teams were founded in the expansion era (after 1961), they were never segregated or all-white. The issue of integration is yet another change in baseball in the postwar era that continued on into the expansion era. With this in mind, you can further “read” the expansion era as one of democratic opportunity — more teams, more playoffs, integration, etc. That this is the first World Series without a legacy of segregation highlights progress and change in baseball, but it also shows how recent segregation was, how its legacy permeates baseball, and few of our beloved cultural institutions were innocent. The Mets and Royals are more innocent by the fact of their expansion births, but they too contribute to current racial issues in baseball, such as the under-representation of minority coaches, managers, and administrators. Like the the expansion era, the Mets and Royals represent more democratic opportunities, but full equality remains a dream of the future.

Originally posted on Sport in American History:

By Andrew McGregor

Tomorrow night the 2015 World Series begins with the Kansas City Royals hosting the New York Mets. For the first time in its 111 year history, this year’s World Series features two expansion teams. While for most baseball fans this is mostly a meaningless footnotes, it’s a reminder of how much the professional sports landscape has changed over the last 50+ years.

While on the surface, Kansas City and New York seem like opposites, their franchise histories indicate they’re actually quite similar. The Royals and Mets characterize a distinct era in baseball history characterized by relocation and expansion. Both teams were founded to appease critics and preserve MLB’s status quo. They’ve also been two of the most successful expansion teams in the postseason.

Relocation and Expansion

During the 1950s, Major League Baseball (MLB) had a relatively small geographic footprint. The 16 major league teams were located…

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Statues & Pictures: Thinking Through Commemoration at PNC

Today at Sport in American HistoryJosh Howard has an excellent post discussing the Pirates removal of statues celebrating Negro League’s legends from Legacy Square at PNC Park. You should go read it! The post provides a nice overview of the Pirates history honoring the Negro Leagues and the displays at Legacy Square. But what I found most interesting was a small comment hidden near the bottom of the post  about “passive commemoration.”

The banners as a form of passive commemoration are fine, but they are absolutely no substitution for the active interpretation of the original Legacy Square space.

This line highlights the important of understanding the best practices of public history. While Josh doesn’t fully explain what he means by explaining the difference between passive commemoration and active interpretation in the post, he is absolutely right on the profound difference it makes for visitors to Legacy Square. And I think, noting these difference might hint at America’s unwillingness to talk about things like race and the color line.

Legacy Park with the statues.

Legacy Square with the statues.

It may not seem like much of a difference having banners with pictures and names that honor players instead of full-size statues, but it is. Statues promote what I would call “active commemoration” (because I don’t know think they can actively interpret by themselves) because they force visitors to, almost literally, face the past. A young child walking through Legacy Square would see the large statues and ask questions, such as: Who are they? Why are they there? What are their names/stories? The same child may not even notice the new banners or (be able to) read the names on them.

Similarly, statues offer a great photo opportunity for fans and tourists. I love to visit new ballparks, historic sites, etc. I tend to take a lot of photos and share them with my friends on Facebook or Instagram. I don’t think I’ve taken a photo of a banner. Taking pictures is sometimes a silly act, especially if you strike a pose interacting with them like many of us do. But, snapping photos serves some important purposes. First, it simply highlights the fact that they are noticed. Being noticed is important, it means someone has read the statue and feels that it is “cool” or “significant” enough to remember and possible share. Sharing is where pictures become more significant, I think. When I take a picture and share it with my friends, I am extending the commemoration of the players. If they write captions for the photos (I’m notorious for my long, witty captions on Facebook), then they’re also helping to interpret and prompt others to learn a bit more. This could also potentially start conversations about the players and the Negro Leagues.

Legacy Park without the statues.

Legacy Square without the statues.

Taking pictures, asking questions, and having these conversations — both on site, at home, or on social media — is an important part of remembering and honoring these players. It is an important part of coming to grips with our racist past, too. 

Active commemoration entices us to take notice and engage. As I explained above statues are great at this. Passive commemoration, such as the new banners, let s visitors off easy. Sure, the team is still honoring the players. Fans can still read the names and think about their careers and impact on the game, but it’s not something that their confronted with. You have to go looking for it. Sadly, this passivity is how many Americans treat issues of race. It’s something that they’ve learned about — slavery, the Civil War, and Civil Rights — that is now history. On a few occasions we celebrate major figures or milestones, but largely that history is absent from our daily lives unless we look for it. Few baseball fans are going to look for it. And if they do find it, because of the changes in Pittsburgh, the imposing size and humanness of it will be absent.

Visting Lambeau Field: Reflections on Experiencing History at and in Stadiums

Yesterday I went on a pilgrimage to Lambeau Field to watch the Chiefs and Packers play on Monday Night Football. Lambeau Field is probably the only true NFL mecca (unlike MLB which has a handful). It was a fun trip, even if Kansas City lost. The atmosphere was interesting — it felt more like a college game though with a decidedly older crowd. The stadium itself, while large, felt less intimidating than newer ones, probably because of its large lower bowl, while makes it less steep and towering.


Throughout the trip, I found it difficult to divorce myself from viewing things with a critical perspective. The violence of the game on the field — there were a couple of big hits — and the celebration of the 50th anniversary of Super Bowl I with several of the former player in attendance, forced me to consider the impact on individual players. I wondered what today’s champions would look like in 50 years. How many will be alive? Their size combined with the speed and the trauma of the game today will undoubtedly make aging more difficult for them, even if they have more modern technology.

IMG_0990The Hall of Fame also was an interesting look into both the past and how it is presented to fans (most of whom are extreme partisans). I was impressed with the amount of ‘stuff’ they had on display. Too many halls of fame rely on videos, text panels, and photos, rather than tactile and 3-dimensional artifacts. To be sure, this requires smart collecting and preservation, but, man, does it make a difference for showing the reality of change over time. I would have loved to see them take it one step further and use these items to show connections to the present, perhaps using different type of football equipment to show the advancement of technology and safety alongside the increased size and speed of players. Combined, these narratives could offer commentary on how football has become more safe and yet more dangerous using material culture.

IMG_0992Making a trip like this also requires reflecting on the purpose. Some of the folks I went with are die-hard Packers fans. To them visiting Lambeau is ritual, it’s game day. Others, myself included, saw it as a place to be experienced for its history and significance. It’s something on their bucket list. The game is and was important (I wouldn’t have gone if they weren’t playing Kansas City), but one of the guys went regardless of teams just to experience it. The history of the stadium, the mystique of Monday Night, and the atmosphere of an NFL game. Here you see a blending of sports and cultural heritage tourism. You see ideas about quintessential American experiences as sports fans that are tied to larger notions of a participatory involvement in American culture. Everyone of us viewed ourselves as a stakeholder in the cultural experience — we’re all football fans, we’re all americans, and we could all afford the experience. Some of us were more closely tied to the team(s) but regardless, we viewed Lambeau and Green Bay as culturally significant. We wanted to learn and experience its history and join in the creation of more.

The Packers signify this perhaps more than other clubs, because of the collective nature of its ownership structure, but even beyond that, these pilgrimages, or bucket list trips, hint at our obsession with authentic and democratic cultural experiences. Sports add a further dimension to this, I think, because we are visiting a historic sites and learning history at the same time as we are coming together to witness history. This is precisely what makes historic stadiums such powerful experiences. They tie the past and present, interweaving personal and collective narratives, and offering the possibility that you might witness the extraordinary. The opportunity for you to be present for not just for the making of new history but the next culturally reverberating moment. Traditional museums and historic offer connections to the past and present, but can’t always guarantee the living history experience, where you become a part of that place’s history. For many, this opportunity, this promise, and this excitement to be a witness to ‘new’ history unfolding before them, is what makes them feel alive.

WIMG_1038ithin this critical frame of mind, I kept coming back to my own work and recent conversations I’ve been having surrounding ongoing projects. I’ve been pondering ideas about sports history, public history, heritage, and teaching. Thinking about and asking question such as: what kind of narratives resonate, what kind of techniques work, what are students as well as the general public’s motivating factors for learning and experiencing these stories. Visiting Green Bay with a group of folks — two of them I met for the first time — helped me see some of these things in action.

Thinking forward, and about old stadiums I will never experience and games I’ll never see, I wonder how or if we can salvage, rescue, or reproduce this type of engagement. A few years ago when I visited New Mexico, I had some interesting conversations about the concept of place-based history. It mixed location (GPS points), with videos and images, enabling people to see places as they once were. I think some of this could work for sports. The prevalence of old footage could make it easy to link old games with their former locations. Blending these with a few more tactile features could extend the experience further. Imagine a small historic site near the old the location of old Tiger Stadium in Detroit or Ebbets Field in Brooklyn that pinpoints the location of some seats. In that location reproduction (or even better yet, salvaged seats from the destroyed stadium) were placed in small groups (like park benches), and there, on your cell phone, you could call up historic footage. You could sit in the seats, in the exact place, watching history.

These ideas aren’t too far off. Apps like Next Exit History and a few small projects like those going on at New Mexico State, hint at these possibilities. Maybe some day it will be a reality. It will take a team of collaborators with the resources to build apps, purchase and place tactile features in historic locations, and buy rights to historic footage. I’d love to see a world with this exact type of digital public sport place based history.

A Dream Opportunity: My ESPN Appearance

When I tell people I study the history of sports, they look at me puzzled and half jealous. “That’s a real thing,” many of them reply, “what are you going to do with that?” It’s a different twist on an all-too-familiar question for history graduate students. One that forces us to verbalize our uncertain futures into a palatable answer for small-talk situations. I usually answer with something about teaching, writing, and perhaps some public history work. Noticing my limited response, people are generally encouraging and toss out a few ideas of their own. “You could be on ESPN!” is a frequent suggestion I get. Those suggestions have always sounded a bit outrageous to me. And then last night happened.

It all started about 3:30 p.m. I was laying down for a quick nap to recharge before a scheduled run with a group of friends. That’s when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, and considered ignoring it so I could rest. But my phone noted that number of the incoming call was from Bristol, CT. As a long time sports fan, I knew that ESPN is in Bristol. I also knew that there wasn’t much else located there.

Still, I assumed it was probably a wrong number or a telemarketer. My initial thought that it could be ESPN was one of those jokes that your mind plays on you. An inner wish that you’ve dreamed about, like winning the lottery or the Royals winning the pennant, but don’t expect in reality. After all, why would ESPN call me?

Of course, last year the Royals really did win the pennant. The dream had become my reality. ESPN was calling. I answered.

The call was short. They asked if I would be willing to be a guest on Outside the Lines at 5:30 p.m. on ESPN2. The show’s topic was the image of the Kansas City Royals, a subject that I blogged about in early July. I quickly agreed, and we went to work setting up the details. The show was less that 2 hours away and they wanted me to be live, on-air. First, they needed to find a local TV studio, then they’d call me back.

While ESPN went to work figuring out the logistics, I was going through a range of emotions. I was elated and shocked by the invite. I was nervous about what I was going to say. I also was worried that they might not figure out the logistics, or that I’d get bumped from the show. Nothing was set in stone.

About 15 minutes later I got a message back. Everything was good to go. My live-remote would be filmed at Purdue’s on-campus TV studio. I needed to arrive by 5:15 p.m. to get everything set up, and dress business casual. Things were moving quickly.

Before I left for the studio I posted a few messages on Facebook and Twitter alerting friends and family on the impending madness. I told my running group I’d be absent. I even called my advisor, hoping he’d have some tips (unfortunately, he didn’t answer).

At the studio things were relaxed. The technicians showed me where to sit, hooked up my mic, and put on my ear-piece. They were in control and had been talking with ESPN getting everything ready. From there, it was a really simple and easy process. I received my direction from ESPN though my ear piece. The producer explained that I was joining a 4 person panel to discuss the Royals’ image on Outside the Lines, hosted by Andy Katz. The other panelists were ESPN Senior Writer Liz Merrill, Kansas City Star Columnist Sam Mellinger, and former Royal Brian McRae. We’d each get a chance to talk and answer some questions sharing our perspectives. The discussion segment lasted around 15 minutes. I got the chance to answer 4-5 questions.IMG_0728

The discussion was fun. It was a bit strange, because I could only hear the other guests in my ear-piece. I couldn’t see anyone. I didn’t even know when I was on camera. I felt blind, nervous, and a little self-conscious. After the show ended, I had no idea what I looked like or sounded like. I experienced it, but I didn’t see it.

I felt like the show went pretty well. I made most of the points I had hoped to. I didn’t curse or stutter. I didn’t do anything to embarrass myself, my team, or my city. I survived. (You can watch clips of the show here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLVhsZZIMrzmbPaOowvWvE0pEZPoQCBcnH)

IMG_0733In the hours after the show I remained in a euphoric haze. I was on national TV. I was on ESPN2. I was on ESPN2 talking about my favorite baseball team — a team that had been a national punch line for 30 years. A year ago none of this seemed even remotely possible. It was not just a dream come true, it was multiple dreams come true layered together to play out my childhood fantasies.

Today, as I reflect on the craziness of the last 24-hours, I can’t help but ask: how did I get here? The answer to that question is mostly luck, but the roots of that luck stem from years of hard work. I committed myself to the serious study of history (and sports) in 2009. Within that commitment has always been a firm belief in public engagement, dating back to my undergraduate days delivering chapel sermons and working in the archives. As a Royals fan, as I wrote last fall, it’s always been in my blood. My obsession with team and deep involvement with its Twitter community continue. I couldn’t have made my comments without all of these experiences. And then there is the blog. ESPN introduced me as the Founder and Co-Editor of the Sport in American History blog, which I launched in May 2014. They cited my post from early July on “The Kansas City Royals and Baseball’s “Unwritten Rules.”  The blog post is what attracted them to me.

This is the second time that blogging has helped me land a media appearance. In early 2014, I was featured on TSN 1260 in Edmonton, Canada based on my expertise on Billy Mills. And now ESPN. These are dream opportunities. They are rare, but they’re also what motivates me to keep writing, to keep publishing, to keep blogging. Putting myself out there, sharing my work, engaging in conversations about my area of expertise is at the heart of what it means to be an academic to me.

I’m lucky to have had these chances. But that’s not what we academics really do. You’re more likely to find me in a cold, dank archive sifting through dusty files, cursing at a microfilm reader in a library, or sitting in my front of my computer writing. Being on TV is really, really rare for academic historians, no matter what area they study.

A job at ESPN, as so many people suggest, would be fun. Being on ESPN has always been a goal and a dream, but I’ve never seen it as the ultimate goal. I didn’t decide to study sports history to be on ESPN. I’m a historian first, I chose to study sports so I could answer interesting questions about the past. So I can introduce students to important issues and nuances in history through an interesting topic. I elected to study the history of sports to help theorize and add context to conversations about American cultural life. Those conversations, whether with colleagues, students, or the public sustain me. I’d love to have more of them on ESPN or another media outlet, but if not, a classroom will do.

Reflections on my “Teaching The Black Athlete” series

The Paseo YMCA, KCMO where the Negro League was formed in 1920.

The Paseo YMCA, KCMO where the Negro League was formed in 1920.

The final part of my summer series of designing my African-American Studies course “The Black Athlete” for this fall is up at the Sports in American History blog. The post talks mostly about my philosophy and strategy in creating assignments. They’re not necessarily unique to a sports history course. I don’t include the syllabus in this series, though I plan on sharing it on “Teaching” section of this blog once it’s finalized. If you’re curious about how things go, this winter I’ll probably write some sort of postmortem (also on this blog) to see how well things worked in the course.

The teaching series didn’t quite turn out as I hoped. While it definitely helped me with my course prep, I felt like I was either too vague or too specific when writing about it. Being a relatively inexperienced teacher, I felt kind of reluctant, under-qualified, and vulnerable putting ideas out there that haven’t all been tested. It’s really hard to write about your choices and goals without being too specific or knowing if they’re truly the best approach. In the end, I wanted to share my process and approach to start a conversation and get people thinking. Perhaps it is all that time I spent in the Ed. School as an undergrad, but I believe that reflecting on our choices is important. So as the series ends, I hope everyone who’s read the posts has at least found it thought-provoking and maybe a tiny bit useful. Thank you to everyone who has commented and shared their advice. I’ve really enjoyed the conversations; hopefully they continue.

Teaching “The Black Athlete”: Part I Choosing Course Materials

Teaching “The Black Athlete”: Part 2 Organizing the Course

Teaching “The Black Athlete”: Part 3 Designing Assignments

AAS 371 The Black Athlete Syllabus