Man, Meteor, and Message

Come Sunday morning I’ll be leading the second class on “Encounters with Jesus.” Nathanael’s story from John 1 is the focus this week. It is a curious story.  Placed in the middle of three or so “days” in sequence, it tells the story of one guy, Philip, telling another guy by the name of Nathanael that they had found the Messiah. It is a profound though short story, and he is never heard from again.

As an introduction to the class, I’ll ask, “What is a story of your encounter with another person that shot like a meteor through the sky, but still resonates with you even now?” Depending upon the conversation that is created, I may or may not tell my story of Doc Washington. Here it is for those who want to read it.

Mr. Washington began teaching at the white high school where I attended as a transition from a black high school and a white high school to one school. As I was told, there was an exchange of teachers, some going to Westside High School and some coming to Trinity High School where I went as a prelude to complete integration. He was black.  I was white. He was a teacher. I was a student.

I had all of my science courses with him, biology, chemistry, and physics. Most who know me know that I am not a “science guy,” but for some reason, Mr. Washington saw something in me.  He told me on more than one occasion and in more than one way that I could do science, that I had a good mind. I can still see him now in his white lab coat, and me in my white lab coat, the one that he bought me.  I can still see the lab he set up, and the one in which I mixed chemicals to create hand lotion for the local county fair entry in science. He was engaging, articulate, and to me, he was brilliant and a man ahead of his time. Later I found out that he’d earned a masters from Sam Houston State University and a doctorate from California Berkley. He was an educator for 35 years and he was a veteran of the US Army. 

Beyond all of that, he was a mentor at a challenging time in my life as well as a challenging time in the history of my high school. As a black teacher in a white high school, I heard that he was ostracized by both communities. I, too felt some of that sort of thing, but mine were slight by comparison to what I assume his microaggressions and macroagressions were. I was called on one occasion, “Mr. Washington,” and read it as an insult.  On another occasion I was called a “N****r lover,” and for sure that was an insult. The white lab coat was an invitation to insult both him and me.  No one else had a lab coat at that time.  I was sort of his lab assistant. There was a price to pay.

Besides being on the end of those insults, and I have no idea what kind of insults he experienced, he taught me to believe in myself. He taught me to improvise. When conducting a lab experiment, if everything was not in place, improvise, or use skills of ingenuity. He actually passed out an award for that every so often.  My name was on his awards board more than once. He taught me how to mentor and how to engage with people of different persuasions.  He taught me that learning was imbedded in relationships. He taught me that music is a part of life. He played the saxophone. One evening I walked into a house where my brother and his band were playing.  There sat Mr. Washington. What a moment.  Seriously what a moment. I also learned that the young and the older can hang together.  The last time I saw him I was 18 years of age and he was 43 or so.

I am indebted to him.  A black man living in Jim Crow south believing in a white kid who did not yet believe in himself. He transitioned on March 16, 2010. Oh, to have one more conversation with him.  Just one more.