Something about springtime’s NCAA basketball tournament always gets me thinking about life in general: the way things end for some, the way it goes on for others, and most importantly, the connection between the two.
Call it Octogenarian Syndrome. Most folks marvel at how winter’s gray buds into spring’s green. But we 80-somethings come to realize something more, something just as profound.
It turns out a lot of the stuff that surrounds us—the house, the car, the furniture, and all those files and photos we’re going to reorganize but never do—fade fast in an Afrocentric mind’s eye. We focus more on the little things, from the daily routines that protect us against life’s chaos to the more satisfying promises of youngsters whose lives and careers are just beginning. This is what lasts. This is what we really leave behind, not the other stuff.
Yet those daily routines are essential, too. Take last Wednesday, as this amateur handicapper began ruminating about which of the 64 colleges would advance to the Sweet 16, the Elite 8, and ultimately, The Final Four.
That day began with a trip to the North Side and my appointment at Fit Foot, a Korean-owned Reflexology Center on West Fullerton Ave. It’s a stone’s throw from DePaul University. The Blue Demons are not invited to the Big Dance this year, but they have a new coach … and hope for the future. My limber joints are much appreciated, but I’m still prepping for golf season. More stationary bike action (40 minutes twice daily).
Back home on Constance Ave. I began preparations for that evening’s dinner for myself and my sweet wife of 63 years. Not just any dinner, but a chopped-up, sauteed, and richly seasoned mixture of fresh vegetables – a recipe learned at the knee of THE Paul King. PK#1 was a Black pioneer in Chicago’s wholesale produce business. Out the door every morning at 3 a.m., he also, by example, taught me the nobility of hard work.
While the veggies steeped, it was time to dash off a few emails to friends and family, near and far — Nassau, London, and across town. Say what you will about the insanity of TikTok or Instagram, but my PC and cell phone let me stay in touch with kin and pals in a way my parents never could. It depends on how you use the tech and what you have to say.
Some of what I have to say stems from my daily perusal of the New York Times. It’s a mid-day habit learned years ago from college Professor Charles V. Hamilton, who taught at Roosevelt University in the ’60s before moving on to Columbia – the one in New York. Prof. Hamilton died recently at the age of 94, but not before earning a reputation as the Pioneer of the Black Power Movement. With co-author Stokely Carmichael, his 1967 book/manifesto “Black Power: The Politics of Liberation” helped lay the intellectual groundwork for consideration of REPARATIONS & federal affirmative action and Civil Rights legislation. Talk about legacy.
Mid-afternoon, I got news from a business colleague about a public works construction victory – the type of win coming more frequently now that federal infrastructure spending to combat Covid’s downturn is finally producing contract signings. I celebrate by concocting a very dry Bombay Sapphire Martini. All things in moderation, that’s my motto, though not back in the day when we were integrating the building trades by picketing job sites and later by button-holing elected and appointed officials in D.C. to authorize minority set-asides on government projects. Here’s to our health.
It was early evening, and it was time to watch some college hoops and start chalking my favorites in the upcoming Big Dance. Like they say: “If God created anything better” (than watching college ball on a big screen), “he’d have kept it for Himself.” The college game has energy, spirit, and pathos, unlike any other sporting event, no matter if a player is to be an all-star like Patrick Ewing or a “now you see it, then you won’t wannabe.” The latter describes this writer, a once-upon-a-timer at De La Salle High School. Our METEOR, Coach Ed Riska, taught us how to win with humility … and learn from our defeats. May this year’s NCAA champ – and 63 also-rans – learn as much.
The day ended with a holler from my son, Tim King. Back in 2006, he convened a group of business, civic, and educational leaders to conceive, establish, and manage a consortium of three charter high schools. The Urban Prep Academies have prepared, graduated, and sent off some 300 young Black men every year to colleges and universities across the nation.
That recent Wednesday was a good day. I got a lot done. I’m looking forward to a bright future, especially with my b-ball picks. I shared them with Son Bro Alpha PHI Alpha Man Tim in the hopes of adding to the family largess (which Son Bro Tim and PK3 prominently share).
Paul King Jr. is a construction consultant and a member of Chicago’s Business Leadership Council.
