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 In 2005, I thought that it was about time that we started the conversation: about who we are, and where we came from:

Time to differentiate ourselves from Emma Lazarus' "... huddled masses, longing to be free..." (of the 20th Century).

Recognizing that, more often than not, perception creates a reality of it's own. 


     Doshia Greene Bowling 



Amelia Evans Greene


Almeter Drakeford Harris


Ruth McCarley Harris and daughter Bobbi Harris Burkes 



Frank Harris Sr. 1954

Johnnie Harris Jr. 1953



  LJ Harris-1945

  Oscar Harris 1945


Lela-Mae Harris 52'


Walker Jones 1950 (est.)   




Sunman, Bigmama, & Johnnie Lee 1979 

Author Profile: 


 _ Graduate of the Barney School of Business, University of Hartford, 1983  


_Graduate of Central Connecticut State                            

 _ former bodybuilder au naturel.

_ insurance underwriter turned social historian.



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Knights of the Roundtable


...exerpts from chapter 4; Numerican Nation_A Self Portrait



Central Connecticut State is renowned for academic freedom and excellence. I consider myself most fortunate to have had the opportunity to mature as an undergraduate, and develop as an athlete there:

 In true Authurian fashion my sword was now pledged to a new King; in defense of whom I was prepared to make the ultimate sacrafice..."death before dishonor". 

 [You'll recall that in Chapter 3, I told you that Coach Littlefield was like King Authur, and we were his Knights of the Round Table. Well here; I'm off in a far country; in the service of the new King.]

Many of the bonds forged at the height of passions; as well as those born in the heat of dissent, has endured the test of distance, and time to become lasting memories.



Yearbook photo: 1970_ Jl in the black leather, with sun shades. 

The latter half of the Sixties were turbulent times in U.S. History. I would be remiss if I didn’t share my perception, of their influence upon the development of the Numerican Nation:

Dial 70'

Most of the events exploding on the national stage took Central by storm, as the Spirit of Camelot rode a fiery steed; and Odysseus railed against the Gods.

There were far more ominous happenings than “a three fisted salute” in Mexico; or, Man’s walk on the Moon.


I had used a bit of chicanery, to get mother to bless the decision to attend the college:

I told her that the High School Guidance Counselors didn’t think that I was good enough to go to “their fancy schools”. Her fly in the ointment persona popped up and she said; “dammit you can go to any school that you want to!”

Before she could take it back I said:

That’s’ right! I’m going to Central Connecticut State.

Suddenly she realized the ploy and started laughing.

Up until this point, she had been fighting the good fight: “You’re going to a Christian College and that’s it!”

Jim had used the race card to help convince her that he should be allowed to attend Norfolk State:

The only argument left, was the opposite; “you know the white people are trying to lock us out, don’t you?”

In the Sixties a person who catered to emotional appeals, like mine, was considered an “easy touch”: And at a casual glance you might think that mother was the easiest touch of them all.

The quid pro quo lay in the fact that her approval was endowed with an expectation that “I be Right”:

Being right simply meant; knowing what I was doing in choosing to attend a predominantly white school; as it was not known to be the path of least resistance.The influence of Coach Littlefield’s teachings, were not lost to her sight.

Aside from being right, I had to take ownership of the decision, for her to be comfortable.

Central Connecticut's campus extended for approximately a quarter mile radius, from the Student Center:

The Administration building faced Stanley Street, and the Library was next door. The boys and girls dorms were at opposite ends of the campus. And the gymnasium (Kaiser Hall) was located at the top of Wells Street.

[ These were my priorities, at the time.]

As we drove pass Arute Field, I noticed that the football team was practicing and asked Brother Wilson to stop so that I might seek out Coach Gerber:

 He was a big man, with a similar carriage as Coach Littlefield. He thought that I looked "a bit small" based upon what he had heard.

He recruited me, sight unseen, based upon the reputation of the Mount Vernon Knights. His other upper-weights had checked in and I was small in comparison.


He seemed most anxious to talk, however, Mother was waiting; so I excused myself by saying that I needed to go and find the house where I would be staying.

He looked at my Info-Sheet, and pointed down Sefton Drive to a house about 100 yards away.

Now that was the same yellow house that we had previously driven by.

We had dismissed it as a housing possibility, because the residents were white.

 Inter-racial teams was one thing, inter-racial housing quite another!

Brother Wilson saw Coach Gerber pointing, and got out of the car. I asked Coach if he would mind going over (to the car) and explaining the housing:

I had worked out my housing over the phone, assuming that my roomates would be black. So Brother Wilson wasn't the only one surprised. I wasn't about to be the one trying to explain the mix-up.


Ch. 4 _ ...Yellow House aka the wrestling house

from left to right:

D. Messina, P. Maciag, L. Gruben, J. Harris, D. Worth, J. Iuliano, R. Messina, J. Chafetz (Louie's wedding 1973)

In 1967, I left the Mount Vernon Knights, and became a Central Connecticut State Blue Devil:

Norm Gerber was the Head Wrestling Coach. We were his Knights of the Round Table; committed to defending the home mats, as well as each other, with our lives.

Between you, me, and the gate post.., talk about a culture shock!

Initially I didn't particularly care for any of them; their music, food, or women.

Then one week-end we got into a racially charged fight, with the house across the street, and everything changed.

A fight which I, inadvertently, caused by atttempting to attend a segregated party.

To tell the truth, I was so accustomed to racial slurs that what was said didn't bother me; however it bothered my new team-mates, who were unaccustomed to such disrespect.

In the aftermath, the guys took turns in schooling me on what constituted a tolerable insult and what wasn't we go to war! 

[Now they were Liberals by no means; they just didn't want some cupcake using race as a means of advancing, an otherwise, personal agenda.]


Get Ready Cause Here We Come...Encore.


Jim, Richard, Reggie, & the Wolf 1968

... gonna try to make you love me too, so get ready...

We spent most of the collegiate years (66-71) selling Good Humor ice cream, and grooving to the Motown sounds of the Temptations.

Jim, Richard, and the Wolf attended  Norfolk State. Reggie attended Howard University:


Jim dancing with Joyce / Reggie, Alex Cunnngham, & Joyce_1969

While he didn't work for Good Humor, Alex was a part of the " in-crowd" and attended Norfolk State, along with the Loveman, Jimmy Lee, and a host of others referenced in Chapter 3 _ Just A Little Bit Of Soap.


  I attended  "historically white" Central Connecticut State, where (perhaps) my greatest social contribution to the student body was the Temptation's album Get Ready, along with first hand instructions on how to dance to "soul music". 

My little sister Shirley ocassionally came up to help out.



Around the Good Humor plant we were known as "the Bronx Division": We worked from 233rd street down into Harlem, year-in and year-out, without losing a man, while leading the company in sales.

Of course thats not news worthy.

[ But let that dimwit "Happyman" get caught selling drugs from his truck; and boom ... the cover of Life Magazine!]



Black History Month 2008


By the time I left home for college in 1967, I already knew more about Western Civilization (Age of Reasoning, the Great Awakenings, the Industrial Revolution,..etc.) than my forefathers. My primary focus was on trying to understand "the here and now".

I had little use for "the here-after", and was highly suspicious of anyone who did:

 More often, than not, I would refer the religious zealots (of the time) to the 23rd Psalms; and deflect their attempts at socialization by reminding them that  "the lord was no shepherd of mine".

As far as I was concerned the Silent Majority, and the Black Power Advocates were "birds of a feather".

Hence I open Chapter 4: Knights of the Roundtable*, by saying that "most of the events exploding on the national stage took Central by storm; as the Spirit of Camelot rode a fiery steed (Robert Kennedy had aligned himself with the Civil Rights movement), and Odysseus railed against the Gods, Dr King had become too vocal on the subject of human rights.

[*For a more contemporary political assessment of the Arthurian legend and the Sixties; see Camelot and the Cultural Revolution by James Piereson, released in 2007 by Encounter Books.]


As we head into "black history month", remember that our cultural heritage renews itself in every generation:

Who we are today, and who we will be tomorrow, is largely a by-product of who we were yesterday.

Teach the children History, as well as Language Arts, English, Math, and Science.


And if they choose to sport the hair style of their ancestors; applaud the courage, instead of criticizing the audacity.