OLLIE

It was Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, Nov. 27, 1964, and VVHS, the small 2A school on the outskirts of civilization – at least that’s where the teams who drove out from Orange County said it was – was going into the season ranked number one following their strong 1963-64 march to the semifinals. Butler was beginning his tenth year of coaching and never before had a season looked so promising at the outset.

It wasn’t just the fact that he had a talented bunch of returning lettermen that portended good tidings, there was another light in Butler’s eye, a special gift from his wife. On October 1, 1964, Sharon brought their third precious daughter into the world, Catherine Ellen Butler. With three girls Butler felt he was a lucky man. He knew if he raised these girls well, they’d be devoted to him for life. Whimsically, he began looking forward to teaching Jana, Becky and Cathy how to keep stats for him.

The varsity was returning three starters and two experienced back up players. The other players rounding out the roster were all strong too. Butler told Mike Girard of The Victor Press in an interview the Tuesday before Thanksgiving that, "These are the best 15 boys I’ve ever had." Talk of a CIF title for VVHS was also in the air. The prognosticators felt they had the quickness, the size, the shooting and the defense necessary to go all the way. Still, for Butler, it was too early to gauge the pulse of this team. They had only practiced so far. Their first scrimmage wasn’t scheduled until the following week and their first game wouldn’t be until the second week in December. Yet, Butler was optimistic that his returners would jell with the newcomers and this would become a strong squad. Until this.

"All right, who wrote that up there?" questioned a scarlet-faced Butler glaring menacingly at the team now assembled before him in front of the chalkboard. Racism was a rude ignorance Butler despised.

No one had access to the locker room during practice. Butler ran the proverbial "tight ship." Each day, about five minutes after practice commenced, Butler locked the exterior doors and sealed the gym tighter than a submarine at fifty fathoms. No distractions were permitted by interlopers. Even Keith Gunn – Butler’s favorite boss in all his years at Victor Valley, though Don Conde was a close second – was looked at askance if he was audacious enough to let himself in with his own master key to observe practice.

"I mean it! I want to know who wrote this up here. If you tell me now you won’t be kicked off the team, but if I find out later--let me rephrase that--when I find out later, not only will you be removed from this team immediately but I will personally see to it that you don’t play another sport at this school again!"

Silence. An interminable moment of silence. Then--

"Ah rote it Coach," an embarrassed Roy Dell White confessed, "but I wuz jus’ messn ‘round. We always call each other that."

Butler sighed an inaudible breath of relief. Thank God. At least one of the white players didn’t write it.

The nation was currently embroiled in a struggle for civil rights. Martin Luther King Jr. had just won a Noble Peace Prize in October for his leadership in the non-violent struggle against racial discrimination. His "I Have a Dream" speech, given before a quarter million protest marchers on August 23, 1963, had polarized a troubled country divided by color lines. Butler, the new resident liberal at VVHS, was a big King supporter. An anomaly from the cottin’ pickin’ South, where racism and segregation were still a way of life, Butler, strangely had never been infected by the poison of racism. And now, in ethnically diverse Southern California, he was facing this ignorance scrawled on the locker room play-board. This was an affront he could not tolerate, but, it was also a teachable moment if he handled it right.

"Roy Dell," Butler began, "I don’t ever want to hear you use that word again. Not at school! Not at home! Not on the streets! Not anywhere! It’s an ignorant person’s word. You’re smarter than that. And that goes for the rest of you too! That word is degrading, shameful and humiliating. Pin-headed whites came up with that word and anyone who uses it is ignorant. I won’t stand for small-minded players on this team. Do you all understand me?"

Later, Butler was actually glad the season started so dramatically. More than anything else, Butler wanted to make a difference in the world. Growing up poor during the Depression had impressed him with a driving desire to make something of himself. If he could get these high school kids to see beyond the superficiality of race, perhaps they would go on to help stamp out discrimination and prejudice for good and he would have had a hand in it. Now that would be an accomplishment!