The Rafer Johnson Effect

by Tom Shafer

December 4, 2020

So, we received sad news this week with the reported death of Rafer Johnson.

Curiosity sent me to Wikipedia, where the tagline listed him as an actor and Olympian – and I was briefly appalled at such diminution of his incredible life.  But, taglines are what they are, “a small amount of text which serves to clarify a thought.”  Makes me wonder what my tagline might be upon my death – if I were actually worthy of a tagline.

Rafer was so much more than an actor and Olympian.  In fact, I had forgotten that he had done some acting after his track/athletic career (except that he had to turn down an offer to perform in the movie Spartacus – encouraged by friend Kirk Douglas – because it would terminate his amateur status for the approaching 1960 Olympics). 

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No, I remembered Rafer for so much more: gold medal decathlete in those ‘60 Olympics (beating good friend and training partner Chuan-Kwang Yang who represented China); basketball player for legendary coach John Wooden at UCLA; NFL draft pick by the Los Angeles Rams in 1959; class president in high school (in his all-White school district) AND at UCLA; aid to Robert Kennedy’s 1968 presidential campaign (who with Rosey Grier helped subdue assassin Sirhan Sirhan that ill-fated evening at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles); and finally, as a leader who assisted in creating the Special Olympics with Eunice Kennedy Shriver, brother to John F. Kennedy. 

So now you can see why I might have been dismayed by that tagline. 

I was seven when I was first introduced to Rafer Johnson, and it was after that unfortunate shooting of RFK.  The next day as I was having breakfast with my dad (after taking my dog Lucky for a run through the woods), we were listening – like every morning – to the daily news being broadcast locally on WING radio.  Of course, the shooting was the primary story, along with typical bad news coming from Vietnam.  Dad explained to me what had happened, and I quickly tied it back to his brother’s assassination in 1963 (and my first conscious memory).  Dad added that a football player (Grier), writer (George Plimpton) and Olympic athlete had tackled the attempted killer.  Bobby was still alive, though reports about his survival were grim. I remember being sad about it, especially after experiencing (while at the home of our babysitter – and lifelong family friend – Mary) a similar event just one month prior with the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King.  Bobby Kennedy, regrettably, succumbed to his wounds some twenty-two hours after the shooting.

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I didn’t give Rafer Johnson much thought again until fifth grade after I read the autobiography of Frederick Douglass (properly titled Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass – which I still have today).  At the time, I was completely obsessed with all things Civil War, and Frederick Douglass was an important part of that history.  In school, we were tasked with a substantial project that would culminate in a class presentation, and I settled on the topic “African-American contributions to American history.”  I don’t remember all of the particulars of my research and eventual presentation, but I do remember sharing Rafer’s amazing and then ongoing exploits with my classmates (he was the living component of my production). 

Now, looking back, I’m not sure why I chose this specific subject for study and presentation.  I had had limited exposure to any ethnic groups in my nearly all-White community, and in fact had no kids of color at all in my rather large elementary school.  However, when I visited my extensive, extended family living along the Ohio River, in both Ohio and Kentucky, I did get to play with many different Black kids. 

It really is true that children don’t see color when they see other people.  My family spent nearly every weekend for years making the nearly two hour drive to Ripley, Ohio, and Maysville, Kentucky, to spend time with grandparents, aunts and uncles, and (most importantly to me) cousins.  I loved (and still love) all sports that involved a ball, and so did my cousins, so during these visits, we would play ball – specifically basketball, baseball, or football.  Of course, they had many friends to include in these games, and some of them were Black.  I never thought at all about their skin color; they were just other kids filling out rosters so that we could field enough players to complete a game of baseball or football. Of course, we didn’t just play ballgames. Sometimes we went fishing on the Ohio or walked downtown to the local Five & Dime for candy or pop. Sometimes we just sat along the banks of the river chatting like schoolgirls. We never talked about Black stuff or White stuff. We talked about sports and our heroes, our separate schools, girls, stuff that made us laugh. Kid stuff.

But two of the Black kids stick with me still today, Deke and Boo Boo, and they were two of the better athletes I had ever seen at that point.  I was a pretty good athlete in my own right, and though both were a little older, I knew that they had special abilities.  Even more than that, though, they were so patient, understanding, and giving.  I learned much from them, especially about basketball and football, and how properly to train and take care of my body.  Before them, I had just played and practiced my sports and had never considered these other aspects of being an athlete.  Because it was relevant, I told them about Rafer Johnson – I was an expert after all – and how he must have trained incredibly hard to win gold in the decathlon. I’m sure they were impressed.

Deke went on to play basketball at Campbellsville College (now University) in Kentucky and Boo Boo – a nickname given for his propensity of calling “phantom” fouls during pickup basketball games – well, I’m not sure what happened with him.  I would enjoy hooking up with them again, but I never knew their full – or real – names so I wouldn’t necessarily know where to begin.  I would definitely like to thank them – for just being themselves.  They were fun and funny, and I looked forward to seeing them during my family’s weekly visits to the River. 

When I think about all of this today, I realize I was sheltered – though not intentionally – from racial strife that shrouded our country during the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.  I became much more aware by the middle of the decade (from local and national news reports), and of course was disconcerted by all of it.  But none of this ever came up when I was with Deke, Boo Boo, and the cousins, and I guess I’m glad that it didn’t.  Even if they had experienced racism at that time – and I’m sure they did – they certainly didn’t allow any of it to jade who they were as people – at least from my perspective.  It really wasn’t until this monologue that I even allowed myself to consider their “blackness.”

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Anyway, I am saddened by Rafer Johnson’s passing (supposedly from a brain aneurism).  He truly was a great American man – and I hope people will at minimum consult Wikipedia to learn more about him.  And, I really hope those same people will recognize his greatness for what it was – and is.  Because he was a great American, not a great Black American. 

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