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Woebeit I didn’t have much of a childhood, because I came out of the blocks in full stride (running my race as fast as possible), so that I would have a whole lot of time to enjoy the adulation and kudos during my victory lap. For sure, I had every intention of making my golden years sho’ nuff golden. Besides finishing my autobiography, I was even thinking of doing a little social work. Oh? You didn’t know socio-psychology was my second field of expertise? Hark! That’s not surprising, because my journalistic prowess has always overshadowed my other God given talents, although writing really ain’t what I do best. Would you believe that most of my teachers thought I would be a commercial artist, or cartoonist?
Square business, Dr. Otis King (TSU’s legendary law school dean and Houston’s first Black city attorney) and I made history at Wheatley in 1951, when we became the first Black students to enter a mural in Foley’s High School Art competition. Then again, the last time an Acres Home organization honored me, I was introduced as a great basketball player. “Black Pages” notwithstanding, I wrote sports for 32-years, because that was my thing. But, alas, in less than a year (after retiring as a sportswriter for every newspaper in town and two national magazines in 1985), Houston Forward Time’s Lenora “Doll” Carter visited PABA’s “Champion of Tomorrow Boxing Show,” and made the Counselor of Trouble Youth an offer I couldn’t refuse. Truth is, she actually sat at ringside and crossed her big, pretty legs and told me she needed me.

My “little brother,” Varee Shields, Jr., who was managing editor for 27-years, was ailing.
History records that she had already convinced Rev. Ray Martin, that he would get more PABA’s news in her paper if he allowed me to fill in for Shields and the rest is history. Okay, now that you’ve gotten a peep at page 262 of my yet to be completed book, I’ll fess up. This time it was Council member Carol Mims Galloway, who crossed her pretty gams and made me promise not to retire. Term limits aside, she vows to keep working for her people and city, so I’ve got her back (See This Bud…) Hey, you can play The Twilight Zone theme now, because I’m comparing myself to Jesus the Christ. Hey, love’s gotta lot to do with it. Ergo, I ain’t retiring, for the same reason Jesus stay on the Cross, instead of calling in 10, 000 warrior angels to kick some butt. For sure, dealing with unappreciative, in denial brothers and sisters is definitely a heavy cross to bear, for an old coot that cringes when he reads an obituary page. Then again, I needed a sign that the good Lord wanted me to run another lap. Yep, my Daily Bread booklet confirmed, “What We Cannot Lose,” based on Isaiah 46:4. The text read: “Years ago I heard about an elderly gentleman who was suffering from the first stages of dementia. He lamented the fact that he often forgot about God. “Don’t you worry,” said a good friend, “He will never forget you.” Shazam! Even if I’d been too dumb to get that message, the next sign bordered on The Outer Limits of mysticism. I checked my e-mail a little later and was zapped with the message: “Mr. Johnson great article! Some will discount the research, because they question the messenger. Your article had enough information that the doubters could do some follow-up research on their own. Hopefully your article will make people ‘think’ and consider the substance, rather than resorting to the fallacy of ad hominen. Do you believe that folks want to ‘think,’ or does thinking require too much effort? DID YOU PRINT ‘zealous,’ ‘countless hours,’ etc., meant to ‘edify?’ That ‘watcher’ could not be terribly influenced by most of what we constantly have drubbed into our heads by much of the Black media. YOU CANNOT RE-TIRE. YOU ARE NOT GETTING OLDER. YOU ARE GETTING BETTER.” Incidentally, the booklet’s article concluded, “Growing old is perhaps the hardest task we have to face in life. As the saying goes, “Getting old is not for sissies.” Hey, those are fighting words for an old African warrior, thus, my adversaries better get ready to ruuumble! I wonder if anybody knows where I’m coming from?