The University of Texas at Austin Athletics
Bill Little commentary: Looking back
02.27.2014 | Texas Athletics, Bill Little Commentary
Integrating athletics at The University of Texas at Austin.
Bill Little, Texas Media Relations
In celebration of Black History Month 2014, it is appropriate we take a look back at the journey as far as University of Texas athletics is concerned.
For reference, the most significant events came 50 years ago in the 1960s, when the UT Board of Regents cleared the way for black athletes to participate in varsity sports at The University.
The pathfinder from that era was James Means, an Austin native and high school track athlete. Means enrolled as a student at UT in spring 1964 when the Southwest Conference, as well as UT, took an affirmative step to allow participation in athletics for all eligible students.
On Feb. 29, 1964, Means participated in a track meet at Texas A&M as a member of the UT Freshman team -- in the days before freshmen were eligible to participate with the varsity. In 1965, he became the first black athlete in the Southwest Conference to earn a letter. He went on earn three letters at Texas before graduating in 1967.
About the same time, a young man named John Harvey was etching his name in Austin history as perhaps the greatest athlete ever at the original Anderson High School. Anderson had remained an all-black school on the east side even though Austin's schools had technically been integrated since the mid-1950s.
Harvey actually signed a letter of intent to play football at Texas for Darrell Royal. He never entered UT, choosing instead to go to Tyler Junior College, where he became an All-American and later a star in the Canadian Football League. In the fall of 1968, a linebacker from Killeen named Leon O'Neal became UT's first black football recruit to participate, playing as a freshman.
O'Neal had left school by the time Julius Whittier signed and enrolled as a freshman in 1969. Whittier, who was inducted into the Longhorn Men's Hall of Honor last fall, lettered in the seasons of 1970 through 1972.
Other pioneers included Sam Bradley, who was the first black men's basketball letterwinner in 1970, and Andre Robertson, who lettered in baseball as a freshman in 1977 -- before going on to a career that included starting shortstop for the New York Yankees.
Royal made a strong statement in 1972 when he chose Alvin Matthews, a NFL star with Austin roots, as the first black assistant coach at Texas. Matthews, who was playing for Green Bay at the time, had been a star at Texas A&I (now Texas A&M-Kingsville), and was a product of Austin High.
Matthews served dual duty for two years, spending time at Texas in the off-season and reporting to Green Bay, until it became clear that his success in the NFL would keep him in the league longer than anticipated, and he gave up the Texas job.
The first black head coach at Texas was Rod Page, who led the UT women's basketball team to almost 40 wins in two seasons in 1975-76 and 1976-77 until turning the program over to Jody Conradt.
It has been 50 years since James Means changed the face of UT Athletics, but in truth, the powerful legacy of the contributions originally manifested itself more than 100 years ago.
Emerging from the early days of Texas Football was perhaps the most interesting character in The University's young history, and he wasn't even a player.
He would dress in a black suit, with a black Stetson hat, and he touched more football players -- with his hands and with his heart -- than any man in the first 20 years of Texas Athletics.
Henry Reeves was a special kind of pioneer. He was born April 12, 1871, in West Harper, Tenn. He was the son of freed slaves, a black man who would set forth to make his mark in a new world of freedom.
No one knows when he came to Texas, but he was a fixture in athletics almost from the beginning. He carried a medicine bag, a towel and a water bucket.
In fact, Henry Reeves became almost as well known as the team itself. The cries of "Time out for Texas!" and "Water, Henry!" brought the familiar sight of his tall, slender figure quickly moving onto the field. There he would kneel beside a fallen player, or patch a cut, or soothe a sore muscle.
"Doc Henry" he was, and in the 20-plus years from 1894 through 1915, he was a trainer, masseuse, and the closest thing to a doctor the fledgling football team ever knew.
In the 1914 publication "The Longhorn," he was called "The most famous character connected with football in The University of Texas."
"He likes the game of football, and loves the boys that play it," they wrote.
But who was this man? Where did he get his knowledge? How did he earn acceptance and respect?
You can look at the pictures and see a mature, studious face -- a man whose skills and understanding were obvious. It is likely, folks surmised years later, that Reeves had been trained as a doctor at some of the historically black colleges of the time, and had worked in segregated hospitals.
Once, a new athletics administrator tried to dismiss him and the students rose up in protest. Henry Reeves stayed on. The Cactus yearbook listed the all-time teams of the early days, and one team was picked by the coach, Dave Allerdice. The other was called "Henry's Team."
As the team boarded a train to go to College Station to play the Aggies in 1915, Doc Henry felt a numbness that all his self-taught medical knowledge couldn't cure. He went on to the game, but by halftime the stroke that would kill him had paralyzed the lanky trainer so that he could no longer run.
Henry Reeves lingered for two months after the stroke, and the entire student body took up a collection to pay his medical bills. After his passing, the athletics council voted to award his widow a small pension.
When he died, the Houston Post gave him a special tribute. To put it into perspective, in that day, a black man could not attend The University of Texas, nor for that matter, eat at the same table with the men he treated.
"The news of his death will be heard with a sense of personal loss by every alumnus and former student of The University of Texas, whose connection with the institution lasted long enough for him to imbibe that spirit of association which a quarter century and more of existence has thrown around the graying walls of the college.
"No figure is more intimately connected with the reminiscences of college life, none, with the exception of a few aging members of the faculty, associated with The University itself for so long a period of time.
"In the hearts of Longhorn athletes and sympathizers, Doctor Henry can never be forgotten. A picture that will never fade is that of his long, rather ungainly figure flying across the football field with his coattails flapping in the breeze. In one hand he holds the precious pail of water, and in the other the little black valise whose contents have served as first aid to the injured to many a stricken athlete, laid out on the field of play."
Henry Reeves left the young university a message it would take years to resolve.
It was a message that the color of a man's skin made no difference in his mind, his skill, or his heart. All are given a chance to make of themselves what they choose.
They are the pioneers -- whose legacy we celebrate -- and whose memory we honor.
