By Debra Rivers Johnson

I am a fan.  Always have been.  Some of my earliest memories are of mom and dad piling us in the car and riding to West End to see a baseball game at Ninth Avenue School in our hometown of Hendersonville, North Carolina.  We’d sit on the hill and yell for our favorite team.  Or we’d go to the gym to watch a basketball game and cheer the team on. 

My mom loved sports and she instilled that in us.  She played basketball at Ninth Avenue in the 1940s.  She was on the team with Tibbie Creswell’s mom, Ms. Alberta. 

To hear the stories, they were the best basketball players on the best team there ever was.  One of their favorite stories was of mom having eye surgery and being told she couldn’t play. The team was losing and mom decided, against her mother’s wishes and her doctor’s instructions, that she had to play.  She took the bandage off her eye and went into the game, and they won.  That was my mom.  One-hundred percent effort all the time. Never give up.  Don’t let people down.  Play your hardest.  Have fun.  Win.

My brother Gary played sports with Tibbie, Johnny Landrum and Dennis Braswell. They played football, baseball and basketball from the Mite and Midget leagues through high school. We cheered for them all the way. 

Two of their biggest fans were my mom and Johnny’s dad.  They followed those boys everywhere.  Baseball was their favorite.  That’s where I learned even the slowest games could be exciting when you are cheering for your team.  I can still hear Mr. Johnny yelling: “Home run for the money” and “Don’t let the speed cop catch you.”

And when he had fun, we had fun.  They were the boys of summer; Tibbie, Dennis and Johnny.  When they weren’t playing organized ball, they were playing basketball at the YMCA, where my mom worked, or playing pickup games at the basketball goal that they put up between Tibbie’s and Dennis’ house.  Everyone who thought they could play ball played there.  While the girls just got to watch, it was still the most fun. (Besides: they were all so cute.)

We all grew up together, in and out of each other’s homes.  All of this helped set the stage for the 1972 state championship.

In 1965 my family, the Landrums and about eight other families were the first blacks to integrate Hendersonville’s schools.  Johnny was in the fourth grade; I was in the fifth; Tibbie’s oldest sister, Terry, was in the sixth.  I don’t remember any animosity or resistance from the teachers or the students, even though I heard that our parents did.  I do remember that my only friends were a new girl from New Jersey (Nancy) and a Jewish girl (Judy) who was also new.  I guess we were all kind of different so it made it easy to connect. They were my first white friends. 

The next year, the entire school system integrated and I returned to Ninth Avenue, which became Hendersonville Junior High.  That’s when I first became aware of Harold Albany.

Harold, Tibbie, Dennis and Johnny played basketball on the junior high team. They were good, even then.  I still have articles from the Times News about them winning.  Bonnie Pilgrim (my best friend) and I were their biggest fans.  We never missed a home game. That was when I decided I wanted to be a cheerleader.

I tried out for the cheerleading squad in the sixth, seventh and eighth grades.  I did not make it, but I didn’t let those setbacks stop me.

One of the treats we had during junior high was on Fridays we would go to the pep rallies held in the auditorium at the high school.  Sally Gilbert (Moffitt) was one of my favorite cheerleaders.  She was beautiful and she was doing the most exciting thing: leading all the students in the school in cheers, rooting for the team.  The last cheer they always did was Roll Call. Sally went last and she did: “Ronnie Moffitt, he’s our man, if he can’t do it, nobody can”!  The kids in the auditorium always went crazy.  I wanted to be on that stage.

In the ninth grade, I entered Hendersonville High School. I had Ms. Geraldine Hensley for homeroom, that’s when I found out she was the advisor for the cheerleaders.  She was tough and kind of scary.  She was a strict disciplinarian.  I tried to stay on her good side.  I tried out for cheerleading again.  No luck.

But that year Harold made the varsity basketball team as a freshman.  Bonnie and I went to every game and whenever he got on the court we yelled and yelled.  The team went to the state playoffs that year and Harold even got some playing time.

Our sophomore year, I tried out again. Again, no. On the basketball team Harold got more playing time and the team was awesome. They made it back to the state playoffs but didn’t win. We were at every game. 

Junior year was the fifth time I tried out for cheerleading.  Everyone, black and white, encouraged me.  I knew it was unlikely that I’d make it because by then, the girls that had cheered since junior high were pretty much established.  I tried not to focus on that.  So what if no black girl had ever made the squad before?  I’d try anyway.  For five years I had practiced and practiced.  I had worn the grass down in our front yard, jumping and cheering and cart-wheeling and hoping.

In 1970-71. I became the first Black cheerleader at HHS.  Finally.  A dream come true. 

We are the Bearcats, mighty, mighty Bearcats.

Ms. Hensley was still tough but the girls on the squad were great. They made me feel at home and the captain, Debbie Davis, became one of my dearest friends.  Cheering at the various schools that year was truly an experience.  Only Edneyville had a Black cheerleader and she had been in my class at Ninth Avenue.  The opposition fans’ attitudes ranged from hostile to accepting, but the HHS fans always had my back. 

Junior year we had another winning season.  By this time everybody called Harold “Big A” or Just “A.” He emerged as a team leader and I got to cheer them on to victory.  Not surprisingly, we were dating by then.  It seemed natural. 

That year we went to the state playoffs in Winston-Salem and made it to the semi-finals.  We played at RJ Reynolds High School and it was great beyond my imagining.  We lost in the last seconds and the call was suspect.  I remember being devastated.  Everyone had followed us there. Students, parents, kids who were in school at the surrounding colleges.  It was a quiet ride home.

I made the squad again our senior year.  They elected me captain.  It was a huge honor and a lot of responsibility.  That summer we won first place at ACA Cheerleading camp.  We were good.  I worked closely with Ms. Hensley, Coach Pardue and Jack Johnson, our guidance counselor and girls basketball coach.  They supported me unfailingly.     

I haven’t talked much about the fans but the support for all of our athletic teams was huge.  Whether it was cheering for football (where it rained eight out of 10 games that year) or supporting the golf and tennis teams or cheering the girl’s basketball team to victory, Hendersonville fans were some of the most vocal ever.  Students, parents, teachers and the community—everybody was involved.  And that year basketball was definitely something to cheer about.  Harold “Big A” and the other guys finally took center stage.  Coach Pardue took a chance and started those four black boys—Harold, Tibbie, Dennis and Johnny­—and it was run and gun, defense, posting up, hands in your face, look for the open man, unselfish play, sheer determination, love for the game and each other. 

I was captain of the cheerleaders and Harold was captain of the basketball team.  We were a couple.

Harold Albany, he’s our man…if he can’t do it, nobody can.

We beat East, West, Edneyville…and we never had to worry about the crowd following us.  Bonnie, Ricky, LaVerne, Jimmy Wells, Hayes, CeCe, Donna Santos, mom, Mr. Johnny, Stan, Buddy Chapman, the whole community. Black and white. Young and old.

We won county, we won district, and we went to state.  In Durham, it was David against Goliath.  A dark dreary gym, harassed in the tunnel, cheering in the corner, fans seated in the rafters…but we beat Washington, Madison-Mayodan, and finally, Pinecrest. The crowd went crazy.  Four trips to the state playoffs and finally Harold and Coach Pardue had the win.  And the boys from Peacock town (our Black neighborhood) were the backbone. 

Tippie, Dennis and Johnny each rising to the occasion when it was their time.  Brian Tallent and Jimmy Wheelon closing down the middle, rebounding, scoring.  Harold doing everything he needed to do to win.  This was not a one-man team; this was a family, a community coming together.

The ride back to Hendersonville the next day is one I’ll never forget.  Our van was following the Bearcat bus.  There were signs on the bus and writing on the windows.  I remember coming up Highway 25 and turning onto Eighth Avenue.  I saw the sign flapping on the bus and I remember being so proud, heart bursting.  And then we came over the hill and the band room came into view.  The community had turned out to greet the champions.  Hugs, kisses, smiles, cheering.  We had all won. 

At the end of the celebration my mom told me to hop in the car but I told her Harold was going to walk me home.  A long journey to realize our dreams. The Tin Can Man and The Cheerleader.

Debra Rivers Johnson graduated from Winston-Salem State University, where she cheered for four years, was selected as head cheerleading coach and was later inducted into the Athletic Hall of Fame. She resides in Richmond, Virginia.