What do sprinters Ben Johnson, Butch Reynolds, Justin Gatlin, Florence Griffith-Joyner and Marion Jones, football’s Dana Stubblefield and Lyle Alzado, baseball’s Barry Bonds, and boxers Evander Holyfield and James Toney have in common?

At Pershing, Will Robinson mentored future NBA guard Ralph Simpson and future Tigers outfielder Marvin Lane, whom I taught in an English class. Future NBA forward Spencer Haywood starred there, too, along with future pro grid-men Glenn Doughty, Walt Williamson and Paul Seal. That versatile foursome competed for me in track – along with future U-M basketball standout Jon Lockard. At Cass Tech, Will coached future NBA player George Brown, my old WSU track teammate. At old Miller, Will’s PSL champions, starring the great Sammy Gee and Charlie Primas, were nearly invincible despite the fact they had no gym and had to contend with biased White officials in addition to rival teams (the Detroit PSL didn’t compete in the state tournament during Will’s years there).

One can never tell how far one’s influence will reach, or the effect one’s references and recommendations will have. Throughout half a century, I have numbered activists, writers, journalists, school administrators, athletes, and coaches among my protégés.

I told “reform” board president Bill Brooks two years ago that I would serve as interim DPS superintendent for a year without pay to demonstrate what I could do. Nonetheless, despite my and several other candidates’ interest in the job, only one person – the now-federally-indicted William Coleman – was interviewed and then appointed on the spot, perpetuating the insider-trading mentality that has been characteristic of too many DPS boards.

Miller High, the scruffy old school with no gym, track, or football field that produced so many great African American athletes – and so many great African Americans – was designated a historic site in 2002. At the request of former WSU basketball All-American Charlie Primas, I was able to get then-DPS CEO Ken Burnley to dedicate DPS dollars to pay for a commemorative marker.

Soon there will be a Michigan Boxing Hall of Fame, and this hall is going to be a great one. In previous columns, I shared my jaundiced views of other halls, where politics often determine who goes in. Also, lots of deceased folks get inducted, and if they’ve been dead too long, their fans aren’t around, either, to buy dinner tickets. I was one of only three live inductees when, at 42, I became the youngest member of WSU’s Sports Hall in 1978 for beating Olympic sprint champions in the 1950s. Thus, when I was later asked to serve on selection committees for future WSU Halls, I chose live candidates, except for sprinters Buddy Coleman (dead before his time) and Leon Wingo (inducted the year after he died).

Since retiring as Deputy Superintendent in Rochester, I have worked with troubled youngsters at Team for Justice, PEACE-for-Youth, Detroit SNAP, Trombly Adult High School, Wolverine Human Services, and Finney High. Although I’ve managed to turn many in a righteous direction, I find occasional respite from my stressful mission by interacting with kids already headed that way.

At 71, I’m in two halls of fame, but I’ve always had the uneasy feeling they are too much like mausoleums.  The late Cuban insurrectionist Che Guevara, for example, is in several such pantheons.  So are the revolutionary Robert F. Kennedy and his ideological brother, Malcolm X.