When Paul got back to Cincinnati, he contacted Professor Newman in the English De­partment at UC. Newman's wife was Ruth Lyons of the 50-50 Club at WLW. Soon enough, my mom appeared on the 50-50 Club. Paul also arranged for her to cut an audi­tion tape at King Record Company, which was big in country and western at the time. My mother never breathed a word of any of this to me; I had no idea it was going on. In fact, it wasn't until years later that I learned about all these plans and machinations.

As if this wasn't enough, Walter Paul then set up a visit. I went to Cincinnati and met Jack Twyman, a forward who was the leading scorer on the Rochester Royals and an NBA all-star. We worked out together, one-on-one, at an old school gym. Afterwards, Twyman told Paul that I was the greatest player he'd ever seen. That night, the Twy­mans, the Smiths, and the Pauls took me to dinner. They dropped me off at the Cincin­nati Y after dinner. Apparently, Twyman told Paul, "If I were George Smith, I'd go to bed with that boy, keep an eye on him, and let Mrs. Smith go on home by herself."

The next day, Walter Paul took me to Crosley Field to watch a Reds game. I know that the bleachers at Crosley Field were segregated—I had taken a few trips to Cincinnati to see Jackie Robinson and the Brooklyn Dodgers play—and I can't exactly account for how we all sat in the same section, except to wonder if it was a private box. But I remember being surrounded by friendly faces. I remember feeling that if Jackie Robin­son could play in Cincinnati, with the whole Negro population turning out to greet him, then maybe I had a shot of playing there without problems.

Maybe it was another rose-colored vision. A lot of people who sat in those same blea­chers had memories from years before of shouted obscenities and a threat of violence in the air. Many people remember that in 1952, death threats had brought armed bodyguards to Crosley when Robinson and the Dodgers had visited. But to me, being at a major-league game had been such a kick that, as naive as it makes me sound, I didn't really notice any warning signs that day.

Near the end of the game. J. W. started talking to me as if just the two of us were at the game. "Oscar," he said, "I want you to know that if you come to Cincinnati, I will not just see you through college. I will give you business assistance. I will see you into your pro career. Help you handle your finances. Give you business advice. Be a friend of some importance to you, even after you leave the university."

Something about Jake's demeanor told me that I could trust what he said. With some people, you don't have to spend much time with them to know that you can take them for their word. And that promise for the future seemed to offer me something that no one else had: respect for me beyond my basketball abilities and a real concern for what was best of me as a person regardless of what I could do for them.

I hadn't actually investigated the university itself. Cincinnati was two hours or so south of Indianapolis on Highway 52. I knew the city was about the same size as Indianapolis and had about the same demographics. The Bearcats had an all-white team and a white coaching staff, and they weren't exactly basketball legends, so I hadn't placed them high on my list. At the same time, my choices were really narrowing. If I wanted to stay close to home, there weren't too many choices. These people seemed to be honest and sincere. Plus, there was the matter of the coach, George Smith.

George had grown up on an Ohio farm and had a style that put people at ease. Re­cruiting was one of the things he was good at. He was a charmer, but in an easygoing way that didn't make you feel like you were being charmed. When we sat down for our first interview together, I was prepared. He asked me the question that everyone asks, "What do you want out of college?" I answered him promptly: "One, naturally I want a good education. Two, I want the opportunity to play major-league basketball for exposure in the large cities. Three, I want no black problem. Four, I want to be close to my family and friends in Indianapolis. Five, I want to play in Madison Square Garden. They say that's the mecca of basketball, and that's where I want to play."

I wasn't trying to make a good impression. I was just answering honestly and being myself. I had thought plenty about what I wanted out of college, and I knew that none of it was negotiable. My friends always said, even way back then, that I was driven. A friend once told me, "At 17 you knew exactly what you wanted by 27. At 27 you were getting right on target for 37." I might not have phrased it that way, but I couldn't disagree.

Coach Smith seemed impressed by the clarity of my list and the lack of hesitation I showed before giving it to him. He smiled at me, nodded, maybe gave a little laugh.

My trip had other memorable parts. Ted Berry, who later became Cincinnati's first black mayor, had a reception for me. I will never forget how nice he was to me. On ano­ther recruiting visit, Ross Hastie, a wealthy university supporter, led a private tour around his home for me and a teammate, Al Maxey. The house had a pool and tennis and basketball courts. As they showed me around, I kept shooting Al looks, Can you believe this? I keenly felt how little I knew about finance or culture or international rela­tions. I couldn't add much to any conversations, so I stayed quiet.

At some point, while I was sitting by the pool, Ross Hastie's young son, who must have been six or seven years old, turned to me and said, "Gee, you sure are black."

Well, it got quiet. Really quiet.

I smiled at him and calmly explained that my ancestors came from another continent. It was very hot there, and dark skin was the norm. That answer was probably more words than I'd said all day, and after it came out of my mouth, it felt like the whole room exhaled.

On June 8, 1956, I wore my cap and gown along with 170 other seniors graduating from Crispus Attucks. I was sixteenth in my class, which put me in the 91st percentile, and a member of the National Honor Society. The next day, I announced my intention to enter the University of Cincinnati.