father

On his 90th birthday.

My father had a brief career as a journalist his sophomore year in high school covering Darden football games for the Wilson Daily Times under the byline “Skip Henderson.” By his senior year, he was editor of Darden’s yearbook. His writing career ended there, but he spent the rest of his educational life in sports, as a player, coach, and mentor.

Rederick C. Henderson would have turned 90 today. I miss him to my core and not a day passes that I don’t think of him and give thanks for all poured into those he loved.

Wilson Daily Times, 29 September 1950.

 

Wilson Daily Times, 27 October 1950.

Editor-in-chief R.C. Henderson, front, with some of the annual staff. From “The Trojan,” the yearbook of C.H. Darden High School, 1952.

Finding light on this bitter anniversary.

Rederick C. Henderson, about 1951.

I was talking to a friend a few days ago, and she said, laughing, “I never once spoke with your dad, but I swear I can hear him.” I don’t recall exactly what I said, but it was some pithy aphorism or another, and Rederick C. Henderson was the king of same, so she paid me the ultimate compliment.

I miss this man mightily and can hardly believe today marks two years since he left. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel him with me, and I am grateful for all he was in life and beyond.

Rest in peace, Rederick C. Henderson.

I know East Wilson because my father knew East Wilson. He was born in a house on Elba Street, was raised on Queen and Reid Streets, and was educated at Samuel H. Vick Elementary and Charles H. Darden High School. He played basketball at the Community Center, spent whole Saturdays watching movies at the Ritz Theatre, and knocked on the back door of Hines Barbershop to get spending money from his father. Long before Black Wide-Awake, my father introduced me to so many of the people and places that have made their way into this blog’s 4000 posts. Even as his final illness progressed, he loved to ride through the streets of East Wilson, pointing and narrating, peeling back layers of time to expose the pentimenti of our shared birthplace.

My father transitioned Friday night, surrounded by the four women who loved him most — his wife of 61 years, his two daughters, and his granddaughter. We are heartbroken, but blessed that we could comfort and care for him as he has done for us always. I honor his life and legacy here. Rest in power, Daddy.