Oh boy!!! I remember Demond and Olukemi sitting in Mrs. Howie's room clowning the entire class period. The funniest thing about it when called upon he always knew the right answer. Demond was a sweet heart and worshiped the grounds Olukemi walked on... He will forever live on through his son "Jazz Lewis" and warm memories.
Demond was a good friend and a great teammate on our football team. And he had some crazy big hair that looked really funny after he took his football helmet off.
I have two very vivid memories of him from those days playing ball. The first memory was of a day in practice in which I had to keep *trying* to tackle him. It was awful. Demond was our star running back. A load, he was. Just strong and solid and fast and I did not like having to tackle him. During one particular drill the offensive line was not blocking properly on a play in which Demond carried the ball, so Coach Benton made them run the play over and over and over. Each time they ran the play Demond blasted through the line and I, at the linebacker position (why did they put little old me at linebacker???), had to step up and stop him.
Yeah, right.
After Demond basically crushed me the first two times that I tried to tackle him I no longer wanted to step up. Demond was just destroying me. Running right over the top of me. And it hurt. A lot. He wasn't trying to hurt me. He was just running the play like he was told to do. But dang, it was hurting me. Sooooo, on the third and each subsequent time they ran the same play I decided I'd step to the side and grab at Demond as he ran by. Like a matador and a bull, sort of. You can guess who was the bull. It was pretty obvious what I was doing but I could no longer take having to hit Demond head-on. It simply hurt too much.
Over and over they ran the same play. And over and over I kept thinking, "My God, is Coach trying to kill me or what?" Finally Coach Benton pulled me aside. "Why aren't you stepping into the hole to tackle Demond anymore? You did it the first couple of times." I said, "Because those first couple of times hurt beyond belief." He said, "Are you afraid of hitting him?" I said, "Well, I wasn't before, but I am now. I'm telling you, it hurts bad." I told Demond about it later and we both had a good laugh. He knew I was avoiding him, too.
The second vivid memory of Demond is also from a drill during football practice. During the drill one man on the other side of the ball had to make a play on a receiver to whom the ball had been thrown. There were two receivers who ran out for the pass. As soon as the quarterback (I can't remember who it was but I'm thinking it was Dean Davis) threw the ball to one of the receivers the defender had to break toward that receiver and make the tackle or knock the ball down.
Sadly, I happened to be one of the two potential receivers when it was Demond's turn to make the tackle. The whole time I was thinking, "Don't throw it to me. Don't throw it to me." The ball was snapped, I and the other receiver took off running down the field, Demond started backpeddling and watching the qb, and still I was thinking, "Don't throw it to me."
The qb threw it to me. Crap. I had no choice but to try to catch it. I could see the ball spiraling toward me. I could hear Demond's footsteps as he came barreling towards me. All I could think now was, "Oh, my God, he threw it to me." The pass was high. I jumped up, arms outstretched, and caught the ball. Before my feet touched the ground Demond caught me. While running wide open. And drove my skinny little butt straight into the ground. And landed right on top of me. Forcefully so.
Demond and I were facemask to facemask there on the ground. I couldn't breathe. There was no air left in my lungs at all. I opened my eyes, looked up, and there was Demond's face inches from my own, looking at me through the cages on our helmets. He said very kindly, "Are you okay?" I said, "Yeah." But my voice was croaky and ragged because I had no breath with which to speak. Demond got up, helped me to my feet, and we each ran back to the back of our respective lines.
"Don't let on," I kept telling myself as I ran back to the line. "Don't let on." I couldn't breathe. I felt like my whole body had been collapsed in on itself, but I did not want anyone to know that Demond had just messed me up big time. "Act like it didn't hurt," I kept telling myself. But it had. And was still hurting. It's hard to run when you can't breathe.
I reached the back of the line, and was thankful of it. It was someone else's turn the get the devil knocked out of them. The spotlight wasn't on me anymore and that was a good thing because I was still in bad shape there at the back of the line. In my mind I kept hearing Demond's footsteps as he had run toward me. I bent over, grabbed my knees, prayed for a just a little bit of air to inflate my lungs. When it finally came I straightened up. Kevin Dunham walked over, titled his head down just slightly so he could see me clearly through his facemask, and very simply acknowledged what everyone else on that whole field was thinking. He said, "That looked like it hurt."
So peace be with you, Demond. You were a good friend and a great teammate and I feel fortunate to have made those memories with you and that whole gang of boys. We were awful most years, our uniforms were old and mismatched and ill-fitting, but we loved the game and we loved playing it with each other. I'll carry forever the memory of you and the memories of our days playing football together.
O'Lukemi Imes (Melvin) (1990)
Feb 7, 1972 - May 23, 1997A life cut short gone but never forgotten.
Olukemi Melvin
Melody Johnson (Frazier) (1990)
Oh boy!!! I remember Demond and Olukemi sitting in Mrs. Howie's room clowning the entire class period. The funniest thing about it when called upon he always knew the right answer. Demond was a sweet heart and worshiped the grounds Olukemi walked on... He will forever live on through his son "Jazz Lewis" and warm memories.Fellow classmate
Melody Johnson
Brian Faircloth (1990)
Demond was a good friend and a great teammate on our football team. And he had some crazy big hair that looked really funny after he took his football helmet off.I have two very vivid memories of him from those days playing ball. The first memory was of a day in practice in which I had to keep *trying* to tackle him. It was awful. Demond was our star running back. A load, he was. Just strong and solid and fast and I did not like having to tackle him. During one particular drill the offensive line was not blocking properly on a play in which Demond carried the ball, so Coach Benton made them run the play over and over and over. Each time they ran the play Demond blasted through the line and I, at the linebacker position (why did they put little old me at linebacker???), had to step up and stop him.
Yeah, right.
After Demond basically crushed me the first two times that I tried to tackle him I no longer wanted to step up. Demond was just destroying me. Running right over the top of me. And it hurt. A lot. He wasn't trying to hurt me. He was just running the play like he was told to do. But dang, it was hurting me. Sooooo, on the third and each subsequent time they ran the same play I decided I'd step to the side and grab at Demond as he ran by. Like a matador and a bull, sort of. You can guess who was the bull. It was pretty obvious what I was doing but I could no longer take having to hit Demond head-on. It simply hurt too much.
Over and over they ran the same play. And over and over I kept thinking, "My God, is Coach trying to kill me or what?" Finally Coach Benton pulled me aside. "Why aren't you stepping into the hole to tackle Demond anymore? You did it the first couple of times." I said, "Because those first couple of times hurt beyond belief." He said, "Are you afraid of hitting him?" I said, "Well, I wasn't before, but I am now. I'm telling you, it hurts bad." I told Demond about it later and we both had a good laugh. He knew I was avoiding him, too.
The second vivid memory of Demond is also from a drill during football practice. During the drill one man on the other side of the ball had to make a play on a receiver to whom the ball had been thrown. There were two receivers who ran out for the pass. As soon as the quarterback (I can't remember who it was but I'm thinking it was Dean Davis) threw the ball to one of the receivers the defender had to break toward that receiver and make the tackle or knock the ball down.
Sadly, I happened to be one of the two potential receivers when it was Demond's turn to make the tackle. The whole time I was thinking, "Don't throw it to me. Don't throw it to me." The ball was snapped, I and the other receiver took off running down the field, Demond started backpeddling and watching the qb, and still I was thinking, "Don't throw it to me."
The qb threw it to me. Crap. I had no choice but to try to catch it. I could see the ball spiraling toward me. I could hear Demond's footsteps as he came barreling towards me. All I could think now was, "Oh, my God, he threw it to me." The pass was high. I jumped up, arms outstretched, and caught the ball. Before my feet touched the ground Demond caught me. While running wide open. And drove my skinny little butt straight into the ground. And landed right on top of me. Forcefully so.
Demond and I were facemask to facemask there on the ground. I couldn't breathe. There was no air left in my lungs at all. I opened my eyes, looked up, and there was Demond's face inches from my own, looking at me through the cages on our helmets. He said very kindly, "Are you okay?" I said, "Yeah." But my voice was croaky and ragged because I had no breath with which to speak. Demond got up, helped me to my feet, and we each ran back to the back of our respective lines.
"Don't let on," I kept telling myself as I ran back to the line. "Don't let on." I couldn't breathe. I felt like my whole body had been collapsed in on itself, but I did not want anyone to know that Demond had just messed me up big time. "Act like it didn't hurt," I kept telling myself. But it had. And was still hurting. It's hard to run when you can't breathe.
I reached the back of the line, and was thankful of it. It was someone else's turn the get the devil knocked out of them. The spotlight wasn't on me anymore and that was a good thing because I was still in bad shape there at the back of the line. In my mind I kept hearing Demond's footsteps as he had run toward me. I bent over, grabbed my knees, prayed for a just a little bit of air to inflate my lungs. When it finally came I straightened up. Kevin Dunham walked over, titled his head down just slightly so he could see me clearly through his facemask, and very simply acknowledged what everyone else on that whole field was thinking. He said, "That looked like it hurt."
So peace be with you, Demond. You were a good friend and a great teammate and I feel fortunate to have made those memories with you and that whole gang of boys. We were awful most years, our uniforms were old and mismatched and ill-fitting, but we loved the game and we loved playing it with each other. I'll carry forever the memory of you and the memories of our days playing football together.