Colonel_Reb
Hall of Famer
White man leads NAACP chapter at JSU
Billy Watkins
bwatkins@clarionledger.com
On a blue-sky perfect day and the leaves across the Jackson State
University campus in full fall flame, Michael Teasley strolls down the
pedestrian parkway wearing a dark suit, a bright gold shirt and electric
blue tie.
All those colors represent an interesting contradiction, for Michael Teasley is concentrating on only two: Black and white.
Teasley,
a white man in his mid-30s who grew up in rural Rankin County, is the
new president of the JSU chapter of the NAACP. He is the first white
person to hold that position among historically black colleges and
universities.
"I never thought I'd live to see this happen," says
88-year-old Charles Evers, a longtime Mississippi civil rights activist.
"We always had whites who participated in the NAACP, even back in the
'60s. They just weren't open about it for fear of what might happen to
them.
"This says a lot about the young man, a lot about the JSU
students who voted him in and the whites who aren't harassing him about
it."
Derrick Johnson, president of the Mississippi State
Conference of the NAACP, said Teasley's selection is an example of the
organization's real mission.
"Michael is a very dedicated and
committed individual, and it's been great watching him grow as a
leader," he says. "And this is a great opportunity for people to see
that our organization is not about one race. Many people forget that
white people helped organize the NAACP (in 1909). But I think Michael's
acceptance within the organization shows we practice what we preach -
that no person should be discriminated against because of race."
Word of his election has been slow to spread at JSU.
"This
is the first I've heard of it," says Daniel Watkins, the dean of the
College of Education and Human Development. "But we would like to be
more diverse. And the fact he was elected tells me his peers saw
something in him ... some sort of unique leadership quality."
Latoya Rosell, 25, a pre-nursing student from Flora, wasn't aware of Teasley's election, either.
"But
it shouldn't matter whether he's white or black," she says. "He doesn't
have to be black to know the issues that face students at JSU."
And
Teasley has plans to address some of them, such as why refund checks
are slow to reach students' hands, and the quality of food in the campus
cafeteria.
He wants to increase the chapter's membership. "I'm constantly recruiting," he says.
On a larger scale, Teasley is forming a movement to change the state flag, which incorporates the Confederate battle flag.
"It's offensive to a lot of people," he says. "It has to go."
Teasley says he "not only walks the walk, but talks the talk."
He resides in the Jackson inner-city neighborhood known as Washington Addition.
"At
first, everybody thought I was either with the police or dealing
drugs," he says. "But after living here about a year now, they've come
to know me.
"See, black is not a color to me. It's a culture. If
you go to China and want to know about the culture there, are you going
to stay at a hotel out by the airport or are you going to get off the
beaten path and interact with people?
"Living where I do is about being able to identify and understand what a lot of black people are going through."
Two defining moments led him to this point.
When
he was 8, he remembers his dad, Oscar, stopping at Teasley's
grandparents' house. They invited them in for supper. "No, no, we've got
to get on," his dad told them.
"And I knew why," Teasley says. "I
had a black friend named Leonard in the car with me. My grandparents
were very much into segregation and didn't allow black people into their
home. We didn't stay and eat because they would've never accepted
Leonard. That sparked something inside of me."
Soon after entering
Jackson State in 2007, he was invited to an NAACP campus meeting.
Teasley joined and agreed to participate in voter registration that week
at JSU's home football game. The presidential election between John
McCain and Barack Obama was approaching.
"So there I am in the
stands, a white guy wearing my NAACP T-shirt, getting all these funny
looks," he recalls. "I have to say, I was waiting for something to
happen ... the reverse discrimination thing."
Teasley made eye contact with an elderly gentleman who was selling T-shirts.
"I
almost didn't approach him," Teasley says. "The young people were cool
with me, but they didn't live through the '60s like this guy did. But
something made me go up to him."
Teasley asked him if he was registered to vote. The man answered with an empty stare.
"Sir, if you're interested, it'll only take a few minutes," Teasley told him.
The man stared at the pen and clipboard Teasley was carrying.
"Then
it hit me - he couldn't read or write," Teasley says. "I said, 'I can
help you do this.' We filled out his information. I had him sign an 'X'
for his signature. I gave him my phone number and told him to call me if
he ever needed anything.
"The day President Obama won, the man
called me. He said, 'Voting is something I've always wanted to do.' He
was ecstatic that he had helped put Obama in office.
"That is when
I decided I was going to be fully committed to the NAACP and not worry
about stigmas or what anybody was saying, including my family."
Teasley
served as 2nd vice president in 2008-09 and 2009-10 before being
elected by the 60-plus-member chapter last spring as president for the
2010-11 term.
Teasley's parents divorced while he was in
elementary school. The youngest of three boys, he chose to live with his
mother, Kay, who took on odd jobs in Mississippi, Louisiana and
Alabama. "I remember one place she was proof-reading yearbooks," he
says. "But we had a place to live, electricity and something to eat."
Teasley dropped out of school during junior high, hit the streets and began selling drugs.
His life changed when he was 18. His mother died of complications from lupus. She was 47.
Shortly
after that, Teasley found out his girlfriend was pregnant. They got
married. Teasley worked two jobs - at Sears and UPS - while earning his
GED.
Teasley and his wife divorced seven years after their son,
Dustin, was born. "He lives in Texas now," Teasley says. "He's 17, a
great kid. And he has a great stepdad."
In the mid '90s, Teasley
joined the corporate world, negotiating land purchases for a
telecommunications network that needed places to erect cell towers.
"I did that for 11 years and made a lot of money," he says. "My best year, I made nearly $200,000. But I wasn't happy."
He
loved music. "I had this idea of becoming the Kurt Cobain of the
hip-hop world," he says. "I wanted to de-commercialize the music."
That
is when he decided to enroll at JSU and major in music technology. That
is also when most of his family stopped speaking to him, except for his
dad and his uncle, Ted Johnson, who is retired and living in Pearl.
"I
moved in with Uncle Ted, and my first morning of classes at Jackson
State, I got so nervous I threw up," Teasley says. "I changed shirts,
sat down on the sofa. My uncle looked over at me and said, 'What are you
doing?' I said, 'I don't know about this.' He said, 'Get your butt up
and go to class.' He's always been supportive of me. He said, 'I am
proud of you for chasing your dream.' "
Teasley soon discovered he
might not be suited for music technology. "It was over my head," he
says. "They were talking musical theory ... that's when I switched to
political science, which sort of fits me a little better."
"I'm no angel," he says. "Never professed to be."
In
the spring of 2008, his first year at JSU, Pearl police arrested him on
a charge of possession of a controlled substance. Teasley said then -
and still does - it was a prescribed medication. "I just didn't have the
prescription bottle with me," he says. "I had six tablets."
He
stayed in the Rankin County jail more than four months because he could
not afford the $2,500 bond. He was indicted on the drug charge.
"I
lay there on the bottom bunk of cell 216 and thought about my life, how
I'd been a success in the corporate world ... now I was in jail, about
as low as a man can go."
His grandmother finally posted bail after
it had been dropped to about $900. Teasley says he was "angry at the
system, angry at my grandmother for leaving me in there so long, angry
at myself."
So he tossed bricks through the windows of Pearl
police headquarters and two businesses. Arrested again, he found himself
for the second time in cell 216. Only this go-round was different. In a
cell built for two, he was the third resident, sleeping on a small
floor mat.
"I remember looking up at that bottom bunk where I had
been lying before and thinking I could go no lower. But there I was -
even lower," he says. "I really think God was speaking to me."
His grandmother posted bail again. He was indicted again - this time on a charge of destruction of public property.
The
drug charge was dropped after he showed he had been prescribed the
medication. He pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor from the brick-throwing
incident and was sentenced to five years' probation and two years'
court-supervised watch. "If I stay clean for another year, the slate can
be wiped clean," he says.
He prefaces this anecdote with one request. "Please don't make me sound like a 'Jailhouse Jesus.' "
But
during his first stint in the Rankin County jail, he became friends
with a pastor who was incarcerated and held weekly church services for
Spanish-speaking inmates.
Teasley was baptized in his cell. They used a plastic trash can filled with water.
"Water
went everywhere, of course, and I could've gotten in trouble for that,"
he says. "So I borrowed a cell mate's towel to help clean it up. I
traded him a meal tray for it the next day.
"It just seemed like I had come to the end of a long, long journey."
One that continues.
Teasley is considering law school or politics. Because he changed majors, his scheduled graduation date is now 2012.
"Whatever
I do when I leave here, I will be helping people," he says, "I will be a
political activist. That's my passion. I think I've grown up a lot.
Hopefully, I can make my life count for something."http://m.clarionledger.com/apps/pbc...1212/NEWS/12120347/-1/WAP&template=wapart
Billy Watkins
bwatkins@clarionledger.com
On a blue-sky perfect day and the leaves across the Jackson State
University campus in full fall flame, Michael Teasley strolls down the
pedestrian parkway wearing a dark suit, a bright gold shirt and electric
blue tie.
All those colors represent an interesting contradiction, for Michael Teasley is concentrating on only two: Black and white.
Teasley,
a white man in his mid-30s who grew up in rural Rankin County, is the
new president of the JSU chapter of the NAACP. He is the first white
person to hold that position among historically black colleges and
universities.
"I never thought I'd live to see this happen," says
88-year-old Charles Evers, a longtime Mississippi civil rights activist.
"We always had whites who participated in the NAACP, even back in the
'60s. They just weren't open about it for fear of what might happen to
them.
"This says a lot about the young man, a lot about the JSU
students who voted him in and the whites who aren't harassing him about
it."
Derrick Johnson, president of the Mississippi State
Conference of the NAACP, said Teasley's selection is an example of the
organization's real mission.
"Michael is a very dedicated and
committed individual, and it's been great watching him grow as a
leader," he says. "And this is a great opportunity for people to see
that our organization is not about one race. Many people forget that
white people helped organize the NAACP (in 1909). But I think Michael's
acceptance within the organization shows we practice what we preach -
that no person should be discriminated against because of race."
Word of his election has been slow to spread at JSU.
"This
is the first I've heard of it," says Daniel Watkins, the dean of the
College of Education and Human Development. "But we would like to be
more diverse. And the fact he was elected tells me his peers saw
something in him ... some sort of unique leadership quality."
Latoya Rosell, 25, a pre-nursing student from Flora, wasn't aware of Teasley's election, either.
"But
it shouldn't matter whether he's white or black," she says. "He doesn't
have to be black to know the issues that face students at JSU."
And
Teasley has plans to address some of them, such as why refund checks
are slow to reach students' hands, and the quality of food in the campus
cafeteria.
He wants to increase the chapter's membership. "I'm constantly recruiting," he says.
On a larger scale, Teasley is forming a movement to change the state flag, which incorporates the Confederate battle flag.
"It's offensive to a lot of people," he says. "It has to go."
Teasley says he "not only walks the walk, but talks the talk."
He resides in the Jackson inner-city neighborhood known as Washington Addition.
"At
first, everybody thought I was either with the police or dealing
drugs," he says. "But after living here about a year now, they've come
to know me.
"See, black is not a color to me. It's a culture. If
you go to China and want to know about the culture there, are you going
to stay at a hotel out by the airport or are you going to get off the
beaten path and interact with people?
"Living where I do is about being able to identify and understand what a lot of black people are going through."
Two defining moments led him to this point.
When
he was 8, he remembers his dad, Oscar, stopping at Teasley's
grandparents' house. They invited them in for supper. "No, no, we've got
to get on," his dad told them.
"And I knew why," Teasley says. "I
had a black friend named Leonard in the car with me. My grandparents
were very much into segregation and didn't allow black people into their
home. We didn't stay and eat because they would've never accepted
Leonard. That sparked something inside of me."
Soon after entering
Jackson State in 2007, he was invited to an NAACP campus meeting.
Teasley joined and agreed to participate in voter registration that week
at JSU's home football game. The presidential election between John
McCain and Barack Obama was approaching.
"So there I am in the
stands, a white guy wearing my NAACP T-shirt, getting all these funny
looks," he recalls. "I have to say, I was waiting for something to
happen ... the reverse discrimination thing."
Teasley made eye contact with an elderly gentleman who was selling T-shirts.
"I
almost didn't approach him," Teasley says. "The young people were cool
with me, but they didn't live through the '60s like this guy did. But
something made me go up to him."
Teasley asked him if he was registered to vote. The man answered with an empty stare.
"Sir, if you're interested, it'll only take a few minutes," Teasley told him.
The man stared at the pen and clipboard Teasley was carrying.
"Then
it hit me - he couldn't read or write," Teasley says. "I said, 'I can
help you do this.' We filled out his information. I had him sign an 'X'
for his signature. I gave him my phone number and told him to call me if
he ever needed anything.
"The day President Obama won, the man
called me. He said, 'Voting is something I've always wanted to do.' He
was ecstatic that he had helped put Obama in office.
"That is when
I decided I was going to be fully committed to the NAACP and not worry
about stigmas or what anybody was saying, including my family."
Teasley
served as 2nd vice president in 2008-09 and 2009-10 before being
elected by the 60-plus-member chapter last spring as president for the
2010-11 term.
Teasley's parents divorced while he was in
elementary school. The youngest of three boys, he chose to live with his
mother, Kay, who took on odd jobs in Mississippi, Louisiana and
Alabama. "I remember one place she was proof-reading yearbooks," he
says. "But we had a place to live, electricity and something to eat."
Teasley dropped out of school during junior high, hit the streets and began selling drugs.
His life changed when he was 18. His mother died of complications from lupus. She was 47.
Shortly
after that, Teasley found out his girlfriend was pregnant. They got
married. Teasley worked two jobs - at Sears and UPS - while earning his
GED.
Teasley and his wife divorced seven years after their son,
Dustin, was born. "He lives in Texas now," Teasley says. "He's 17, a
great kid. And he has a great stepdad."
In the mid '90s, Teasley
joined the corporate world, negotiating land purchases for a
telecommunications network that needed places to erect cell towers.
"I did that for 11 years and made a lot of money," he says. "My best year, I made nearly $200,000. But I wasn't happy."
He
loved music. "I had this idea of becoming the Kurt Cobain of the
hip-hop world," he says. "I wanted to de-commercialize the music."
That
is when he decided to enroll at JSU and major in music technology. That
is also when most of his family stopped speaking to him, except for his
dad and his uncle, Ted Johnson, who is retired and living in Pearl.
"I
moved in with Uncle Ted, and my first morning of classes at Jackson
State, I got so nervous I threw up," Teasley says. "I changed shirts,
sat down on the sofa. My uncle looked over at me and said, 'What are you
doing?' I said, 'I don't know about this.' He said, 'Get your butt up
and go to class.' He's always been supportive of me. He said, 'I am
proud of you for chasing your dream.' "
Teasley soon discovered he
might not be suited for music technology. "It was over my head," he
says. "They were talking musical theory ... that's when I switched to
political science, which sort of fits me a little better."
"I'm no angel," he says. "Never professed to be."
In
the spring of 2008, his first year at JSU, Pearl police arrested him on
a charge of possession of a controlled substance. Teasley said then -
and still does - it was a prescribed medication. "I just didn't have the
prescription bottle with me," he says. "I had six tablets."
He
stayed in the Rankin County jail more than four months because he could
not afford the $2,500 bond. He was indicted on the drug charge.
"I
lay there on the bottom bunk of cell 216 and thought about my life, how
I'd been a success in the corporate world ... now I was in jail, about
as low as a man can go."
His grandmother finally posted bail after
it had been dropped to about $900. Teasley says he was "angry at the
system, angry at my grandmother for leaving me in there so long, angry
at myself."
So he tossed bricks through the windows of Pearl
police headquarters and two businesses. Arrested again, he found himself
for the second time in cell 216. Only this go-round was different. In a
cell built for two, he was the third resident, sleeping on a small
floor mat.
"I remember looking up at that bottom bunk where I had
been lying before and thinking I could go no lower. But there I was -
even lower," he says. "I really think God was speaking to me."
His grandmother posted bail again. He was indicted again - this time on a charge of destruction of public property.
The
drug charge was dropped after he showed he had been prescribed the
medication. He pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor from the brick-throwing
incident and was sentenced to five years' probation and two years'
court-supervised watch. "If I stay clean for another year, the slate can
be wiped clean," he says.
He prefaces this anecdote with one request. "Please don't make me sound like a 'Jailhouse Jesus.' "
But
during his first stint in the Rankin County jail, he became friends
with a pastor who was incarcerated and held weekly church services for
Spanish-speaking inmates.
Teasley was baptized in his cell. They used a plastic trash can filled with water.
"Water
went everywhere, of course, and I could've gotten in trouble for that,"
he says. "So I borrowed a cell mate's towel to help clean it up. I
traded him a meal tray for it the next day.
"It just seemed like I had come to the end of a long, long journey."
One that continues.
Teasley is considering law school or politics. Because he changed majors, his scheduled graduation date is now 2012.
"Whatever
I do when I leave here, I will be helping people," he says, "I will be a
political activist. That's my passion. I think I've grown up a lot.
Hopefully, I can make my life count for something."http://m.clarionledger.com/apps/pbc...1212/NEWS/12120347/-1/WAP&template=wapart
