Quirky twists of fate bring about MLK Day reunion of sorts
Since the kids don't have school and can sleep in late on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, we make a family pilgrimage to the Museum of Science and Industry on Sunday. As we walk through the transportation gallery, I look up at the United Airlines Boeing 727 jet hanging from the rafters and make the same proud observation I always do-"I know that guy."
Painted on the side of that plane is the name of Capt. William R. Norwood, a man I admired long before I met him. The jet is named in his honor because he was the first black pilot hired by United, became the first black captain and is just one of those highly accomplished and well-liked good guys people want to name things after. People feel that same way about his wife, Molly, an educator who started her own publishing company and recently wrote a book titled "The Waiting Game," inspired by her fight against breast cancer.
But I first came to know and admire Bill and Molly Norwood years ago as I was looking through old Daily Herald clippings in my research for a Martin Luther King column. As one of the many firsts in their lives, the Norwoods were among the first black people to move to the suburbs. Bill, who was the first black quarterback at Southern Illinois University, Molly, and their two young sons, Bill and George, bought a house in Elk Grove Village during the turbulent summer of 1968. Martin Luther King Jr. had just been assassinated. The Civil Rights Act had just been passed. And the mere fact that people with darker skin were buying a house next to people with lighter skin was news in the Daily Herald.
The Norwoods were courageous with their willingness to change the world simply by living the lives people of all colors want. The Norwoods did much for civil rights in the suburbs just by being great neighbors, friends and parents every day for years and years.
"Why should it be a big deal?" a chuckling Molly asked during one of my annual phone calls to get their input on race and the suburbs.
"This time of year, with Martin Luther King's birthday and Black History Month, we could always plan on a phone call from Burt Constable," Molly laughs as we chat on this Martin Luther King Jr. Day.
However, I didn't call them this MLK Day for a story. They called me. A sympathy card I sent them after the 2003 death of their son, Bill Jr., had gotten lost and just arrived in the mail to their home.
An Army veteran and air traffic controller at O'Hare, Bill Jr. married a woman with two kids and had two more after that. He lost his cancer battle at age 42.
My note out of the blue didn't force the Norwoods to deal with that tragic loss again. They deal with it every day. The too-soon deaths of loved ones is an experience shared by all humans.
"Every family has (faced it) or will have," Molly notes.
Bill called simply to thank me for the note, no matter how late it arrived.
"We've been very, very blessed," he adds.
Having retired to their childhood haunts in Southern Illinois, where Bill and Molly couldn't even swim in the "whites only" community pool until 1953, the couple will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary this June with a cruise filled with family and friends.
The Norwoods celebrate this King Day in Arizona, where they spend the winters. While Illinois was the first state to make King's birthday a state holiday in 1973, and the federal government made it a national holiday in 1983, Arizona refused to acknowledge King with a holiday until 1992.
"They were late coming to the fold but they have very nice celebrations out here now," says Bill, noting he and Molly celebrate the birthday of a man who made the world better for blacks, whites, men, women, people with disabilities and everyone who exercises their civil rights.
"We're just thankful Martin Luther King came our way," Bill says.
I can say the same thing about the Norwoods.