White Men Can Jump

By Dan Cray/Los Angeles

The pose is classic Air Jordan. Legs spread wide and a basketball-laden arm arced high, a kid soars through the air of the Crenshaw High School gymnasium into the waiting arms of two grinning teammates, who heave him up toward the rim. The basketball slams haplessly off the forward edge to the roar of "Milk! Milk! Milk!" "You wait for Milk to dunk," quips teammate Jonathan Stokes, "you'll be waiting every game."

It's a stereotype, and the players know it, which is why they poke fun at it. "Milk" is David Meriwether, 17, 5 ft., 11 in., a junior whose mere presence at the Los Angeles school dropped more jaws than his first dunk ever could. When Meriwether steps onto the court for Crenshaw's first regular-season game this week, he will become the first white basketball player in the school's 30-year history. In a preview of the anticipated pandemonium, Meriwether's introduction at a recent preseason scrimmage prompted more than 1,000 students to stomp and chant his politically incorrect nickname. "I don't care what color the guys are, I just want to play," says the dazed Meriwether, "and there's no better school to play for."

To say Crenshaw High is steeped in basketball tradition is like saying the Boston Celtics have had some decent teams. The school's gym is littered with banners proclaiming Crenshaw's 16 city titles and eight state championships. An astonishing 95% of the school's players have gone on to play college ball; eight have made it to the NBA.

But Crenshaw is an inner-city school, and doesn't let you forget it. Doorways are chained and gated; security guards outnumber groundskeepers. Despite a school-district policy of open enrollment, 81% of the 2,733 students are African American; most of the others are Hispanic. The school has only four white students, and Caucasian visitors are so rare that students automatically assume they're members of Meriwether's family.

No wonder then that no one expected Meriwether to actually enroll. "We've had white players who wanted to play here before," says Willie West, the team's coach for 29 years. "Then their mom visits the school, gets scared, and that's the end of it." But in an era in which good high school players switch teams like free agents, Meriwether was looking for a chance to play at a top school, regardless of the demographics.

The decision initially produced a reversal of scenes played out years ago, when black players began breaking into white-dominated athletics. "The guys played me harder," Meriwether says. "Everybody called me 'white boy,' and I took a lot of elbows." But Meriwether, an easygoing kid who talks as if he's 30 and has an irrepressible sense of humor, played well enough to earn a spot on the team as backup point guard. "He's hard-nosed," says teammate Richard Bluette, "and you've got to be because at this school they'll try to bring you down."

Meriwether shrugs it off but concedes, "Walking the halls can be a little uneasy. People say things, testing you." Classes have been routine, although Meriwether says one teacher discussed slavery by lecturing about "the white devil," prompting everyone in class to turn and stare at Meriwether. "I was like, Daaamn!" he says. "I can understand why people come out of here angry if that's how they're taught."

Teammates are satisfied that Meriwether is "just another player" and resent the notion that Crenshaw players would be anything but color blind. "Milk's no white Jackie Robinson," notes Eric Baker, "because we embraced Milk, and Jackie wasn't embraced by his teammates."

That was apparent during preseason workouts, with Meriwether comfortable enough to razz fellow players. He now spends weekends hanging with his Crenshaw teammates at "parties in the hood," while maintaining a B average. "Milk is like a chameleon," says Bluette. "He just blends in." If that's true, Meriwether's experiment at Crenshaw High will be all net.