A few weeks ago, while scrolling my iPhone’s photo gallery, I came across images of myself and a group of friends at a recent grade school reunion. The pictures brought back memories of reconnecting with the first kids I knew, the ones who can look at me and see snaggle-toothed Ronald wearing a crushed velvet bow-tie and lop-sided afro. Now, some five decades later, we appreciate how those first friendships, romances, rivalries, teachers, bullies, and teammates started us on our way to becoming the people we are today. Some of us traveled long distances to reconnect and walk the corridors of Gesu Catholic School, our century-old alma mater on Detroit’s northwest side. We took plenty of pictures to commemorate the moment.

Ray Lee was the talk of the reunion, at least among my friends. Ray didn’t go to our school; he attended Presentation School, a crosstown rival, but we missed him, still. As kids, he was hands-down the best athlete we knew.

At this stage, we may have welcomed him taking a victory lap through our halls. It was a badge of honor to have competed against Ray in any sport. I played against him in little league baseball; he was a beast at shortstop. Ray went on to a legendary college basketball career, leading Fort Hays State University to two NAIA national championships as a two-time All-American.

A couple of weeks prior to the reunion, we all learned that Ray Lee passed away in a car accident after he suffered cardiac arrest while driving. The news shook us all. Here’s the obituary published in Fort Hays, Kansas.

A couple of nights before the reunion, I met up with Mac, another friend since grade school. Mac, who was born and raised in neighboring Pontiac, had been a star basketball player at the University of Detroit, where he still holds the Titans assist record. I’ve known Mac since seventh grade when our moms let us room together at summer basketball camp.

I hadn’t seen him in some years. We met up at Charlene’s, a jazz spot in downtown Pontiac. Over drinks, we covered a lot of ground; family, work, crazy-ass right-wing politics. We talked sports, too. I asked whether he’d heard about Ray.

“Yeah,” he said. “I heard. Sad, man. Helluva athlete, too.”

There was silence. We hugged and promised to meet up again soon.

“No excuses,” he said.

“No excuses,” I shot back. “Let’s not waste time. You just never know. I mean, Ray Lee is gone.”

“I know,” Mac said. “Think about it. Ray Lee is gone.”

“I know. Helluva athlete.”

Of course, nobody has perfected the art of reunions like HBCUs. Throughout this season of Black college homecomings and football classics count on DETOUR to be in the mix, covering the music, food, fashion, and festivity that elevate HBCUs into a class of their own. Years ago, while researching Where Everybody Looks Like Me: At the Crossroads of America’s Black Colleges and Culture, I fell in love with the sights and sounds at HBCU gatherings. When my book came out in 2015, my first promotional stop was Louisiana, home to six HBCUs.

Here’s a picture of me and my two sons in a Thanksgiving Day Parade in New Orleans during Bayou Classic weekend, which annually features Southern University and Grambling University.

Now, we want you to share your story about a significant reunion, or gathering with family or friends. Pitch us at DETOURxp.com.

This story was created by Detour, a journalism brand focused on the best stories in Black travel, in partnership with McClatchy’s The Charlotte Observer and Miami Herald. Detour’s approach to travel and storytelling seeks to tell previously under-reported or ignored narratives by shifting away from the customary routes framed in Eurocentrism. The detour team is made up of an A-list of award-winning journalists, writers, historians, photographers, illustrators and filmmakers.

This story was originally published September 27, 2022 9:00 AM.