Globe Editorial
THE DEATH of Darryl Williams is a reminder that Boston in the 1970s was not a nice place. It wasn’t progressive or friendly. It was mean and, as Williams learned, violently abusive at times. But then many people, following Williams’s example, made it better. His life was a parable of hope, a prayer for his city. By the time of his too-early death on Sunday, at 46, Williams knew that his prayer had been answered. Today’s Boston is better in every respect, and he was one of its guiding lights.
In 1979, Williams was a 15-year-old football player from Jamaica Plain High School, part of an all-black team squaring off against Charlestown High School in a neighborhood that had been one of the epicenters of resistance to court-ordered busing. At halftime, a bullet struck Williams in the back of the neck, instantly depriving him of nearly all movement in his body. There was never much doubt that the attack was racially motivated.
The shooting was the capstone on a decade of strife but also, in retrospect, a turning point. Williams was the pivotal figure. He was a child of Boston who would not hate. His ability, and that of his family, to rise above bitterness under the greatest duress was extraordinary, and inspired countless people to take their own anger down a few notches. He gave the whole city the strength to forgive. And many white Bostonians, including countless police and firefighters, stood by him and never forgot him, long after his case disappeared from the headlines. They, too, are heroes of a disquieting past.
Today’s Boston is not without problems, but its many thriving neighborhoods, elevated by a spirit of cooperation among races and infused with the energy of new immigrants, are part of Williams’s legacy. None of these improvements would have been possible if Boston hadn’t gotten past the divisions of the ’70s. No one would have wanted to live here. Darryl Williams will always have a special place in Boston history.
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