In this Ed Talk, Edward Dugger III talks about his champion of champions, and the spirit he inherited from him.
I’ve been asked, “Where does your pioneering drive come from?” “My dad,” is my quick reply. And last week, I was grateful to have the chance to put my advocacy for entrepreneurs who are of color and women on pause to thank him for it once again.
I’ve had many champions in my life: people who would step up and join the battle for my causes, sharing their good name, wisdom and wealth. Among these champions, my father stands out as my champion of champions. He too shared all these things and, most importantly, he gave me his empowering runner’s spirit.
As a boy, I knew my dad as a man tall in stature, athletic in build and kind in heart. He was comfortable to be with and seemed to enjoy me as his young son. Not a talker, I learned from him by what he did rather than what he said. I was curious about mementos I saw around the house that spoke to a past of his I did not yet know: a medal here, a trophy there, a picture of him hurdling, a bronze shoe with spikes. I finally asked him, “Why do you have those things?” “I was a runner; a hurdler” was his reply. “Were you fast?” “Yes, I was very fast.”
When several years older, I asked him, “What do you do for work, dad?” “I’m an engineer. I work for the Air Force at Wright Patterson Air Force Base. I’m Lab Chief of the Applied Mechanics Section of the Materials Laboratory.” Sounds good, I thought, and I resolved to be an engineer.
As a young man, I became more aware that I shared my father’s name while noticing the respect paid to him in our black community in Dayton, Ohio, and increasingly in the city as a whole. I listened in on meetings he held in our home with other members of the Prince Hall Masons as they made plans to build senior housing in our community. Sometimes I’d hear him talking about being on the board of the YMCA or engaged in other civic activities. That did not matter so much to me then. What mattered was that he was there for me: in the audience for my school events, in the stands for my sporting events. There honoring me, when I was being honored by others. And when he wasn’t there, I felt his spirit was.
The first time I had the opportunity to publicly honor my father in return was twenty-five years ago. It was 15 years after his death, at a time when I could fully comprehend the significance of his life and its extraordinary reach into the lives of others. It was the occasion of a dedication of a plaque in his name next to the track at Tufts University where he had attended college, a mile and a half from his home in Medford, MA. Gathered for the occasion were my wife and three young children, several of my father’s siblings, his mother, university officials, and long-time admirers of his legacy. It was a somber, yet joyful event. I was able to pay a tribute to my dad that went to the core of what he meant to me.
The plaque in his honor read, “Edward Dugger, Jr. His mercurial speed brought national glory to Tufts. As champion hurdler of the IC4A, NCAA and Penn Relays, he was the rock on which the storied heroics of Tufts track teams will forever rest.”
Yet that was not even the half of his collegiate story. My father held 49 individual titles during his three year varsity career. These included 24 championship wins at the New England and Eastern Intercollegiate championships; the IC4A championships; the Penn Relays and the NCAA championships, where in his junior year he set the meet record in the high hurdles and tied the American record. Equally important, but less well known, he also championed as a student. He was inducted into the university’s honor societies his sophomore and senior years and elected class secretary. He graduated as one of the few black engineers emerging from a white university, anywhere.
Now I had the chance to honor my father again. This second chance to honor him came last week, at a ceremony re-dedicating the plaque. A few weeks earlier I had returned to the Tufts track after many years to recall that very special day, only to discover the plaque missing. Unknown or forgotten by university officials, my protests catalyzed a search for its whereabouts. Finally [in a turn of events that so perfectly mirrors the Reinventure investment thesis that it almost defies belief!] the plaque was discovered in its original location, but completely hidden by overgrown ground cover. To their credit, university officials chose to use this discovery as an opportunity to celebrate one of Tufts’ most noteworthy alumni.
I took the rededication as an opportunity to summon my father’s spirit and thank him for what it has meant to me. I did so by sharing with the gathered crowd the same tribute that I had made to my father 25 years before. I share it now with you:
“Not long ago I was reminded of a passage from the movie, Chariots of Fire, which I believe captured the essence of my relationship with my father, your son, your brother, your friend and your legend. Some would say that this movie is about runners; I would say this movie is about the spirit of all runners who have the courage to chase their dreams and feel the exhilaration that it brings. The passage that has stayed with me for so many years, goes something like this: “God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run, I feel his pleasure.”
Long before I ever heard these words spoken, I understood them well. You see, my father was a runner. And although his life had many purposes, he was also very fast. And when he ran, I have no doubt that those of you here who had the privilege to see him do so felt a real sense of exhilaration and pride. And although his legs had slowed a bit by the time I got to know him well, I too have been able to experience the exhilaration and pride that he gave to you, in a gift he gave to me: the gift of the runner’s spirit.
For those of you who do not know what that is, I can not explain it to you. I can only tell you what a profound impact it has on me. What I am about to tell you, I have told very few in my life and I only tell you today in honor of my father. There have been many times in my life when the odds were heavily against me and I felt nearly overwhelmed by the prospect of defeat or failure. It has been at those moments that I have summoned my father — whether he was living or dead — and said to him, “Will you run this one with me?” And he has. And with him by my side we have beaten the odds, and laughed the silent laugh of runners who know their victory is not their own.
Today, I have a different request of my father. “Dad, you have never failed to run with me when I have asked you to. Today, as we honor you in the place you knew so well, may I run with you? Could you take a victory lap around this field and tell me stories of this place — and beyond? Can my children tag along too? And in a quiet moment when this day has past, will you share with me your fears? Your doubts? Your moments of exhilaration? The faces of those who ran with you in the moment you needed reassurance?”
This is indeed a special day for me as well as my father. For in honoring my father, you honor his runner’s spirit — and the gift he gave to me, his son. Thank you.”
October 20, 1990
April 22, 2016
I love you, Dad.