Words From The Warden

During my time as a student at Ohio Northern University, our academic calendar was organized into quarters. I typically traveled home for each week-long break, though I remained on campus for the duration of each quarter. Within those ten-week terms, I made an effort to visit home at least once. Returning home was always a welcome relief: I looked forward to my mom’s home-cooked meals and enjoyed spending time with my parents and brothers. From my sophomore year onward, I became involved in officiating sports, which made it challenging to travel from Ada to Lorain during football and basketball seasons. Whenever I did manage to get home, I would sometimes invite a friend to join me. On Sunday nights, the dorm’s main floor lobby would fill with guys lining up at the three phone booths, eager to call girlfriends and family members. Every week, my parents would ask, “When will you be home?”

I had a conversation with my parents during my junior year, in which I excitedly told them I planned to bring my friend Spencer home with me for the weekend. Spencer, who stood at an impressive 6’ 3”, was originally from Rockaway Beach, New York City. He was majoring in Political Science and was known for his infectious sense of humor and unmistakable, wonderful laugh. Spencer and I shared many experiences together; he played center on our intramural basketball team, and we spent hours in each other's company. My parents had previously met him during one of their visits to Northern. However, when I mentioned bringing Spencer home, my mother immediately objected, asking, “The black boy? Absolutely not!” I was stunned by her response. When I pressed for an explanation, she replied, “I won’t have any blacks staying in my house.”

Throughout my entire life, I had never witnessed my mother speak or act in a way that suggested racial bias or unkindness toward others. Her words and behavior, as far as I could recall, had always reflected fairness and compassion. That’s why the moment our conversation turned to my friend Spencer, and she expressed that he would not be welcome simply because he was Black, I was utterly shocked. It was difficult for me to comprehend that such prejudice could exist in someone I thought I knew so well.

Each Sunday evening, our conversation repeated itself. My mother would ask, “When will you be home?” and I would answer, “When Spence can come with me.” This exchange went on for several weeks, with neither of us willing to compromise. As a result, I chose not to return home at the end of the winter quarter, instead staying with a professor in town. During those weeks, I found myself replaying moments from my life, searching for signs I might have missed—clues to my mother’s deeply held anti-Black sentiments that had remained hidden until now.
During my grade school and junior high years, I attended schools where both the student body and faculty were entirely Caucasian. It wasn’t until I entered my freshman year at Marion Harding High School that I first had the opportunity to share classrooms, athletic teams, and chorus with students of color. One of the first people to befriend me in English class was Bob Nunnally. Bob was not only funny and smart, but he was also a talented artist. I was fortunate to call him a friend until his passing in 2024. Many may recognize Bob as the afternoon DJ on WSNY (Sunny 95) and later as the morning weatherman on WCMH TV, channel 4.

Another close friend during my freshman and sophomore years was Melvin McGary. Melvin stands out as the best athlete ever to have attended Marion Harding, but his true gift was music. His incredible ear allowed him to hear any song and then play it flawlessly on the piano. Mel and I often teamed up for talent shows and other events—he would play and sing, while I happily provided backup vocals. I recall bringing Mel home one day without notifying my mom, so we could use our piano and practice our routine. My mother seemed a bit unsettled, but I assumed it was simply because I hadn’t asked her permission beforehand; she was always particular about her routines.

I left Marion after my sophomore year. However, I later invited myself to the Harding class of 1974’s 50th reunion, where I learned that after graduation, Mel had chosen to turn down a full athletic scholarship to Michigan State. Instead, he pursued music as a major at a university in California, eventually becoming a professor of music and building his life there.
My mother’s reaction to Spencer left me deeply unsettled, especially because I had never heard her utter any hateful or prejudiced remarks before. In my experience, she always seemed fair and compassionate toward others. Her sudden refusal to welcome Spencer, based solely on his race, was shocking and seemingly out of character for her. In contrast, my maternal grandfather, Grandpa John, regularly expressed hateful opinions. He was known for making terrible comments about Catholics, Jews, Blacks, and anyone who differed from him in appearance or beliefs. His prejudice was so pronounced that he nearly had a heart attack upon discovering that his own son-in-law, my father, was Catholic. Grandpa John's intolerance stood in stark opposition to the values I believed my mother held, making her response to Spencer even more confounding.

Over the past two Sundays, we have focused on the biblical stories of God providing Moses and the Israelites with His laws, etched in stone tablets. The Ten Commandments stand out for their emphasis on prohibitions; most are written as directives of what one should not do—such as not creating idols, not stealing, and not bearing false witness. Among these, only the fifth commandment offers a positive instruction, urging us to "Honor thy Parents." This distinction highlights that God's laws were primarily about setting boundaries on behavior, defining what was not acceptable.

It is interesting to note that this approach is reflected in most human laws as well, which often specify actions to avoid rather than encouraging positive conduct. For example, one significant human law "written in stone" was the prohibition against slavery in the Northwest Territory, which included Ohio. Despite the formal ban on slavery, fear and hatred toward Black people persisted. These attitudes manifested in local laws that were rooted in exclusion and discrimination, such as sundown ordinances—regulations that required Black individuals to leave certain towns before nightfall. Remarkably, it was not until the early 1970s that Utica became one of the last municipalities in Ohio to repeal its sundown law.

God provided the Ten Commandments, inscribing His laws on stone tablets to guide humanity in setting boundaries and understanding what was not acceptable. However, centuries later, Jesus offered a transformative message that redefined the foundation of these laws. He taught that the essence of all commandments is rooted in love: to love God with every part of our being and to love one another fully. These two principles form the cornerstone for how we are meant to live and interact with others. It is through love—and only love—that we can dispel the darkness created by fear and hatred.

After nine weeks of ongoing tension between my mother and me, she finally relented and welcomed Spencer to stay with us for the weekend. It was clear, once Spencer was in our home, that she could not help but be won over by his warmth and charm—his presence was simply impossible to resist. Looking back, I believe that in choosing to stand up for Spencer and live out the values of love and acceptance, I was truly honoring my parents in the best way I knew how.

Peace,
Henry Zaborniak, Senior Warden