By Jeff Commings, The Morning Swim Show associate producer, originally posted on SwimmingWorld.TV
CHICAGO, Illinois, September 18. ALL black people do not look alike.
And, if you see a black man with a swimmer build at a swimming-related function, do not immediately deduce that the man you are looking at can be no other person than Cullen Jones.
I offer this advice because I am a black man with a swimmer build. I am presently at a swimming-related function at the United States Aquatic Sports Convention. And I am not Cullen Jones.
But in the past week, six people have believed otherwise.
The first time this happened was at the American Swimming Coaches Association's world clinic last week. A woman came to the Swimming World booth to look at some of the instructional books and DVDs we sell. After flipping through a book, she handed it to me and asked, "Would you be willing to sign this?"
My perplexed look immediately threw her off. I wondered why someone would want my autograph. I was on a few USA Swimming national teams and achieved some high honors in the sport in the 1990s, but I hadn't been asked for an autograph in more than a decade.
After I unfurled my brow, the woman backpedaled. "You are Cullen Jones, right?" My blood pressure spiked quickly. I gritted my teeth, smiled and said, "No." She didn't look extremely embarrassed.
A much-revered coach in the annals of world swimming came to the booth a while later. This coach had recruited me to go to his university, and even among the hundreds of kids he once tried to recruit, I figured he must remember me, right?
"I went to the clinic you did in Philadelphia and really liked it," he said. My brow furled again. I have never been to Philadelphia in my life. He turned to a colleague and continued to admonish me on the way I handled the inner-city kids who came to the clinic and called me one of the most elegant freestylers in the pool. I am a breaststroker, not a freestyler. And so it struck me that this coach also thought I was Cullen Jones.
Out of respect for the coach, I kept quiet.
The last person to call me Cullen at the ASCA clinic did a triple take as she walked by me at the Swimming World booth. She asked if I was going to be a part of the demonstration clinic with the other Olympians later in the day.
"I've never been to the Olympics," I told her gently as I dug the fingernails of my right hand into my palm.
"Weren't you on that relay last year?"
"If you're referring to the third swimmer on the men's 400 free relay in Beijing, that was Cullen Jones, not me."
"Oh. OK. Do you know if Cullen is going to be here?"
"I have no idea. I haven't heard any news about that."
"OK, thanks."
It isn't racism, but it's just as bad.
Last night during the opening reception at the USAS convention, three people approached our Swimming World area in a two-hour timespan, saw me and said without hesitation, "You're Cullen Jones, right?" One of them started to walk away after I dashed their hopes of meeting an Olympian, but came back to apologize and told me she didn't mean to make it seem like she was being stereotypical.
I should be flattered that people think I am the Olympic gold medalist. But I am not flattered, because if my skin were pink instead of brown, no one would walk up to me and say: "It's so nice to meet you, Michael Phelps."
I am not flattered, because it makes me believe people are under the thought process that the history of blacks in swimming contains only the name Cullen Jones. To date, no one has mistaken me for Anthony Ervin, Sabir Muhammad, Byron Davis or Michael Norment. But I bet Anthony, Sabir, Byron and Michael would have the same experience if they were in my place here in Chicago.
I can't be anything but upset about the foolishness of the six people I encountered, especially when I fantasize their thought processes:
Look! It's a tall, black man at a swimming-related function! It couldn't possibly be anyone but Cullen Jones, because he is the only black person in the sport and no other black man would be caught dead at a swimming event. I know I am right about this deduction and I will shake Cullen's hand and get a photograph.
Asians go through this, too, and that was hilariously pointed out on last night's episode of "The Office." I have a few Asian friends who were swimmers. Would someone rush them because they thought they were getting a chance to take a picture with Kosuke Kitajima?
Middle Easterners have had it just as bad since 9/11. If they look like Osama bin Laden, they must be Osama bin Laden, or at least believe the same things he does.
I wonder if any white person who shows up on a basketball court is asked if he's Steve Nash. Preposterous, you say? If you flip the coin, that's what happened to me.
Cullen Jones has done a lot of work around the country with Make a Splash, and obviously his efforts have put his face out there, but I don't think the message inspires people to look back, as well as look forward. I am not happy that people do not know the history of blacks in the sport. Bruce Wigo and the folks at the International Swimming Hall of Fame have put together a great exhibit about Africans in swimming that spans from pre-slavery to today.
I regret that I haven't had the opportunity to see the exhibit, but I do know the history of blacks in the sport anyway, and it's not because I am black. I know the history because I want to know who we as swimmers in the late 20th century and early 21st century should thank for our progress in the sport. While I learned about Mark Spitz and Matt Biondi, I read about Chris Silva, the first African-American named to the USA Swimming national team. He did this in 1982, the same year he helped UCLA win the NCAA championship.
I watched with excitement as Anthony Nesty won gold in the 100 fly at the 1988 Olympics. Because Anthony won gold for Suriname and not the United States, the enormity of his victory over Biondi was not fully covered in the States, as he became the first black male swimmer to win Olympic gold. I met Anthony at the 1991 Pan-American Games and felt humbled by his presence.
While I was an elite swimmer, more black swimmers could be found at a national championships than you could find today. Off the top of my head, you could find almost a dozen black swimmers at nationals. Most came from the Philadelphia Parks and Recreation club that Jim Ellis started, but the rest of us were from predominantly white teams elsewhere in the country.
And of course, there's Anthony Ervin and Maritza Correia, who were the first American swimmers of African descent to make the Olympic team in 2000 and 2004, respectively.
At this past summer's USA nationals, Cullen Jones, Sabir Muhammad and Lia Neal were the only black swimmers I spotted on deck. That's OK, but 15 years ago, our presence was much higher.
I'm sure many who read this will say that I am blowing this out of proportion, that I'm bonkers and I should have just laughed it off. I wonder if you will say the same thing if someone came to you and assumed you were someone else simply because of a shared skin color and sport.
The next time you approach me, please remember there is more than one African-American involved in the sport of swimming.
And if you happen to meet Cullen Jones, please don't assume that he is me.