Looking back now, I have come to realize that my experience at The University of South Florida was extremely unique. I was probably one of the last individuals who, as a freshmen, walked the halls of the Phyllis P. Marshall Center - you know, with the Underground and the SEC, and the dingy carpets. The one that connected straight into the bookstore. Yeah, that one. I watched the tearing down of the Olde Marshall Center (yes, with the ‘e’ because...antique). But in a similar light. I watched the rise of Juniper-Poplar. I witnessed three head coaches of the football team. These things sound trivial at first because everyone had their own experience as an undergrad, but somehow I seem to have really felt jammed in the middle of two very large transitionary periods for the community. And since stepping foot on the campus in 2008, I was always proud of how welcoming the Black community was. I was dapped up, greeted, welcomed, and introduced to a lot of people who really introduced themselves because that was a thing to do at USF. To be connected, to be recognized, to be a link in the long, long connections between everybody. Might I add that if I ever attended an event you invited me to in my undergrad years, you’re not allowed to walk by me in public and act like you don’t know me (I will start a fight with you...seriously) Then, as I moved through my collegiate career, I noticed how much that began to wane. That at 22, I suddenly felt like everyone I knew was gone. At 25, I suddenly almost felt as though I had a limited social life in Tampa, and at 27, conversations with alumni always include, “Oh shit, you’re here in Tampa? Wow. Me too”. Where is everybody? Well, by Snapchat filters, yes we know where some people are. But where is everybody? Where is our community? I recently sat in a Groupme (which means I wasn’t actually sitting at all) along with some pretty interesting people, who were preparing to set up a social. As I read their comments, I couldn’t help but think to myself that I honestly had no idea who they were. They didn’t go to USF, yet it almost felt like they were the “Tampa Authority for Social Activities”. Literally, there are alumni from other schools - from FAMU, from Bethune Cookman, Florida State University, and of course UCF - who have nestled in Tampa and formed stronger communities than the USF Bulls who live and have called Tampa home for years. To know that stores in Tampa cater collegiate merchandise to UF and FSU more than they do USF is probably a huge indicator of how unbalanced the concept and perception of the alumni community is here. So it’s needless to say that efforts to create a community for African-American/Black alum is probably not on the To-Do List, at least yet. And then Homecoming. A shin-splinting walk through the Sun Dome parking lot, turning your head asking where is everything else. Asking, “Will I know anybody here?” and being glad your cup is a little more than just Powerade, and that you didn’t pay for parking. The painful truth that I found is that being Black, Millennial, alumni of the University of South Florida can make you feel very easily forgotten. And we’re partially to blame for that. That idea that once we graduated, we should leave it all behind and never look back; that “I’m never going back” attitude; and that “wow, you’re still here” pseudo-bourgeois attitude does not help. If we played spades in the Marshall Center and accused me of renigging, you’re not allowed to just promenade past me in public (I will start a fight...seriously). So, what then? It’s difficult to sit around and not do anything. That is also to say, that nothing really has to be done at all. There’s almost a lingering question that begs whether there needs to be one central group, or connection for anything. One person told me “It’s bigger than just the Black community”. Another that you have to respect that people are moving along in life, and have no interest in Tampa anymore. Lastly (one of my favorite), “I’m moving on and just don’t want to know anybody from that period in my life” (enter: something about drama). All are valid excuses*, but I remind that USF was ranked #1 in Florida and #6 in the Nation for Black student success. It’s a refreshing headline compared to others we’ve seen about our community. So, if it makes you proud, then, maybe fostering that and holding it up requires some participation from you - as a responsible alumni. I could be wrong. But too many people that know me know I’m not that type of person to sit around. People have told me that there are Black Alumni groups - many of them on Facebook. My decision to call the group The Black Bulls’ Coterie was motivated by a number of things. For one, there are too many groups for keywords “Black” “Alumni” “USF” and the varying combinations. Two, those groups are idle 95% of the time. Three, generational gaps exist and you might not connect with someone as best as you thought. Four, those groups exist solely on Facebook. Lastly, they’re not specifically for Millennials. I hate that word, but if you’re like me and have had your run-ins with Baby Boomers and Gen-X, you are dying to stay connected with like-minded individuals who share the same struggles, experiences, preferences, and goals as you. Because getting mimosa drunk at brunch with the Class of ‘94 actually...doesn’t...sound...fun................for the most part. (No diss to ‘94). So, a coterie: “A small group of people with shared interests or tastes, especially one that is exclusive of other people”. The most sought-after community had no clue they were so sought after, that their presence, work, and man- and woman-power are desperately needed. That their undeniable leadership was both wanted, needed, and also highly researched. We would have known had we stayed connected, and so now we’re here. The Black Bulls Coterie. If I have one goal for it, is to move beyond Facebook. To be a real thing - a movement. A dynamic way to stay connected and engaged, but more importantly a real community that represents our most common and best interests. There are alumni from our generation who are doing remarkable things, and I can guarantee you there are times when they feel alone - in their career, in their experiences, in their “College Shirt” day at the office, and even in their city. So, it officially changes as of today. It took many, many discussions among Garin Flowers, my wife Colleen, and I to punch away at the root of what is going on. And I tried to do it the regular way (whatever that is), and eventually boiled down to “When you hesitate, you lose” (my old saying). So, be connected. Stay connected. And let’s continue to strengthen the group, and move forward. Info & news will continue to be brought forward.
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