The Anthony Reeves Experience

When people think about Black Greek Letter Organizations, the conversation almost always begins with college. We remember crossing. We remember the step shows, chapter meetings, community service projects, homecoming, and lifelong friendships. Even our songs reflect those memories. As members of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc., our hymn speaks of "college days swiftly passed, imbued with memories fond." Every Divine Nine organization has traditions that celebrate those years. But here's something we don't talk about nearly enough. What happens after graduation? When Your Chapter Isn't There Over the past thirty-plus years as a member of Alpha Phi Alpha, there have been several times when I lived in communities that didn't have a local chapter. Sometimes the closest chapter was an hour or more away. Other times, there simply wasn't one. That forced me to think about fraternity differently. If I couldn't regularly attend chapter meetings, where would I ...

When people ask me about my time at the University of Tampa, I usually tell them it was the best three and a half years of my life. What I don't always tell them is that I almost never got to experience those years. If you've followed my Black Generation X stories, you've probably heard me talk about my first semester in college. It was rough. I dealt with overcrowded dorm rooms, roommate issues, culture shock, loneliness, and even found myself hitchhiking home after getting stranded in Orlando. Every new challenge made me question whether I had made the right decision by leaving Arkansas. By the end of that first semester, I wasn't just homesick. I was evaluating whether I even belonged there. Then Spring 1988 arrived. Sometimes Your Environment Changes Before Your Mind Does One of the biggest changes wasn't academic. It was my living situation. I moved out of the tiny room that had been designed for one student but housed three of us. Instead, I became roommates w...

As a member of Black Generation X, I often have to remind people that the way many of us moved into predominantly white spaces was not always as deep, strategic, or emotionally prepared as people might assume. When I attended the University of Tampa in the fall of 1987, I did not get on the road thinking about the fact that I was heading to a predominantly white institution. I was not sitting there processing that it was a private school. I was not calculating that I might be one of the few Black students in most of my classes. I was not thinking that I might be the only Black student in my biology courses, the only Black cadet in my freshman ROTC class, or the only Black person on my dorm floor. All of those things turned out to be true. But none of those things crossed my mind before I got there. Looking back, that is interesting to me because today we often talk about representation, cultural fit, racial isolation, and the emotional weight of being “the only one.” Those conversa...

Most people who know me know that I have spent a lot of time driving. Long drives were never unusual for me. They were part of my rhythm and how I moved through the world. But when I really think about it, driving was never just about transportation. For me, it started as freedom. Back in 1991, I bought my first car. I still remember how happy I was because that car represented independence. Before that, I had spent time riding buses back and forth from Pine Bluff, Arkansas, to Tampa, Florida. The bus got me where I needed to go, but it did not give me control. Having my own car changed that. When I drove from Tampa to Pine Bluff, I decided when I left. I decided when I stopped. I knew the route. I knew the gas stations. I knew how far I could push myself before I needed a break. That car gave me control over the experience. And at that point in my life, control felt like independence. When I was in graduate school, my friends and fraternity brothers knew I made regular trips f...