Moritz dean’s personal racial history inspired many

For years after he published his bestselling memoir, Gregory Williams still received handwritten letters from readers. They needed to bare their souls to Williams because they felt such a deep connection with his story of racism, family secrets and triumph over adversity. I understand that feeling.

Williams, who died on Aug. 12, wrote his book, Life on the Color Line: The True Story of a White Boy Who Discovered He Was Black, in 1995, early in his tenure as the dean of the Moritz College of Law. Williams grew up believing he was white during his childhood in 1950s segregated Virginia. But when his parents separated, Williams discovered that his olive-skinned father who had been passing as Italian American was half Black. Williams, therefore, was also Black. The book drew national attention, and Williams was featured on “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” “Fresh Air” and “Larry King Live,” among other programs.

I was inspired by Williams’ story, as an African American raised in an interracial family with three white stepparents and four biracial half-siblings. Although I grew up in northern, cosmopolitan Columbus nearly three decades after him—when interracial marriage was legal and race mixing was no longer taboo—I found him relatable.

There were many times when I didn’t fit in. Williams served as a role model who turned his outsider status into a strength that propelled him to success. Williams earned a national reputation as a criminal law scholar, and after leaving Ohio State, he served as president of the City College of New York and the University of Cincinnati. His legacy lives on at Moritz in the Gregory H. Williams Chair in Civil Rights & Civil Liberties.

I met Williams in 1995, soon after he published his memoir. I was a nontraditional undergraduate student, working my way through Ohio State as a reporter, and I interviewed him for the Call and Post, Ohio’s oldest African American newspaper. Williams was candid and easy to talk to, and the experience made an impression on me.

During our interview, I shared my family history, and he noted how our experiences both dovetailed and contrasted. We bonded over our similar backgrounds. Then, after the story was published, he taught me another lesson. He called me, thanked me for the piece and, in a patient yet firm tone, pointed out an insensitive remark I made in it about white-presenting Black people. He made me aware of a blind spot and helped me correct it.

Williams was an educator in the truest sense—both inside and outside the classroom.