[1950 - Rodney Milburn, Jr., Olympic Gold Medal hurdler, born in Opelousas, Louisiana]
Milburn & Associates Entertainment Group
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orty years ago, on Sept. 21, 1972, then-Louisiana Lt. Gov. James E. Fitzmorris approached the podium at the Downtowner hotel in Opelousas and gushed with Pelican State pride about Rodney Milburn, who went from poverty-stricken roots in that city to Olympic champion in just a few years.
“This is the typically American story,” Fitzmorris told the crowd of hundreds. “Rodney comes from a poor family, did not have the advantages many others have. He experienced failures, but he never stopped. He has the kind of determination and drive and desire of the kind of man who may lose but will never be beaten.”
That night at a banquet, Fitzmorris was one of several speakers who lauded Milburn, who earlier that month had won a gold medal in the 110-meter hurdles at the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich. For others who spoke, the 22-year-old hurdler represented something even more – the possibility of rising above and beyond the grinding racial prejudice that still saturated the state of Louisiana. Opelousas Mayor Wilfred Cortez, for example, called Milburn “a symbol of the great potential of black people everywhere.”
But it wasn’t just elected officials who were bursting with joy at Milburn’s accomplishments. Wrote the local Opelousas Daily World on the day of the banquet: “Opelousas is proud to claim Rodney Milburn as a ‘favorite son.’”
In fact, Opelousas ended up naming a street after Milburn, and the Opelousas Museum and Interpretive Center features a permanent exhibit of information, documents and memorabilia in Milburn’s honor.
And Milburn felt the same way about his hometown, which, despite its social, racial and economic challenges, stirred similar feelings in the hurdler. Opelousas, for all its warts, was close to Milburn’s heart. “It was very important to him,” says his sister, Lillie Milburn Lazard. “It was something that didn’t change.”
But the mutual pride shared by Milburn and his hometown, in the end, wasn’t able to save the runner from a tragic end. Reeling from the costs of his divorce and forced to sell plasma to afford cab fare to his job at the Georgia-Pacific paper mill in Port Hudson, Milburn moved into a Baton Rouge homeless shelter in the fall of 1997.
After taking a taxi to the paper plant on Nov. 19 of that year, Milburn accidentally fell into a hopper train car filled with scalding sodium chlorate, a che