It's the same country road that runs smack dab into campus and becomes McFarland Boulevard. Some will call that symbolism. Some will just call it geography.

Take a right out of the driveway of O.J. Howard's family home, and then a quick left and then keep straight on U.S. Route 82. That's it. That's the way from Autauga County to Tuscaloosa. That's the road that connects Alabama's MVP of the national championship game to his family, and so much else -- the memories of his childhood, the slow southern lifestyle he cherishes and the bigotry his family defeated.

O.J.'s mother drives to her small and beautiful church on that road, the church that her own mother loved, and the church where O.J. sang in the choir and served as an usher. The usher ministry at Bethesda Missionary Baptist Church was posthumously named in honor of his grandmother.

Lauretta Parker-Tyus died on Sept. 21, 2006 -- 10 years ago this football season -- but her spirit lives on in Autauga County, and all the way up the road at the University of Alabama.

Strong and smart and brave, she was a leader of her community just like O.J. is now the leader of his state's pride and joy, the Alabama Crimson Tide football team.

There is such a strong connection between the many small towns of Alabama and the state's flagship university. That's the thing people can't see on game days in the fall. Alabama's cathedral of football is enormous and corporate and perfect. The country roads that lead there are narrow and rural and complicated.

Lamesa Howard, O.J.'s mother and Lauretta's daughter, will never forget the day her son's school discriminated against him for being black. She was at church when she got the call. Moments later she was tearing down her country road with tears in her eyes and rage in her heart.

A MOTHER'S PAIN

The thing about country roads, they're not measured in distance by the people who drive them every day. They're measured in time.

The Dollar General isn't five miles away. It's five minutes up the road and then right on Autauga County Road 47.

International Paper, where O.J.'s father is a powerhouse operator, isn't 10 miles away. It's 12 minutes down U.S. 82 and then right on Jensen Road.

Autauga Academy, where O.J. went to high school, isn't 17 miles from Bethesda Missionary Baptist Church. It's 20 minutes.

Lamesa might have done it in 10 minutes when her daughter called and told her O.J. was crying at school.

The headmaster of Autauga Academy, a school founded originally to keep black and white children separate, told O.J. Howard, the star of the Generals' football team, that he couldn't take a girl to prom because the girl was white.

This happened in 2011, or O.J.'s junior year of high school. He committed to Alabama and Nick Saban as a sophomore, and was one of the country's top recruits. Until now, the Howards withheld the story of their son's discrimination by Autauga Academy to shield their family and the school from scrutiny. The Howards remain fond of Autauga Academy, and still have a son at the school, but that loyalty shouldn't be interpreted as understanding. The wounds have healed, but scars remain.

"I just couldn't believe it," Lamesa said. "It hurt so bad."

PART OF LIFE

On any given morning in present day Autauga County, the number of confederate flags flapping in front yards might outnumber the U.S. standard. Lamesa and her family drive past them every day. In Autauga County, it's just a part of life.

"It still lives here," Lamesa said.

In other words, old ideologies, or at least the memory of them, are still widely celebrated in the rural Deep South.

Flags are one thing, though. Discrimination by a school's principal and its board is quite another. Such a gross display of contemporary racism perpetuated by Autauga Academy's leadership requires further perspective, and questions. Why, after so many decades, did hate still linger like a slow Southern drawl?

Alabama governor George Wallace stood in the schoolhouse door at the University of Alabama in June of 1963. A few months later, Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke these words on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial:

"I have a dream that one day in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers."

When Alabama was finally forced to integrate its schools, scores of "segregation academies" popped up almost overnight to prevent King's dream. Autauga Academy was founded in 1969, which was the same year the Supreme Court, ruling on Alexander v. Holmes County Bd. of Ed., stated unequivocally "the obligation of every school district is to terminate dual school systems at once and to operate now and hereafter only unitary schools."

So, Autauga Academy, a school that carried the weight of 42 years of segregationist history, made the decision to deny another dream in 2011 and, in doing so, cause a nightmare for O.J. Howard, his family, their friends and an entire student body. It was a small group of people in positions of power who perpetuated the discrimination. In its aftermath, a community once divided for generations rallied around the Howards and defeated that racism. Long before he was an MVP in the 2016 national championship, O.J. was a hero back home.

The national championship made O.J. Howard a household name in Alabama, and cemented his legacy in Crimson Tide lore. For Howard's family, it was so much else. It was validation. It was relief. It was the kind of peace of mind only parents who have been doubted about their parenting can understand.

Driving down U.S. 82 that sad day in 2011, Lamesa Howard felt the pain of so many competing emotions. There was heartbreak for what her son was experiencing. There was rage for the people who would hurt her family. And, finally, there was guilt.

Had she made a terrible decision in sending her children to a school that would discriminate against them? Were her doubters and detractors right all along? Even today, Autauga County can be an unforgiving place for someone who crosses the color line of academy education. For Lamesa, alienation from blacks hurt more than racism from whites.

She knows the sting of tears hot with grief, and maybe that's why Lamesa couldn't stop crying in Arizona during the national championship. Even when her husband, Kareem, told her to stop, Lamesa kept on.

"What are you crying about? We haven't won the game yet," Kareem said.

It was no use. The tears started with the first touchdown. O.J. finished with two scores and 208 yards receiving.

"I left all my tears in Arizona," she said.

BUSINESS DECISION

An incredible athlete with the body of a professional, Howard's big game on college football's brightest stage launched him up the draft boards of teams throughout the NFL. It was assumed by many that he would forgo his senior season of eligibility and enter the draft. Graded a mid second-round pick this year by the NFL Draft Advisory Board, Howard instead chose to return to school for his senior season of eligibility.

"He really can't lose by coming back to school," Kareem said. "It was a win-win situation. He decided to come back to school and do another year, put in the hard work and improve his stock."

Alabama's social media department featured O.J. recently in a tweet about the Crimson Tide's season opener against the University of Southern California. A strong candidate for senior captain -- an honor that literally cements players in Alabama football history -- Howard could be his school's first first-team All-American tight end since Ozzie Newsome in 1977.

After the national championship, it was widely reported that Howard was returning to Alabama in order to finish school. Not true. He graduated in May with a degree in telecommunications. Instead, returning to school was a business decision. He wants to be drafted in the first round. If that happens, they might throw another parade for him in his hometown of Autaugaville.

After his performance in the national championship, the town organized a parade for their hometown hero. Everyone was there. In good times and bad, Howard has a way of bringing that community together. The gift runs in the family, apparently. It started with his grandmother.

COUNTRY KITCHEN

O.J.'s grandmother, the great Lauretta Parker-Tyus, owned and operated the best -- and only -- restaurant in Autaugaville during her grandson's formative years. Her legendary pies were holiday standards, and her biscuits were breakfast staples. Black and white, everyone in Autaugaville ate at Laura's Country Kitchen on Blossom Road.

Lauretta was a major influence on O.J.'s development, and relationships within the community were formed at her restaurant that would later direct O.J. to a school founded on segregationist principles.

O.J. grew up on a dirt road across a field from his grandmother. In the summertime, he would wake up before everyone, tiptoe through the front door of the double-wide and race through the darkness to Lauretta's home.

Together, Lauretta and O.J. would pull out of the driveway around 4:30 a.m. and head for the restaurant. Biscuits and pies at Laura's were made from scratch every morning, and O.J. would watch his grandmother work her magic before the sunrise. Ordered by the thousands for the holiday season, the sweet potato pies were (and still are) a family legacy.

O.J.'s love for cooking mirrors that of his grandmother, and so does so much else: hard work and diligence, patience and dedication, and, most of all, leadership.

A waitress for many years, Lauretta slowly saved her money to buy her restaurant. She brought people together with her food just like O.J. would later do with his ability as a football player.

That Lauretta was educated at a school whose integration in 1970 led to the growth of the segregationist academy her grandson would later attend is both a window into the slow progress of the rural Deep South, but also the complex nature of differences that still exist.

There's one thing, though, that has united people in the South just about longer than anything, and that's good Southern food. Laura's Country Kitchen could turn it out.

Monday was hamburger steaks, potatoes and gravy.

On Tuesday, everybody in Autaugaville knew Laura's was serving fried pork chops, macaroni and cheese and cabbage.

The baseball coach at Autauga Academy, Joe Faulk, loved the hamburger steaks best of all.

"And the pie," he said.

Faulk and his wife formed a close relationship with O.J.'s family throughout their many visits to Lauretta's restaurant. Like many who enjoyed Laura's Country Kitchen, the Faulks became part of the Howards' extended family.

"All our friends we have now, we met them through the cafe," said Lamesa, O.J.'s mother.

O.J.'s father, Kareem Howard, leaned on Faulk for advice when coaching O.J.'s little league team, and, years later, when the Howards had to make one of their most difficult decisions as parents, Faulk and his wife, Diane, were there to ease the fears of sending their children to Autauga Academy.

The building where Laura's County Kitchen was located has remained vacant for many years. O.J. Howard grew up in the restaurant, which was owned and operated by his grandmother. Across the street is one of Autauga County's many artesian fountains.

ACCIDENTAL GENERAL

O.J. Howard was never supposed to go to Autauga Academy, a school rooted in segregationist history with a football team for many years nicknamed the Confederate Generals. That's what people familiar with his high school career don't even realize. O.J. was an accidental General.

The videoboards inside Bryant-Denny Stadium always say O.J. is from Prattville, but that's not true at all. Of course, he's also not from Autaugaville either. The Howards' home is in unincorporated Autauga County off County Road 165. The closest spot on the map near the house is Booth, Ala., a little speck of nothing named after a man who sent six sons to volunteer in the Civil War.

O.J.'s childhood home, the double-wide trailer on unpaved Burns Lane next to his grandmother's house, isn't where he lived while in high school. The Howards' moved to the place off County Road 165 long before then. It backs up to a wooded hollow. Across the road begins the base of an unnamed ridge, which is one of the modest beginnings of the Appalachian foothills.

Outside, in the front yard, where Kareem trained his son in preparation for all those summer camps and combines, now stands lawn art made of repurposed steel that reads "BAMA #88." It's painted crimson, of course.

Inside, the Howards have organized a shrine of memorabilia dedicated to their son. Nearby in the living room, mounted on the wall, is the head of O.J.'s first kill, an eight-point buck.

There's only one problem with the house, or at least that's what O.J.'s mother, Lamesa, originally thought in those frantic last days of summer before O.J. started high school. It wasn't zoned in the best school district for her children.

Lamesa and Kareem, graduates of Autaugaville School, always wanted their children to go through the Prattville school system. They were zoned for Autaugaville School on County Road 165, but used No Child Left Behind to avoid it.

Academically, Prattville High School had a solid reputation and, athletically, the Prattville Lions were always ranked among the best football teams in the state. In addition to sending players to the collegiate level consistently, Prattville has also helped football coaches reach the next level. Bill Clark, the head coach at UAB, coached at Prattville from 1999-2007 and compiled one of the best winning percentages in state history (.905). Bam Richards, a longtime assistant at Prattville, is now an offensive analyst for Jim Harbaugh at Michigan.

O.J. attended eighth grade in the Prattville school system, and he trained with the high school football team the summer before his freshman year.

At Prattville, the Howards knew O.J. would be in the kind of competitive environment needed to develop their son for a scholarship to college. An excellent baseball player with tremendous potential, he was also an above-average football player and a dedicated student. O.J.'s older sister, Shabria, had already completed her first year at Prattville High.

The first day of school was only two days away when Lamesa learned the news. The Howards couldn't attend Prattville schools anymore. Instead, O.J. and his siblings had to attend Autaugaville School.

Circumstance is the prism that refracts the spectrum of perspective, and especially when children are involved. What was good news for Autaugaville School, devastated the Howards. In the summer of 2008, struggling Autaugaville School raised its test scores. Its district no longer qualified for No Child Left Behind.

Autaugaville School is very small, K-12, and, historically, its athletics have been inconsistent. Put another way, on the eve of his high school career, O.J. Howard learned he had to go from playing for a football program oftentimes ranked nationally to a team that won just four games combined in the 2007 and 2008 seasons at the Class 1A level.

For a school that had a history of academic struggles, those combination of factors were alarming to the Howards.

"I was so upset," Lamesa said. "We were going to move. We were going to sell our house."

The Howards considered moving into Prattville's school district, attending Autaugaville School for a year and then transferring. There was an obvious downside to that decision, though. Because of transfer rules, O.J. wouldn't be playing football for Prattville until his junior season.

Then, the day before school was to begin, Lamesa was at the Dollar General on Alabama State Road 14, "and looking bad." At a low point, she ran into an old friend from Laura's County Kitchen. Diane Faulk, the wife of the Autauga Academy baseball coach, wanted to help.

"What's wrong?" Diane said.

"Girl, I'm so worried," Lamesa said. "I don't know what I'm going to do with my kids."

Diane Faulk told Lamesa to "chill out," call her husband, Joe, and take them to Autauga Academy.

Given the circumstances, Lamesa thought it might be her best option. Convincing her children to attend the private school wouldn't be so easy. Look at Autauga Academy from any perspective or any angle, and the color spectrum projected by that prism is just different shades of white.

Students have to take a test before being enrolled at Autauga Academy. Lamesa smiles now when she tells the story of her children's plan to purposefully flunk the tests to avoid going to the school. Before the entrance exams, the school's headmaster, Gene Carter, assured the Howard children they would be admitted to the school whether they tanked the tests or not.

After enrolling in Autauga Academy, the Howard children cried during the car ride home.

"Why we got to go there?'" they said. "Please don't make us go."

And, of course, Lamesa cried, too. There were doubts.

"They were in the backseat crying, and I was in the front seat crying with tears in my eyes," Lamesa said. "Lord, is this the wrong decision I'm doing?"

TWO SCHOOLS

There are places in Alabama smaller than Autaugaville -- a lot smaller, actually. O.J. Howard's high school football coach is from one of those places.

Mike Sims is from unincorporated L Pond, Ala., which is so small it's not on the official state map of Alabama or Google Maps. It's in the middle of Conecuh County in Southeast Alabama, which makes it just about as rural as it gets in that part of the state.

Sims coached at Sparta Academy, the segregationist school in Conecuh County, before taking the job at Autauga Academy in 2009. Sparta Academy was named after Sparta, Ala., the former county seat of Conecuh County. Union forces burned it to the ground during the Civil War, and it was never rebuilt.

Sims was familiar with the culture and history of segregationist academies before taking over the Generals. During his interview with Autauga Academy, the coach says he was assured that recruiting players of color would not be a problem.

Sims had been on the job as athletics director and football coach at Autauga Academy only a few weeks when he found himself in the living room of the Howards. One of the best athletes in the county had fallen into his lap, but he needed to assure the family that his school would be a safe and inviting place for black children.

O.J. liked his new coach and warmed to Autauga Academy quickly. That helped relieve some of the stress his family was experiencing. His mother couldn't bear to have her children and people in her community angry with her.

"Critics were saying, 'How could you take your son out of Prattville where he would have a chance to play on national TV in front of millions and millions of people and send him to Autauga Academy where he probably won't play in front of 100 people and nobody will ever see him?'" Lamesa said. "That was so crushing to me. I literally cried when they told me. I was distraught.

"I was telling my husband we have to sell our house. I just wanted to move."

It was an unfounded fear. It's impossible for talent as rare as O.J.'s to go unnoticed. And besides, Kareem, O.J.'s father, put in the time to make sure his son received the exposure he deserved. The Howards traveled across the South to summer football camps and clinics to showcase O.J.'s athleticism. He was one of Alabama's first commitments for the recruiting class of 2013.

No, what hurt most was the backlash from the black community in Autaugaville. Some people shunned the Howards completely, according to Lamesa, and no longer spoke to them. Both Lamesa and Kareem went to Autaugaville School, which is predominantly black. Now their son, one of the best athletes in the county, was going to Autauga Academy?

"We were ridiculed so bad," Lamesa said. "That was the hardest thing that I could do for my family: my children going to Autauga Academy and getting backlash from both races. Both races.

"Black and white really turned their backs on us. There were a lot of them who didn't want us in their school, and then there were a lot of black people who were like, they built the school to keep y'all out of there. Why are you going there now?"

There was an element of betrayal at play, but at the heart of the Howards' decision was something more profound. Considering the history of education in Autauga County, the Howards' decision to send their son to Autauga Academy was a revolutionary act of bravery but, more importantly, trust.

When the 2015-2016 school year began last August, it marked the 45th year Autauga County schools had been completely integrated. That might seem like a good amount of time, but it's still not quite as long as the 49 proud years that Autauga County Training School fostered the education of black students before integration.

Constructed in 1921, Autauga Training was a school built by people of color for people of color when that was the only option. The story of how the school was funded is an inspiring one.

A piece of Booker T. Washington's legacy, Autauga Training was a Julius Rosenwald school. Washington teamed with Rosenwald, the philanthropist and part owner of Sears, Roebuck and Company, to build schools for blacks throughout the South. Communities matched contributions of the Rosenwald Fund dollar-for-dollar to bankroll construction of schools that specialized in industrial and agricultural training.

M.H. Griffin, the Rosenwald building agent of Alabama, began his career with fundraising for Autauga Training. After meeting with the people of Autaugaville, Griffin recorded their enthusiasm for the project. From author James D. Anderson's The Education of Blacks in the South, 1860-1935:

"I have never seen greater human sacrifices for the cause of education. Children without shoes on their feet gave from fifty cents to one dollar and old men and women, whose costumes represented several years of wear, gave from one to five dollars...Colored men offered to pawn their cows and calves for the money and they did do just this thing."

The school was built for $12,000, and it was built to last. Lamesa's mother and O.J.'s grandmother, Lauretta Parker-Tyus, the proprietor of Laura's County Kitchen, was a graduate of Autauga County Training School. It was the kind of country school where if the teacher didn't like your name, she would change it. Lauretta was born Laura Etta, but the name changed at Autauga Training.

Graduates and students of Autauga Training were instrumental in Civil Rights protests in Autauga County in the 1960s. It was one of the last dual-system public schools in Alabama to integrate, and didn't do so until the Justice Department and the federal court intervened in 1970.

A school built for whites, Autauga Academy, opened because white parents didn't want their children at a school built for blacks, Autauga Training.

O.J. Howard attended high school at Autauga Academy, which was originally one of the state's "segregation academies." The school was founded in 1969 during the forced integration of Autauga County schools by the Justice Department and the federal court.

LEGACY RACISM

The past is hidden at Autauga Academy pretty well now, but the school still can't bring itself to take down the portrait of Robert E. Lee. Probably never will.

Lee's picture is prominently displayed in the foyer of the school that now admits students of color. It's positioned between the front doors so that it's the last thing people see as they leave the building. Lee's bust is one of two portraits there. The other, off to the left, is of former headmaster Gene Carter.

Carter was the headmaster at Autauga Academy for 11 years, and he was beloved at the school. He helped grow enrollment, he was an advocate for more minorities and he was loyal to a fault.

A former coach, Carter knew the value of athletics to a school. He hired Sims, the young and talented coach, away from Sparta Academy, and together they welcomed O.J. Howard and his family during their time of need. It was a story of success and progress for a school that needed it. O.J.'s love and commitment to Autauga Academy attracted more black students, according to his former coach.

Autauga Academy still competes athletically in the Alabama Independent School Association, which was formed in 1970 by a collection of segregationist academies. The association long ago integrated, but it's not known for its athletics. In other words, Howard dominated every sport he played. His high school football highlight tape can only be described as unfair.

In basketball, O.J. averaged a double-double. In baseball, his first love, he played his entire junior season with a wooden bat. O.J. never broke it, according to family friend and former high school baseball coach, Joe Faulk, and cracked two line drives off the fence in the state championship game.

"Rawlings 34-inch bat," Faulk said. "It was like a twig in his hands."

Lamesa was approached by a scout for the Anaheim Angels during the state championship that day in Montgomery. He told her O.J.'s bat speed was already that of a Major Leaguer. The University of Florida wanted O.J. to play baseball and football, but, despite growing up an Auburn fan, O.J. wanted to enroll early at Alabama and play for Saban.

Everything was perfect until the day the board of directors at Autauga Academy learned their school's star wanted to take his girlfriend to the prom. His girlfriend was white, and attended Prattville High School.

It's difficult for those unfamiliar with the rural Deep South to reconcile, or even understand, but many people affiliated with places like Autauga Academy are proud of their Confederate ancestry and at the same time do not consider themselves racists.

Then there are the legacy racists -- the people who instructed Gene Carter, Autauga Academy's headmaster, to discriminate against O.J. by not allowing him to take his girlfriend to the prom.

Carter did as he was told. He sat O.J. down in the lunchroom to deliver the news. O.J. was heartbroken. He found his older sister, and he cried.

Shabria consoled her younger brother, and then made a phone call to their mother.

NUCLEAR FALLOUT

Bethesda Missionary Baptist Church is a sacred place for the people who worship there. It's where Lamesa Howard has some of her dearest memories.

Her mother, Lauretta, loved it also, and found comfort there in the final days of her life. She died suddenly in 2006 from a rare blood disease.

The strong bond between Lauretta and O.J. started at Laura's Country Kitchen, but lives on through the power of that country church. O.J. sang there. He ushered there. He prays there still.

Things were said in that house of God after Lamesa got off the phone with her daughter, but they were not prayers. She then got in her car, and sped off towards U.S. 82 and Autauga Academy like a nuclear missile.

"I started cussing and everything," she said.

First, Lamesa called her husband. Kareem had just gotten home from working the midnight shift at International Paper. He was asleep.

"Wake up! Wake up!" Lamesa screamed. "I'm about to go down to this school, and I'm going to turn it out."

Kareem asked his wife to be calm down, and then asked what was wrong.

"Wait a minute," Kareem said. "I didn't hear that right."

"Yes," Lamesa said.

"No," Kareem said.

Next, O.J.'s mom called Mike Sims, the coach who assured the Howards their children wouldn't have any problems at the school.

"Mom, I'm working on it," Sims said. "I'm sorry."

"You sat your tail in my living room and told me my kids were going to be OK," Lamesa said.

"I just heard what happened," said the football coach. "I'm sorry. I'm working on it."

"Let me tell you what," Lamesa said, "I'm going to give you 15 minutes, but in 15 minutes time you better call the police department and have them waiting because you're going to need them when I get there."

Lamesa confronted the headmaster as soon as she arrived. It was the board of directors, Carter said.

Carter is now a vice principal at Coosa Valley Academy, a school similar to Autauga Academy and located southeast of Birmingham in Harpersville.

"When I first went there we had some blacks there and they played football, but I guess this was the first time the school had got caught up into whites dating blacks or blacks dating whites, or whatever," Carter said. "And there still was a group of board members that was from when the school first started, and some of their family was on that board."

The Howards now know the identities of the board members who directed Carter to discriminate against their son. They would not disclose their names for this story, but said the board members were no longer affiliated with the school. Carter, the former headmaster, Sims, the former football coach and the current administration at Autauga Academy would not offer any names either.

AL.com sent an open letter to the school requesting comment from any current or former board members who possibly wanted to clarify the motive for discrimation. None stepped forward. What matters is how Lamesa fought back for her son, and what happened next.

All hell broke loose at Autauga Academy.

"It's still so vivid in my mind because it was so traumatic," said Sims, the former football coach.

An emergency meeting of the board of directors was called the same day Carter told O.J. he couldn't bring his girlfriend to the prom. Parents and students rallied to support the Howards.

"There were so many people there in support of us that it wasn't even room in the library for them to stand," Lamesa said. "And then they put everyone out and let me and my husband meet with the board separate."

The Howards asked each board member if they were the guilty party. No one owned up to the discrimination. Instead, they asked Lamesa if she wanted the headmaster fired. Absolutely not, she said.

"Let him come to school here every day and have to face these kids, because those children, they did not respect him," Lamesa said.

Carter, the headmaster, organized a schoolwide assembly to apologize. Students threw bottles at him. He then went on unpaid leave for three weeks.

O.J. took his girlfriend to the prom, and his sister, Shabria, went to the prom with a white boy. Shabria was named homecoming queen.

Lamesa and Kareem then had some fun. Lamesa walked into prom with the father of O.J.'s girlfriend. Kareem escorted the girlfriend's mom. So, technically, four black and white couples attend the Autauga Academy junior-senior prom that year.

"We just did it for the hell of it," Lamesa said.

Outside of the school, the stretch of asphalt that curves past Autauga Academy is called Golson Road. According to records, five Golsons volunteered their service for the 6th Alabama Infantry Regiment in 1861. Known as the Autaugaville Rifles, the Autaugaville volunteers of the Civil War were the inspiration of Autauga Academy's first nickname, the Confederate Volunteers.

Two Golsons played on Autauga Academy's first football team in 1970.

Golson Road will soon run into 88 O.J. Howard Lane. The street directly outside the school is being named after its most famous graduate.

Some will call that symbolism. Some will just call it geography.

ALABAMA PRIDE

The Howards can joke about their ordeal with Autauga Academy now, but it's still a painful memory. It's also a reminder.

The pursuit of civil rights in Alabama remains an exhausting struggle if a high school's beloved star football player, who is committed to the University of Alabama, can be openly discriminated against by powerful people whose anonymity is still protected four years later.

But that's also a window into the complex nature of loyalties, allegiances and pride in many parts of the state. After everything, O.J. Howard still loves his high school, and maybe more now than if his ordeal with the prom never happened, according to his parents.

"He had to go through so much just to open up doors," Lamesa said.

Asked by AL.com to be interviewed for this story, O.J. declined through an university spokesperson. He didn't want it to be a distraction.

In the age of social media, it's remarkable that Autauga Academy managed to keep their discrimination of O.J. Howard out of the news. Even for this story the Howards didn't want to cast their school in a poor light. The family remains close friends with many people at Autauga Academy, and O.J.'s younger brother, K.J., attends the school.

They also hold no animosity against Carter, the former headmaster.

"I think he's basically a nice guy," said Kareem, O.J.'s father. "I think he just got caught up in something. It was someone over his head. At the time, I think he felt like he was not protecting O.J., and after that he felt real sorry."

Autauga Academy's new interim headmaster, Gene Canavan, was O.J.'s physics teacher. During the national championship, the videoboard inside University of Phoenix Stadium listed Canavan as Howard's most influential teacher.

In February, the city of Autaugaville had a parade for their star of the 2016 national championship game. Everyone came, black and white. It didn't matter, and usually doesn't anymore. More openly divisive now is the rivalry between Alabama and Auburn.

There's a place on U.S. 82 in Autauga County that is equidistant between the University of Alabama and Auburn University. It's not too far from the Howards' home. From that point, it's 78 miles to each campus. The county's Saturday allegiances are equally divided as well, depending on whom you ask.

But everyone is a fan of O'Terrius Jabari Howard.

The local apothecary in Autaugaville features a bench outside that's divided down the middle for fans of Alabama and Auburn. The owner and his wife are Auburn fans, but they have prominently displayed a photo gallery of O.J.'s parade all the same.

Motorcycle clubs and civic groups came all the way from Montgomery. There were so many people in downtown Autaugaville, many were worried the back of the procession would snake around to the front and block the parade route.

O.J. has a way of bringing people together. That ability runs in the family. It's a legacy that will be celebrated his senior year at Alabama.

"It was amazing how one boy and a football can bring two communities together--two different races with so many different backgrounds -- because of this one boy and a football," Lamesa said.

Joseph Goodman is a senior reporter for AL.com. You can find him on Twitter @JoeGoodmanJr.