It is Aug. 27, 1980, and Cramton Auditorium at Howard University is full. The seats are full, the aisles are full, and people -- almost all of them black -- line the walls. Intense and eager, they are waiting to hear Robert Mugabe, former guerrilla and now the prime minister of Zimbabwe. When he is introduced, they cheer.

They cheer again as Mugabe calls his coming to Howard a reunion, as he thanks them for their help, as he says he and they "were truly together." Then he lashes briefly at "the oppressor," "the common enemy," and with a bitter irony adds, "Having defeated him in spite of our color, I'm sure you will agree with me therefore this is our moment to . . . demonstrate our oneness in victory, that, after all, black can be more dominant than white!" He interrupts the roar that follows to call on them to come and help build Zimbabwe, help build Africa -- where not just their skills are needed but where they are needed "as brothers and sisters!" Then, finally, Mugabe clenches his hands together overhead and calls out, "Come home, therefore!"

The audience thunders -- thunders! -- approval. It is an electric moment, and rather a different one from what followed another talk that Mugabe gave earlier in the day. At the White House.

When Robert Mugabe thanked his Howard audience for their help he was not speaking rhetorically; without the help of American blacks, he might have been still in the jungle with a gun instead of conferring with President Carter. And his decision to proffer his thanks at Howard was deliberate. For many years the university has been weaving a tapestry of relationships between American blacks and the black Third World. Howard teachers and alumni have gone on to struggle in the Third World's struggle. Like many activists, they have been on fire with an idea.

The idea is of race pride and race unity, of race consciousness. To some, race consciousness is almost what class consciousness is to a Marxist; Mugabe's "brothers and sisters" is not all that far from "comrades."

Howard did not invent race consciousness -- the black American experience breeds it -- but for many it became real there. For years Howard had the highest proportion of foreign students, and probably of foreign faculty, of any school in the country. (Today, almost 20 percent of Howard's 11,000 students come from Africa or the Caribbean). These alumni, gone home, injected race consciousness into their black world.

Eric Williams, now the prime minister of Trinidad, took it into the Caribbean, Nnamdi Azikiwe, the first president of Nigeria, and George Padmore, who counseled Kwame Nkrumah and Jomo Kenyatta, took it into Africa. Stokely Carmichael took it into the streets of America.

Carmichael, who has changed his name to Kwame Toure and lives now in Guinea, says, "Howard provides a platform to build linkages between Africans born in America, Africans born in Africa and Africans born in the Caribbean."

Year by year Howard goes on educating the future leaders of the black world, builds ties between them and Americans and yet goes unnoticed by much of official Washington. The world overseas pays more attention. In the last five years seven heads of state have visited Howard. In the same period, three have visited Harvard; until until Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher's February visit, none had appeared at Georgetown.

"If Begin goes to the Jews, why can't blacks go to blacks?" asks Joe Harris, a Howard professor who has run international conferences.

This black Third World that comes to Howard has immense importance to the United States:

Jamaica supplies more than 50 percent of the bauxite the U.S. refines into aluminum.

Zaire supplies 34 percent of U.S. cobalt needs.

African nations (led by white-run South Africa) supply chromium, vanadium, manganese and other scarce minerals, without which the U.S. steel industry, for example, would simply stop.

Kenya, Somalia and Djibouti, neighboring as they do on oil shipping routes, are critical to American security.

Nigeria ships the United States 1 million barrels of oil a day, second only to the 1.3 million barrels a day Saudi Arabia supplies. That's almost twice what Iran shipped in the days of the shah.

Nigeria's President Shehu Shagari said in a recent United Nations speech that he is now ready to use his nation's oil as a foreign policy weapon. sOther resource-rich nations of the black Third World possess the same potential leverage. Ron Walters, a Howard professor who advises several Congressional Black Caucus members on foreign policy, believes that's as it should be.

"Pan-Africanism now is trying to mean this kind of reciprocity," he says. "Before, it was rhetorical. That stage is over."

The first Pan-African Conferences, promoted by W. E. B. DuBois, convened in Europe immediately after World War I. To blacks, it seemed a hopeful time. In America the Harlem Renaissance flowered, and some foreign black intellectuals also began exploring their heritage.

"Studying at the Sorbonne, I began to reflect upon the problem of a cultural renaissance in black Africa. I was searching, all of us were searching, for a 'sponsorship' which could guarantee the success of the enterprise. At the end of my quest it was inevitable that I would find Alain Locke . . .," wrote Leopold Senghor, one of the developers of the concept of "negritude" and the first president of Senegal.

Philosopher Locke was one of a handful of brilliant professors who arrived at Howard after World War I and, according to the Smithsonian's Roy Bryce-Laporte, made the university an equal of Oxford as a gathering place for black intellectuals. Other stars in the constellation were sociologist E. Franklin Frazier, Leo Hansberry, the founder of African studies as an academic discipline, and poet Sterling Brown.

Locke, one of the first collectors of African art, pronounced "the colored millions of America" to be "the heirs of the entire continent" of Africa.

"The American Negro is in a real sense the true Pan-African," he said.

Frazier, meanwhile, accused black intellectuals of thinking only of civil rights and progress in the white world and "mouthing sterile repetitions of the safe and conventional ideas current in American society." He said, "It is as necessary for the American Negro intellectual to begin with [slavery] as it is for the African intellectual to begin with the colonial experience."

In many ways the American black experience was worse than that colonial experience. Eved in South Africa interracial marriage was legal until 1949 and "coloreds" could vote until 1956. Apartheid became entrenched only as the rest of the continent approached independence.

In much of the rest of Africa American-style segregation never existed. Christian Renner, a cabinet minister in Sierra Leone, remembers his first days at Howard. Hungry, he had gone into a restaurant in Maryland. They wouldn't serve him "'Because you're a nigger," I was told. That hit me very hard. Very hard. The colonial situation was was not comparable."

America made black Third World students aware of race; Howard helped them to analyze it. In England students read Hobbes and Mill, Marx and Lenin. Nowhere was race mentioned, and for many of them the class system they saw about them reinforced Marx. At Howard, along with policital classics, students read DuBois and listened to Frazier and Alain Locke.

Arthur Burt, an alumnus and a former minister of state in Jamaica now on the Howard faculty, says, "Segregation in the Caribbean seemed based on economics and on cultural and educational opportunites. Those were related to the extent to which one approximated Caucasian features. That was not something the Caribbean student could analyze in the Caribbean. That analysis took place at Howard. The same was true for the Africans. At Howard you developed your black consciousness."

But not all that students learned about race was negative. Hansberry's work in Africa studies gained him such regard that Nnamdi Azikiwe offered him a post in Nigeria's first post-independence government. "You initiated me into the sanctuaries . . . of African history," Azikiwe wrote.

The consciousness of color and of a black history spread through the black world through a network of alumni. A Washington-based Ghanaian journalist estimates that 10 percent of Ghana's educated elite went to Howard. In Liberia, of 13 government leaders executed in last year's coup, two were alumni. In Jamaica, the current cabinet includes two alumni; one, Percy Broderick, is deputy leader of the ruling Jamaican Labor Party. Burt estimates that more than one-third of Jamaica's prefessionals -- doctors, dentists, engineers -- went there. These slumni do not exist in a vacuum: The brother of one alumnus is Ghana's ambassador to Brazil, and the brother of another, Alphonse Okuku, who is himself a deputy minister in Kenya, was Tom Mboya, a labor leader as important as any head of state in Africa.

The input of their ideas helped create what James Turner, director of Cornell's Africana Center, calls "a debate in the Third World whether the point of oppression is race or class . . . How do you label Sekou Toure? When Africanists sit down they see him on the left of the continuum but I don't think Moscow sees him as a Marxist-Leninist. The same with Mozambique, with Tanzania.Nyerere says he's a socialist but his socialism comes out of African communal values as old as Africa itself."

To Africans, a sense of race unity, of Pan-Africanism, was not separatist and divisive. Instead it helped them move beyond tribalism and was a wholly positive and unifying force.

There was a sense of shared oppression that class analysis did not explain. Nathan Hare, a professor involved in '60s disturbances at Howard and San Francisco State and founder of The Black Scholar, says, "What cuts through everything else is race. We're poor because we're black."

Brown's poetry sang of this struggle: "Keep a-inchin' along/Lak a po' inch worm/ . . . Ain' no hammah/ In dis lan'/ Strikes lak mine, bebby/ Strikes lak mine."

"I remember," says Leo Edwards, a Jamaican alumnus now a consultant to Third World countries, "when Howard used to be criticized for being too academic, too intellectual . . . Howard did not teach revoluation. It teaches pride in who you are. In a racist society, that may be . . . revolutionary."

Howard is an odd place to find such radicalism. Since its founding by federal charter in 1867 to educate freed slaves, it has striven for black progress, but in a way nonthreatening to white benefactors, like the U.S. government. The university gets an annual appropriation from Congress, independent of grants and contracts, which last year was $121.9 million, 55 percent of the operating budget.

Howard has been the bastion of the black bourgeoisie, producer of doctors, dentists and lawyers, and of blacks who made their way in the white world adhering to white standards. It was home to exactly the kind of thinking Frazier criticized. For decades black students sat through lectures from Howard's brilliant faculty seemingly unaffected, stopping to take notes on their way to law school and dental school. Through the 1930s, the 1940s, the 1950s, this was so.

"The emphasis was on getting to an objective through achievement, not agitation," recalls Burt, who left Howard in 1957. "If you had to be twice as good an another person in order to get something, then be twice as good."

But as Dylan sang, the times they are a-changing. In 1957, Ghana under Nkrumah became the first colony to achieve independence, and Central High School in Little Rock was integrated. In 1960, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee was formed.That fall Stokely Carmichael entered Howard.

It is still the '60s in this apartment on 14th Street NW. Incense burns in an ashtray and a clenched black fist, posters of Malcolm X, of the Black Panthers, of SNCC look down from the wall. The apartment belongs to the Washington organizer (and former Howard student) of the All African Peoples' Revolutionary Party, a party whose creation Nkrumah called for and which Stokely Carmichael -- it was not Kwame Toure then, but Stokely -- leads from Africa. He is on the phone, and makes a welcoming gesture.

His suitcase lies on the floor, open and full of clothes; back in America for a few weeks, he moves constantly, speaking, organizing. Which is what the phone call concerns. "Well, look here," he is saying, "struggle is what we're all about. We'll help. We're always ready to struggle . . . All right, my brother, you be strong now, you hear?"

He hangs up the phone and smiles. There is charm and softness about him: His body seems thin and a goatee makes his thin face seen thinner, yet still soft. Even his eyes are soft. Sometimes. They are also alive, and dart and glitter, warning that this is not a man to have for an enemy. The phone rings.

"Ready for the revolution," he says.That is how he answers the phone. "Hey, my sister!" It is Jesse Jackson's wife.

Ready for the revolution. The words mark the distance come since he entered Howard. The school was no center of activism in 1960. Although its alumni -- including Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall (who also wrote Kenya's constitution) -- and law school had played a key part in civil rights litigation, the administration was conservative. Students who wanted to play jazz could not use music department rehearsal rooms. Those who wore a "bush" were threatened with explusion. There was little contact with the local black community, and neighborhood toughs, called "block boys," harassed the students -- the "boozhies," children of the middle class.

"Howard," says one graduate, "was an island."

That would soon change. Carmichael and others would change it, not only for Howard but for the world.

Howard itself gives you -- it gave me -- a sense of struggle and a sense of race," Carmichael says. "Harold Lewis, Sterling Brown, Conrad Snowden, some other professors, we had like a little cell where we would read books and discuss them, books about politics, or Sterling Brown might give an interpretation of blues as a source of struggle. It had a strong impact on me. I also needed it."

Courtland Cox, a tall man with a mustache who now runs the District's minority business office, remembers being in Sterling Brown's home too: "He massaged us. He would tell first hand about DuBois, how DuBois was an aristocrat and wore spats and gloves . . . E. Franklin Frazier -- his classes were a joy, and education in itself . . . Howard put us into our history. It was a cradle. What these guys said was, 'You are our spiritual children,' and they spent time and energy on us. I don't think we could have done what we did at any other school."

Carmichael and Cox and a handful of other students formed the Nonviolent Action Group (NAG). Others involved included Ed Brown, older brother of Rap Brown, and Rap himself (though he was not a student). For all practical purposes it was the northern arm of SNCC. One of the first NAG projects was a debate between Malcolm X and Bayard Rustin. Renner remembers: "Believe me, sir! That had an impact!"

"Malcolm and Rustin talked about separation versus integrations, nonviolence versus self-defense," says Cox, who organized the debate. "In the early days we were clearly talking about opening up society, ending discrimination. We were clearly on Rustin's side, but Malcolm was overwhelming."

Soon NAG turned to activism. Members went to Baltimore and demonstrated at restaurants that would not serve blacks. They advised neighborhood tenants on their rights. They picketed Washington homes of politicians. On campus there was a fight to get a dark-skinned homecoming queen to show that black, not approximation of white, was beautiful. And they worked to register black voters in Mississippi.

That brought them to the 1964 Democratic National Convention, where they fought unsuccessfully to seat the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party.

"We came in believing in the rhetoric of democracy," Cox says, "and we ran up against people who didn't give a s--- about democracy."

An international element arose too; Carmichael says, "It didn't get any attention in the press, but independence was coming to the Caribbean. Whenever I ran into any Caribbean students, that was all we talked about. . . I was born in Trinidad. I could identify with that immediately. At Howard the hook between the Caribben and the struggle here was plain." Also in 1964 President Sekou Toure of Guinea invited the SNCC leadership to Conakry as his guests. Cox notes, "There were two things going on at the same time: the black consciousness movement -- 'black is beautiful' --and Pan-Africanism, which had much more of a political and economic thrust, making interconnections."

Two years later Carmichael, by then SNCC chairman, called for "black power." Nkrumah wrote a pamphlet explaining black power to Africans. The NAACP and The New York Times denounced it. But the idea that black was beautiful had spread from a few intellecturals, isloated even at Howard, into the street. The '60s ended, but black power would not return like a docile genie to the bottle.

Kwame Toure, ne Stokely Carmichael, calls himself a "scientific socialist" now, but explains, "Clearly Marxism cannot be an ideology for [blacks]. An ideology must come from our culture. Marxism comes from Germany and England. Once it is an ideology those people will control you with their culture. The struggle for culture is very strong, particularly among Africans . . . But Marxism is a methodolgy." The blackness dominates.

He is asked about whites who offered help in the '60s in the black struggle.

He leans formward and his eyes pierce. He says "Africans" must bear the brunt of that struggle, though they will take allies. "If I had a gun to shoot Vorster [the former South African premier]," he says, "and a white man comes with a gun to shoot Vorster, would I shoot the white man? At least I would wait for him to shoot Vorster."

For Kwame Toure, there is a line. He is on one side of it; whites are on the other.For him, that line will never disappear. He sits back and is quiet. His eyes are soft again. The phone rings one more time, and one more time he answers, "Ready for the revolution." He will stay in the United States a few more weeks, before he goes home. Home to Africa.

The magnetic attraction of Africa to black Americans is no longer an isolated phenomenon. In 1972, C. L. R. James, a Howard professor and Pan-Africanist, called for a new Pan-African Congress, the first since 1945. Courtland Cox became its chief organizer and secretary general. The idea, Cox says, was "to bring African people together from around the world to raise . . . economic and political questions . . . At the heart was an effort of Africans in the diaspora to make connections." When President Julius Nyerere of Tanzania came to the U.S. a few years later, Cox adds, "It was no accident that he asked to deliver his main speech at Howard."

It may seem odd that an American organized that Pan-African Congress, the first in Africa, but oddities abound. Kwame Toure's AAPRP maintains intimate ties with the government of Guinea; the Guinean embassy here has a man described by an embassy employe as "liaison" to the Aaprp. When Sekou Toure made a visit to the United States 1979, it was left to the AAPRP to arrange part of his itinerary -- including an appearance at Howard. That is to say, when the Howard, administration failed to invite the leftwing Guinean president to speak, the AAPRP rented a university hall and recruited the audience.

The ease with which blacks now make connections across national boundaries "goes beyond any 'old boy' network," says Glegg Watson, a Jamaican graduate now a Xerox executive. "It deals with a universality of purpose. Whether Communist or socialist or a capitalist like myself, those identities only detract from and confuse what is the real key. That key, what Howard is teaching, is recognizing what DuBois said, that the struggle of the 20th century is the struggle of color."

The struggle of color. Not all the black world recognizes that struggle, but much of it does. And the web linking U.S. and foreign blacks grows steadily tighter and stronger.

Fred Irving, a former ambassador to Jamaica and Carter assistant secretary of state, notes that "Jamaica is as much an African country as any country on the continent of Africa. When I was nominated they [the Jamaicans] wanted to know what my racial coloration was, my stand on racial issues, and somehow . . . Howard University got involved."

In 1975 Secretary of State Henry Kissinger asked to meet with Nigeria's rulers; oil made Nigeria important. But Kissinger's Angola policy, which had the CIA cooperating with South Africa, had angered the Nigerians. They refused to see him -- and even refused permission for his plane to land to refuel.

Andrew Young, then a congressman, tried to see the same Nigerians. A Nigerian official -- and Howard classmate -- opened the doors for him that were closed to the Secretary of State. In 1977 the Nigerian head of state Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo visited Howard.

By the mid '70s the network has tinted American perceptions as well. So had roots. E. O. Sanu, then the Nigerian ambassador to the U. S. and now the ambassador to China, accompaniedd Obasanjo and noticed the change: "When I was a student [in the '50s]. . . there was not yet an awareness of the struggle of Africa. When I returned an ambassador, it was entirely different."

Ultimately the connections can translate into power. Ron Walters in interested in power. As adviser to Black Caucus members on foreign policy, he has met with PLO officials and wants an independent black political party. Yet his office, a windowless cubicle in the basement of a Howard building, mocks his pursuit of power, and there is a bitterness in him. Wary of the press, he politely declines to answer many questions, but complains of "rank discrimination" in an Agency for International Development grant to study southern Africa. The grant, he says, went "to an Ivy League institution. They had no expertise, no idea how to spend it. They ended up subcontracting all over the country. Howard was not even allowed to compete for that grant." (An AID spokesman says it was a series of contracts let separately.)

TransAfrica may change that. A black foreign policy lobby, it was founded in 1977 by a handful of people including Walters, Herschelle Challenor, a Howard alumnus and director of UNESCO's Washington office, and C. Payne Lucas, head of Africare and once a Howard student. Courtland Cox is treasurer. TransAfrica's leaders hope it will be to Africa what the Jewish lobby is to Israel. And TransAfrica had an immediate test -- Zimbabwe.

After years of pressure by Great Britain, the United States and a guerrilla war, Ian Smith, prime minister of Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), held elections, but excluded guerrillas -- among them Mugabe -- from participation. eSen. Jesse Helsm (R-N.C.) pressed the Carter administration to lift economic sanctions. That action could have legitimized the new, black government and made it permanent. Helms and other conservatives wanted just that. TransAfrica did not, and orchestrated the response.

Mail began to pour into Congress and the White House. Black leaders wrote opinion pieces for major newspapers. The NAACP and other groups developed position papers under TransAfrica's leadership and testified before Congress. Randall Robinson, TransAfrica's director, began lobbying the Hill and also met with -- and now routinely sees -- African ambassadors and visiting African heads of state.

Still, a State Department source says, "Essentially you had mobilized on that issue a relatively small group on both sides." Most of Congress cared little and knew less about the matter. When Margaret Thatcher won election in England, "The feeling in Congress seemed to be, let the British take the lightning." Congress did nothing, which meant Helms failed.

TransAfrica had succeeded in taking a first step as a lobby. Foreign Service officers became aware that blacks were now scrutinizing their actions on Africa -- and would hold them accountable. Robinson and others met regularly with secretaries of state Cyrus Vance and Edmund Muskie and spoke weekly with those directly charged with Africa.

TransAfrica's relationship with the Reagan administration is likely to be less chummy, but the lobby is far from powerless. Robinson is using sophisticated political techniques to build a potent lobby: He has identified 154 congressional districts with black populations of at least 10 percent. He says TransAfrica has bought thousands of signs, to go up this year in black churches across the country, that demand, "End U.S. Support for South Africa." Underneath will be a column of facts.

"Black Americans," Robinson says, "can understand that issue."

If TransAfrica can generate grassroots support it will have a powerful voice. Black nations are not unaware of the potential. At the last meeting of the Organization of African Unity -- attended by almost all the African heads of state -- Robinson received participatory credentials. The Nigerian embassy has hosted black American journalists and talked of their responsibilities. "they seemed to think we have more power than we do," wryly notes one black reporter.

Yet TransAfrica's most explosive impact may not be on Africa. A State Department official says that in some of Robinson's meetings with Vance and Muskie, "Africa was not the main subject of discussion. They have sought recognition of tbe PLO, asked why Israel gets special treatment. . ."

It may seem that race consciousness and Israel are not connected, but they are. Arab nations have repeatedly called Israel racist. Most of white America dismisses that out of hand, but Pan-Africanists take it more seriously. Black African observers generally believed that the mysterious flashes in the South Atlantic in September 1979 were the explosion of a joint Israeli-South African atomic weapon, though both countries rejected the charge.Israel does enjoy embarrassingly cozy relations with South Africa. Willard Johnson, an MIT professor and head of the policy committee for TransAfrica, says that in Africa and at least among black intellectuals here, "That's well known and very much resented."

Kwame Toure says, "It is clear that Israel must be struggled against and there can be no compromise."

Cox stops short of that. About the Arabs he says, "My attitude is, What's in it for us?" But he also says, "The fact of the matter is, Zionism is a racist concept. . . Black consciousness is different -- it restores to black people what is common to all peoples: a sense of history, a sense of purpose, a view of self and the world, but when you get into being a 'Chosen People'. . ."

If a black lobby were to link with Arab interests it could have an immense effect on American policy.

The first test of TransAfrica's power in the Reagan ere may come soon, over an old question -- Angola.

In 1975 Congress, angry over Kissinger's maneuvering and wary of Vietnam-like entanglements, prohibited covert CIA activity in Angola. Last June, Helms and Sen. Richard Lugar (R-Ind.) led a successful Senate fight to rescind that prohibition.

"It happened at 8 in the evening," says Chris Root of the Washington Office on Africa. "There was no time to develop any kind of national outreach."

"We were afraid it would give a license to South Africa [which has troops in Angola] . . . Somebody would die as a result," says Willard Johnson, the Trans Africa official who pressured the White House to fight the recession in the House-Senate conference commitee. "We . . . said to African diplomats, This is how we see things and this what we thing you ought to do about it," Johnson adds. They got back to the administration. They wouldn't have done that if we hadn't been on the phone to them."

The upshot was that the House members of the conference committee rejected the Helms-Lugar amendment.

John Carbaugh, a Helms aide, says Helms will introduce the amendment again "as soon as we find [a bill] to attach it to, something the House really wants, and we expect to have the backing of the Department of State."

Chester Crocker, at this writing Reagan's prospective assistant secretary of state for Africa, declined to be interviewed, and a department spokesman said only "the policy is under review." Crocker, another of the Georgetown Institute for Strategic Studies faculty now in the administration, wrote in a recent issue of Foreign Affairs that "pressure for change [in South Africa] should be a central ingredient in American policy." But in Freedom at Issue, a more conservative journal, he said, "For the West to write off the place [South Africa] prematurely, whether for domestic political convenience or to shed an embarrassing international burden, would be an action of the highest moral cowardice . . . As far as the Angolan conflict is conerned, the United States would serve its own best interests by admitting publicly the legitimacy of the UNITA struggle and maintaining pressure for a departure of communist combat forces."

Robinson says of Crocker, "He's a very bright man, but we have our differences too between Croker and Nigeria, depending upon what the United States does in Angola and South Africa. As the oil glut disappears, as the Iran-Iraq war drags on, the 1 million barrels a day Nigeria ships here looms larger and larger. Nigeria cannot afford simply to stop shipping oil, but a boycott that forced the juggling of suppliers could be quite disruptive. Nigeria has used its oil club in the past: to send a message to Margaret Thatcher as negotiations began over Zimbabwe-Rhodesia, it nationalized British Petroleum.

the Third World has tighter and tighter ties to America. Europe is no longer the first choice for an education: The United States is. Nigeria's biggest purchase from the United States every year is education. Nigeria, and the rest of the black Third World, needs skills -- engineers, agronomists, nutrition experts. These do not seem to be political positions, but a former ambassador says, "You can't develop a country without leaders, and make no mistake -- training technicians is training leaders."

Many of these men and women will leave the United States with a new pedrception -- and a sense of kinship. Nicholas Ajaero, a top officer of a major Nigerian union, is one of 20 senior African Labor leaders who attended last summer a five-week program at Howard, taught by Ron Walters among others. Asked what Howard's contributiion has been, he hesitates, the says, "A black man sees a black man. Right away he likes that man."