Hello, I'm Brother Steve. I remember when I told my mom I got accepted at an HBCU, named Southern University Jaguars in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. She was so excited. She said she would pay my travel expenses. Here is how I found out about Southern University. I had a dream to go to college. So, one day I saw a friend who I graduated from high school with.

He was a Southern University student. He told me about Southern. My friend's name was Glenn Gallon. He gave me the name of the school recruiter. I contacted him and he mailed me a school application and financial aid information.

I completed both forms, mailed them back to him. And a few weeks later, I received my acceptance letter. One week later I was on a plane to Baton Rouge, Louisiana headed to Southern University. My dream became a reality. I remember arriving on campus. It was in the middle of August. Very hot in Baton Rouge.

Southern University didn’t just sit on the bluff overlooking the Mississippi River. It lived there, breathing with the same rhythm as the students who walked its campus. When I first arrived as a Marketing major, I thought I was just coming to earn a degree.

I didn’t know I was stepping into a whole new world, one stitched together with culture, pride, and a family I didn’t even know I needed. My days started with the hum of students heading to class, the sun warming the sidewalks of T.T. Allain the College of Business.

I remember sliding into my marketing lectures with a notebook full of ambition, determined to prove to myself that I belonged. And I did. Concepts clicked. Projects flowed. Every business case study felt like another step toward the future I was building. I wasn’t just passing classes, I was thriving. But Southern’s magic wasn’t confined to the classrooms.

It lived on Saturdays when the campus transformed into a sea of blue and gold. The air was thick with barbecue smoke, laughter, and the kind of joy you can feel in your chest. And then the moment. When the Southern University Human Jukebox Marching Band came onto the field, the stadium didn’t just cheer; it erupted.

The drums hit first, next the horns, then the symbols, the high step marching and the music. Slicing through the air like a declaration: This is Southern. We are the jags. I’d sit in the stands with friends from all over: New Orleans, Chicago, Atlanta, New York City, Dallas, Mobile, Detroit, Jackson, Miami, St. Louis, Raliegh, Birmingham and Los Angelas. People I never would’ve met if it were not for Southern.

Somehow, we all fit together like gumbo. We studied together, ate together, argued about music and football, and laughed until our stomachs hurt. They weren’t just classmates. They were family. And nothing brought that family feeling alive like the Bayou Classic.

Every year, Southern vs. Grambling wasn’t just a game, it was a cultural pilgrimage. The Superdome buzzing with energy, alumni dressed sharp, kids waving flags, vendors selling everything from t-shirts to hoodies. And The Battle of the Bands. It was legendary.

It was like watching history unfold in real time, each musical note carrying decades of tradition. What a rivalry. Somewhere between the late-night study sessions, the cafeteria conversations, the football games, and the friendships that felt like home. Southern University became more than a school.

It became a chapter of my life I’ll always carry with me. A place where I learned who I was. A place where I learned who I could become. A place where strangers became brothers and sisters. Southern University didn’t just give me an education. It gave me a family. It gave me a dream. It gave me a story.

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