From the time I was nine
years old until I was seventeen, I lived in ethnically and racially diverse neighborhoods. During that time I only had one close friend
of African-American heritage, although I played on sports teams with many
more. I had literally dozens of Latino friends
and even more friends of the Jewish faith.
I would describe my parents as “race neutral”. Their mantra was basically “acceptance of
everyone” without specific reference to race, color or creed. Unlike a few other
parents with which I came in contact, my parents never used slang expressions to
define people and, if I did, I was chastised and learned early on of the
inappropriateness of my speech.
Consequently, racism and bigotry were mostly foreign to me during my
formative years. Then we moved to Texas.
The transition from Southern California to central Texas was
an enlightening proposition. I enrolled for my senior year at Richfield High School in
Waco, a beautiful little town of about ninety-eight thousand people halfway
between Dallas and Austin on Interstate 35.
In school for only a couple of days, I noticed something very strange, so I
told one of the girls in my civics class who sat beside me, let’s call her
Alice, what I had observed. Namely, there weren’t any blacks or Mexicans in the
school, and I asked her why. Alice said, with a killer smile and thick drawl,
“Oh, ’cause those people don’t live in our school district.”
“Ah,” I said, thinking that was a
logical reason. Then I thought about it, and it raised another question, so the
next day I asked, “Alice, why don’t blacks and Mexicans live in this school
district?”
The pretty girl looked at me as if I
must be from another planet and said, matter-of-factly, “Because no
self-respectin’ real estate agent would dare to sell a black or Mexican family
a home in our school district.” She went on to point out that the blacks and
Mexicans all went to Waco High School because it was in “their part of town.” I
remember being dumbfounded by her response and the casual way she accepted this
seemingly arbitrary natural order of things.
My whole life’s experience, everything
I was ever taught, told me this was wrong. It was my first encounter with
segregation. And over the next year, I learned some of my first lessons about
bigotry, prejudice, and racism and how some people do see and give a lot of
thought to the color of one’s skin. To be fair, not everyone at Richfield was
like that, but many, unfortunately, were. That year was a real eye-opener for
me in more ways than one. I was pretty much raised to judge a person, as Dr.
Martin Luther King Jr. had so eloquently put it back in 1963, not “by the color
of their skin but by the content of their character.” And here I was among so
many people—good people, honest people, intelligent people—who truly believed
that a person’s character might have something to do with skin color.
I had to make a decision. Either I
adapted to this new culture or I stayed true to my values. Richfield was my
third high school in three years. My father was in the aerospace industry
working for North American Aviation Corporation on the Mercury space program’s
Saturn One rocket. He had been transferred to the Rocketdyne facility in
McGregor, Texas, which was about fifteen minutes outside of Waco. It was a huge
culture shock moving from Southern California to Texas, but I liked these good
southern kids, and I wanted them to like me. I wanted to be a part of their
lives, but I couldn’t accept some of their thinking on this issue of race. I
vowed to myself that I would stay true to my upbringing and my own feelings. I
tried to encourage others to think as I did, sometimes to my detriment.
Later on, that next summer before I went off to college, I
thought about the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which had just passed. All I really
knew about the new law was that it was supposed to not only champion the rights
of blacks but women and all minorities.
However, back then, I had my doubts if even this much debated
legislation really had a chance to level the public playing field here in the
South.
Despite the fact that dozens of pieces of legislation have
followed since 1964, racism, bigotry, prejudice and inequalities among the
races continues to this day. The
cold-hearted “murder” of George Floyd is a case in point. Practically every American, who
watches the news on just about any of the hundreds of media formats available
today, has seen this deplorable act many times. The courts will ultimately determine what punishment(s) will be appropriate. In the meantime, people have taken to the streets of our nation’s cities, large and
small, to protest not only the lethal treatment of Mr. Floyd, but to seek
justice and substantive change. Most of these demonstrations
have been peaceful; however, some have deteriorated into violence and
lawlessness and those acts, as well as the reaction (some might say “overreaction”)
against them have fanned the flames of division and hatred in our country. It has been
compared to the worst of the race riots of my youth in the 1960’s.
This is the start of a series of comments I will be posting
here over the next several weeks where I try to sort out, for myself and anyone
who wants to follow along, where we are today, how we got here, and where we
are going in the future as it relates to race in our country. It won’t be easy. It is a complex and complicated issue. Some of you might disagree with my opinions and/or conclusions and that is your right. I really do want to hear a range of opinions. I will try to be factual and use verifiable
sources for my assertions and commentary.
I will try to be fair. My first assertion is that there is not one group who is all right and one group who is all wrong. If you can be open-minded and agree with that, let's see where this goes. My first
follow-up post will be this weekend. Please
let me know if you are interested enough to follow along.
Jud, as you know, I grew up in a "Sun Down Town" where the racism was silent and simply accepted. I didn't encounter a person of color until we played away football games and track meets in a couple of towns with African American athletes. And then at college. I have had a learning curve which continues. I am anti-racism and ashamed of that past.
ReplyDeleteI think part of the way forward is listening to each other's stories. We just don't know each other that well anymore, but we are damn sure quick to judge the other. As we both know, quick judgment - while good for survival in a pinch - doesn't serve us well in the long-run of everyday (non-survival) situations. I like how you share your story here. Waiting to hear more . . .
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comments and for following along. I will do my best to make this series as balanced as I can. Jud.
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