A Thread of Hope

As a child growing up, the issue of African-American people as equals (my parents most often referred to these children of God with that repugnant 'n' word) seemed to be more than an occasional topic in our household. It was never a pleasant discussion. As far back as I can remember (would you believe I remember sleeping in my crib and riding around in my stroller?) whenever the issue came up I found myself at odds with my parents. I was incapable of putting my sentiments into words at the time but looking back I believe that I felt in my childlike way that people should be considered on their own merit, not based on the color of their skin. I have never changed my mind about that.

Before I go on, in order to show the love and respect that is due them and in the spirit of forgiveness, I feel that I must attribute this tendency of my parents to the way they were brought up and the culture and environment they were immersed in during their formative years. Why their attempt to bring me up similarly in these matters did not take, I do not know, but I am grateful for that outcome.

I had a unique experience during the summer of 1957 just prior to my 16th birthday. My parents and I took a month long road trip across country - in part to visit my aunt and uncle and their dozen or so children in Florida. (This was the same trip where we visited Washington D.C. - see previous post.) My Dad chose to drive from our home in California across the deep south so we could see the picturesque plantation homes as well as the gulf of Mexico with its white, sandy beaches and other memorable sights. Driving through Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama during this time period was a real eye opener for me. I observed first hand the 'chain gangs' working on the roadways as well as the 'colored-white' segregated restroom facilities, restaurants and other public places. White folks did not go into 'colored' (this was PC terminology at that time) facilities or vice versa. The thing that struck me with great force was the upkeep and condition of those facilities. Where the 'white' designated restroom would be spotless and well maintained, the 'colored' was filthy and, on occasion, did not even have a door for privacy. I am sure I do not have to point out the discrepancy in the two drinking fountains pictured above. I spent much time silently puzzling through the rationale for segregation and its accomplices unfairness and maltreatment.

Later that same summer I took a U.S. History class in summer school in order to get some of my required classes out of the way in anticipation of my junior year. The topic of segregation in the south came up in a class discussion one day. There was a white student in the class who was from the south and tried to defend segregation by stating, "It isn't that we consider ourselves superior but that we choose not to associate with them because we don't get along well and so the authorities have come up with ways for us to be separated." At that age I was still pretty shy and didn't often speak out but this time I found myself raising my hand, waving it around somewhat wildly and, after being called upon, saying, "If it is just a matter of separation, why are the colored people sent to the BACK of the bus and why do they have the DIRTY restroom with no door?" I then shared with them my experience of seeing for myself the segregation of the south. Wild horses could not have kept me silent that day.

Thus the beginnings of a thread or theme that has stayed with me and I have made use of frequently in trying to combat prejudice wherever I can. I have loved and admired Harper Lee for sharing her own experiences in the novel "To Kill a Mockingbird". Thus my recurring 'Jem and Scout'. I have rejoiced at each little victory won in the long fight for equality by the black people in this country and in Africa. During the long years of the Civil Rights struggle, I have wept with those who have spoken up publicly and appealed to our better selves. I have paid homage to them in every way possible each step of the way. Now that I think about it perhaps that's why my visits to the Lincoln Memorial have touched me so deeply...I had just visited the land of slavery and segregation prior to my first visit there. The contrast of goodness and evil came together for me in that place.

With all of this as a background, you can see why last nights election outcome brought me to tears of joy that I could not hold back. I did not vote for him because he was African-American. I voted for him because I agreed with much of what he had to say during his campaign, because he inspires and brings hope and because I see goodness and decency in his eyes. I felt he was the better choice. The fact that he is black was just the frosting on the cake for me.