Racism

Contemporary History #12 - Racism

WARNING!

This post contains content that some will find offensive and upsetting.

WARNING!

This post was originally envisioned as the next Family History article, #45. I began writing it in late February and it would have been scheduled for release in September, 2020. However, as the Spring of 2020 and this article evolved simultaneously, the article began to feel more like a Contemporary History post instead of a Family History post. It began to feel very much like a post that needed to go live now, in July, rather than wait throughout the Summer to be posted in the early Fall. The article, therefore, is being posted now as a Contemporary Post but it keeps much of its Family History aura. 

I thought long and hard on whether or not to even write this post. Most of what is included below is, at best, controversial and, in my opinion, highly offensive. I found it so much so, that I had to ask myself, “Is content such as this appropriate for this blog?” I envision these posts to be educational while, hopefully, entertaining. The following is educational for certain. Ironically, my resistance is that, in this case, I fear that there will be some who read this who will find it all too entertaining, for all the wrong reasons. There is much in the following that I, personally, do not find to be entertaining.

As I was pondering this question, crowds of protestors began marching through the streets of many American cities, including Hazleton and Wilkes-Barre. Motivated by the death of a man named George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis Police, people across the country and around the world began protesting, demanding justice and equality, especially for those of color; decrying the unequal justice and treatment many people of color experience every day in the world, but especially in the country of Freedom called the United States of America.

Many of us live in a United States where justice and equality have always been there for us. They make up the promise of American citizenship, a promise we often take for granted. However, for some of us, those of us of color, those of us who practice certain religions, those of us who speak with European or Asian or Hispanic accents, this promise has often proven to be an empty promise.

Some have tried to call attention to the unjust treatment people of color endure by using the phrase, “Black Lives Matter”. Others were offended by this phrase and chose to change it to “All Lives Matter.” The actor Ashton Kucher did one of the best jobs I’ve seen of explaining that although it is true that “all lives matter”, using that phrase in today’s context is really inappropriate; it really does need to be “Black Lives Matter” because, as he put it, “for some people, black lives don’t matter at all”. You can find his full comments by clicking: Kucher.

There are others who have summed it all up by simply saying, “Black Lives Matter, Too”. Reading Kucher’s comments caused me to think about my own childhood environment and how much it colored my understanding of the world around me. I thought I was sensitive to the issues surrounding all the various “-isms”. As this post developed, as I read more and learned more from the discussions swirling around the Floyd situation and even newer occurrences since then, my understanding has changed, and this post has changed at least twice so far!

As I turned the question over in my mind, a number of points became clear.

 1. I realized that what appears below is part of our history, no matter how offensive or embarrassing. I was surprised by how pervasive this material was in the everyday lives of our ancestors. Perhaps that is part of the story. Perhaps knowing that is more necessary than the content itself. Still, I wasn’t convinced it was something that should appear in this blog.

2. I wondered if I could represent the issues involved in the right and best manner. After all, as I mentioned above, this post has already changed at least two times since I began writing it because I’ve found an awareness or developed a sensitivity that I had not known before. I’ve concluded that I can only present what I know from my point of present understanding. The fact that I am still growing and changing within this realm tells me that I am on the right track.

3. To deny it exists or choose not to expose our own racist history, I finally came to believe, was worse than exposing it, even if it was being explained through a potentially faulty filter, for, perhaps by exposing this history we will find lessons that will help us understand ourselves better; to help us each realize that the time, long overdue, has finally come for everyone to acknowledge that black lives matter, just like everyone else’s and that judging people for superficial reasons; skin color, how they pray, the tone of their accent; is just, plain wrong.  

4. I realized that as bad as what the below history is, the below history could have been worse – lots worse. I am happy to find that “our” (those who are members of the Philip Drum Tree) history seems to be the result of ignorance, not hatred, and when hatred was expressed, “we” rejected it. Through “our” ignorance “we” committed transgressions that were rooted in what seems to have been meant as “humor” or entertainment, perhaps even some fear, but never hatred. For example, local oral history, supported by at least one photo I have seen, says that at one time there was a chapter of the Ku Klux Klan in Drums. I can find nothing that shows that any of the Drums were ever members, or supporters, of that movement.

I also can find no evidence that any of “us” ever owned slaves. The first few censuses this country conducted included a column to count slaves. I found a Drum in New York state that owned slaves according to the census but he was not from “our” tree. The census recorded no slaves for any of the Drums that make up “our” tree.

Given all these thoughts, I decided it would be wrong NOT to write this post. My next problem was: how do I begin?

Given such a dark introduction, perhaps we can begin with a funny story.

A fellow and his girl were strolling along a seaside boardwalk when they came upon a man who was down on his hands and knees. As they watched him a moment, they realized he was pushing a dollar bill down between the boards. “Say there, buddy”, the man called out, “what’s up? What are you doing that for?” “Why you see, sir,” returned the man without glancing up from his task, “a minute ago I dropped a dime through this crack, and now I’m putting a dollar through so’s to make it worth my while to pull up the walk and get my dime back.”

Here is another example,
this one from the 1925 Agricultural Almanac,[2]
the year Harry’s sister, my aunt Clara, was born.
I left the “Self-Indictment” there as well since
it is an ironic play on this post’s content.

To me, that’s a funny story. I paraphrased it from a story that appeared in the Agricultural Almanac for the year 1923[1], the birth year of my dad, Harry Drum. Now I’m going to reveal the rest of the story and ruin the humor. In the Almanac’s version, the fellow who lost his dime is an Irishman, an additional piece of information that really does not affect the humor unless you believe all Irish people are cheap. Then, for you, that element makes the joke funnier.

We the people like to make fun of each other. Your quirks become my smirks, I guess! In my experience, if I told such a joke as either of those I've presented here in any of the workplaces of my career (county, state and national 4-H entities), I would have been reprimanded at the least, but probably fired and rightfully so.  Yet, here these stories are, printed in an almanac written for the masses as if they were a common occurrence. Thing is, at least since the turn of the last century, they have been. Daily existence, even as close in as into my own second decade of existence, was full of opportunities for many of us to find humor in the stereotypes we held of others. And that is what we did, we made fun of others, a lot. As we can see, such ideas were clearly embedded in societal thinking at the time of my father’s birth, which tells me they were certainly in existence long before that.

Here is a little book I was given quite early in my life, age 8 or 9, perhaps. It is entitled Bennett Cerf’s Vest Pocket Book of Jokes for all Occasions. It was published in 1956, the year before I was born. On a page entitled “Editor’s Note” Mr. Cerf writes,

I balk at using the word “best” in referring to all the jokes in this collection. In my experience, the “best” joke is always the one you’ve heard last, and keep repeating until your long-suffering wife or secretary comes after you with a baseball bat – a fate that often befalls people who play it too close to the best (sic). [just a side note; note that he is speaking to men, here. Feminism/Male Chauvinism, however, is a different topic again. I’d write a post about that, too, but my evidence of Feminism/Male Chauvinism in our line is far less than enough to produce a post around. Not that our line didn’t have Feminists and Male Chauvinists, just that the evidence (oral history or documentary) is practically none existent.]

Mr. Cerf continues:

I will say, however, that the stories hereinafter assembled – all 700 of them – are some of the best I have ever heard. They grow on you in the retelling. I ought to know.

Clearly, he enjoyed telling the jokes in this book and thought they were “some” of the best. He was making a bit of fun of himself when he implied that he told them often, because he did. Most of them are just jokes, what I’d call “laugh-out-loud” funny. Others need further judgement. Here are two examples of that 2^nd category.

Trouble was brewing in San Francisco’s Chinatown recently. One Hop Sung Lee was marked for death but the gunman missed his mark and hit an innocent bystander, Willie Lee. The following morning Willie’s widow received a note: “Please excuse. Mere slip of tong.”[3]

A little pickaninny came running to a fat old lady who was rocking herself on the cabin porch and cried, “Mama, you can strike me down if I ain’t just seen a big alligator down in the swamp with little Sambo in his mouth.” The old lady continued her rocking and called out, “Ain’t I been tellin’ you, Ef, that sumfin’ has been ketching them chillum?”[4]

Gee, I wonder what kind of jokes Mr. Cerf thought were LESS than the best if he thought these were SOME of the best.

Speaking of “best”, I offer up a post card that I am certain, was considered as being funny in its time. In fact, I know that at least the sender of the card found it funny, because he teased his recipient by writing “your best girl” under the figure in the picture.

Sometime after my in-laws got married, they bought some property in New York. Given many of the items they found stored in the house, including two photos of people who appear to be White, I assume the sellers were Caucasian. I never confirmed this with my in-laws. While cleaning out the house, they found a number of boxes of various items and among those items was a box of post cards from the early 1900’s (1900-1920 or there abouts). The “Best Girl” postcard, and most of the following cards come from that collection. I think they help us see how prevalent and accepted racist thinking was during that period of time. Perhaps I’ll offer up a post just on this collection, alone. They are quite interesting.

This particular “Best Girl” post card was sent through the mail, from Derrick City, PA to Andover, NY on May 27, 1910. As part of his message, our sender wrote, “Say Don’t your girl look nice?”

Speaking of best girls, here is a post card featuring the “Wurst” girl. Actually, it might fit better in that male chauvinism post I’d write if I had more on that topic than just this card to write about (PLUS this card wasn’t even “ours”!).

Actually, I don’t know what to say about this card. It was never sent by anyone to anyone, just saved. What is “written” on the front of the card is part of the card, not something someone wrote on it. There is a copyright date on it: 1906. Draw whatever conclusions you wish to draw from it. But I digress. Back to “-isms” issues.

Here are two sets of cards that I struggled with, two women, two couples. Are the ones depicting people of color racist or not racist? At first, I thought racist, but if so, why wouldn’t the depictions of Caucasian people be so too? Here they are, you be the judge.

So, ok, adding the line, “Will you be my squaw” under the image of the Native American couple does push the limits. I don’t know enough about tribes and tribal cultures to know if these people represent a specific tribe or not. If so, I think less racist. If not, I think more racist. The card does not appear to have been posted but it does have a message on the back. Ella wrote to Harry (NOT “our” Ella or Harry, BTW), “Say, kid, how do you like my Banty Brother?” The cards depicting Caucasian individuals were just saved, never written on/sent anywhere.

The Indian maiden, however, was sent from Hornell, NY to Andover, NY on April 7, 1915. The sender appears to be a young girl writing to her grandmother. Her message was, “I hope you like this card. Be careful and not get sick.”

As an aside, there is a statement appearing at the bottom of the Caucasian couple post card. It reads, “His steering won her admiration – His strong right arm her approbation.”  

As I look at these cards, I am inclined to label them not racist; the Native couple falling closest to the line. Ella’s message, however, is a different case.  Clearly, she is taking some delight in associating herself with the man in the photo; an association she believes Harry will find humorous. Her use of the word “Banty” is interesting. Banty means “small and aggressive”, as in a “banty rooster.” Perhaps she thinks the man resembles a rooster with his feather head-dress. However, I wonder if she confused the word “Banty” with “Bantu”, referring to the speakers of any one of the many languages that make up the Bantu languages of southern Africa: Swahili, Xhosa, Setswana, Zulu, to name a few; thus equating the Native American with the African native, thus somehow increasing Harry’s “amusement”.

The last of this collection that I offer to you for your consideration, from 1907, is of a political nature. Here we see a black man, apparently angry, ready to fight, because someone apparently called him a Democrat. Once again, it is not, necessarily, the image depicted that makes the card racist. Yet, in its portrayal of stereotypes, it clearly comes across to me as such. Once again, I’ll let you, the viewer, come to your own conclusions about this card and the message it is trying to send, perhaps a slightly different one depending on each sender/recipient!

The collection includes three copies of this card, none used. Does this mean the collector liked the card that much or does it mean he or she was handing them out as a conversation starter, perhaps at a political rally?

Also interesting about this card is the way it describes itself as a post card on the back. Most Post Cards say “Post Card” on the back as if one needed to be told that was what the thing was. This card also says “Post Card” on the back, but in NINETEEN different languages!

Here is an image of the back of the card, upper left-hand corner. Note the direction, “This space for writing”. Not shown in this picture, off to the right, in a square, we find the direction “Place stamp here”. Up the left-hand side, bottom to top, we find, “Norwood Souvenir Co., Cincinnati, O.” (Ohio).  Those three items are in English. Why is “Post Card” written in so many languages and why is the English version so far down in the list (11^th)??

One last post card for your consideration. This one IS a Drum-saved card. Like many of the documents Mom found saved by earlier Drums, my mom glued it into one of her scrapbooks. There is no message on the back; it was not used. I suspect it was saved because of its “cuteness” factor. It is not dated but I believe it is from around 1940.

To be clear, just because someone of color is depicted in some manner, post card, artwork, etc., does not make the object racist. Most of the “racism” that is found in such items is in how the item was used, or, sometimes in the heart of the viewer. Adding the pun (Blackout), however, is obviously problematic racist “humor”.

Of course, we all remember the Coppertone Suntan Lotion advertisement. Babies “sell” and I guess the bottoms of babies sell even better! The question is, is it racist? I think most would agree that this version is not.

Older versions of this ad, however, used the phrase, “Don’t be a paleface.” Someone always has to bring race into it, don’t they? 

Interesting to note that the newest version of this logo has the dog pulling the baby’s shirt down over the baby’s bottom instead of pulling the pants down exposing the baby’s bottom.

Here is an image I captured when I was working with 4-B in Botswana. I don’t recall if I knew what the image would fully look like when I took the photo. When I saw the printed photo, however, the “cuteness” factor became very evident. I sent it home to my parents and told them it was just like me, “A Little Behind, But Moving in a Forward Direction”. I obviously do not see it as a racist image. I think the post card, little girl, and my photograph are all meant for the same purpose, to coax a smile by the overriding cuteness of the image. Maybe.

Here is another example of this point that depicting people of color in some form of art is not necessarily racist. These are address labels a Native American Foundation from South Dakota recently sent to me as a “gift”. I suppose the hope is that I’ll want to return their generosity with a financial gift of my own. There are a few things that come to mind when I view these labels, but “racist” is not one of them.

Depicting people of color in artforms is a reflection of the world in which the artist finds him or herself.  Below is a napkin holder my dad made when he was a teenager. It depicts an African-American jockey riding a horse apparently in a race. My mom kept it “out-of-sight” because, as she would whisper to me when I’d ask why, “The jockey is black!” I would then ask, “Aren’t some jockeys black?” That usually received a stern scowl in response. I like the thing. Again, you be the judge.

It may not, however, have been the object, or even what she held in her heart, that caused her concern. It may have been the memories the object brought back. She knew Harry even better than I did, of course. Perhaps she was remembering comments he made about the object or perhaps she was placing his racist tendencies onto this object. Remember, we are a product of our environment and we have already seen how prevalent racism was in Dad’s environment, right from my dad’s birth.  Here is another object he made, again, I believe, as a teenager or, at least, as a young man. It is a toy that we always called “The Dancing Man”.

The idea is that this is a Minstrel Man. You can see a button in the center of the man’s chest. That button is actually the head of a nail that is driven through the wood and sticks out in back about an inch or more. Missing from the toy is a long piece of wood, ¼”x ¼” x 30”, that would have been held in place by the nail forming a long handle. The paddle handle would be held under a sitting person’s thigh. The man would be held by the man’s handle so that his feet just touched the paddle. His arms and legs are “jointed” so that when the paddle is bumped, the up and down movement that is created, hits the man’s feet making him seem to “dance”. I used this toy’s pattern to make a Caucasian “Dancing Uncle Sam” toy for a friend of mine from Thailand. We graduated together in 1991 from Worcester State College (name since changed to “University”). I gave it to her as a graduation gift. I thought it would be a fun “Americana” souvenir for her. I never thought about the imagery of her now being able to make Uncle Sam dance! Nor was I aware of the actual history the original toy was depicting.

Looked at in the context of the times, however, what WAS wrong with making a Dancing Minstrel Man Toy when real entertainers were performing in just this manner? We’ve already seen how prevalent making distinctions based on race was in the 1920’s and 1930’s. Short of exposure to sensitizing events in one’s life that might help a person understand why there may be issues in doing so, why would someone think to act in any way different from the overarching societal context?

In our collection of Drum-owned games and toys, is this fine example of the card game “Old Maid”. Actually, this photo includes two editions of the game. I believe the cards designed with circles in the artwork are from the late 1920’s or early 1930’s, when Harry and Clara were still very young. I believe the second deck is from the 1940’s. I have no way of knowing for sure.

When I looked at more of the cards from the two decks, it was then that I realized these cards were just one more example of how prevalent racism was in these times. There are a number of “-isms” in these cards. In fact, isn’t even the name and concept of the card game itself, “Old Maid”, an issue; bringing in the notion of Ageism?

Again, the depiction of a person of color or ethnicity is not necessarily a problem. The question becomes if the art engenders feelings of ridicule for the person depicted in the image. All of these cards are ridiculing the person depicted. That’s the idea. They are intended to make the viewer laugh.

Here are more of the “Old Maid” cards from those two decks. Perhaps all that these cards are is just another example of our tendency to make fun of other people, just another example of “your quirks become my smirks”, something to make a child giggle. 

We might be inclined to think so, until we look closer at the cards. Let me just point out that in this group we find an African-American child in the oldest set named “Lily White” and a rather dapper African-American man in the “younger” version. His name is “Mistah White”.

 I had a deck of Old Maid Cards as a child in the 1960’s. The game is a great game to use to pass the time while waiting for the ball to drop on New Year’s Eve in Times Square; watching it on TV, of course. My set of cards still had funny people in it to laugh at; to make a child giggle. Oddly enough, my 1960’s deck did not include any images of African-Americans.

I guess by the 1960’s, African-Americans were more difficult to make fun of. We once again see the impact of social context at work. Black people must not have been funny anymore, or, at least, given the context of the times, it was harder to get away with openly using such “humor” in the 1960’s.

The same could not be said for Native Americans, however. Could it be, the African-Americans found in the earlier versions were replaced by the new target, the Native American? Here are a few of my 1960’s cards. See what I mean? All Caucasian but one.

When Dad took us on vacation, it was usually to go camping at a Pennsylvania State Park. Some days we would make day trips to near-by tourist attractions in the Poconos. Day trips such as those usually resulted in souvenirs. One such trip resulted in my obtaining a toy I was surprised I was able to talk my folks into buying for me: an “Indian Head Dress and Vest”! I was very excited and this outfit soon became my favorite! I think a bow and arrow set could also have been had but there was no way Mom would have allowed me to have a toy as dangerous as that!

Most Native-Americans today, probably then too, would look rather unfavorably on such a “toy” as this being made available to children, or even existing. However, it did pique in me an interest in the various Native American cultures of our country, so, in that way, it played a positive role. To argue that it is not racist, however, would be foolish. Just as the card does in the deck, pretending to be a member of a culture that never existed, to lump so many different peoples into one lump, diminished all of the cultures and all of us who supported the toys. We were, however, just reflecting our times. As I looked deeper, and learned more about these many cultures, I soon realized how wrong this toy actually was.

My dad reflected the times he grew up in and lived the lessons they taught him. Many are the times I remember him using a slur for individuals different from himself, not in fear or hatred, but simply as a descriptor. Racist and sexist jokes were exchanged by the fellows who gathered at a local car garage as the mechanic worked on the car motors; pre-teen-me sitting off to the side on a stool and peeking at the “girlie” calendars hanging on the wall.  

Then the day came in late November, 1979, when I learned I had been chosen to head out to Botswana to be an advisor to that country’s 4-H-like youth development program called 4-B. I was going to be living in an African nation for 18 months, January 1980 through June, 1981. It was a shock and an adjustment for all of us living in Drumyngham. The day I was to leave home to begin my orientation, which would be followed directly by my flying off to Botswana, my parents each gave me a hug. I know Mom gave me some words of endearment and encouragement, although welcome at the time, now long since forgotten. Dad did too and those are likewise forgotten, except for his final comment before we parted, “Don’t bring one home with you.”

I was never quite sure if he meant it as a real instruction or as a joke. I suspect both! I certainly knew where he stood on my big adventure! I was going to be living amongst “them” and this did not set well for him. But wait, there’s more.

Victor wanted to be part of everything my parents did.
One project my Dad had on his “to-do” list
for some time was to replace our porch’s
rotting wooden steps with concrete steps.
Victor said he had experience working with concrete.
So, together, they tacked the project.
That’s my dad in the straw hat and Victor
is sawing a piece of wood for the concrete frame.

Through a program called the Professional Rural Youth Leader Exchange (PRYLE) program that National 4-H Council had been conducting since the 1960’s (I believe it ended in the early 1990’s), rural youth development professionals from various countries could come to the United States for a few months to share their youth development insights with American YD professionals, while gaining new ideas and awareness from the Americans for implementation back home. While I was in Botswana, one of the Regional 4-B Directors I was working with, Victor Lashona, was invited to participate in the program. When I heard the news, I immediately contacted my parents and suggested that they look into being one of the host homes for Victor. My thought was that through Victor, my parents could get a little of the flavor of my African experience.

Dad was not really big on the idea. Mom thought it was a wonderful idea. I do not know if they discussed the idea together. I imagine they did. I do know Mom called the State 4-H Office and offered Drumyngham as one of Victor’s host opportunities. Of course, she was accepted and Victor spent two weeks living in Drumyngham. I was told it was a tense beginning. At the end of the two weeks, my dad was introducing Victor around town as “my son”. That was 1980. Dad died in 1986.

In those last years of his life, I never once again heard him refer to anyone else in anything but respectful language. 

Now Mom does not escape from notice totally in this post. The movie “Gone with the Wind” has been in the news recently. The manner in which black people are depicted in the movie is getting new scrutiny. Lots of older movies and songs, even brand names like Aunt Jemima, are feeling a similar heat from that spotlight. It is as if the world has suddenly realized there are more people in this world than just those of the Caucasian race and, gosh, you mean they have feelings, too!?

Yet art, even though the context may be unpleasant, still has beauty in it. How does one appreciate the one and deny the other? There is no way to divorce the two elements that make up the final thing. What was the intent when the art was created, ridicule or beauty? Is the answer to that question found in the lessons learned by the new first-time viewer, the one who is experiencing the art for the first time? Perhaps, and therein lays the rub. A beautiful song being performed in a racist manner implies the manner is acceptable.

“Gone with the Wind” was one of my mom’s favorite movies. She would have been appalled to think that anyone was finding fault with that film. Although, she might have allowed that blacks, I can almost hear her saying it, “weren’t portrayed very nicely”. She owned a video copy of it, as she did close to 200 other movies. She loved movies. Especially the musicals because she loved music. She loved singing, having one of the most beautiful voices I’d ever heard before or since, and that isn’t just a son talking.

Most of her video collection was given away when she died to various friends or charities who wanted them, “Gone with the Wind” included. We did retain a few. For example, we retained her three Al Jolson movies.

I don’t know if one could say she “loved” Jolson. She “loved” Sonny James. She enjoyed, she appreciated the music and performances of, Al Jolson. She had a difficult time understanding why he was ostracized so much by society in the later years. She saw him and his performances through the filters of the years she grew up. As she would say, “Times were different then.” That comment was usually followed by a sigh.

Sonny James autograph. I told you she loved him.

Jolson was a great performer. That he was highly talented can not be argued. What IS argued is the manner in which he chose to perform at times, in blackface. What is argued is how he reflected the likes of the audiences he performed for. Had they not come, bought tickets in the thousands, to see him perform as he did, in blackface, mimicking a black person, creating a caricature of a black life in himself, he would not have done it. It is that simple. 

Oddly enough, as a great performer, he didn’t need the schtick. Of course, his purpose was to advance black artists in an industry that was whites only. He performed music written by black artists and gave roles to black actors. He even demanded they receive the same pay as he did.  It is a hard legacy to understand. One wonders how many of the members of his audiences understood and supported his purpose.

What he did in his time, a time when my parents were growing up and forming their understandings of the world, was seen as normal. When my dad told me, “Don’t bring one home with you,” it was not surprising nor strange. He was reflecting the world he lived in, the world of his childhood.

Before she bought movies of Jolson and his performances, she bought his records. At least I think she’s the one who bought them. The performances are older than she was. Whether she bought them or not, here are four that she saved. I’ve linked each title to a YouTube video of the song for those interested to hear the song. I do not have a record player to play these records on, so could not share recordings of the performances they hold.

Who Cares, Oogie Oogie Wa Wa, My Mammy, and Swanee.

Don’t misunderstand. I realize in my efforts here to provide context to the Drum history that I am unfolding; it has begun to sound like excuses. I do not mean to be making excuses. What I am attempting to do is help us all understand how so many of us, a whole society, could hold racist views.

As we examine racism, I believe the past shows us racism consists of various levels. There is the level of outright hatred that drove some people to commit horrific murders, murders society all too often condoned.

A second level could be described as one of fear; fear that caused people not to associate with people different from themselves; not to employ them or wish to use the same water fountains or rest rooms as they did, ride the same train cars or sit in the same areas of public buses.

A third level might be termed as ignorance and/or lack of experience that caused many people to just go along with the flow; sort of a “I really am not sure, but all these other white people can’t all be wrong” type of attitude. I am certain I am being too superficial here just as I am also certain these levels of racism, or this spectrum of racism if you will, existed in the past and still exists today.

In my lifetime, I’ve been honored to have met, and gotten to know, quite a number of individuals from all walks of life who, each one of them, positively impacted our world. Certainly, I am better for having met them each. One of them was a man I worked with as a National 4-H Council Program Assistant that summer of 1979. We had both grown up in 4-H, he in Harrisburg, PA and myself in Drums.  He is African-American. It goes without saying that our formative worlds were quite different from each other’s, but we found we both held some of the same attitudes and quickly became close friends. One evening, for reasons I now no longer remember, we began to take great pleasure in calling each other the most heinous of racial names that we knew, not at any time meaning the names we were tossing at each other, laughing hilariously throughout the entire time to think that people would actually call each other these names. It was almost like a competition to see which of us could “best” the other! I do not recall how the evening ended but I do recall quite a few of our colleagues telling us later that they had not appreciated the performance.

I think it was that evening when I realized that racism was not just a white thing, it was a human thing, a thing we all do and we all could do without; a thing that contributes nothing to anyone’s well-being. Again, a clarification here is needed. This comment is not intended to mirror the “Black Lives Matter – but ALL lives matter” controversy. White people have long attempted to suppress everyone else, both in actions and words, seemingly as much as possible. This history does not, however, make everyone else’s racist actions and words right. Two wrongs do not make a right. It is all wrong.

And later on, when looking back upon that experience, it helped me understand how a man could live his entire life uttering racial and ethnic slurs, then suddenly, due to a life experience of just two weeks length, grow and change so quickly into one of the most accepting individuals I knew.

Here is another example of what I am getting at. Recently I was talking with a friend of mine who qualifies as a “Senior Citizen.” We were discussing the changing circumstances revolving around Senior Citizens today when my friend, explaining a point, said, “They don’t respond well to change.”

One word, for me, hung in the air. “They.” It was as if we, neither of us, fit that category when we both do. I answered, “No, we don’t” and we both laughed.

It occurs to me that when we stop thinking about others as “they” and start thinking of them as “us”, we begin to understand; to care. That’s what happened to my dad during those two 1980-summer weeks. That’s what happened to my Harrisburg friend and me that 1979-summer evening. Perhaps that is what is happening in the streets of our cities today. 

As we live this lesson, I think we find a new awareness. We all often say that what we need to do is to end racism. Perhaps what we need to do is to ensure we each know as much as we can about the cultures and beliefs of each other. As we gain greater awareness of our fellow humans’ lives, I believe racist tendencies, all the “-isms”, will soon be left by the roadside. None of us will ever fully understand any other of us, but it sure would be nice for any one of us to be able to say on our own last day of life that we spent, if not all of our years, at least our final years, however many those may yet be, living as truly accepting individuals.

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[1] Agricultural Almanac for the year 1923, Vol. 98, (Lancaster, PA: John Baer’s Sons, Inc., 1922)

[2] Agricultural Almanac for the year 1925, Vol. 100, (Lancaster, PA: John Baer’s Sons, Inc., 1924)

[3] Cerf, Bennett, “Chinese Stories” in Bennett Cerf’s Vest Pocket Book of Jokes for all Occasions (NY: Random House [9^th printing], 1956), page 90. I shortened this joke slightly to make it, in my humble opinion, more readable.

[4] Cerf, Bennett, “Negro Stories”, page 226.