because that's the way things were back then

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in my last post, i laid out how insulated from the whole race thing i was as a young child of six.

and it wasn't so much that my parents were particularly racist (whatever that term really means); it's more like the subject just didn't come up much around the dinner table.

and yeah, there were black people on television back then, but we're talkin acceptable black people like nat king cole, lena horne, sammy davis jr. and johnny mathis (and maybe an occasional novelty like chubby checker or little richard)--but nothing that would seriously shake up the status quo.

but black people in my real, everyday walking-around life? sorry, no.

here's what i remember from my childhood as regards race:


whenever we were on a roadtrip from our home in houston up to tyler (a town in northeast texas where both my parents were from), we'd always stop at this great little hamburger stand in some podunk town about halfway there. and as we walked up to the order window, i'd always take note of the little sign that said "colored window" with an arrow pointing around to the left side of the building.

and every time i'd walk around the corner, expecting to see a beautiful stained-glass window like in church--and every time i was disappointed, because it was always just an ordinary window like the one in front. [true story--i really was that dumb when i was a little kid]

* * * * *

when my dad died, my mother elected to put our house in the shiny, lily-white houston neighborhood on the market (like she really had a choice), and move us back up to the safety and familiarity of east texas and family.

and i'll never forget the day in that summer of '67 that the nice real-estate lady brought the nice black couple over to look at the house--and i don't remember this merely because they were black (although that woulda been enough in itself), but because that very evening we were visited by a seemingly endless stream of neighbors, each of whom took it upon themselves to patiently and earnestly explain at great length to the young widow why she shouldn't sell her house to the nice black couple.

* * * * *

once we were safely ensconced in tyler, however, things changed somewhat--because there were lots of black people there. for the most part, they were confined to north tyler ("niggertown," in the local parlance), but the enforced proximity of a much-smaller population pretty much ensured we'd all see a lot of each other.

* * * * *

my first year of school there (fifth grade) was as lily-white as had been my houston experience, but when i entered sixth grade, i found that the effects of busing had finally been felt in my little world--my god, we had a black kid in our class (turns out her name was phyllis, she wore glasses and was shy, sweet, skinny, scared as hell and all alone, and i remember we all tried to make her feel as much at home as our collective clumsy, lame-ass whiteness would allow).

* * * * *

going from the big city to a small, semi-rural town had more than its share of culture shocks, and i remember one of the biggest being the annual smith county fair; it happened out at the fairgrounds the third week of every september in tyler--there were carnival attractions and blue-ribbon contests and rides and spectacles, and everybody who was anybody had to show up at least one night that week.

except, of course, on tuesday--because tuesday was nigger night.

* * * * *

there's more, but you'll have to wait for part two.