I grew up in an all-white
environment where people frequently used the N-word, where racist
jokes were commonplace, and where whites called the isolated black
section of the county by the name of “Bucktown.” The pervasive
racism in my surroundings was partly due to the lack of diversity. My
school had no black students, and my rural community had no black
residents. It was a sheltered WASP (White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant)
community – no minorities were welcome there (at least by the
controlling agents of local standards).
When you grow up in such
an environment, you do not realize your family, your community, and,
most importantly, you were fostering inequality and injustice. From
an early age, the white existence becomes part of who you are.
Perhaps the absence, or near absence, of outright violence toward
blacks confirmed our belief that we were not racists, but rather
somehow right-thinking people rooted in our history of segregation.
My parents had no black
friends. My father went to a black barbershop every two weeks for
years and enjoyed his black barbers at the barbershop. I might even
say he “loved” them. But still, that vital human connection did
little to change his mindset on equality. I must admit I did not see
any blacks having their hair cut at the business. I never even
thought about that until years later. I am not sure of all the
clientele, yet now I find that revelation rather telling of how
whites frequented the shop in large numbers.
I remember some white
residents moving from Portsmouth because blacks attended schools
there and their parents did not want their children to go to school
with minorities. These things were seldom openly discussed – they
were left to conjecture. The truth was tossed into a large pool of
accepted racial division.
Speaking of pools, Eugene
McKinley Memorial Pool in Portsmouth was later referred to by many
white residents as the “Ink Well.” And, of course, the
recreational pride of the area – Dreamland Pool – was not
integrated until 1965. And, in 1966, attendance at the formerly white
Dreamland Pool declined, as some residents chose not to swim in the
newly integrated waters.
Our town of Lucasville was
a northern village whose cemeteries were full of Union dead. That
mattered little in our continuation of white privilege. The location
was in the lower half of Ohio where citizens were more likely to be
descendents of former residents of Virginia or Kentucky – people
with definite Southern views. From the beginning of its European
history, the area was settled by those who questioned the need for
civil rights. In the 1800s, pro-abolitionists speaking at local
rallies could often turn the event into a hostile conflict.
Although my small town of
Lucasville was never designated as a “Sundown Town,” like nearby
Waverly, I found it far from diverse or unprejudiced. Much of what
was not said about inequality was purposeful. After all, that wasn't
“our problem” as we had no black population. Nearby Portsmouth
schools were the only educational facilities that served any
significant black population, and they were having their own
difficulties with prejudice and mistreatment of blacks.
I remember the pervasive
white attitude during my young life that blacks were to be tolerated
if they “kept in their place.” I also remember how many whites
employed the services of blacks with open arms as long as they, the
whites, decided how and when to use the tiny minority. They were
denied entry into organizations, clubs, and activities all over our
rural county, yet expected to act as if they had full privileges
afforded by their citizenship.
Mine was an upbringing not
as severe as that in the deep and segregated South, yet a raising
that pretty much required you to clandestinely subjugate blacks as
underlings or else be subjected to the label of “N lover.” De
facto racial discrimination and segregation had been firmly embedded
here for over 100 years before my youth.
My direct contact with
blacks was limited to the athletic courts and fields, and, even then,
it was with a very small number of participants. Make no mistake, I
witnessed the racial hatred of teammates and even coaches. We were
groomed to respect others, yet we were also taught to recognize color
as something different and even offensive. There was no concern about
the denied rights of blacks.
Another feature of growing
up in a WASP community was the open acknowledgment of any isolated
bad incident involving blacks as “typical of their kind.” A black
criminal or a black accused of any wrong was automatically despised
as a person doing what was indicative of their entire race. Whites
freely called for justice with a much stronger voice if the
perpetrator happened to be black. Black men were especially rebuked –
as I know now, a direct link to slavery and Jim Crow.
Civil rights? In the 50s
and 60s, how often I heard the phrase “those uppity N'ers.” Even
nonviolent leaders like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. were villainized
in our community. I distinctly remember some prejudiced residents
referring to the civil rights leader as “Martin Luther Coon.” I
also remember the presence of groups like the KKK and the John Birch
Society stirring flames of white dominance. Long after I grew up, I
know of at least one time a cross was burned at a black resident's
home.
Members of my generation –
I graduated high school in 1969 – began to support civil rights and
call for changes. Nonetheless, this was largely a weak cry from a
minority of whites in Scioto County, a voice of a few with
exceptional courage and commitment. To live during those times in
Southern Ohio was to witness a large segment of the population that
were unaffected by the murders of leaders like Medgar Evers, Dr.
King, and most definitely, Malcolm X. I think of this now, and I feel
guilty and overwhelmingly sad.
I share this with you as a
member of a white society who, at the most, openly encouraged
segregation and racism, and, at the least, perpetuated those sins
through indifference and inaction. I have changed, and I continue to
change. I oppose racism in its many forms. I dearly love my
community, but I recognize the deep seeds of injustice that remain –
hopefully these kernels of injustice will be eradicated before
growing. Still, the trying times make me wonder.
My journey to
understanding racial injustice is long and full of terrible misguided
misunderstandings. I believe that to be the case of most whites in
Scioto County. As today, many profess their non-racist beliefs, I
know this realization for a white is one that requires considerable
deprogramming and persistent education. Many white views still impose
limits upon blacks – boundaries set on mistrust. For true justice
and inequality to be established, we all must engage in the struggle
and vow to understand.
The inequality that
continues to this day cuts deep wounds in our community. Voices for
change are many, but what is needed is action. This is a time for
decisive deeds that better us all. I pray for this movement, and at
the same time, I hope to atone for any sins I have committed – be
they realized or as of yet misunderstood. This from a man who never
knew a grandfather he was told was a member of KKK. God forgive us.
.
Image of Russel "Doc" Hurd, Scioto Fair Legend
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