Growing Up In a White Scioto County Environment

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