COMING FULL CIRCLE Oct

Sometimes events in your life come full circle. Not the dizzying, purposeless circles I’ve been spinning since my husband died. No, we’re talking circles as big as the equator, circles that encompass healing and truth.

I believe I’m about to complete a circle that began in 1962, just after I graduated from high school. I volunteered for a church youth mission. Small teams of college students were dispatched to work with teens in various churches around the country. My team was sent to West Virginia, Virginia and North Carolina.

The churches were all white. As a Northerner, it was my introduction to the reality of segregation. The Civil Rights movement was already at a high pitch with organized sit-ins and the Freedom Riders. My church was not in the forefront of the movement. Indeed, we were sternly advised to get into no arguments and make no waves, at the risk of being sent home immediately. I can understand the church leaders’ fears. In less than a year, the movement would erupt into violence: “Bull” Connor and his fire hoses, the murder of Medgar Evans, the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church.

But at age 18, I was ashamed when we were taken to a whites-only, private swim club that had been established after the courts ordered the integration of public pools. I was appalled to learn the minister – the minister! – of the church we were visiting was a member. I listened sorrowfully as “Christian” teens spewed segregationist rationale that sounded like something they’d learned by rote since childhood.

Returning home to the Northwest, I became aware of discrimination in my own city, at my church-affiliated university, and in my own thinking. Discrimination that was less blatant, therefore more insidious. We’ve all changed since then, eh? But when Barack Obama was elected president, I thought especially about those Southern teenagers, now all past 60. I wondered how they reacted. Had they changed with the rest of the nation, or is that river of hate still flowing, simmering underground?

Last week I was privileged to have as a house guest Glenis Redmond, a vibrant, articulate African-American poet. A native of South Carolina, her performances are rooted in black culture. She had us laughing and weeping. Listening to her was like eating mustard greens with ham hocks, like hearing a harmonica wail down-home blues.

She answered some of my questions about the South. Yes, she says, there are still “sundown towns,” places where blacks are advised to be gone before the sun goes down. And, in her travels, she has taught children of Klan members.

As it happens, I’m scheduled to be in North Carolina next month, visiting my brother and his wife, who have retired there. As it happens, Glenis lives near them. If her schedule permits, she has promised to accompany me on a tour of one of her favorite landmarks – the home of poet Carl Sandburg.

In 1962 I wasn’t allowed to connect with blacks. That was my loss and sorrow. Closing this circle will be a privilege.

This 'Widow Bit' generated a number of personal comments. Here are some excerpts. I welcome your response. Mary

Our collective prejudices run deep and strong, I fear. We just don't seem to be able to get over "it," regardless of what "it" is. I believe race is the "it" we will never archive. We're too afraid, too threatened, to stand side-by-side with someone whom we suspect just might take something from us. And yet. . .all men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights. . .and among them are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. If only we would believe that. - L.M.

I feel so fortunate never to have felt the schism among races. But I confess, when my son announced that he would be bringing his girlfriend to meet me and she was black I thought it might be one of his jokes to see if he could get a rise out of me. And when I saw them walking toward me I was aware of how very white his hand was holding her very black hand. I can, thus, understand how people who have been taught differently can have reservations but today there is no excuse for such ignorance. - R.H.

I was raised in the racist mindset you speak of. Going to college changed my life forever. Even though I questioned this philosophy as a small child, I often think, "What if I hadn’t gone to college?" Thank you for writing this piece. -- S.C.

Nice. That is an inadequate word, but the processes we go through in growing up and into and out of the programming we have received throughout our life are really "nice," and the benefits of "time" make it especially "nice." It is a sense of "peace," and that too is "nice." Too simplistic????? Anway. Nice. -- E.R.

What a waker-upper to read your essay on integration! Ah yes, we've come a looooooong way. And still so far to go. My dear friend, [V.J.], is my first contact out here with blacks. She is my age, a brilliant lady, teacher of the hearing impaired, advocate of imprisoned girls, YWCA hard worker. When Obama won, I called her first thing and we shouted on the phone to each other and the world. And she went to the inauguration. Nearly froze to death but determined. They stood such a long time. finally she sat down right in the middle of the concrete along with a few thousand others, but she rejoiced. She goes to all the NAACP conventions. She still works hard.
--I.S.

Very poignant tale. You are fortunate that you were on the correct side of a changing social compact. Even though I think they were very wrong, I feel sorry for those who were on the other side, decent people who perhaps never really thought about how African Americans (negroes, blacks, etc., as the PC terminology evolved) felt, and just accepted the mores they were raised with. I know that as a teenager I thought "negroes" were real people, but I didn't really empathize with what was not obvious to me. At the time, I did empathize with Jews, and read "A Gentleman's Agreement" with avid interest. Alas, I cannot see where I am blind! Thanks again! -- P.B.