This is a profoundly beautiful tribute and observation. Thank you for your eloquence and insight. I, too, have had a similar experience in watching my family quietly exercise the white privilege, but also honoring the black community in their environment. My mother actually insisted that the black woman that worked for us ask for her employers to contribute to social security. Years later, my mom got a letter thanking her for helping. Ella was able to retire and have an income because of my mom’s suggestion. A small act, but a morally just one, one I learned early on. A simple act of kindness that rippled through the world. I have a connection with Jefferson, Monticello, and the Hemings family, and I am so happy you are representing them. Blessings to you and your family!
I really think this is one of the best things you have ever written. It is so interesting and personal, a deep view into the American experience. Bravo!!
This brings back so many memories, Lucian. I also can exactly recall the day my dad left for Korea. We all went to the airport dressed in our best clothes -- and were told not to cry. I want to know that story of Ruth's brother, the one who was in the CIA --how did that come about? Did your grandfather help him?
That would be nice to believe but unfortunately, much of what Mr. Truscott writes would fall on deaf ears. I lose more and more faith in white people (and I’m white) every day. They’re mostly clueless, don’t care that they are and aren’t interested in changing. Just this morning, I read that the NFL will now include “Lift Every Voice” in the pregame on field ceremonies before every game this coming season. I started to read the comments after the article (this particular article was from the Arizona Republic) we’re disgusting. I won’t repeat them. But they reflected my characterization of clueless and deliberately racist. We have a long, long way to go and I don’t have faith that we’ll be much different 50 years from now. It’s sad, no, pathetic.
I'm white too, Michael L, but I live and work and organize among an awful lot of white people who only get it *up to a point*. They get it through their left brains. They devour Robin diAngelo (White Fragility) and even Ibram X. Kendi (How to Be an Antiracist), but there's part of it they still aren't getting. I think Lucian might get through to at least some of these people. (I'm working on it.) I like to think that things will be different 50 years from now -- supposedly the young people coming up are more open to change than those who are dying off? Maybe yes, maybe no. I'm old enough to have watched a couple of generations betray their original promise, partly because of economic persuasion and partly because what they learned about history got stuck in their left brains. I wouldn't say I'm hopeful, but I'm not pessimistic either. ;-)
Michael, usually the comments in newspapers disgust me thoroughly. We do have plenty of road ahead of us in terms of stopping the vile hatred that exploded after trmp was elected. Lucian’s essay is damned near impossible to misunderstand; however, that doesn’t mean I believe reading it will change the racist beliefs of the 30% that represent the MAGA crowd. Sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn’t. I appreciate your response.
Your letter mirrors many of my experiences growing up as a white man of privilege. I began life in Manheim, PA situated in Lancaster County, the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country. I never saw any black people there or anywhere we went. The only dark people were the Italian family who owned the sub shop on Gramby Street. Then, when I was ten, we moved to Florida and the world changed. On the ride down along routes 301, 29, and 17, past South of the Border and into the South we sometimes passed rundown shacks along the road where occasionally there was a shiny Cadillac parked in the yard. Dad said "That's how "they" live, dress the kids in rags and buy a new car." We were in an old Ford stationwagon where we slept at night during the three-day trip because we couldn't afford a motel room. I thought it strange but didn't question him. We settled in Lake Worth where some baseball team played their winter games. One time dad took me to a ball game. It was my first time in a stadium and of course I was pretty overwhelmed by its size and the large crowd. About halfway through the game I told dad I had to use the bathroom and he asked if I remembered how we came in and the way to our seats. Then he sent me on my way to find the men's room by myself. I got there and saw a man come out of one door and started to go in but he stopped me. He was a big, really dark, black fellow and looked me right in the eye and said, "You don't belong in here", and pointing to the other door, "that's for white people". Then I saw the sign, "colored" and "white" with arrows pointing to each door. I still recall to this day the hot flush that rose in me as I felt his anger, brief but clear. It took many years before I came to understand that anger and how it was that he could only possibly express it to a little white boy. I didn't see another black kid in school till 11th grade when we moved to Columbus, Ohio. It was then I learned how having a black friend (he sat next to me in study hall and we talked..I can't remember his name) cost me some of my white friends and I first heard the words "N.....Lover". Maybe because we were poor or perhaps because we moved around alot and I had to always try to make now friends but somehow I felt a kinship with all sorts of people of color. I think that black man in Florida taught me something very important.
Thank you for the memories of a time where we accepted the norm that black people were there to serve us and we were entitled to it. My family had a black housekeeper then, and there was only one story about her that I ever heard-and it was about something she said to me while I was learning to talk.
Of course it was an insignificant occasion, because she was in the background where everyone expected her to be, and I never found out her name. It was standard for white people to employ black people back in the 50's to take care of their houses and children and not to be remarked on, because it just wasn't done-it was just the way things were in Columbus, Georgia.
But it's still sad that an awful lot of people refuse to grow past the white privilege we took for granted.
It might have been 'a simpler time' but it sure wasn't that simple or great to be anything other than white. Maybe someday we'll grow up.
Very powerful. I wish the people who need to read this, need to understand this, would take the time to sit and do it. Sadly, I don't think that will happen. But, I'm going to repost on the off chance that someone will stop and read it and it might spark something good in them.
This is a profoundly beautiful tribute and observation. Thank you for your eloquence and insight. I, too, have had a similar experience in watching my family quietly exercise the white privilege, but also honoring the black community in their environment. My mother actually insisted that the black woman that worked for us ask for her employers to contribute to social security. Years later, my mom got a letter thanking her for helping. Ella was able to retire and have an income because of my mom’s suggestion. A small act, but a morally just one, one I learned early on. A simple act of kindness that rippled through the world. I have a connection with Jefferson, Monticello, and the Hemings family, and I am so happy you are representing them. Blessings to you and your family!
I really think this is one of the best things you have ever written. It is so interesting and personal, a deep view into the American experience. Bravo!!
This brings back so many memories, Lucian. I also can exactly recall the day my dad left for Korea. We all went to the airport dressed in our best clothes -- and were told not to cry. I want to know that story of Ruth's brother, the one who was in the CIA --how did that come about? Did your grandfather help him?
You write about white privilege in a way anyone who reads your essay can understand. Your empathy is remarkable, Lucian.
That would be nice to believe but unfortunately, much of what Mr. Truscott writes would fall on deaf ears. I lose more and more faith in white people (and I’m white) every day. They’re mostly clueless, don’t care that they are and aren’t interested in changing. Just this morning, I read that the NFL will now include “Lift Every Voice” in the pregame on field ceremonies before every game this coming season. I started to read the comments after the article (this particular article was from the Arizona Republic) we’re disgusting. I won’t repeat them. But they reflected my characterization of clueless and deliberately racist. We have a long, long way to go and I don’t have faith that we’ll be much different 50 years from now. It’s sad, no, pathetic.
I'm white too, Michael L, but I live and work and organize among an awful lot of white people who only get it *up to a point*. They get it through their left brains. They devour Robin diAngelo (White Fragility) and even Ibram X. Kendi (How to Be an Antiracist), but there's part of it they still aren't getting. I think Lucian might get through to at least some of these people. (I'm working on it.) I like to think that things will be different 50 years from now -- supposedly the young people coming up are more open to change than those who are dying off? Maybe yes, maybe no. I'm old enough to have watched a couple of generations betray their original promise, partly because of economic persuasion and partly because what they learned about history got stuck in their left brains. I wouldn't say I'm hopeful, but I'm not pessimistic either. ;-)
Michael, usually the comments in newspapers disgust me thoroughly. We do have plenty of road ahead of us in terms of stopping the vile hatred that exploded after trmp was elected. Lucian’s essay is damned near impossible to misunderstand; however, that doesn’t mean I believe reading it will change the racist beliefs of the 30% that represent the MAGA crowd. Sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn’t. I appreciate your response.
What a riveting photograph and history lesson!
Thank you for this. It made me cry.
Her hands speak volumes
What a truly beautiful biographical essay. Very moving, profound.
Thank you for this amazing story that you told sowell!
Your letter mirrors many of my experiences growing up as a white man of privilege. I began life in Manheim, PA situated in Lancaster County, the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country. I never saw any black people there or anywhere we went. The only dark people were the Italian family who owned the sub shop on Gramby Street. Then, when I was ten, we moved to Florida and the world changed. On the ride down along routes 301, 29, and 17, past South of the Border and into the South we sometimes passed rundown shacks along the road where occasionally there was a shiny Cadillac parked in the yard. Dad said "That's how "they" live, dress the kids in rags and buy a new car." We were in an old Ford stationwagon where we slept at night during the three-day trip because we couldn't afford a motel room. I thought it strange but didn't question him. We settled in Lake Worth where some baseball team played their winter games. One time dad took me to a ball game. It was my first time in a stadium and of course I was pretty overwhelmed by its size and the large crowd. About halfway through the game I told dad I had to use the bathroom and he asked if I remembered how we came in and the way to our seats. Then he sent me on my way to find the men's room by myself. I got there and saw a man come out of one door and started to go in but he stopped me. He was a big, really dark, black fellow and looked me right in the eye and said, "You don't belong in here", and pointing to the other door, "that's for white people". Then I saw the sign, "colored" and "white" with arrows pointing to each door. I still recall to this day the hot flush that rose in me as I felt his anger, brief but clear. It took many years before I came to understand that anger and how it was that he could only possibly express it to a little white boy. I didn't see another black kid in school till 11th grade when we moved to Columbus, Ohio. It was then I learned how having a black friend (he sat next to me in study hall and we talked..I can't remember his name) cost me some of my white friends and I first heard the words "N.....Lover". Maybe because we were poor or perhaps because we moved around alot and I had to always try to make now friends but somehow I felt a kinship with all sorts of people of color. I think that black man in Florida taught me something very important.
Thank you for the memories of a time where we accepted the norm that black people were there to serve us and we were entitled to it. My family had a black housekeeper then, and there was only one story about her that I ever heard-and it was about something she said to me while I was learning to talk.
Of course it was an insignificant occasion, because she was in the background where everyone expected her to be, and I never found out her name. It was standard for white people to employ black people back in the 50's to take care of their houses and children and not to be remarked on, because it just wasn't done-it was just the way things were in Columbus, Georgia.
But it's still sad that an awful lot of people refuse to grow past the white privilege we took for granted.
It might have been 'a simpler time' but it sure wasn't that simple or great to be anything other than white. Maybe someday we'll grow up.
History is not about the past. It’s about how we got here. You vividly bring the process to life. Memorable. Ruth is going to stick with me.
“History is not about the past. It’s about how we got here.” A mantra for 2021…
I hope you publish these essays. What a remarkable life, eyewitness to history…
Very powerful. I wish the people who need to read this, need to understand this, would take the time to sit and do it. Sadly, I don't think that will happen. But, I'm going to repost on the off chance that someone will stop and read it and it might spark something good in them.
This is powerful stuff; thank you!
Just beautiful, Lucian.
Tracy, I am looking very forward to meeting you!