It was a hot day like most August days. But this day is stuck in my memory. A day midway through the twentieth century. It’s funny how some events stick in your mind and others don’t. On that day I was walking with my Dad on Main Street, Greenwood, South Carolina. My mother was shopping at JCPenney. A Charleston & Western Carolina freight train had just gone through town. I loved to watch the trains. They were loud, with a clanging bell, a whistle, and black smoke pouring from their smoke stack. Daddy said the train was carrying coal from West Virginia to Savannah, Georgia. Momma wanted the city to get rid of the train in the middle of town.
We hadn’t gone very far when Daddy pulled on my arm and said, “Son, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”
There was a man leaning against the wall beside the barber pole at Henry Scott’s barbershop where I got my hair cut. He had on faded bib overalls and an old chambray shirt. As we approached, he tipped his hat and said, “Howdy, Cap’n!” The smile on his face revealed a missing front tooth.
Daddy shook the man’s hand and said, “It’s been a long time, Mose.”
“Yessiree. It sho has. Who dat wid cha?” the man said.
“This is my son, Tony,” Daddy said as he turned to me and added, “ Son, shake hands with Mose. We played together when we were boys. His mama would spank my behind when I was bad too!”
I did not want to do it. I knew what Frankie said about people like him. But Daddy talked like that I knew I had to do what he said. He pulled me toward the man. Disobeying my daddy meant I would get a whipping. I did not like getting punished. It hurt.
I looked around to see if anyone was watching and shook his hand. It was big, strong and calloused. I shook it. As we walked away I stole a glance at my hand. It was not black. Frankie was wrong.
Many years later I was selling art in Washington Park with fellow artist, Vincent Bobo. I shared this story with my friend, an African-American, and fellow native South Carolinian. He thought it was one of the funniest stories he had ever heard.
I wonder if it would be funny today?
When we think of the days gone by we usually remember the good things. But all was not good. But a memory filter is a good thing.
ReplyDeleteWhen we think of the days gone by we usually remember the good things. But all was not good. But a memory filter is a good thing.
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