My twin brother and I graduated from high school in 1970. There were still lynching and other atrocities happening as we moved up from grade school. The memory of the country during the '60s is still fresh in my mind.
Just so you understand the irony, shortly after seeing Hendrix perform at Robert's Stadium in Evansville, Indiana in '70 I moved to Nashville hoping to find a miracle. A tiny miracle would have suited me just fine. Between the Musicians' Union and the good ol' boy network, I couldn't even find someone to let me sweep a studio floor!
It wasn't a total washout, though. In short order I made some friends. I met three black brothers (actual siblings) in Centennial Park during a weekend music festival. We became close friends and they were a tremendous help because I had no car and if I had I probably would have become hopelessly lost, anyway.
After a while I got the chance to meet their younger sister. We were the same age and Nashville suddenly became a much more enjoyable place to be visiting. With very little money, I couldn't invite her out for much but it was nice to have a pretty girl to share a pizza with or catch a movie.
Oh yeah, remember that 'White Privilege' things. B-U-L-L-S-H-*-T!!!! A majority of what my grandson was telling me has absolutely to connection to Nashville in 1970.
Depending on where we went, her big brothers either made it known they had my back or wound up making it VERY clear to someone that messing with their sister meant messing with them. Having chaperons is not always a bad thing. Besides, we were just friends and we both knew that however long it lasted, it would still be temporary.
Telling me about how I can walk anywhere I want because of my skin color is ludicrous. When we went to the youth center, her brothers even told me that they had my back, but not to take it personal if they seemed a little different. If anything happened, they'd step up in a heartbeat but I should watch myself, anyway. There were only three or four other white guys there but I wound up mostly just losing at pool with some friends of theirs and sitting at the booth nursing a soft drink.
The inevitable finally happened... I got to meet Yvonne's dad. I hadn't PLANNED on meeting her dad and he SURE hadn't wanted to meet me!! We reached an agreement in short order and my Privilege didn't afford me the chance to even tell her goodbye...
I know now it wasn't true, but hearing that Hendrix had died of a drug overdose was like a kick to the gut. 'So how do you feel about your hero now? F*cked up, didn't he?' Those *ssholes I roomed with had to turn on the radio before I would believe them. I went to the closest liquor store and bought a six-pack of Colt 45 tall boys and sat up listening to the marathon tribute a local stations was playing.
That was it for me as far as Nashville was concerned. I had to get out of there. When I called Mom & Dad about getting back to Indiana, Dad said that if I'd come back he'd get me a full-time job working for a local farmer.
Sometimes it feels like my entire life has been one long 'Good News/Bad News' joke... Yeah, Dad had a job lined up. I went to work for an elderly farmer and his wife who had a small farm on the county line. It was eight hours a day, five days a week for $1 an hour. Thankfully they were wonderful people and his wife fix noon meals that were so good they should have been illegal. But then Friday came and my 'White Privilege' kicked in again. Mom was waiting at the door and deducted rent, laundry, groceries and utilities from that $40 check! By the time I put gas in my motorcycle, I worked all week in the dirt and the heat for $3 or $4 a week! Oh Yeah, and I was still 'Privileged' to pick up hay for free whenever Dad baled.
When my wife & I got married our 'wedding gift' was $25. :( I WILL NOT stand and let someone lecture me about how I don't know what it's like to be oppressed and taken advantage of.
There's no need to list cliches our grandson came home reciting. I'm sick of hearing them and seeing them all over the media and even sicker of the idea that college takes bright young minds and sends back well indoctrinated malcontents that have forgotten what they originally went for in the first place! He'd wanted a career related to oceanography but came home a self-styled econo-anarchist, whatever the H*ll that's supposed to be. He lists his current occupation as 'Struggle & Resist'!
Every person I meet is treated as a potential friend until they show me otherwise. I don't intentionally hurt anyone and am quick to sincerely apologize if I accidentally offend someone. That's really all you can do. The past is behind. How can we ever see the kind of future that the likes of Dr. King envisioned if we're always looking behind instead of forward? This country is in for some really, really rough times...
The next time you are on a bus trip do keep an eye out for something. When we are on the road and I see a pile of weathered wood and rusted tin that used to be the barn roof sitting next to a bleak little house still bravely trying to stand and surrounded by crops with no lane going back to it, my heart always breaks a little. There was a time when those paint-less grey walls contained all of someone's hopes and dreams and the wall echoed with laughter and the slap of bare baby steps...
That is another reason I avoid big cities. I see the rows of run down houses crammed together, most likely owned by some slumlord who has as little respect for the houses as he does the people renting from him, and the thought of trying to have a life and family without ever having a place that felt truly your home is so oppressive I can feel it eating away at my spirit.
Just so you understand the irony, shortly after seeing Hendrix perform at Robert's Stadium in Evansville, Indiana in '70 I moved to Nashville hoping to find a miracle. A tiny miracle would have suited me just fine. Between the Musicians' Union and the good ol' boy network, I couldn't even find someone to let me sweep a studio floor!
It wasn't a total washout, though. In short order I made some friends. I met three black brothers (actual siblings) in Centennial Park during a weekend music festival. We became close friends and they were a tremendous help because I had no car and if I had I probably would have become hopelessly lost, anyway.
After a while I got the chance to meet their younger sister. We were the same age and Nashville suddenly became a much more enjoyable place to be visiting. With very little money, I couldn't invite her out for much but it was nice to have a pretty girl to share a pizza with or catch a movie.
Depending on where we went, her big brothers either made it known they had my back or wound up making it VERY clear to someone that messing with their sister meant messing with them. Having chaperons is not always a bad thing. Besides, we were just friends and we both knew that however long it lasted, it would still be temporary.
Telling me about how I can walk anywhere I want because of my skin color is ludicrous. When we went to the youth center, her brothers even told me that they had my back, but not to take it personal if they seemed a little different. If anything happened, they'd step up in a heartbeat but I should watch myself, anyway. There were only three or four other white guys there but I wound up mostly just losing at pool with some friends of theirs and sitting at the booth nursing a soft drink.
The inevitable finally happened... I got to meet Yvonne's dad. I hadn't PLANNED on meeting her dad and he SURE hadn't wanted to meet me!! We reached an agreement in short order and my Privilege didn't afford me the chance to even tell her goodbye...
I know now it wasn't true, but hearing that Hendrix had died of a drug overdose was like a kick to the gut. 'So how do you feel about your hero now? F*cked up, didn't he?' Those *ssholes I roomed with had to turn on the radio before I would believe them. I went to the closest liquor store and bought a six-pack of Colt 45 tall boys and sat up listening to the marathon tribute a local stations was playing.
That was it for me as far as Nashville was concerned. I had to get out of there. When I called Mom & Dad about getting back to Indiana, Dad said that if I'd come back he'd get me a full-time job working for a local farmer.
Sometimes it feels like my entire life has been one long 'Good News/Bad News' joke... Yeah, Dad had a job lined up. I went to work for an elderly farmer and his wife who had a small farm on the county line. It was eight hours a day, five days a week for $1 an hour. Thankfully they were wonderful people and his wife fix noon meals that were so good they should have been illegal. But then Friday came and my 'White Privilege' kicked in again. Mom was waiting at the door and deducted rent, laundry, groceries and utilities from that $40 check! By the time I put gas in my motorcycle, I worked all week in the dirt and the heat for $3 or $4 a week! Oh Yeah, and I was still 'Privileged' to pick up hay for free whenever Dad baled.
When my wife & I got married our 'wedding gift' was $25. :( I WILL NOT stand and let someone lecture me about how I don't know what it's like to be oppressed and taken advantage of.
There's no need to list cliches our grandson came home reciting. I'm sick of hearing them and seeing them all over the media and even sicker of the idea that college takes bright young minds and sends back well indoctrinated malcontents that have forgotten what they originally went for in the first place! He'd wanted a career related to oceanography but came home a self-styled econo-anarchist, whatever the H*ll that's supposed to be. He lists his current occupation as 'Struggle & Resist'!
Every person I meet is treated as a potential friend until they show me otherwise. I don't intentionally hurt anyone and am quick to sincerely apologize if I accidentally offend someone. That's really all you can do. The past is behind. How can we ever see the kind of future that the likes of Dr. King envisioned if we're always looking behind instead of forward? This country is in for some really, really rough times...
The next time you are on a bus trip do keep an eye out for something. When we are on the road and I see a pile of weathered wood and rusted tin that used to be the barn roof sitting next to a bleak little house still bravely trying to stand and surrounded by crops with no lane going back to it, my heart always breaks a little. There was a time when those paint-less grey walls contained all of someone's hopes and dreams and the wall echoed with laughter and the slap of bare baby steps...
That is another reason I avoid big cities. I see the rows of run down houses crammed together, most likely owned by some slumlord who has as little respect for the houses as he does the people renting from him, and the thought of trying to have a life and family without ever having a place that felt truly your home is so oppressive I can feel it eating away at my spirit.
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