Ch. 19: Newsflash — America was/is Still Racist
I was shocked to learn there was still racism in America…in 1987!
Author’s Note: as of the posting of this chapter, the country has been disgusted and outraged by the killing of Ahmaud Arbery, the 25-year-old black man who was hunted and killed like an animal by two racists way back on February 23. The two murderers, the father-and-son “dynamic (death) duo” of Gregory and Travis McMichael, were only recently arrested about 36 hours ago as of this writing! The shooting took place just outside of Brunswick, GA in Glynn County. As you read this chapter, you will understand the significance of that fact, and the reason I chose the version of the Georgia State flag that I did as the story header image. Also, keep in mind that the only reason these two men are in custody (as late as it is) is because of a video that surfaced this week showing them hunting Arbery down. Yesterday would have been Ahmaud’s 26th birthday. My heart breaks for the Arbery family.
It was the summer of 1987, in between my freshman and sophomore years at UC Berkeley. My best bud at the time was a white dude named Sean. Sean was actually slightly older and had enrolled in college late. He was a professional photographer and had a pretty successful business. He and I lived in the same dorm, Davidson Hall.
That summer, Sean was hired by the Miami Herald to do some photojournalism work. So he was going to drive cross country in his cherry-apple-red BMW (which he lovingly named “Ma Cherie”) and asked me if I’d like to tag along. We were going to be like Crockett and Tubbs from Miami Vice, hitting the streets of ‘Murica (The 80s smash hit was our mutually favorite show at the time.)
Anyway, when he invited me along, I was like “hell yeah! Let’s do it, Crockett!”
So, we packed up his car and headed east.
As you may know, Berkeley is famous for being a rather liberal town in what is already a pretty progressive state. And that became evidently clear the minute we left the border.
In Denver, CO, when at a gas station, Sean overheard one guy say to his wife, “Honey, look at that white guy in that car with that n****r.” This was in Denver! I had no idea Denver had racists.
In Dallas, TX, when Sean went to pay for the gas (remember, this was way before the days you could pay at the pump), the gas station attendant asked in his deep, Texas drawl, “Where are y’all from?” Sean answered, “Oh, we’re driving out from California to Miami.”
This attendant was an older gentleman, messy gray hair, some kind of baseball cap, and grey stubble. The guy looks over at me in the cherry-red BMW, then looks over at Sean and says, “Yep, it figures.”
Oh, it gets better.
After a 17-hour non-stop drive from Flagstaff, AZ to Memphis, TN, we booked a room at a Stucky’s. Those of you down south probably know what Stucky’s is. It’s kind of like the illegitimate union of Denny’s and Motel 6, with just a dash of 7–11.
I’m chillin’ out in our room when Sean goes to buy some food and supplies from the convenience store. The clerk is this college-aged coed, she was probably 20 or so. He asks her for her opinion about directions to Florida.
“Hello there miss,” he says. “My friend and I are driving down to FL, and we’re trying to decide if we should go down through Louisiana and cross over, or take the more direct route through Georgia.”
Mind you, she has not seen me yet. I’m still back in the room trying to grab some zzzzz’s. So she answers…
“Oh, I think you’d like it much better if you go down through Georgia.”
Intrigued, Sean asks, “Really. Huh? Why do you say that? I’m a photographer and I hear the swamps and trees down in Louisiana are really beautiful.”
She replies, “Yeah, they are, but trust me, you’re gonna wanna go through Georgia.”
“But why?” Sean insisted.
She then leans in, looks around, and whispers to him…
“Truth is, ain’t too many of them damn blacks through Georgia. Way too many of them in Louisiana. So you’ll like Georgia much better.”
How does a white man traveling cross country with his black friend (who’s kickin’ back in the room) respond to an answer like that from Little Miss “Daisy Duke’s?” He said all he could say.
“Oooo-kaaaay then. Thank you Daisy. I appreciate that warning. Wow. Lots of damn blacks you say?”
“Lots and lots of them.”
“Well, um, I will certainly keep that very fine warning in mind when planning my route.”
“White power!”
“Yes, er, white power indeed.”
(Okay, honestly, I don’t think she said “white power.” That was added for effect. But I gotta believe that’s what she was thinking!”)
Sean came back to the room and just started cracking up, saying, “You are not going to believe this. This one takes the cake.”
He proceeded to tell me this story and I was just dumbfounded. I was shocked—shocked to learn that there was still this kind of racism in America. This was 1987 after all!
Well, I certainly wasn’t going to let Miss Daisy Dukes get away with this. So I promptly put on my favorite “Miami Vice” outfit (the one in the photo): a bright yellow baggy suit, pink shirt, pastel-colored sweater vest, gray dress shoes with pink socks, and white shades. I then went into the convenience store and pretended to be a Hollywood location scout on a mission to find a location for a cross-country buddy picture we were filming.
I let her know that she and this fine establishment were just what we were looking for, and I would be so honored if she would agree to be in our movie. She enthusiastically said “Yes!” I replied “Great” then handed her a business card of a real producer I got at some networking event a few weeks earlier. That producer’s name was also Ron, which made me feel better because then I could tell her my real name, give her that card, and not feel guilty for lying about my name. (Under the circumstances I know that makes no frakking sense, but that’s how my 18 year-old-brain processed it.)
A small part of me likes to think that some 33 years later, a 50-plus-year-old, down and out Miss Dukes is still slinging cigarettes and donuts at that podunk Stuckey’s, waiting for her 15 minutes of fame.
But the crazy racism didn’t stop there. Later during our time in that city, Sean wanted to visit some girl he had met on a cruise ship the summer before who happened to live in Memphis. When we got to her house, I had to wait in the car so they could prepare her parents that a black guy was going to be coming into their home. I kid you not. (I will say, for a racist-ass couple, they were just as pleasant as you wanna be. I could see going back there and having dinner.)
I swear, that cross country trip was like traveling back in time 30 years.
And here’s the thing — I was legitimately shocked at this amount of racism. I kept thinking to myself the thought I mentioned earlier. “What the hell is going on? This was 1987 for crying out loud!” It was such a huge eye-opener for me to see and experience that kind of racism. I just never did experience anything like that growing up where I did. I thought that kind of racism only existed in the movies. It was a very shameful experience in many ways.
Sadly, you could make the argument that now in 2020, this is still an issue. The difference is that “Miss Daisy Dukes” and “Gary the Racist gas station attendant” now have the internet, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram to hop online, read a politically provocative post from someone like me, look at my avatar and reply “Yep. It figures.”
And I was about to meet the Facebook equivalent of that gas station attendant.
If you would like to support the Arbery family in their time of need, Crowdpac has set up a fundraiser for them. Click here to make a donation.
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