Black Lives Matter
Just Call Me “Honky”
A lesson from a white guy — and a Black guy — in a yellow cab
Although it might come as a harsh reality some people would rather not consider, racism does swing more than one way. People of color have been known to use derisive words in describing those of us with less pigmentation, and a personal anecdote comes to mind in support of that statement.
The place was 16th Street and 8th Avenue in New York City. The time was 3 AM on a weekday night. I’d just swung north on 8th Avenue coming east on 16th Street from 9th Avenue in my taxi, when two Black men waved for a cab.
Rather than pull a few feet in front of them so that I could straighten out my vehicle and not block oncoming traffic when the light changed, I stopped right next to them.
Often by pulling up that few feet, a cabby could lose the fare to a marauding taxi coming up 8th when the light changed. It was late and difficult to find a passenger. I didn’t want to risk it.
Instead of acknowledging the situation and jumping in quickly, the two men continued their conversation — at which point I called through the passenger side window “Let me pull up so I don’t block traffic.”
“Take it easy, honky. I’ll be right with you,” snapped one of my prospective passengers.
Momentarily stunned, I contemplated spewing a few epithets of my own while pulling off. But I decided to take the high road and simply ignore his use of the dreaded H-word.
As I said, fares can be extremely difficult to find in the middle of the night. Plus, he didn’t strike me as mean or dangerous. Just a little thoughtless. Black, white, or yellow, I wanted his green. So what if he called me “honky.” I’d been called worse — and more personal.
As it turned out, only one of the guys got in the cab (the one who called me “honky”). 145th and Riverside was his destination. For non-New Yorkers, this is a really good ride. It would only take 15 minutes to earn the $12 the trip would cost. (This is 1990 dollars. Now it would be $40 to put it in perspective.)
On the way to his crib, my fare was reasonably friendly and almost deferential and contrite, although he made no apology for the epithet. You’d never know by his demeanor that he’d called me honky just minutes before.
While his ride required a simple and well-known route, there was one trick that only an expert cabby would know. I knew the cut-off and took the fare the slick way — something my passenger acknowledged and admired out loud.
“Most drivers don’t even know that exit is the short way,” he observed. “I didn’t even have to tell you how to go.”
When we got to his destination, the man thanked me for picking him up in the first place and gave me a sizeable tip for my deference and expertise. Although it went unstated, I felt as if he’d displayed an apologetic air throughout the entire ride, and that I’d won him over with my discretion.
After dropping him off, I turned east to Broadway, driving south through Harlem as I considered what had just transpired versus what could have. A lot of drivers (me included) could have volleyed back something as hateful and simply driven off.
The Black man would have repeated his racial slur — as would the white man thinking one of his own. Exactly how would that have served humanity?
Instead, I turned the other cheek and alternatively gave the guy the perfect taxi ride. Rather than both of us suffering a bad racial experience, we came away with an understanding that there might be a better way than a knee-jerk reaction to an explosive situation. I call that a win-win.
I’m confident he told the story of his cab driver to friends the next day: “This white boy cabby picked me up last night after I called him honky, and he turned out to be the best cab driver I’ve ever had from downtown to my apartment.”
At least, I hope that’s what he might have said. Anyway, I did my best to promote harmonious race relations. Who knows? Maybe a small token of respect can go a long way — and even go viral in this day and age.