White Town

This post is a little difficult to write. It’s difficult because writing on this topic forces me to admit that my beloved Slatington childhood wasn’t as idyllic as I sometimes report. It also exposes some personal flaws, borne of ignorance or cowardice. But, I think it is important so, let’s dive in. And don’t worry, I promise this will not turn political, though it easily could.

My little town of 4500 people, in the fifties and sixties, was as white as Norway in winter. As white as a polar bear in a snowstorm. As white as mayo on Wonder Bread. It was white. But that doesn’t mean the influence of race didn’t show up from time to time. Unfortunately, it would show up usually in a negative form. I’ve been thinking about incidents and practices from my early years. Embarassingly, here are a few:

My high school had Slave Day. Luckily it ended right before my freshman year. On that day, a senior could choose a freshman to do whatever they wanted them to do. That could include carrying books, doing homework, and washing cars. I’m not sure why it ended when it did. I find it difficult to believe that Principal Kemp all of a sudden became “woke”. Can you imagine a local high school today having Slave Day?

You know that childhood rhyme, Eeny, Meeny, Miney Mo…..? Let’s just say that there was no Tiger in our version, though there was an N word. I said it. We all did. It’s embarrassing to write that now. I apologize that my white privilege allowed it.

Every summer our police department ran a bus trip for town kids to go see the Phillies play at Connie Mack Stadium. A highlight of the trip was throwing pennies out the bus window to the black kids in the non-upscale streets of Philly. I am happy to report that I did not participate. Apparently, that one was too much for me. You know who didn’t say this is too much? Yep, the adults.

I can remember in high school I attended a concert / dance at Smith Hall. It wasn’t a school function so outside people could be invited. A girl a year or two older than us, but still in high school, invited her black boyfriend. The place was abuzz with the scandal. Oh, the horror!

Finally here is one where had I been more courageous, I could have taken a stand. But I didn’t. I wrestled in high school. We had a meet with Stroudsburg High School. I ran out onto the mat to meet my opponent for the pre-match handshake. The kid was black, the first black any of us had had to wrestle that year. While I was shaking his hand, someone yelled out “Denny, be careful. It might rub off on you”. No one said anything after the meet. Not even the coaches. Certainly not me. A missed opportunity!

So, that’s it. My lily white childhood. All of those things are with me today. I think of them often these days of racial turmoil. In hindsight they taught me valuable lessons. One powerful lesson is that people can change. I have.