SUMMER 1968  

I never thought about that summer, many of my childhood memories have gone.  All the recent drama of White/Black and Black/ White killings and more the conversation about it all has brought them back, the memories of one day at the Beach when I was 7 years old.  IL. Beach State Park, Zion a far northern suburb of Chicago.  Not sure why went, had cool sand dunes and was a big park compared to the beach near our house in Northbrook, 45 minutes away.  Not sure if the nuclear power plant was rolling then may have been built a few years later and is long since shut down. My mom was really into camping and adventuring to new destinations so that was probably why we went.  Not pleasant memories I do have worse ones though, I think that sharing them may not be what many people want to hear, but their truth. The perspective looking back, a white suburban kid a few months after MLK was assassinated.  Seems like similar days these days? Not as hot maybe in Chicago now, summers did use to be scorchers!

 It was a Hot August day, beach was crowded my younger sisters Amy, Beth and I were swimming.  Puuulllump!  Puuulllump!   Waves crashing, bright sun, beautiful day.  Puuullump!   Puuuullump!  Puuulllump! The sound was pleasant and somewhat familiar.  Puulluummp!  Puulllump!  Where was it coming from?  Puuullump! Puuulllump!  I looked up to see what where the noise came from.  Puuulllump!   On the shore 20-30 yards away was a dozen or more Black teenagers and adults smiling, Puulllump, tossing large fist size stones in our directions. Puulllump!  The Puuulllumps were very close. I thought maybe I was supposed to catch the stones?  This may sound really naive but I was seven and they looked like they were having so much fun I didn’t realize what was going on. Pullluummmp!  I did glance up towards my Mom at our spot on the beach.  Puullummmp!  Puulllump!  I started to figure out sooooommmthinnnggg   Puulllummmmp!  Was not kosher?   Puuulllump!  My mother had the most terrified look I ever, I mean ever saw on her face.  Puullllummmp!   She tore down into the water and had us out real fast and back on the blanket almost like we’d teleported. Puulllummmp! 

We had lunch on the blanket bags of chips, sodas wrapped in tinfoil to keep them cool (did that work at all?) My mother never said anything derogatory. I cannot fathom that we stayed at that beach but we did. The long drive, sand dunes to play on, how on earth do you stay at that beach? We did.   Maybe my mom understood what was happening far better than I can even now. She’d grown up in the south Tennessee, we were in Nashville when Martin Luther King was shot in Memphis, and we’d spent most holidays and much of the summer at my grandparent’s farm house in Brentwood TN.  Not sure but why we stayed at the beach, maybe mom just didn’t want to be run off?  I have always felt the 500 miles separating the Chicago and Nashville lends to some of the greatest cultural diversities one can find in this country.  We never spoke much about it but I believe in spirit she was sympathetic to what was happening in the black culture.         

So we took a break from swimming.  In 1968 video games had not been invented. Pinball was big and there was a baseball game where a flap opened up where the mound would be, a ball came rushing towards home, you pushed a button and a wooden bat swung at the ball. They cost a nickel!!  Candy bars were a dime!  Gumball machines a penny.  I had save a dollar selling these recipe cards to our neighbors.  I took off for the arcade with my dollar in hand.  I had been watching kids play earlier and was excited to give it a go.  The arcade which was the size of a bedroom, more like a shack on the beach with 5 or 6 pinball games was filled with what now what I imagine as the younger brothers of the Stone throwers on the beach.  Within a short time I was being asked for my money, which I denied having.  That’s when the leader showed me the extended middle finger knuckle fist on both hands. Think this may have been a 60’s young male posturing thing, the extended middle knuckle being a steel rivet of pain and bruising. Doubt, Ali or Frazier used this one but an intimidating visual weapon for a slinky young extortionist. Could have been a Super Fly punch? It definitely was scarier than a plain fist. I have stumpy finger so the not as effective when I have modeled it, the leaders spidery long digits emphasized the point. A group of 5 or 6 began surrounding me, I was going to be clever, I backup between two of the pinball machines and as I got to the back wall I slipped that dollar in the back of my swim shorts.  You can imagine my surprise when a voice from behind me sounded out “He slip it in his pants!” I was out done surrounded. I gave up my wet sandy Dolla to that boy.  This time I knew what had happened I was ashamed. Avoiding the damaging spike of the middle knuckle bruise punches I returned to the blanket with my tail between my legs trying to hide my shame from my mom.  She knew immediately.

Did that day effect how I felt about black people? Maybe? Did I become a racist?  No. Were we in the wrong place at the wrong time, I think so.  Could I see this happening at my Waukegan beach today? No. Maybe?  I guess I am wrong, what we are seeing in our society says yes we do feel this badly about one another?  I do not and I refuse to. If I choose to love my neighbor as Myself, I cannot treat you that way.  I am not capable of hurting you if I treat you like I want to be treated.  My twins attended a school where they are by far the minority, at girl scouts the other night my daughter Hope was the only white girl in the group.  I watch them interact in school and they are friends, not Black, White, Brown, Yellow friends.  Just friends.  Just White, Just Black, Just Latina, Just Asian, Just friends. Our inequities and inequalities will likely not get worked out in the media, but dare I ask, does a White middle aged, suburban male get to talk about racism?e we in the wrong place at the wrong time, I think so.  Could I see this happening at my Waukegan beach today? No. Maybe?  I guess I am wrong, what we are seeing in our society says yes we do feel this badly about one another?  I do not and I refuse to. If I choose to love my neighbor as Myself, I cannot treat you that way.  I am not capable of hurting you if I treat you like I want to be treated.  My twins attended a school where they are by far the minority, at girl scouts the other night my daughter Hope was the only white girl in the group.  I watch them interact in school and they are friends, not Black, White, Brown, Yellow friends.  Just friends.  Just White, Just Black, Just Latina, Just Asian, Just friends. Our inequities and inequalities will likely not get worked out in the media, but dare I ask, does a White middle aged, suburban male get to talk about racism?  Drew