Prejudices and Racism - 4 - Forgive Us Our Tresspasses

I guess it is not surprising that I had some tendencies to be prejudiced.   I went to Public School 76 through 4^th grade and then to St. Michael the Archangel’s school until the 8^th grade.  Both schools were in the East New York section of Brooklyn.  For my 4 years of high school I attended Our Lady of Wisdom Academy in Ozone Park, Queens, NY and then graduated from St. Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing in New York City.  In all those many years of schooling, there was not one single black person in any of my classes.  Not a one!!!  Let me remind you, I was not living south of the Mason-Dixon Line rather; I was living in Brooklyn and attending schools in 3 of the 5 boroughs of metropolitan New York City-the largest city in the world.   I was a little white girl, living in a lily white world.   I was never exposed to people of color except for what I saw on the television and that was not always a positive exposure.   I heard people say that “Black Bastard” when Martin Luther King appeared on the TV screen.   I saw people in power and people in governing positions treating people of color as if they were subhuman or at least not as important as us white people.    I doubt whether my experience was unique. I don’t think I was the only one to observe and encounter such things. 

I have been told by co-workers and other people who have known me during my life, that I am a "reverse" Racist, in other words I do "too much" for our African-American families and clients.  I guess they may be correct, but I believe I am justified.  I am attempting, in some small way, to make up for the horrendous injustices that the people of color in our country have had to endure.  Having been born 75 years ago, I have lived through and witnessed some of these terrible injustices and I have been guilty of the sins of racism, and prejudice myself.  So, please,let me, and let all of us mighty white Americans attempt to make up in some small way for the hundreds of years of injustices inflicted on our fellow Americans because their skin color was different than ours. 

Regarding the photograph at the top of this Blog entry:

I was 12 years old on Sep 6th, 1957 when this brave young girl, Elizabeth Eckford ignores the hostile screams and stares of fellow students on her first day of school. She was one of the nine negro students whose integration into Little Rock’s Central High School in Arkansas was ordered by a Federal Court following legal action by NAACP. — Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS

Prejudices and Racism - An Uncomfortable Discussion - 3

As a member of the Roman Catholic Church, I was told quite clearly in my younger years that I belonged to the only true church .  Outside of my church, it was very tricky - actually high near impossible - to get into heaven. It was considered heretical and you would certainly run the risk of eternal damnation in hell should you leave and seek spiritual fulfillment elsewhere.  I kid you not! 
I was told that I shouldn't date anyone of another religion for fear that we might fall in love and then I would run the risk of wanting to marry outside of my church.  In the event such a catastrophe occurred, the non-Catholic partner had to just about swear on their life that he or she would allow the resulting children to be brought up in the Catholic Religion. 
 My husband's mother actually had the nerve to fall in love with a guy who belonged to the Dutch Reformed Church and they weren't even allowed to get married in the church - the rectory was as close as they got to the altar!
When my husband, Bob, was a little boy, my father-in-law, Bob, Sr., (so I heard as he died before I had the pleasure of meeting him) came to the basement of St. Francis of Assisi School in Astoria, Queens, NY, where a Cub Scout's meeting was being held.  Bob, Sr. was there with a contingency of Boy Scouts from the nearby Dutch Reformed Church.  He came that day specifically to welcome his son who was aging out of the Cub Scouts into his Boy Scouts' group.  The priest at St. Francis of Assisi Church, Father Joe Schuck, met Bob, Sr and the handful of Boy Scouts accompanying him at the foot of the stairs.  The priest told Bob's father that he was not welcome and  that he could not be accepting his son into the Boy Scouts since it was held at the Protestant Church.  Bob's father responded maturely to this negative reception and left the church basement without causing a scene. Sadly, my husband, Bob Jr., never became a Boy Scout.   Interestingly, Fr. Joe Schuck, was eventually defrocked for child sexual abuse.
I too, had a similar, albeit a little less dramatic experience, when I wanted to become a Brownie.  I remember the feeling of disappointment even though I don't remember a lot of the details.  I went to a nearby Protestant Church basement to join the Brownie group in my community, but for some reason I was rejected.  Can you imagine carrying the psychological stigma of being rejected by the Brownies? !   Possibly, they had a big enough troop already and were only accepting the girls from that church? I honestly don't remember but I remember feeling rejected.
My current concept of God although not clearly defined ( truthfully, who really understands the concept of God? ) does not allow me to accept such a prejudiced Deity.

Prejudices and Racism - An Uncomfortable Discussion

I can only imagine that my next blog entry might be seen as inappropriate or unnecessary by some people but the current situation in our country and even in our entire world has motivated me to tackle it. 

What is racism? Is it real or a figment of my imagination? Is it a thing of the past, ancient history, so to speak or is it so deeply engrained as to be influencing us to the current day.

I find it hard to believe that anyone else who came of age in the 1960’s didn’t experience similar experiences to my own. I also believe that a good deal of these 

experiences were probably profound and disturbing enough to have left an indelible mark in our psyche. 

I’d like to share some of my real life stories in the hopes that others might relate to some of them. Hopefully when we look into ourselves we can get a better understanding of the meaning and influences of racism. When we understand things more clearly, possibly we can change the things that we don’t think are the best for us, or for others in our communities and in our world. 

Initially, in my earliest years, my exposure to people of other religious denominations and other races was severely limited. Luckily, I attended Public School 76 through 4 th Grade and had the privilege of being friends with a few Jewish girls. My second grade teacher was a wonderful Jewish woman ( I only learned later on that some of my friends and my teacher were Jewish because at such a young age I had not yet been taught these distinctions). One of my strongest memories of this “ Jewish” teacher is the fact that in the midst of a terrible thunder storm when the sky became ominous looking and frighteningly dark, she comforted me and let me sit up on her lap for a few minutes. She made me feel safe again and I never forgot that feeling. One of the biggest mistakes of my life was when my parents transferred me to the Catholic School. If I could, I would go back to the past and reverse that decision; I would do everything in my power to stay in the public school where I was blissfully happy and self-confident. Instead, in September 1954 I started at St. Michael the Archangel Elementary School on Jerome St in Brooklyn, NY in the 5th grade. One day shortly after starting Catholic School I remember the nun told us to put all our valuables out of sight or take them home because the Public School students were coming into the classroom that afternoon for released time religious instructions. It didn’t take much smarts to realize that she considered the Public School kids heathens and thieves. I had just transferred from Public School so it didn’t do much for my self-image.

While a student at St. Michael the Archangel Elementary School I swallowed all the religious dogma that was fed to me, hook, line and sinker! I learned a whole lot about the fires of hell and eternal damnation and I certainly didn’t want to end up there so I tried to followed every single letter of the law to the point of obsession. 

A Good Guy with a Gun

A Good Guy with a Gun 

I must admit I am biased when it comes to guns. Sometimes a personal experience will influence the way one thinks.  No matter what arguments to the contrary, this life event left deep-seated emotional scars that influenced my thinking.  

I remember walking into the hospital room on the 8th floor Pediatric Unit at St. Vincent’s Hospital in NYC and seeing the dark haired, handsome little boy lying in the  bed closest to the window. His family members sat by his bedside for hours on end. Even though visiting hours were rather stringent in the decade of the 60’s, we bent the rules for this little boy and his family.   Their sorrow was palpable even though it was obvious they were trying to mask it for the sake of Anthony.  Any smile I observed was plastic and weird.  The child still seemed “normal”.  I don’t remember if this young boy was even aware of the reality of his condition.  I don’t know if any of us adults, family and staff included, could honestly internalize the horrendous reality in front of us.  Sometimes in life you can’t recall every last detail of an experience but you can feel the overwhelming emotional pain that surrounded it. That is the part that stays enmeshed in your heart and soul forever.  This was the case in this incident. 

Anthony was probably 10 years old when he found the hidden gun and went to get the bullets that had been carefully hidden in another part of the house.  The gun belonged to his Grandfather.  I remember him as a gentle, loving man, a “good guy” by every stretch of the imagination. Now he sat at the head of his grandson’s bed, a broken man, a man who would never be whole again.   Little boys that age are inquisitive, and a lot of the time they are smarter than you think.  Anthony got a bullet in that gun and accidentally shot himself through the neck.  In medical terminology, Anthony, was now a quadriplegic.   It is easier for me to say that term than to define its meaning. Anthony could not move his arms or his legs and he would never, ever move them again.  Believe me when I say, having known the particulars of the story, this family was as good as any other family on earth. I am infuriated when people brush it off as negligence or act like this could never happen to them because they would be much more careful and responsible.  Accidents happen.  Not one of us is perfect. I know this man was a good guy with a gun.  But I know more than anything else in this world, he wished he never had that gun.   

This experience that colored my thoughts and feelings about guns was so heart-wrenching that it is hard to describe without reliving the pain.  

I remember it as a Living Wake on Pediatrics. 

Racism and Other Prejudices - Forgive Us our Trespasses - 4

I guess it is not surprising that I had some tendencies to be prejudiced.   I went to Public School 76 through 4^th grade and then to St. Michael the Archangel’s school until the 8^th grade.  Both schools were in the East New York section of Brooklyn.  For my 4 years of high school I attended Our Lady of Wisdom Academy in Ozone Park, Queens, NY and then graduated from St. Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing in New York City.  In all those many years of schooling, there was not one single black person in any of my classes.  Not a one!!!  Let me remind you, I was not living south of the Mason-Dixon Line rather; I was living in Brooklyn and attending schools in 3 of the 5 boroughs of metropolitan New York City-the largest city in the world.   I was a little white girl, living in a lily white world.   I was never exposed to people of color except for what I saw on the television and that was not always a positive exposure.   I heard people say that “Black Bastard” when Martin Luther King appeared on the TV screen.   I saw people in power and people in governing positions treating people of color as if they were subhuman or at least not as important as us white people.    I doubt whether my experience was unique. I don’t think I was the only one to observe and encounter such things. 

I have been told by co-workers and other people who have known me during my life, that I am a "reverse" Racist, in other words I do "too much" for our African-American families and clients.  I guess they may be correct, but I believe I am justified.  I am attempting, in some small way, to make up for the horrendous injustices that the people of color in our country have had to endure.  Having been born 75 years ago, I have lived through and witnessed some of these terrible injustices and I have been guilty of the sins of racism, and prejudice myself.  So, please,let me, and let all of us mighty white Americans attempt to make up in some small way for the hundreds of years of injustices inflicted on our fellow Americans because their skin color was different than ours. 

Regarding the photograph at the top of this Blog entry:

I was 12 years old on Sep 6th, 1957 when this brave young girl, Elizabeth Eckford ignores the hostile screams and stares of fellow students on her first day of school. She was one of the nine negro students whose integration into Little Rock’s Central High School in Arkansas was ordered by a Federal Court following legal action by NAACP. — Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS