A Day at the Races

a day at the races –
or my take on
race in amerika

a few rambling thoughts and accidental observations…

(for reference and homework,
check out these other observations
on race:
listen to
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
by Gill Scott Herron
and found on page 239 in your youtube.
If you are really resourceful,
find the Lenny Bruce clip
on name calling –
you’ll know it
if you find it!
and finally – just for yuks
watch Blazing Saddles –
keeping in mind the year it was released –
and the fact that these were
older, “safer”
and very funny
comics
participating in subtle slaps
at racist behavior to an audience
that needed to be slapped)



There is hope on the
“race issue”
which caused concern
and stress
throughout the years

It’s less of an
“issue”
these days

More couples…
groups of friends…
bands (even non Jazz bands)…
everything…
is integrated

The middle ground
we hoped everyone
would occupy
is cleared…
and starting to be
occupied

cultural differences remain
but it’s not a
“black & white”
issue
anymore

Whites are black
blacks are whitle
white kids rappin
black kids punk’n
everyone is brown and yellow
friends are chosen
on the basis of interests
… compatibility…
Instead of color

(does anyone
recall
someone saying
they had a dream
of a day
when someone
would judge a person
on the content of
their character
and not
the color of their skin?...)

1990 –
I froze when my 7-year-old son
asked me,
“What’s a nigger lover?”
A line
i was glad to learn
came from the movie
“To Kill A Mockingbird.”
And so I watched the rest
of the movie with him
- and talked about race -
explaining how we should all
get in touch with our
inner-Atticus Finch!
(Could there have been
a better
role model?)

1973 –
When a
then-friend
actually refused to
smoke a joint
because the circle
- or the direction
the joint was moving -
meant he had to draw
on the joint
after a black cat
we knew.
It didn’t matter
that we were all friends
or that this guy
turned us onto
some great tunes
and dope.
All that mattered
was that he
refused to touch the joint
after the black cat did.
Then he got pissed
when the driver
lit one of his joints
and started to pass it around.
And he still
wouldn’t
touch it.
“I just can’t
do it,”
he said.
It got
quite uncomfortable
when his actions
became obvious.

1972 -
I cringed
when my father’s
friend
yelled at the TV
during a Giants/Cowboys game.
“How could you
drop that ball
you stupid nigger!!!!”
(first – it’s a television -
it can’t answer you back!
Second – he never
apologized
when that same player
scored the points
that helped him beat
the point spread…)
I thought
this whole
race thing –
where people
could
live in
racial harmony -
was hopeless!

1970 –
I shifted in my seat
nervously
when I first heard
“The Revolution
Will Not Be Televised”
A classic wake-up
call to white
amerika –
and to passive
black amerika -
that there are
militant blacks
who are not
going to
sit back
and just watch
the television
some whites
yell “nigger” at
(and who was
the black dude
who around
the same time
said,
“If you give a honkey
a foot,
he’ll take a yard.
And once he has
a yard
he’ll plant a cross on it
every time!)
I remember thinking
man, these black guys
sound angry
at all white people…
and then
as a 14-year-old
white boy
realizing
I was part of it –
I was a target of the anger –
and thinking
but I didn’t
do anything!

1969 -
Walking through
Bridgeport.
13-year-old kid;
thinking I’m cool.
When a black guy
probably in his 20s
steps in front
of my path.
“Do you think
a black can get
a fair trial
in this
racist
country?”
I had
no idea
what he was
getting at,
but I took
a guess
at the right
answer,
“No”
I squeeked.
“Then sign
this petition,”
he demanded.
I signed
the petition
seeking a mistrial
for Angela Davis.
And when I started
writing my address
I thought
“I’m fuck’n dead”
if anything is sent
to the house
and my father
sees it.
So I put
my neighbors
address
(Hey – I
didn’t have time
to think this through…)

1974-
Air Force
basic training
kids from all
over amerika -
in basic training
We were broken into pairs
to learn CPR
I was teamed-up
with a black kid
from Oklahoma.
(I was dying
to ask
what OK
was like…)
While explaining
the procedure
the instructor leaned over
and asked me
“Airman, do you
have a problem
touching this man?”
“No sir,” I responded.
The instructor
stepped away
and continued his lesson
Never asking
the black kid from Oklahoma
if he had a problem
touching my stupid
white nose

1976 –
An Air Force
Airman,
stationed in Virginia.
I get picked-up
while hitchhiking
by a white guy
in a filthy car
filled with trash
and stinking
like dog piss.
“You in the service?”
he asked.
“I used to be
but they let
too many niggers
in.”
“How many
Is that?”
I asked
Irritated with
the idiot statement.
“Too many,” he said.
“Those people
are pigs.”
“I can
get out here,”
I said.
I was starting
to become
convinced
that race was an issue
we amerikans
will never
resolve
in my lifetime.

1979 –
Stationed in Germany
there was a group of us
who spent our time
as Zappa fanatics.
Searching the
German record stores
for Zappa gems.
Incorporating Zappa
Into our boring, mundane,
at times depressing and
demoralizing everyday
work in support
of the industrial
military complex.
On ground hog day
we had an annual
“Ground Hogs Rip My Flesh Fest”
(a take-off,
of course,
of the Zappa classis,
“Weasels Rip My Flesh!”)
Where we would incorporate
two of our favorite things:
Germen Festivals
and Zappa.
We would listen
to more than just
Zappa -
and they turned into
a great venue for sharing
music –
For example:
We would share
whatever Zappa albums
or bootlegs
we recently found,
and then we would each play
some favorites.
So the music spanned
the diversity meter of
Kinks, Parliament-Funkadelic,
Tiny Tim (yes – don’t ask –
but it is a classic!)
America, The Who,
Willie Nelson –
Everyone was
into different things.
We were all
Different –
Black, white, Hispanic, etc.
But we all shared
a love of music
and we missed home.
But one of our main
partners in this venture-
a black kid named Phil -
stopped hanging
with us.
He wouldn’t even
go out for drinks
with us
after work
anymore.
He started
acting cold…
But we would still
give him copies
of any of the Zappa
stuff we found.
Then one day
I ran into him
at the bar on base.
We were both
leaving the bar.
We were both
Pretty popped.
So I said,
“By the way,
sorry I insulted your mother
like I did.”
“What the fuck
are you talking about?,”
he said.
“Well, I figured
it was something like that
to piss you off and
have you stop hanging
with us,” I said.
“No man,” he said.
“The black guys
In the dorm
wouldn’t talk to me
anymore.
They thought I
wanted to be
white ‘cause
I was hanging out
with you guys
all the time.”
Hopeless!
Not even
Zappa
could unite us!
(Sometime later,
I asked Phil
if he shared
any Zappa
with his
new friends.
“Hell yes,” he said.
“You guys think
Zappa is rock…
They think Zappa
Is jazz…
OK –
Maybe Zappa
Could unite us!)

1988 –
As a newspaper reporter
who would often do stories
In urban neighborhoods
Believing that developing
relationships could
cause change –
only to be slapped
down to reality
when the Rodney King
verdict was read
and I went into
the “black” neighborhoods
where they all
knew me.
I write about
these neighborhoods,
I thought,
these guys
will welcome
my inquiries
into what
“the verdict”
meant in the
black community.
“Fuck you”
“Get the fuck
out of here,
white boy!”
“You reporters
are
the problem.”
“How about
if we
beat your
fucken
white ass?”
The issue
was
definitely
black & white.
There is
NO hope,
I thought.

1992 –
Jesse Jackson
Speaking at dusk
on the back of a flatbed truck
under the glow of a
single
street lamp.
“We must
come together
If we are
to solve
any of our
problems,”
he said.
(Seing Jesse
Speak live
Is electric –
And you actually
start to
believe
people can
change!)
At the end
as I was
taking notes
at a furious pace
for the story
I was almost past deadline with,
Jesse asked everyone
to take hands
for a prayer.
I couldn’t
I had to keep writing,
to capture this
amazing
event.
Then I felt
a hand
on my shoulder.
And then another…
and another.
I turned to see
a few black hands
touching me
as I wrote
“We got you
Covered brother,”
one black guy said.

My daughter’s
ex-boyfriend
played in a band
and she would tell me
about the band members.
The lead singer
was an egomaniac;
a task master;
a big flirt…
She never told me
the lead singer
was black.
That was not an issue!
That was not
a defining
characteristic.
That didn’t
make
a difference.

I see
so much of that
in youth today.

It is refreshing.
(I do not
take this progress
to mean
there are
no more problems…
Just to mean
we, as a country,
have been working
through them…)

And now,
in a country
where
(in my lifetime)
bussing in Boston
caused riots
and
a Mississippi campus
looked like a war zone,
we have elected a
black president.

And I’m happy
because he was
the right choice.
Not because he is black.
But because
he has
a vision.

And the color
of his skin
did not
make
a
difference.
Only the content
of his
character
did.