American Journeys

It was not a small town, yet one would not call it a city. It was a paradise for boys and girls. They could ride their bikes along wide streets under spreading trees. The houses with broad front lawns were set back from the streets. Everything seemed in proportion to everything else. Of course, that was true only for the small number of better-off white families. The blacks, then called Negroes or coloreds, were on the bottom, with a larger class of white workers, manual and salaried, sandwiched in between. Things were not so good for them, especially in the Depression years of the thirties, but small boys of “good families,” born in 1930, had no feeling for such things. Thehree boys—John McDonald, George Logan, and Clay Page—knew they were privileged, because they lived in big houses and because their fathers seemed to be prominent in town, but they had little feeling for the lives of the less privileged. Their parents were friends, and the other boys and girls they knew had parents just like their parents. They went to an elementary school with children like themselves. Many teachers in their schools, including high school, had taught their parents. It just seemed natural. There were a few high schools, including one for black students, and a variety of students attended the high school with these boys. Relations among the students were very democratic, but there was little contact with other students in the city except in sports. John was black-headed and angular, and he was a leader in everything. He caught passes in football, was president of the high school student council, and was popular with the girls. George was quiet and thoughtful, a good student. He had sandy hair and gray eyes, and he spent a lot of time by himself, reading everything from comic books to Dickens. Clay was short and blond and extremely amiable. He could charm a bird out of a tree. The boys were inseparable. It was not clear to many why they were so close.They had plenty of other friends; it was just a fact. Clay was the glue, because he was so steady. The other two needed a friend like Clay. John was not comfortable in his family because of his stepmother, so friends were very important to him. George was a bookworm who often needed to be pulled out of himself. They went to the same kindergarten. Miss Raffington was, as they used to say, a “maiden lady” who picked up the children each day in a large touring car and delivered them home the same way. She was a familiar sight, driving slowly around town with a car packed with little people. The children could not tell you what they had done at kindergarten. The ride was the exciting part. The boys went to the same grade school and had “old maid” teachers, some of whom were nice and some of whom were mean. Miss Ozenberger, the fourth-grade teacher, styled her hair in long ringlets, and she was rumored to wear bloomers. She locked misbehaving boys in the nurse’s room. One miscreant once wiggled out of the window and ran home. After that, she took his corduroy knickers and hung them up in the class cloakroom. The students howled with laughter every time she did it. John remembered the day that school let out in late May after his second-grade year. He could feel rain in the air. The clouds were tumbling, and the wind was rising in his face. As he ran home, he had the wonderful thought that he was free for three months to do exactly what he wanted. It was a great feeling of release, and he never forgot it. None of them knew any “colored” people well except maids and waiters at the country club. George remembered an old man named Jack who worked in the yard and garden for his grandfather. Jack wore a woman’s silk stocking on his head as a cap. The old man and young George would sit in the backyard and visit, and sometimes George’s grandmother would join them. She was extremely fond of Jack. In later years, George remembered Jack’s kindness and his soft laughter. They all three thought of black people in this way. In later years, after they had left the South, they supported civil rights. The three families went to the same Presbyterian church, which had been attended by their great-grandparents and likely their parents, too. The long sermons were accompanied by the swish of fans on hot days. They took Communion four times a year out of little shot glasses filled with grape juice. At least the Episcopalians down the street got wine. Presbyterians were Scots by descent, often called ‘Scotch-Irish,” because their forebears came from the Protestant, northern part of Ireland, while the Episcopalians were mostly English in background. The preacher they most remembered was Dr. Bob McIver, who had an honorary Doctor of Divinity. He wore a white suit and shoes in the summer and black clothes in the winter. He was against sin but didn’t bring it up too much. His text was usually a legacyrom the doctrine of predestination. God had plans for our lives, and we had to find out what they were and follow them. An implicit message for boys and men was this: they were to be “successful” in life. That did not necessarily mean they had to make a lot of money. One had to succeed in service to mankind, but in that time and place, success was given a worldly definition. One could not fail, and the fear of failure was ground into many young hearts. Their fathers certainly believed these things and preached them to the boys. They expected their sons to be like themselves, good men who were also successful.