Free Death of Innocence : The Story of the Hate Crime That Changed America (9781588363244) by Jesse Rev (FRW) Christopher; Jackson Mamie; Benson Till-Mobley
store windows and dream about the things I might buy myself, or Mama, or Emmett. One day I decided to stop dreaming, and I had a rude awakening. I walked into Marshall Field’s like I
was
Marshall Field. Like I knew my way around, at the very least.
So, I was surprised when the security guard stopped me. “Are you looking for something?”
I didn’t think I looked like I needed directions. And I really wouldn’t know what I was looking for until I found it. “Well, I was just going to do a little shopping,” I said.
He gave me a stern look. “Then you’ll have to go to the basement.”
Oh, no. Not here. Marshall Field’s had a reputation as a fine department store. I figured the only discriminating you’d find there was in taste.There were no signs, so how could I have known that I was not welcome? The store motto was “Give the lady what she wants.” I guess if the lady was black, though, they would have to give it to her in the basement. I just turned on my heels and took my business down the street, to Carson Pirie Scott and Wieboldt’s, and down to the South Side to the black shopping mecca at Sixty-third and Halsted streets. That was the last time I would shop at Field’s for nearly twenty years. And when I finally went back, I didn’t go to the basement.
The way I looked at it, discrimination was somebody else’s problem: It was the problem of the person who was doing the discriminating. In this case, Field’s didn’t get my business, and I always loved to shop. But I had choices and I would make sure my son had choices. In the community where we lived, the kind of problem I ran into when I walked into Marshall Field’s just would not occur. Not since Louis and I integrated Berg’s. People there wanted our business, and our friendship. And that’s all Bo would know. In time, he would also know whites, children in school, even adults he would do business with. We made sure he would never be self-conscious around them. He would not see the signs, or the attitudes behind the facades. For him, they would not exist. There would come a time, though, when that strength would make him vulnerable.
During this same period, Mama took Emmett on his second trip to Mississippi to escort Aunt Lizzy back to Money after an extended visit in Argo. While they were down there at the home of Aunt Lizzy and Uncle Mose, Bo borrowed a hammer from the white plantation boss. He wanted to work on something. Little Bo was always working on something. After some time, the man came back to ask for his hammer.
Bo looked up at him. “Just a minute,” he said. “I’m not finished yet.”
Mama rushed in to handle the situation. The man got his hammer. Mama got Bo out of there.
People in Argo valued our family for so many reasons. But most of the reasons were Mama, and the way she could step in and handle situations. In addition to running her one-woman settlement house, my mother was the people’s choice for all kinds of advice. If she had been a man, she might have been considered the “Godfather” of Argo. When people had problems, they brought them to Alma Gaines. She had remarried by this time, Tom Gaines, after she and my father divorced. And she could draw on that experience to counsel neighbors on family problems. She was a walking resource, who pointed people to social services when there was a need, and she always led them in the direction of her church. It was no surprise, then, that she was able to get so much help when it came time tosell fish sandwiches door-to-door or anything else that might be needed to raise funds for the church. Fifteen cents a sandwich. The bricks came from the streetcar tracks removed by the town. The Argo Temple Church of God in Christ was Mama’s heart and soul. It had been organized right there in our home. Mama was into community building.
By 1947, my cousins Hallie and Wheeler Parker decided they were ready to leave Mississippi and bring their three children north. Hallie
was
Marshall Field. Like I knew my way around, at the very least.
So, I was surprised when the security guard stopped me. “Are you looking for something?”
I didn’t think I looked like I needed directions. And I really wouldn’t know what I was looking for until I found it. “Well, I was just going to do a little shopping,” I said.
He gave me a stern look. “Then you’ll have to go to the basement.”
Oh, no. Not here. Marshall Field’s had a reputation as a fine department store. I figured the only discriminating you’d find there was in taste.There were no signs, so how could I have known that I was not welcome? The store motto was “Give the lady what she wants.” I guess if the lady was black, though, they would have to give it to her in the basement. I just turned on my heels and took my business down the street, to Carson Pirie Scott and Wieboldt’s, and down to the South Side to the black shopping mecca at Sixty-third and Halsted streets. That was the last time I would shop at Field’s for nearly twenty years. And when I finally went back, I didn’t go to the basement.
The way I looked at it, discrimination was somebody else’s problem: It was the problem of the person who was doing the discriminating. In this case, Field’s didn’t get my business, and I always loved to shop. But I had choices and I would make sure my son had choices. In the community where we lived, the kind of problem I ran into when I walked into Marshall Field’s just would not occur. Not since Louis and I integrated Berg’s. People there wanted our business, and our friendship. And that’s all Bo would know. In time, he would also know whites, children in school, even adults he would do business with. We made sure he would never be self-conscious around them. He would not see the signs, or the attitudes behind the facades. For him, they would not exist. There would come a time, though, when that strength would make him vulnerable.
During this same period, Mama took Emmett on his second trip to Mississippi to escort Aunt Lizzy back to Money after an extended visit in Argo. While they were down there at the home of Aunt Lizzy and Uncle Mose, Bo borrowed a hammer from the white plantation boss. He wanted to work on something. Little Bo was always working on something. After some time, the man came back to ask for his hammer.
Bo looked up at him. “Just a minute,” he said. “I’m not finished yet.”
Mama rushed in to handle the situation. The man got his hammer. Mama got Bo out of there.
People in Argo valued our family for so many reasons. But most of the reasons were Mama, and the way she could step in and handle situations. In addition to running her one-woman settlement house, my mother was the people’s choice for all kinds of advice. If she had been a man, she might have been considered the “Godfather” of Argo. When people had problems, they brought them to Alma Gaines. She had remarried by this time, Tom Gaines, after she and my father divorced. And she could draw on that experience to counsel neighbors on family problems. She was a walking resource, who pointed people to social services when there was a need, and she always led them in the direction of her church. It was no surprise, then, that she was able to get so much help when it came time tosell fish sandwiches door-to-door or anything else that might be needed to raise funds for the church. Fifteen cents a sandwich. The bricks came from the streetcar tracks removed by the town. The Argo Temple Church of God in Christ was Mama’s heart and soul. It had been organized right there in our home. Mama was into community building.
By 1947, my cousins Hallie and Wheeler Parker decided they were ready to leave Mississippi and bring their three children north. Hallie
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