SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS ARE… [W. 6-23-20]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS ARE…  [W. 6-23-20]

It is hard these days to escape discussions about racism. That’s a good thing. We need to get clear about racism. I did, sort of, when one of my best friends… well… I’ll start at the beginning.

Because of my mother, I grew up thinking everyone should be treated equally, on their own merits. I knew “Negroes” were not treated justly, and in my own negligent way opposed bad treatment of them, or anyone else. I didn’t tell or laugh at racist jokes, but neither did I tell my friends they shouldn’t.

I never had any real contact with black folks, though, until I went to college, and then very little. There were 3 black guys in my dorm. We were all friendly with one another, but it was a work-for-a-scholarship dorm. We had to maintain a high GPA [1] and work at least 10 hours per week at a campus job, like bussing in a dining hall, and do our own maid and janitorial work. So, all we did was work and study. We didn’t pay much attention to one another, black or white.

There were two black students, plus one black faculty member, at my theological school.

When I graduated seminary and was appointed as the campus minister in Terre Haute, serving both Indiana State U and Rose Polytechnic Institute [Rose-Hulman University, now], there was one brand new black faculty member who came to INSU at the same time, in sociology. Andre’ Hammonds was the first black person to get a PhD at the U of TN. He and Dorcas were Methodists, and lived right next door to The Wesley Foundation building, and it was natural for us to become friends.

They were wonderful people, wonderful friends. Our friendship  continued for 40 years, until Andre’s death. Actually, it continued after Andres’ death, for we continued to visit Dorcas until distance and health made that impossible.

We were just regular friends, doing friend things--going out to eat, visiting in each other’s homes, staying overnight in each other’s homes, after we moved from Terre Haute. When Andre’ and Helen would get off on some tangent they shared—they were into comparing fragrances—Dorcas and I would just hold hands and roll our eyes at each other. I think she was the only wife of a friend with whom I ever held hands, just to hold hands. In my declining years, I sometimes hold hands with Kathy or Allyson as we come and go from the car to a restaurant [Remember going to restaurants with friends?], but, even as nice as their hands are, such activity is only to keep from falling over. Besides, Helen is holding Bob’s or Glenn’s arm for the same reason, so it evens out.

But for all the real friendship, there was in me an unconscious racism with Andre’. I realized it only when he and I were reorganizing the board of the Hyte Community Center in Terre Haute.

Hyte was in the black ghetto. A scrufty little place. A nothing club house, that the old lady who ran the place usually didn’t let the kids use anyway. She would show up after school, unlock the door, throw some worn-out balls onto the dusty, grassless dirty play-yard, and sit in her chair and ignore the kids. The few old white people who served on the board were content with that.

I developed a tutoring program for INSU students, to go to Hyte to help the kids study, so many tutors we almost ran out of students. It changed the expectations people in the neighborhood began to have about Hyte. 

Andre’ and I decided to meet those expectations head-on. We got rid of the old board members and reformed the board, half black and half white this time. We were quite clear about that. We had to have half and half.

We got some really solid folks, from both the black and white communities, to agree to be on the board—professional and business leaders, the folks we would need to build the new building and have a real community center. At our first meeting, as Andre’ conducted it, I sat and silently counted black and whites to be sure we had half and half.

We didn’t! Despite our careful planning, every time I counted, we had one more white person than black. About the fourth counting, I  realized… I was counting Andre’ as white. And he wasn’t at all. In color, he was quite dark.

There was something in me that had to make Andre’ white to be acceptable. Black might be beautiful in theory, but not in my southern Indiana heart.

We were friends, anyway. That’s the main point, I think. Throughout our 40 years together, I was always aware Andre’ was black when we went places together. I was always aware that Dorcas was black when we held hands. So what? That’s part of who we are. I assume they were aware Helen and I are white. There would always be a racial difference between us. There would always be a part of our identity we could not share with the other.

But that didn’t keep us from inviting them over for supper. That’s what true friendship is all about. We just make allowance for the racism in our hearts and treat one another with respect and love, anyway. Especially if there is something big and heavy to move after supper.

John Robert McFarland

1] I think our required GPA was C+, but it might have been B. The cumulative GPA for all 60 of us was always around 3.3 on a 4.0 scale, so the minimum was basically irrelevant.