Have you ever heard someone say, "How I miss the "good old days," or "I wish we could go back to the "good old days"? Maybe you've said it yourself, and I know that there have been times I have wished for the simpler times of "the good old days." But what could it mean to return to the "good old days"? Would turning back the clock and somehow living in the "good old days" be "good" for everyone? Or said another way, the "good old days" were not the same, were not necessarily "good," for everyone.
Case in point. I attended a party with my lovely bride the other night, a gathering of good friends and some who would become good friends as the night went on. It turned out that a gentleman I met at the party was a history major (as well as an attorney) and was the newly hired director of nearby museum. He and I of course had much to talk about. As we talked about Texas, the Southwest, the relationship of the neighboring states, and so on, evidently some item of conversation reminded the hostess of the party of something she remembered that happened to her uncle several decades before "the turn of the century." This incident (actually several incidents) occurred in the late fifties or early sixties.
The hostess's uncle ran a drug store in Mississippi during the "good old days" when Black Americans were still not allowed to have their full measure of freedom and civil rights by a large portion of the White population, even though various constitutional amendments had passed which guaranteed everyone equality under the law. The Civil War was over a hundred years in the past, and many a Black American had fought and died during World War II, while thousands of others survived the war along with "the Greatest Generation" in America. Yes, all Black soldiers gave some, and some of them gave ALL in the cause of stopping the world takeover attempted by Hitler, Hirohito, and Mussolini. But when the war was over, the Black soldiers returned to an America that quickly forgot their bravery and sacrifice. It was clear that they were not a part of this Greatest Generation.
My friend's uncle, unlike many of the White residents of Mississippi at the time, decided to do what was right and what his conscience dictated. He opened his store to local Black citizens. They did not have to use the "back" entrance, could sit at the counter, and could depend on being served courteously and treated fairly. Well, this was still the "good old days." Word soon got around that a certain drug store was open to Black Americans in a small town in Mississippi where most of the other business establishments still openly discriminated against Black people. The Black people were happy; many of the White people were not. And the local "chapter" of a certain organization was most unhappy.
Within a day or two of opening his store to Black residents, the White owner became the victim of a campaign of terror orchestrated by the still active and powerful Ku Klux Klan. At first persons unknown hurled rocks or bottles through the front windows at night. Soon these acts of vandalism began happening in broad daylight. Shortly afterwards this honest and conscientious man began receiving death threats over the telephone and "Molotov cocktails" in his front yard. After he received several calls threatening the lives of his family, my friend's uncle called his sister in Oklahoma, who made a quick trip to Mississippi to pick up her sister-in-law and the children. The store owner continued to serve Black customers in spite of all the mayhem. I am not sure how long it went on, but he and the store survived the threats and vandalism. At some point his family was able to return. And also at some point, Black Americans were able to shop or secure services at businesses in that little Mississippi town without discrimination (open discrimination, at least).
This was a most interesting account to me. I realized that while times were great, or at least good, for most Americans back in the "good old days," and many people might want to return to those good, simpler times, not everyone would want to return to the "good old days" as they were in the America of the 1950's or 1960's. For some, the "good old days" were a quieter, simpler time. For others the "good old days" were times of meager living and jobs that paid very little for a hard day's work. But for others, the "good old days" were days of struggle, uncertainty, and yes, days of grave danger.
I realize that when most people say "How I wish for the good old days," they are speaking of good times, of friends or loved ones who have gone from this world, of the small towns or familiar neighborhoods that have given way to the lifestyle of the 21st Century. Very few people want to return to the prejudice and discrimination that was a part of a by-gone era. But when we wish for the "good old days" or reminisce on our pleasant memories, it is good to remember that the good old days were not the same for everyone. I think it is also good to recall the heroes, especially the ordinary people like this store owner, probably not a hero in his own eyes, who helped in some small way to put "real" good into the "good old days."
May God bless the South - AND the North
May God bless Texas
And of course
God Bless America
Case in point. I attended a party with my lovely bride the other night, a gathering of good friends and some who would become good friends as the night went on. It turned out that a gentleman I met at the party was a history major (as well as an attorney) and was the newly hired director of nearby museum. He and I of course had much to talk about. As we talked about Texas, the Southwest, the relationship of the neighboring states, and so on, evidently some item of conversation reminded the hostess of the party of something she remembered that happened to her uncle several decades before "the turn of the century." This incident (actually several incidents) occurred in the late fifties or early sixties.
The hostess's uncle ran a drug store in Mississippi during the "good old days" when Black Americans were still not allowed to have their full measure of freedom and civil rights by a large portion of the White population, even though various constitutional amendments had passed which guaranteed everyone equality under the law. The Civil War was over a hundred years in the past, and many a Black American had fought and died during World War II, while thousands of others survived the war along with "the Greatest Generation" in America. Yes, all Black soldiers gave some, and some of them gave ALL in the cause of stopping the world takeover attempted by Hitler, Hirohito, and Mussolini. But when the war was over, the Black soldiers returned to an America that quickly forgot their bravery and sacrifice. It was clear that they were not a part of this Greatest Generation.
My friend's uncle, unlike many of the White residents of Mississippi at the time, decided to do what was right and what his conscience dictated. He opened his store to local Black citizens. They did not have to use the "back" entrance, could sit at the counter, and could depend on being served courteously and treated fairly. Well, this was still the "good old days." Word soon got around that a certain drug store was open to Black Americans in a small town in Mississippi where most of the other business establishments still openly discriminated against Black people. The Black people were happy; many of the White people were not. And the local "chapter" of a certain organization was most unhappy.
Within a day or two of opening his store to Black residents, the White owner became the victim of a campaign of terror orchestrated by the still active and powerful Ku Klux Klan. At first persons unknown hurled rocks or bottles through the front windows at night. Soon these acts of vandalism began happening in broad daylight. Shortly afterwards this honest and conscientious man began receiving death threats over the telephone and "Molotov cocktails" in his front yard. After he received several calls threatening the lives of his family, my friend's uncle called his sister in Oklahoma, who made a quick trip to Mississippi to pick up her sister-in-law and the children. The store owner continued to serve Black customers in spite of all the mayhem. I am not sure how long it went on, but he and the store survived the threats and vandalism. At some point his family was able to return. And also at some point, Black Americans were able to shop or secure services at businesses in that little Mississippi town without discrimination (open discrimination, at least).
This was a most interesting account to me. I realized that while times were great, or at least good, for most Americans back in the "good old days," and many people might want to return to those good, simpler times, not everyone would want to return to the "good old days" as they were in the America of the 1950's or 1960's. For some, the "good old days" were a quieter, simpler time. For others the "good old days" were times of meager living and jobs that paid very little for a hard day's work. But for others, the "good old days" were days of struggle, uncertainty, and yes, days of grave danger.
I realize that when most people say "How I wish for the good old days," they are speaking of good times, of friends or loved ones who have gone from this world, of the small towns or familiar neighborhoods that have given way to the lifestyle of the 21st Century. Very few people want to return to the prejudice and discrimination that was a part of a by-gone era. But when we wish for the "good old days" or reminisce on our pleasant memories, it is good to remember that the good old days were not the same for everyone. I think it is also good to recall the heroes, especially the ordinary people like this store owner, probably not a hero in his own eyes, who helped in some small way to put "real" good into the "good old days."
May God bless the South - AND the North
May God bless Texas
And of course
God Bless America
No comments:
Post a Comment