I stood at our living room window, peering out at the empty street, hoping for a break in the rain. A sudden storm had roared into southeast Texas from the Gulf, hurling huge peppering flurries of swirling raindrops in every direction.
My friends and I, when the first few sprinkles started to fall, had tried to continue our daily after school ritual of attempting to demolish each other’s spinning tops in a game we called “googie.” But the ensuing downpour, accompanied by booming thunder and crackling lightening, sent us all scrambling for the safety of our homes.
The storm didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon so I turned on the television and plopped into my father’s big chair.
Life just didn’t seem fair. It was the middle of September 1958, and trying to get used to being cooped up all day in a third grade classroom after a carefree summer was bad enough without Mother Nature washing away a chance to enjoy some free time.
The sound of the phone ringing in the hallway ended my pity party.
My mother, busy preparing supper, told me to take the call.
I dashed to the phone and picked up the receiver.
The girl on the other end said, "Hi, my name is Gail, what’s your name?”
I told her my name and we ended up talking for several minutes.
By the end of our conversation, I had a new friend. She was nine years old, and seemed okay, for a girl.
Following our chance meeting, Gail called me after school at about the same time over the next few days.
My neighborhood crew found it hard to believe that I would rather talk to a girl than play googie or shoot marbles.
Gail and I talked about a lot of kid stuff: favorite TV shows, games, foods, teachers, friends, what we wanted to be when we grew up. And even though she had never heard of my school, and I didn’t have a clue about hers, we found that we liked and disliked a lot of the same things.
Our friendship blossomed as we provided each other with daily accounts of our ups and downs.
And then Gail made a fateful request. She said that if I really liked her, we should take turns calling each other, instead of her having to always call me.
I agreed.
The next day, as soon as I got home from school, I dialed Gail's number.
An adult female answered.
“May I speak to Gail, please?”
“Hold on,” said the woman. After a brief pause, she spoke again. “Who is this?”
I told her my name.
“How old are you?”
“Eight,” I said.
“And what school do you go to?”
I will never forget the anger in the woman’s voice when I told her the name of the all black elementary school I attended.
“You’re a nigger?” she screamed.
My whole body started to tremble. “ Uh... no, ma’am,” I stammered. “I’m colored.”
“You black son-of-a-bitch! How did you get this number?” The woman’s anger boiled into full-blown rage!
“Gail told me to call her. I… I…” The words just wouldn’t come.
“Gail! Get yourself in here right now!” Her voice was clearly audible even though I held the receiver several inches from my head. “Did you give this little nigger our phone number?”
I wanted to hang up, but couldn’t. Gail’s voice in the background made me press the receiver to my ear.
“I didn’t know he was a nigger, mom! I swear! I called his number by accident one day, and we just started talking.” Gail started to sob uncontrollably. “I swear, mom, I swear I didn’t know!”
“You stupid girl,” the woman growled. “Go get my strap! I’m gonna teach you a lesson about talking to niggers!”
My heart thumped and bumped violently in my chest! A fine mist of cold sweat dampened my forehead. But I couldn’t hang up.
The woman again focused her rage on me. “You stinking nigger bastard!” she hissed. “Don’t you ever call this number again! Do you understand me? If you do, I will have your black ass put in jail, or shot, or hung from a tree! You got that?”
Before I could answer, the line went dead. I replaced the receiver and stood near the phone, frozen.
“Are you finished? I need to call your sister.” My mother’s voice startled me. “What’s the matter with you?” She seemed to always know when something wasn’t right.
I didn’t know where to begin.
Mom placed her palm over my forehead. “Are you feeling sick?”
Somehow I managed to recount my harrowing experience with the woman on the phone.
My mother, a mild mannered, good natured woman until someone or something threatened her family, became visibly angry as I told her what had just happened. She was aware of my daily talks with Gail, but assumed the girl was black.
“Did you know she was white?”
“We never talked about color. I thought she talked kind of funny, but she said the same thing about me.”
Mom started to pace. “How could a grown woman talk to a child like that? Did you tell her Gail’s been calling you?”
“Gail told her. But she said she didn’t know I was a nigger.”
Mom snatched the receiver from its cradle. “Nobody’s gonna talk to my child like that and get away with it. What is Gail’s number?”
“Please, mom, please don’t. You’ll only make things worse. The lady is crazy. I promise I won’t talk to Gail again, ever.”
After a few deep breaths, my mother regained her composure. “Maybe you’re right. God knows we don’t need any trouble with these stupid peckerwoods. But let this be a lesson to you. Unless you want to end up like Emmett Till, don’t get involved with white girls! Don’t talk to them! Don’t even look at them! You hear me?”
I promised.
That night, after hearing the details about my brief friendship with Gail, my father repeated my mother’s warning about white girls. They're nothing but trouble, he said.
Again, I vowed to stay clear of white females.
For the next few weeks, fearing repercussions over my fling with Gail, my dad drove me to school and picked me up. And he told me to keep my mouth shut about the whole incident.
The telephone encounter with Gail’s mother brought an abrupt end to my relationship with a curious, adventurous girl. We never spoke to each other again.
And, while I’ve often wondered what happened to her, I'm pretty sure I will never find out.
© 2014 Paul Howard Nicholas
Wow Nick, that was an experience. You know when things like this happen as kids, it can really have an influence on us as adults, luckily for you it didn't. That could have instilled hate in you to the point where you could have been taking things out on people that had no such intentions, as far as being racist. I'm glad it didn't happen that way, you were always strong, possessing the ability to hurdle obstacles and that was one. Keep the strength, which you have and God bless.
Posted by: Ulysses | November 04, 2010 at 08:20 PM
Great story. Now I know how you got all the girls at Franklin. While I was playing googie and shooting marbles, you were on the phone. LOL
Posted by: Earl Nero | November 04, 2010 at 08:25 PM
No Just franklin but at Lincoln as well.(LOL)While Reading Child's Play- An Eight Year Old's Introduction to Racism,I found myself captivated by every word. It is amazing how far we have come but what is even more amazing is how much farther we have to go. Case and point-the most recent mid-term elections. Again Paul, Great story. I Look forward to sharing it with others.
Posted by: Terry Parker | November 05, 2010 at 03:59 AM
This is truly sad. Here’s two young individual just holding a conversation, and the color of their skin was not the topic or it didn’t make a bit of different to them. They were just enjoying each other being and her comes a so call adult stepped in (the devil) and destroy every thing they had with words. GOD is good if you trust and believe in him we can defeat this type of behavior. I have a story about Racism that happen to my son in 2008 with his school but the other sad part about my story that sadden me to my heart the most too where I can’t forget it, and seem to find it hard to let go is that is that the BLACK families that witness the incident didn’t want to be a part of it, and all I asked them to do was to tell the truth. Thanks for sharing
Posted by: Mary Drayton | November 05, 2010 at 10:00 AM
I can just see you sitting in the big recliner in the hallway holding the phone with your jaw dropped!
Such a sad thought that things are not far enough away from that today --- 2010!!!
Posted by: Rhonda Lyn | November 05, 2010 at 01:43 PM
Thanks Paul, for being that "Voice in the wilderness" that the whole world needs.
You're doing a great job. God Speed, William Deadmon, III (Bill)
Posted by: William Deadmon III | November 05, 2010 at 03:24 PM
Yeah, youre right, Ro. But I do believe that one day well get there.
Posted by: paul nicholas | November 05, 2010 at 03:55 PM
I would not automatically conclude that Nicholas is not still affected by this very vivid memory;
especially from that extremely impressionable age. It would be a case of not IF, but to what extent.
Because, I think, we have all had similar experiences in Port Arthur, USA.
Those memories may have faded from your conscious mind, but they are definitely still there, beneath the surface. No matter if we have not consciously reflected on them. They are a part of us.
Nick, it takes courage to share an experience like this. That in itself can serve as a crucial part of the healing process. There are some excellent technologies now available to help eradicate, or at least greatly reduce the effects of this type of negatively charged experience.
There is a reason why Archbishop Desmond Tutu insisted on Reconciliation Hearings when Apartheid ended in South Africa.
Unfortunately, the USA never did this, when Apartheid ended in America.
I'd like to get your take on this, as well as your primary intent in sharing this story. If not publicly, then privately.
It's a excellent article. Thank you.
Posted by: Skip Thompson | November 06, 2010 at 09:29 AM
Great story Cuz, as always you stirred alot of emotion with your style of writing.......Much Love.
Still today I often wonder will a change ever (really) come.
Posted by: Stephanie Nicholas-Allen | November 06, 2010 at 12:21 PM
Skip, thanks for the feedback.
I believe white people agreed to participate in reconciliation hearings in South Africa for two main reasons: they were hugely outnumbered, and black people had taken over the government.
Faced with a choice of fight, flight, or learn to get along, most of them recognized that it would be in their interest to make peace with their former hostages.
The situation in America couldn't be more different. White people are the majority, and they control virtually everything in this country, with the exception, I trust, of our courageous President Barack Obama.
Another reason reconcilation hearings would never get off the ground here is because they would force white people to acknowledge a legacy of crimes against humainty.
My motive for publishing "Childs Play" was to remind everybody, during these times of escalating racial tensions, of just how crazy things can get when we allow blind hatred to overpower common sense.
As for the lasting effects of the incident, I will leave you with an excerpt from my book, "Extinguishing the Flames of Hell:"
"I have made peace with the realities of race relations on Earth. Whereas I once defined the oppression of one race by another as organized evil, I have come to realize that the exploitation of human and natural resources by dominant cultures is as much a part of mankind's legacy as is his powerful survival instinct. Throughout history every group that has clawed its way to the top has fought to stay there, more often than not, by any means necessary."
Posted by: paul nicholas | November 06, 2010 at 12:56 PM
Hey Steph,
I share your prayers for a brighter day.
Love you too, cuz.
Posted by: Paul Howard Nicholas | November 06, 2010 at 01:02 PM
As children in Port Arthur in the 50s and 60s most of us were protected from overt racism by segregation and the efforts of our parents to develop an entire world for us on our side of town. I was not confronted with racism directly until oollege at the University of Houston. Now I live in Chicago and the most hurtful racial experiences in my life have been those of my two daughters who were among the first black children to attend the schools in our upscale neighborhood. Your story opened the wombs in my own pscye of feeling their pain and trying to help them to overcome the obstacles and not let the opinions of others define them. Perhaps this is a lifelong challenge for us all.
Thanks you for sharing.
Posted by: Evelyn Lockett Woods | January 03, 2011 at 10:01 AM
Thank you, Evelyn, for your feedback. Hope you and your family are off to a great new year.
Posted by: Paul Howard Nicholas | January 05, 2011 at 10:25 AM
Hey Paul, this is my first time reading your article and I was overwhelmed for a minute as my mind raced back to 6th Street and realizing I was just across the street while all of this was happening. It is difficult to believe that Ms. Rosie and Mr. Jack, this so mild mannered pair, had to deal with this outrageous act. Our gang (Ulysses, Popee, and Baby Ralph) would never had guessed your family had to suffer the reality of out times. I guess I am most impacted by the reality that we have not as a nation come very far from this place.
I want my children to read this article. WOW!!!!!
Posted by: Patricia Clifton Keys | August 06, 2013 at 04:38 AM
Pat, thank you so much for your feedback. You're right, it was a sad situation then and, unfortunately, it still is. But like the old folks used to say: "If somethin' don't kill you, it will make you stronger."
Two of my other pieces about racially charged encounters in Port Arthur are: "De Segregation Blues," and "Happy Birthday, Miss Teenie Bird!" (dedicated to my sister). Both are published here on Natural Light Network and on the Yahoo! Voices website.
I will say, though, through it all, whether it was winter, spring, summer, or fall, our 6th Street crew had a pretty good time growing up in the little pocket of Port Arthur we called home.
It's good to hear from you, sis. Keep in touch.
Posted by: Paul Howard Nicholas | August 06, 2013 at 10:09 AM
This is my second time reading this and my reaction was just as fierce after reading the story the second time! How could one mother be so cruel and ignorant to two innocent children. Evelyn is right...our parents loved us and tried to keep us happy and protected on our own side of the world, and they did a great job....inevitably, your world gets rocked by something like this and life is never the same. Thank God those same fierce protectors of our innocence also knew when it was time to arm us with the knowledge we needed to survive and persevere.....keep on doing what you do!
Posted by: Valesca F. Adams | April 27, 2014 at 09:23 PM
We fight not against flesh and blood but powers and principalities. Evil has no color, it just kills steals and destroys. Satan hates all of us because we are created in the image of God. If Satan can get us to focus on color we are defeated already but if we can recognize the source of evil we can began to love one another and pray and do spiritual warfare and defeat the one that causes all this misery. God's blessing and love to all our broken hearts. Remember God word says, we are more than conquerors through Jesus Christ.
Posted by: Brad Lewis | November 04, 2016 at 06:07 AM