When I was in Boston in the 90s I was a member of Charles Stith's Methodist Church -- predominately Black. I could not even induce Jim Crawford, the minister at Old South Church, a Union Seminary classmate, to get his congregation to join ours around the reflecting pool after church some Sunday to sing Jacob's Ladder.
That is how bad things were and are.
Beth died too young.
She had become a foreign service officer after mothering some wonderful kids, marrying, divorcing and then marrying an Ethiopian American who died, leaving her a widow in the 80s.
I saw her then, at a time when I was divorced. She was about to enter the Foreign Service. I was earning a bit writing for a family friend. We might have gotten together again but I think she did not want to deal with the disruption of her life that would have occurred. And I have no idea what would have happened.
When I learned of her death, I tried to find and contact her kids. I finally did find one online and sent an email. There was no reply. I have no idea if it ever got to its destination.
Oddly, there is nothing more important to me than the sense of unity of people. And I do mean unity of Black and white. I do not see my life as a poster life for anything. I have been fortunate to have run across Jim Robinson, John School Merchant and Emmet Turner -- and Beth and Don Benedict and Garry Oniki and Ken Vallis.
Finally everyone I regard as noble and good blends together. My snobby mother may have had a point when she solved the race problem with the flourishing notion that we would eventually all breed ourselves gray.
Life goes on. I will be 72 in May.
I think Barack should appoint Huckabee our Ambassador to the Court of St. James -- or maybe France.
I hope Beth is somewhere watching. She is from Barack's neighborhood and so too is my Jewish atheist wife who is the most saintly person I know.
That is how bad things were and are.
Beth died too young.
She had become a foreign service officer after mothering some wonderful kids, marrying, divorcing and then marrying an Ethiopian American who died, leaving her a widow in the 80s.
When I learned of her death, I tried to find and contact her kids. I finally did find one online and sent an email. There was no reply. I have no idea if it ever got to its destination.
Oddly, there is nothing more important to me than the sense of unity of people. And I do mean unity of Black and white. I do not see my life as a poster life for anything. I have been fortunate to have run across Jim Robinson, John School Merchant and Emmet Turner -- and Beth and Don Benedict and Garry Oniki and Ken Vallis.
Finally everyone I regard as noble and good blends together. My snobby mother may have had a point when she solved the race problem with the flourishing notion that we would eventually all breed ourselves gray.
Life goes on. I will be 72 in May.
I think Barack should appoint Huckabee our Ambassador to the Court of St. James -- or maybe France.
I hope Beth is somewhere watching. She is from Barack's neighborhood and so too is my Jewish atheist wife who is the most saintly person I know.
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