Changes

 I was fortunate to be raised without any prejudice, by both my parents. It's not that they were enlightened and set out to raise all seven of us that way, they just didn't seem to have it in for any race, color or creed. This was a good start in life. I had to learn- and unlearn- racism on the street. 

When I lived in Memphis, I found myself gravitating towards my white coworkers and neighbors. Even with them I had a strike against me being Yankee. You know how it is with those people... still upset with losing the war, as they had grown up hearing about that from their own parents, who had heard it from their parents, and so on. Really, even most of the older fellas I worked around weren't all that hardcore about it. As the country grows, people become more homogenized by watching the same TV shows, movies, and listening to age-appropriate music. It wasn't hard to fit in with the guys. 

With black guys though, I'd have to say our similarities were different. A big advantage there was my Yankeeness. Because I was from up north, the assumption was that I was considerably less prejudiced against them than the locals. This was pretty true. I had grown up with blacks in my schools. Just not so many! But I had lived in New Orleans, and I was used to being the minority, at least out on the streets. And on those streets, there was crime. You have to expect that in a city that was majority black, the criminal majority would also be black. OK. So, you just be wary, mostly of people that don't look like you. A little bit of prejudice can save your life. That's true for everyone.

I didn't want to spend a lot of time being prejudiced, because obviously, that just fvcks you up. Waste of time. Eats away at your soul and all that. This is true. But as I found myself being more prejudiced against blacks than I wanted to be, a black man came to help me get straight: Wayne Fishman. He saved my soul. 

Wayne didn't do this on purpose. In fact, I'm quite certain he was more interested in owning my soul rather than saving it. He was difficult from the first day I met him, trying to recruit me into helping him attain his dream of suing Ratmo Construction for racial discrimination. His goal was $1 million dollars. 

Had I ever noticed that there was not a single black person in a supervisory capacity in the company? Well, yes, I had. But I had also noticed that the company was like 90% white and all the bosses were either related to the owner, or to someone else in the company in some fashion, like family or a hunting buddy. Most companies go that way. It's not a crime. Wayne didn't come right out and ask for my help, like Sollozzo did in The Godfather, but my refusal made us enemies in his mind, just like with Virgil Sollozzo. Some people you can turn down nicely or not and the result is the same. 

Wayne was a real cancer on the crew, always agitating, trying to get guys to fight and such. Fighting was cause for dismissal at every company I worked for, so cooler heads and thicker skin were necessary. I don't recall seeing a single punch thrown in some 15 years. That was a miracle considering the miscreants I worked with at Ratmo, and other worse companies. But the efforts with Wayne were many. He worked as if he were on Survivor Island, always plotting and scheming towards his million-dollar goal. Had I gone with my black girlfriend, Tina, to the company Christmas party that year, there would have been fisticuffs. I know this because there was a fight between Wayne and a young finisher, when Wayne was caught feeling up the guy's girlfriend. Mighta been his wife. Nice kid. He thought Wayne was his friend. He was wrong about that. Hearing about that incident, I knew I was the intended target but had cheated the hangman as the party was on my weekend with my son. Priorities.

Interestingly, neither Wayne nor the young white kid were fired. The company was wise to Wayne's plot by then. They wanted him gone, but not at a price. 

There was an exact moment when I had my epiphany about my racial directions, but I can't recall exactly when it was and what prompted it. I just knew who. One day I paused to think: Did I hate Wayne because he was an n-word or because he was an asshole? Both? Maybe? There were white guys on the crews that were as big of jerks as Wayne. I didn't hate them for being white, so why single out Wayne's skin color but not Brian's or either of the Danny's? Or the Sherman's? Or a few other jerks whose names I have forgotten. Lots of assholes in the company! Most of them were white. Why hate Wayne for the color of his skin, when it was the content of his character, I found so repugnant? 

Dr. King was right. I had always suspected that he was.

You can't change other people in life. Sometimes the best you can do is to not let them change you.