Ladies, Say Hi To A Black Man

We’ll never eliminate racism unless we can eliminate the myth of all black men being drug dealers, rapists, murderers, and spousal abusers. I often say I know of white women who are terrified of black men. They base that on what they hear and see in the media. About 16 years ago, I got to thinking about the plight of the black man. What must it be like to have people worldwide judging you as if you are a carrier of the Bubonic Plague? After giving this much thought, I decided that I would try an experiment and start saying hi to black men whenever I passed them on the street or encountered them anyplace else. Here’s what happened:

As I walked down the sidewalk in Berkeley, CA, one morning I noticed a black man walking toward me. As he passed, I looked him in the eye and gave him a big smile. He did a double-take and said a friendly good morning. I returned the greeting.

From that moment on, I started saying hi, to black men whenever the occasion arose, and I always got a friendly response.

Taking it Further

I have a friend who is admittedly racist. We were best friends for 25 years before I learned this because race wasn’t a topic that happened to come up. When it finally came up, she shared with me that she would never take a city bus because there were scary black teenage boys on there.

One day, in Sacramento, California, I took my car to get some work done on it. I decided to walk home for the exercise. After about three miles, my feet had enough, and I caught a bus the rest of the way. I wasn’t sure where to get off, but a group of those scary black teenage boys helped me find the right stop.

Moving to Louisville, Kentucky

I lived in Louisville, Kentucky, for 12 years, home of the Kentucky Derby and Muhammed Ali and the Breonna Taylor killing by the police. Louisville is a beautiful city with the friendliest people on earth as far as I’m concerned. The black people are even friendlier.

If you pass someone while walking down the street, you will get a good morning ma’am or sir, how are you doing. Here in California, people don’t even look at you when passing, let alone say anything. Three encounters with black men stick in my mind:

One day, as I turned a corner to enter the parking lot of a furniture store, I noticed a car pull into a parking space before I even went through the store’s driveway. A black man got out of the car and walked to the door to open it. He noticed me as I pulled into a car space and waited for me to get out of the car so he could hold the door open for me. Mind you, he was way ahead of me and should have been in the store by now.

Oh, you didn’t have to do that, I said as I got out of my car.

Oh, yes I do, he replied. My mama taught me that I have to open doors for ladies.

I bought a home in Louisville in a white working-class neighborhood. It was white except for an apartment complex on a side street where mostly black people lived.

One day as I drove home, I saw a tall black man with long dreadlocks walking his two rottweilers. The dogs were full-grown and wore linked collars. I thought to myself, oh boy, I bet the white folks around here don’t like that. Seen through the eyes of most white people, it was an intimidating sight. I saw him walking his dogs many times after that.

On one of these days, I was on the ground in my front yard pulling dandelions. I looked up and saw the man and his rottweilers walking down the sidewalk toward my house. When he was in front of my house I smiled and commented that I liked his dogs.

Thank you, he smiled. How are you doing ma'am? Fine, I replied. You have a good day ma’am.

I’m willing to bet I was the only white person, let alone a white woman, in the neighborhood that ever talked to him,

This is, by all means, my favorite story. I sold my house and moved to a high rise in downtown Louisville. I loved it there. I had a beautiful view of the city's night lights. The main library stood caddy-corner to my building. There were restaurants and boutiques along the street, and many of them were black-owned businesses.

The Kentucky Derby kicks off two weeks before the race with a lot of celebrating. There’s an air show over the Ohio River that runs alongside Louisville, dividing Kentucky and Indiana. Next is the hot air balloon gala. The culmination of the celebration is a pyrotechnic show across two of the bridges on the Ohio River.

One afternoon, I stood on the corner across the street from my apartment complex, waiting for the traffic to subside. A car stopped next to the curb where I stood. The windows were rolled down and four young black gentlemen with dreadlocks sat inside. The young man on the front passenger side looked at me and said: Good afternoon ma’am. How are you doing. At first, I didn’t recognize him, but later, I realized he was the boyfriend of the daughter of my hairdresser about half a block away.

I had to tell my friend, the racist, about this incident.

I would have had a heart attack, she gasped.

So, ladies, it’s time to throw away all your fears. Say hi to a black man. He’s not going to rape you, rob you, or murder you, and I’m sure he’ll appreciate a friendly gesture as everyone does.

There are many bad people in the world, but I’m convinced that most people are good, and that goes for black men, too.