“Virginia”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-17)

Charlottesville, Virginia.

Another point on the map. Another community name which suddenly has new meaning for citizens across America. A tragic and painful meaning.

Much has already been written about James Alex Fields Jr. and his horrific car-strike into a crowd protesting against white nationalists who had gathered at a local rally. A rally in which he was a participant. Many thoughts have been offered about how to deal with the persistent stain of such groups, and what sort of leadership we expect from our elected officials when considering their hatred.

But for this writer, the story evoked a personal reflection. One from my own past, in central Virginia, around 1970.

In that distant time, I was a child, barely nine years old. Our neighbors were a mother and her adult daughter, both widowed and living quietly on our middle-class street. A dark Mercury Marquis sat in their driveway. Curiously, I noted that the car rarely seemed to move. My first job was to mow their lawn every week, at the compensation of four dollars per visit. I loved them both.

For someone born in Ohio, however, living in the Old Dominion presented cultural differences from what I considered familiar. The accent was much more southern than I had heard before. My family members and I were labeled ‘Yankees,’ a term I associated with Major League Baseball, not regional heritage. Another neighbor even displayed the ‘Stars & Bars’ on their flagpole, not ‘Old Glory.’ (What most call, in generic terms, the ‘Confederate Flag.’) Still, the people were genteel and friendly. And I loved the climate. The religious nature of my own brood fit well with the prevailing outlook of the city.

Mrs. N (the adult daughter) and Mrs. M (the white-haired mother) were ideal residents. Kind and unobtrusive. We sometimes visited because they had a color television, something my family would not afford until the 1980’s. Our conversations were polite to a fault. They carefully avoided subjects like the Vietnam conflict, drugs, promiscuity or hippie rebellion. Especially when I, a young kid, was in the room.

But on one occasion, this dependable standard of decorum was shattered when a TV news report spoke about interracial marriage. In highbrow terms, miscegenation. Mrs. M shook her snowy locks with disgust at the thought of such biological mixing. “I can’t stand such a thing!” she observed. “No sir! Not in my neighborhood.”

Being a precocious kid with a tendency to overstep the norms of conduct for someone my age, I blurted out that a woman in the Christian Bible was given leprosy because she murmured against a union of this kind. Silence and shock filled the air as I repeated a scripture I had heard in church:

Numbers, Chapter 12: (1-10) “And Miriam and Aaron spake against Moses because of the Ethiopian woman whom he had married; for he had married an Ethiopian woman. 2 And they said, Hath the Lord indeed only spoken by Moses? Hath he not spoken also by us? And the Lord heard it. 3 Now the man Moses was very meek, above all the men which were upon the face of the earth. 4 And the Lord spake suddenly unto Moses, and unto Aaron, and unto Miriam, Come out ye three unto the tabernacle of the congregation. And they three came out. 5 And the Lord came down in the pillar of the cloud, and stood in the door of the tabernacle, and called Aaron and Miriam: and they both came forth. 6 And he said, Hear now my words: If there be a prophet among you, I the Lord will make myself known unto him in a vision, and will speak to him in a dream. 7 My servant Moses is not so, who is faithful in all mine house. 8 With him I will speak mouth to mouth, even apparently, and not in dark speeches; and the similitude of the Lord shall he behold: wherefore then were ye not afraid to speak against my servant Moses? 9 And the anger of the Lord was kindled against them; and he departed. 10 And the cloud departed from off the tabernacle; and, behold, Miriam became leprous, white as snow: and Aaron looked upon Miriam, and, behold, she was leprous.”

Leprosy was the punishment given by God for the sin of racism, I declared.

Mrs. M. stood up suddenly. She was shaken by my comments. Without another word, she left the room. Her daughter followed, shouting apologies. “Mama, he doesn’t understand! He just doesn’t understand!” I was left alone on their couch. The television continued to play to itself. I felt awkward and guilty. And very confused. Finally, I left their living room and returned to my own home, next door.

Only later did I confess this happening to my parents. They explained that while I may have surprised our senior neighbor with my childhood sophistication and command of scripture, I was correct. There was no excuse for prejudice.

This memory has lingered ever since. Like a surreal tale of yonder days that modern folk would find difficult to believe. An oddity of past bias. A shadow long forgotten with the sunrise of a brighter day. Something I thought would have disappeared like the dinosaurs.

Until now. Until Charlottesville.

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