Lunch Is Ready!

Last night amidst all of the messiness of American politics regarding family separation, a thunderstorm took one of the six tarps completely off the roof, caused my living room walls to "cry," and the vaulted ceiling to drip. I headed to bed frustrated and uneasy.  Honestly, I felt like a character in a B-horror movie that just WOULD NOT END!  I turned out the light and realized I'd not read my Forward Day by Day for the solstice.  I turned the light back on to find this gem of a reading and reflection waiting patiently for me.  It was just what I needed.

RMD and I cooked lunch for the roofing crew the past two days, and last night we prepped lunch for today - a double batch of chicken sausage gumbo.  Feeding six to eight people isn't much of a chore for us.  We have fed groups of 50 people or more - usually as a buffet and much more impersonally.

In fact, the last time we had a big gathering (ok, a party of nearly 50) at our home, it included people from all facets of our lives - my work, his work, Episcopal church folk, horse world, geography peeps, and long-time friends who are more like family.  RMD asked if we could scale down the "party list" the next time and just invite one group.  We haven't done a really, big party since then.

I really can't imagine serving a sit-down meal for 12 very different minded people.  I often find it hard to be a traditional Southern hostess.  I much prefer folks to get what they want or need themselves and to stay in the kitchen managing the "mess" than being the social creature that a Southern hostess should be.  Don't get me wrong, I love having folks over.  REALLY!  I just feel that I often neglect whole groups of folks if the party is much larger than eight. God Bless, Jesus and the hospitality of who ever prepared and served the meal that night.

I hope RMD and I can continue to serve meals to all of our friends from whatever facet of our life they come to meet us.  And, I hope we continue to welcome strangers with grace and hospitality.

I must go make the baked rice for today's lunch now.

Peace be with you all.  Happy summer.

The Phone Call

For Juneteenth 2018

Where I’m From

I grew up in San Antonio, Texas, a city that grew from 654,153 people in 1970 to 785,880 in 1980

and 935,933 in 1990 when I left to go to college.  The metropolitan statistical area for San Antonio is 

now home to nearly 2 million people.

I never attended a segregated school, but I as a young child knew that the part of town where 

someone lived said a lot about their family. The closer into town a family lived the less money they 

had (unless you lived in Oh-Nine, a bedroom community of “old money).  With my childhood eyes: 

The billboards in Spanish on the West Side usually meant folks spoke two languages at home, code-

switching with the best of them. African Americans lived on the East Side, near historically Black  

St. Philip’s College and Alamo Iron Works (now the Alamodome).  

The further out a family moved from downtown meant larger homes and yards - regardless of race. 

Families had more money the further they lived from town - money to cover bills, lessons, and 

vacations.  Families often moved “out” of town, but very seldom did they move “across” town. When 

I was a child, San Antonio counted five military bases as major employers for the metropolitan area. 

And as always, the closer to a military base you lived, the more mixed the population seemed to be 

to my eyes - with children who were born or started school in exotic places like Rammstein, 

Okinawa, or Lakenheath.  

As an adult and a geographer, I know the cultural distribution of a city may be due to redlining, de 

facto segregation and chain migration; not simply convenience as I thought at age six.  

The Phone Call

Which brings me to where I am today - a married, Episcopal, heterosexual, Democrat, White 

woman between 45-55 years of age, living in the county outside a Southeastern Conference (SEC) 

college town of about 24,000 (without the students) in the Mid-South.  A town with a history of racial 

violence from the Civil War through Jim Crow to the Civil Rights Movement and on into the 21st 

Century. The Ku Klux Klan visited campus in official regalia at least once since I started work here 

nearly 11 years ago, and Westboro Baptist Church protested here, too.  

Friday afternoon, while running errands in town, RMD’s (my husband) boss called him in to work the 

3-6pm shift as a pick-up driver for a rental company.  With neither his company shirt nor ball cap in 

the car, I dropped him off. Off he went to pick up clients, move cars, and be the hospitable, funny 

guy that I know RMD to be.

RMD and the other pick-up drivers joke, “No young person can do this job since you have to have 

nothing to do except wait for a phone call from the ‘Boss’.”  All of the drivers are men and over 60 

years of age. About two-thirds of the drivers are African American, and from my outside view, they 

would all call themselves “friends.”  I accompany RMD to company parties, gospel choir concerts, 

and hospital visits to see his colleagues.

I went about my Friday afternoon piddling, paying bills, and waiting for 6pm to pick my husband up. I 

watched a movie and ran a bit late leaving the house. He called while I was en route, and I 

expected to be chastised for running late and leaving him waiting after the office closed.  Instead, 

RMD sounded a bit off. 

When I asked how he was, he replied flatly, “I was arrested.”

At the risk of offending some, my response was less than collected and professional - “WTF?!”

“Well, detained.  Not quite arrested.”

[Keep in mind, I’m driving and talking on the phone - via the Bluetooth connection to the car stereo - 

but driving nonetheless.] My mind and heart raced.

RMD proceeded to tell me that three cars pulled “CJM*” and him over. “But, it’s all good.”

“Who was driving?”

“I was.”

“Why were you pulled over?”  [Note: Company drivers can’t have any moving violations or they are 

let go.  Makes sense. If your job is to drive, you’d best do it well.]

“It was all a misunderstanding.  I will explain later.”

He started to giggle a bit, but visions of my 68 year-old, 6’4”, 256 lb, White male husband and his 

60+ year old, 5’9”, 200 lb, African American male colleague pulled over - and detained - by three law 

enforcement officers in the Deep South flash through my head.  

RMD and CJM arrived at a local body shop, not far from our home, shortly after 5pm to pick up a 

company car a client left at the shop when their own car was repaired.  They found the car, but 

couldn’t find the keys. One of them went to the front door, the other the back, to look for someone 

who might have the keys.

The front door was unlocked, but the alarm sounded when CJM opened the door.  RMD knocked 

[probably banged] on the back door and hollered to see if anyone was there. No one replied. No 

keys, either.  So, with another client waiting for the car in question at the office, RMD and CJM 

headed out to get a different vehicle for the client at the local airport - in a new model, black Ford 

F150.

Shortly after RMD pulled out of the body shop, three county sheriff’s deputies in three cars flashed 

lights and sirens.  RMD didn’t pull over immediately, because he didn’t want to stop on a bridge. 

Instead, he motioned to the lead car that he would pull over in an exit/on ramp pullout.  RMD pulled 

over, stopped the car, rolled down the window, and placed both hands out the window.

Keep your hands visible.

Don’t make any sudden moves.

Only speak when they speak to you (Thomas 2017, 24).  

RMD knew exactly why he was being pulled over and SAYS he wasn’t nervous at all.

To hear RMD tell the story is quite different than for me share it in a blog post.  CJM didn’t say a 

word. The deputies were anxious. RMD, CJM, and the black F150 were on security tape.  The 

deputies knew exactly who they were looking for and why - “breaking and entering a business.” 

RMD joked to me later, “CJM and I looked like a couple of meth dealers.  Old dudes. New truck.”

The deputies called the rental company.  The body shop owner arrived and found the keys in 

question.  And, after almost an hour, RMD and CJM delivered the car to the waiting client at the 

office.

What Could Have Been

The fact that I am writing this post the following Tuesday and not from the county detention center or 

the regional hospital on Friday evening is evidence that the story didn’t end like so many on the 

news [See “15 High-Profile Cases Involving Deaths of Blacks” updated December 7, 2017] or 

books/film [i.e. The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas].  

What’s easy for me to see from my privileged spot at home is that it could have gone so very wrong. 

We joke that RMD is my personal “Brute Squad” - a reference to Fezzik (played expertly by Andre 

the Giant) in The Princess Bride.  He stood in the back of the room at my dissertation defense to 

keep time looking more like a Mafioso than the then friend of a soon-to-be academic.  RMD has 

been 6’4” since he was 16, or there about. He intimidated me when we first met.

RMD has a myriad of faults. (We all do, right?)  He gets angry. He holds a grudge. He wears the 

same shoes out to the barn and back into the house.  But, there are two things he is not. My 

husband is neither a bully nor a racist. That’s not to say he won’t put someone in their place if he 

feels they’ve stepped out of line - think ninth grade biology students in an inner-city school or a rude 

cashier at a Cincinnati grocery store (He still won’t shop at Kroger… any Kroger.)  

My husband sees color - as I do - for all the richness and vibrance that flavors the community where 

 it blooms.  Does he like hip-hop? Nope; he tolerates me listening to it. Does he love cajun/creole 

cooking and all of the spices? Dayum right!  Will he go out of his way to help a friend? Absolutely.

Both of us know the gravity of the events Friday afternoon.  We watch the news occasionally. We 

subscribe to The New York Times and The Washington Post.  We’ve read The Liberal Redneck 

Manifesto (Crowder, Forrester, and Morgan 2017), Dispatches from Pluto (Grant 2015), and Just 

Mercy (Stevenson 2015).  If you are White and haven't read these three books and The Hate U Give 

(Thomas 2017), you really must! It will help you understand how and why we as White people (yes, 

the collective "we") hold privileged status in American society regardless of our income.

Living the events of Friday, and knowing how different they could have been, cements what RMD 

and I already knew.  Regardless of having bills to pay or wants that must wait until needs are met, 

we possess a level of privilege in society simply due to the lighter pigment of our skin.  Our grandson 

will never be followed and asked why he doesn’t stay with the group on a college tour.

I will never know exactly what happened last Friday afternoon, but I trust my husband’s retelling of 

the events.  I’m grateful RMD was driving and CJM was the passenger for both of their sakes. How 

might the story have played out? RMD and I both wondered this.  We spoke about it frequently all 

weekend. How differently things could have been if… CJM was driving, or the cops were trigger 

happy, or….

*CJM is a pseudonym.

References

Crowder, T, Forrester, C, and Morgan, D . (2017). Liberal redneck manifesto: Draggin' dixie outta the 

dark. Atria Books.

Grant, R. (2015). Dispatches from Pluto: Lost and found in the Mississippi Delta. Simon & Schuster 

Paperbacks.

The Hate U Give, by Angie Thomas, 2017 National Book Award Longlist, Young People's Literature. 

(n.d.). Retrieved from http://www.nationalbook.org/nba2017-ypl-thomas-the-hate-

u-give.html#.WylRb6knbR0

Lee, J. C., & Park, H. (2017, May 18). In 15 High-Profile Cases Involving Deaths of Blacks, One 

Officer Faces Prison Time. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/05/17/us/black-deaths-police.html

Oxford, Mississippi Population 2018. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://worldpopulationreview.com/us-

cities/oxford-ms-population/

Population history of San Antonio from 1880 - 1990. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://physics.bu.edu

/~redner/projects/population/cities/sanantonio.html

The Princess bride. (1987). Twentieth Century Fox Film.

San Antonio, Texas Population 2018. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://worldpopulationreview.com/us-

cities/san-antonio-population/

Stevenson, B. (n.d.). JUST MERCY. Spiegel & Grau, 2015.

Thomas, A. (2017). The hate u give. Walker books.