Guest Blog by Al Thompson
Many of us today are in various degrees of awareness of racism. While suggesting people become “woke” by doing this or that, following some kind of regimen, I feel that many of us older white folks might take a moment to examine our personal history. Maybe having people become more aware of their own racial experiences would be an effective first step.

For me, one of those seminal moments came when a friend of mine told me of an experience he had as a child living in Texas with his family. I am in my 70s and felt, until that conversation, that I was sensitized to the effects of racism in its visual and common forms.

I had heard of KKK lynching as a youth and thought it horrid. However, it was but an intellectual exercise for me and my young mind. Mostly due to my immaturity I had not thought about the personal tragedy that those affected would suffer – the loss and pain felt by generations of that family, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, etc.

What you are about to read is my version of what I heard. The names are not as important as the overall message. The facts are true but I have taken some creative license to weave together what I felt when hearing from a person who was there and who lived the experience…

The year is 1962 in south-central Texas.

Our mother was very concerned for our safety. We were quite young – me being 5 and my brother 7. She told us to wait behind the bush when the police car slowed and stopped next to my father who was hoping to get a ride into town. Mother turned to us and said, “Hush yourselves, we don’t want any noises. Quiet, quiet.” I was feeling nervous and scared, the “wanting to run” was right there in my head.

I started to whimper a bit as my brother held my hand and whispered into my ear, “Will we be alright?” Taking a deep breath I whispered, ”Let’s be quiet and do what Mom says.”

We’d run out of gas short of the next town and needed some help. The first car that stopped was a county Sherriff’s car. I could feel my mother tense up. My father was out next to the road and as the Sherriff’s car slowed the window lowered and from inside the car I heard the cop say, “We don’t want your kind around here, so if you’re still here when I drive by later there’s going to be trouble.” He drove off with a crunch of gravel and a chirp from the tires when they hit the pavement.

I was old enough to know what was said and started to shiver, my legs shaking as I tried to stay still. My brother’s hands slowly rose around my chest as we hugged in silence.

The cop car sped away with my father standing there, feeling belittled, abandoned, and angry. He turned around to us three behind the bush and said, “You can come out now. There’s nobody else on the road.” My mother said, “Tyler, what we gonna do?” Dad answered, “I’ll start walking, town’s only a couple of miles down the road.” Mom said, “The green book says there’s nobody there that will sell us any gas!” Dad said, “I’ll figure something out as I walk.”

The next minute another car came around the corner and my father having started down the road put out his hand in the universal hitchhike signal. The car came to a stop next to him and an elderly man got out of the driver’s side and walked around to my father. “What’s the problem, sir?” “Car’s outa gas and I need to walk into town to see what I can do.” The elderly gent said, “Why don‘t you hop in and I’ll give you a lift.”

The week before my Mom had gotten a phone call very late at night. When I heard the phone ring I was in bed wondering what could it be? Then I heard my Mom start to cry, yelling out “OH NOOOO!!!” Our dad wasn’t home yet from work as he worked the 4 to 12 shift. Nervous and a bit shaky, I walked out to the living room in my pajamas and asked, “Is Dad all right? Mom sniffled then answered, “Yes he’s OK and he’ll be home soon, now go back to bed and try to get some sleep.” My brother woke up slowly and turned to me as I climbed back into bed and asked if something was wrong. I shrugged and shook my head. I laid down and pulled the pillow over my head to deaden the sounds of the house. I could feel the floor creak as my mother paced back and forth.

I fell into a light sleep trying to keep one ear open and my eyes closed. Dad came home at the usual time from his work stocking at the hardware store and my mom could be heard sobbing into his shoulder. There was quiet talk back and forth. Mom was starting to calm down.  Something was really wrong, yet Dad was home now and we were all safe so I finally relaxed.

The next morning the folks got us up for school we had breakfast. Before they sent us on our way with our lunch bags and books, my dad came over to us and knelt down next to us and said quietly, “Your uncle Jay died last night, so Mom will need a lot of extra help around the house for a while.” We both looked at each other and gave a big sigh and a big hug.

Mom and Dad spent some time looking at maps before the trip, planning on avoiding the “dangerous” areas for us. They were as careful as possible to stay away from certain towns.
The following weekend we headed east for Missouri. Our little town in Texas was about a half-day drive over back country roads. My dad said we could have used the interstate, but it would have taken us way out of our way.

Back at the roadside Dad had just returned with the old fella and a new gas can and enough gas, probably 5 gallons, to get us to a gas station in the next town where they served everybody. It turns out that that old guy bought us the gas can, gas, and some sandwiches, chips, and soda so we could have a snack before we drove on. Dad had a solemn yet grateful smile. Mom was still in a funk.

We got to the town in Missouri and found a place to stay with family and attended the funeral the next day. It turns out our uncle was lynched by folks in the next town because he had stared too long at an attractive white women and was seen by some locals. I found out that was the night when Mom got the call.

My brother and I both cried when we found out at the funeral. After a few moments Dad said, “Remember there are good white folks out there too… remember who helped us out when we were stuck back in Texas. Don’t forget it. There are all kinds of folks in the south and not all of them are bad people.”