Racism Number 73

     I picked up some ironing today from my former housekeeper B., a black woman who grew up in the south.  She hated ironing but liked me enough to do it for me, and now that she's retired and scraping by, it's a way for us to have a visit and for her to make a little extra cash. 
     I've hear a lot of tales of woe from her.  Just now Social Security cut her off for two months because they overpaid her some, and she's worried about paying the rent.  I'll never forget the story she told about one of her wealthy clients who gave her a ride down to some poor part of town, and parked to drop B. off.   The woman  noticed that she was in a red zone and said she should move, but B. said to her, "It''s okay, they don't give white people tickets."   B. Said I should have seen the look on the woman;'s face--we had a good chuckle over that.
     Lately I've been hearing that two of her great grand children were sleeping over at her house sometimes. I had thought that it was to keep B. from being alone too much, but today the real story came out.  Their mother lives about an hour east towards Sacramento, and she gets up at 3:00 AM to drive them to B.'s place, arriving around 4:30.  They sleep a couple of hours and then go off to school, while the mom drives over to San Francisco to work.   The town where they come from is pretty redneck, and one of the boys was being beat up by the white boys, and the schools were poor.   Now they go to schools in Berkeley and the boy who was being bullied has improved his grades quite a lot.

Public Transportation

     Nothing like getting on public transportation to reaffirm my faith in people.  That's not always easy for someone who grew up a a shy, small, lonely, and not the least bit tough little boy.   For instance, today I had to take BART to San Francisco to see a specialist.   I've been bed all week with bronchitis, and wasn't really sure if I could tolerate standing up for the 25 minute ride in my weakened state.  With that anxiety in mind, the train I got on was fully packed and  I steeled myself for a long, hard trip.   The shy part of me thought, "No one will give me a seat, I'll just have to suffer."   At the first stop, someone got off right in front of me and a woman and I both started to move, and I said, "Do you mind, I'm really feeling sick today," and she said sure, no problem.   At the end of the ride, when we both got off in downtown San Francisco, I thanked her and she in turn said, "I hope you feel better, and I have to sit all day anyway."   Of course: show people some basic respect and courtesy, and they will return it.  It took me from feeling worried and alone to feeling safe and belonging.   Isn't that what community is about?
     About ten years ago I was in Paris in December--really cold--is there a translation for The Hawk?   (when I lived in Chicago, that was what people called the cold wind that blew off of Lake Michigan.)  I decided to go see the Bastille--there is a Metro stop there, so I was sure it was close by. I didn't know it had been demolished in 1789.  So I'm riding along on the Metro, and I slide over to make room for a burly, taciturn man, and across from us across from us was a man with a small bundled child in a backpack carrier.

     When he got ready to get off, preparing to exit,  he balanced the carrier on the back of his seat while he awkwardly pivoted around and tried to get it on his back.  I was watching, thinking I would help if need be.  Suddenly the backpack tottered just a little and started to slip--maybe one millimeter--and instantly the taciturn man and two other men sprang forward to help.  I wish I could have thanked them in their language.