I just wrote about Lampasas and being surprised to find racism previlant there. I guess I should have expected to find that kind of thing but I really thought of Texas as a western and not a southern state. But the faulty logic at play there didn't account for the fact that racism is not territorial or regional. I learned as I got older that large towns and small are populated by large minds and small. Still, some of the experiences I had while traveling around the USA were surprising to me. For instance:
We stopped in Medford, Oregon for the night. We stayed in a motel that was right next to a K-Mart which was handy because we had to park about twenty semis. On this trip we didn't have a control vehicle, I was leading the convoy from the cab of an M-915 (that's an Army semi-tractor that pulled a 41 foot stake and platform trailer, an M-872). As the troopies settled in for the night, some of the NCOs and I were standing in front of the motel discussing dinner plans. Right over our heads was a billboard for a Chinese restaurant. I am ALWAYS up for Chinese so I said I was gonna head that way on foot to have dinner. Al, a tall thin black staff-sergeant, and Ricky, a very short Fillipino staff-sergeant, opted to join me. Some of the others chose other options and we split up. The sign pointed the way but we missed the small print stating how far it was. We walked for a while down a two lane with shoulders, about a 45 mph hiway. We were getting curious about how much more walking was involved when we came upon another sign that said it just one mile more to the best Chinese in Oregon. We were committed. We plodded on. Besides, we were 7th Infantry Lightfighters, what as a couple of miles to us? But it was starting to get dark and there was nothing but a sawmill on this hiway. Had all the makings of a good slasher movie.
At about the point where I figured we were less than half a mile from dinner, a jacked-up, mud-spattered, loud-piped, pick up truck roared up from behind, just as we looked over our shoulders to see what was headed our way, the driver slammed on his brakes and came to a smoking, screeching stop just a few feet past us. The driver stuck his head out the window, showed us his most shocked expression and yelled, "Hey! Hell, man! Is that a nigger?"
I responded immediately, "No, man! He's a filipino!" I mentioned before my weakness for smarting off. As soon as I said it, though, I thought to look for a rifle rack in the back window. But my concern was ill-founded because all the occupants of the truck, at least five guys, began laughing uproariously and the driver spun his tires and they lit off into the gathering dark. I still watched the sides of the road as we continued to our dinner.
As if this wasn't enough, when we arrived at the restaurant and stepped inside, all conversation stopped and every head turned our way. I felt like E F Hutton.
Things picked up again as soon as we were seated. I remember Ricky and I teasing Al about he should order Mo-Fo Pork. He was quick, though and got us with his reply..."I don' wan' no Mo-Fo Po'k...I wan' Mo-Fo Chicken, Mo-Fo."
It really was a good restaurant, I don't recall exactly what I ordered, we shared a bunch of food, and it was all really good. Too bad I don't remember the name of the place.
My travels with the 301st out of Fort Ord took me to a number of small places and it never ceased to amaze me how you could quiet a place down quick just by walking in a black man. And silence is the easiest. A lot of times the brave ones in the crowd would have something rude to say. And sometimes walking in was a lot easier than walking out.