For the last year and a half, I've listened to my President Elect proclaim how he will "Make America Great Again”, and it causes a knot in my stomach every time I hear those words.
I’m a 51 year old black man; I don’t have direct experience with America when it was "at its greatest”, oh so long ago, but I do have some recollection of the greatness Donald Trump has been feeding to a large section of his pre-election-day base for so long. While the stories below are mine, they are not unique to me. I have Mexican friends, Muslim friends, gay friends, disabled friends and women friends that have all faced these same stories in their own way.
When America was “Great” I was 5 years old and shopping at a Big 5 Sporting Goods store near Pasadena, Ca with my mother, my older brother who was 6, and my younger brother who was 2. My mother had just put a big cart full of snow gear on the counter after shopping for about an hour; the family was headed to the snow. As the checker started to ring us up, Mark, who had just been potty trained, said he had to go pee. My mother asked the clerk if she could take him to the bathroom, and she was referred to the store manager. The manager, an older white man, came to the counter and told her the bathroom was for store employees only. My mother said it was an emergency and pleaded with the manager, but was refused use of the bathroom no matter what she said. My mother even offered to let the manager stand by the bathroom door while she helped my brother go; the answer was still no. Angrily, but proudly, my mother left all of the things she was about to purchase on the counter and marched us out of the store. I never stepped foot into another Big 5 until I got to college.
Photo: https://www.pinterest.com/sophiahatcher/
When America was “Great” I was 8 years old and my brothers and loved to walk around the corner to the local Webster’s Pharmacy. Websters was multi-room building with a mix of specialty stores aligned horizontally along Lake Street at E. Mariposa in Altadena. The first business, on the left, was the liquor store. The next section was the general pharmacy which included a hobby and toy section, with cap guns, water rockets and vials of various chemicals and powders for our chemistry set experiments, next was cosmetics, then the gifts section. All four sections could be accessed from the outside, separately, or you could go from room to room inside. My brothers and I spent most of our time in the toy section of the pharmacy. We didn’t really focus on it at the time, but as we walked around, we were never outside the watchful eye of the store manager, a large and never smiling, white man. On one occasion, my older brother, Scott, picked up a toy, then walked to another aisle to come and see what I was doing. Out of nowhere, he was swooped on by the store manager who grabbed him by the arm and accused him of stealing. We pleaded and cried and said that we were just looking around, but the manager was having none of it and was determined to call the police. Not only had we not tried to walk out of the store, our father was a Sheriff's Deputy, and worked just 1 block up the street. The idea that we were trying to steal anything was outrageous, but not surprising now that I look back at how the manager watched us so closely; we were never trusted from the moment we walked into that store. We were finally set free to walk home without the police being called.
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When America was “Great” I was 12 years old and went to visit my grandparents and uncles in Lancaster, California; about an hour away from Altadena where we lived. It was late morning and we all decided to go to breakfast at a Howard Johnson’s restaurant. The rather large group of us sat down and browsed the menu while waiting for the server to visit our table. After 20 minutes, or so, with no visit to our table, my parents were finally able to flag down a waitress to ask if our order could be taken, and if we could get plates and silverware at our table. After another 15 minutes of watching the server walk to and serve every table but ours, the place settings were finally brought to our table, but our order was not taken. Of the place settings delivered, almost all of them were visibly dirty. The forks and spoons had food in and on them. The plates were greasy with food bits on them, and one of the coffee cups had cigarette ashes in it. It was obvious they didn't want us in their restaurant. We all got up and left; nobody working in the restaurant said a word, they just watched us walk out. The last Howard Johnson Restaurant in the country, in Bangor Maine, closed a couple of months ago in September 2016; I have never been back to one, and I wasn't sad to see the last one close it’s doors.
Photo: http://www.breakingnews.com
When America was “Great” my family loaded my belongings into our old 1972 Volkswagen bus, the kind with the white upper half and faded orange lower half, so I could be taken away to Santa Clara University to start college; it was 1983. Accompanying me was my mother, father and aunt Lynne. We took the i-5 route over the Grapevine since it was the fastest; about 6 to 7 hours. Along the way, as it got dark, we decided to stop for dinner. There’s a whole lot of nothing along that i-5 route, but we were hungry, so my dad hunted for a spot that looked large enough and busy enough to be safe. I don’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it was spacious, bright, close to the highway and looked like it would be just fine. After sitting in the restaurant for more than 20 minutes, while watching a member of the all white serving staff go to every single table but ours, my parents asked for assistance. After finally putting our order in, we waited another 40 minutes, spoke up multiple times, and still got no food. Finally, my dad, all 6'6 and 265 lbs of him, got up and walked into the kitchen where he saw two cooks, and our server talking and laughing about how long they were making us wait. My dad was livid, but controlled. He took his sheriff’s badge out, laid it on the counter, and told them to start cooking our food right now. The, now frightened, cooks scrambled around the kitchen preparing our meal while my dad watched their every move. We finished our meal and left, never to return.
When America was “Great” I was a freshman in college living on the 3rd floor of Mclaughlin Hall. I had come home late from a party and was standing in my room with the door open. Neither my roommate or my hall mates were around at the time. As I stood in my room, two white, college-age guys, that I didn’t recognize, approached my door and asked for a cigarette. I told them that I didn’t smoke and that I didn’t have any cigarettes. After a few seconds of staring at me, they walked off and headed downstairs. As they walked down the stairs, I hear one of them, very loudly, tell the other, “THAT LYING FUCKING NIGGER HAS SOME DAMN CIGARETTES”. I just froze. I wondered, should I chase after them and challenge them? Should I call someone and tell them what these guys just did? As I said, my roommate was not around; had he been, I know he would not have let that pass, but I just stood there in shock and feeling very alone and very far away from home; I thought America was past that. I was too ashamed to tell anyone the story at the time and for a long time after, but I thought it was important to share now.
Photo: http://donnguyendds.blogspot.com
When America was “Great” I was a junior at Santa Clara University and dating someone that happens to be white. She went to Santa Barbara, but every now and again, one of us would make the trip for a weekend visit at one of our schools. It was Saturday morning, and we decided to get breakfast at a hotel/restaurant that was just a quarter mile down from school on The Alameda in Santa Clara. We walked into the restaurant, we were seated, and we waited. After a, long period of time, we asked the waitress if we could order. The waitress, a 40-ish, white woman, went about her business helping other tables, but refused to stop and help us or take our order. She never said one word to us and never made eye contact. Finally, we walked up front and asked for the manager. When the manager arrived, we pointed out the waitress and told him our story, expecting some type of action to be taken. Instead, he looked at us and said “You have to understand how she feels, she’s not from around here, and she isn’t used to seeing couples like you”. No offer to serve us, no “let me buy your breakfast”, just a request of us to understand that this waitress was not comfortable serving, or even speaking to, an interracial couple, right there in Santa Clara California. We walked away shocked and upset, and never returned.
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So, when I hear our President Elect say that he wants to “Make America Great Again”, in the tone and manner that he says it, and I see how excited so many people are to hear him say it, I’m reminded of a time when America may have been “Great” for some of us, but definitely not for all of us. I believe America is at its greatest today, and that it's been getting greater since the day my family walked out of that Big 5 Sporting Goods store 46 years ago. I’m hoping that some of my friends understand why so many people feel like they woke up, this morning, in an America they love dearly, but may soon, no longer feel like they're no longer welcome in. I’m hoping that some of my friends understand why so many people feel fear and unease when they hear our next President promise to Make America Great “Again”. While we all walk on the same land, we don't all live in the same America. I'll do my best to stay positive, but it's difficult to not be concerned.
