Quite Frankly
My friend Frank
I will have to say that being in my Cultural Diversity class has certainly given me a new perspective on all things cultural. It is astounding to me that merely fifteen years prior to the date of my birth, black folks were treated the way they were. My entire life, colored folks just haven’t been an issue, and prior to this class, I tended to think of the Civil Rights Movement as something that must’ve happened way back in the….oh, say…the Great Depression or so. So now, as I come across different people, I think of them in terms of them must having memories of a different America than I know. So I’ve started asking them what they remember.
Enter my friend Frank. He is a 75 year old black gentleman who is one of our patients. I think he must be my favorite patient. He is always laughing and kidding around, and he is an absolute joy to have around. I always look forward to his appointments. Today was his day to sit in the waiting line, and because the doc was so far behind, I thought I’d keep him company by interrogating him. So I called him in to my office. Now if there is something I learned from Dee it’s how to pull information out of people. The trick is simply this: Ask whatever you want to know and you’ll often get more than you asked for.
Here’s what I found out.
Frank certainly does remember the Civil Rights Movement. Rosa Parks and the Montgomery bus boycott certainly did make the news here in Kentucky. Whether you turned on the television or turned on the radio, you heard about it. I asked Frank if he was cheering them on, and he said, “Well, yes, in a way.” But unlike some of his acquaintances in Glasgow, he refused to go down and join the protestors. There were a lot of them from here that did evidently.
When Frank was a boy—he was one of eleven children—he actually was “adopted” by some white folks, which was absolutely unheard of prior to the Civil Rights Movement. Essentially, this family had a boy who “wasn’t all there,” and the family wanted Frank to be around to do the things their son couldn’t. He was given his own bedroom and was fed and clothed by the Green family; the lady of the house refused to wash his clothes, however, and Frank had to make the mile or so trek down the road to his own mother for his clothes to be washed.
The main difference that the Civil Rights Movement made around here, according to Frank, was that colored folks were allowed to eat in the same areas as the white folks and you could talk to white women without being beaten or murdered.
Edmonson County—just up the road—is even today known as being a very racist community. The Ku Klux Klan is even thought to still be active there. Well, it was especially so way back when. In fact, one black man was hanged there for being in a certain area after dark. So the colored folks made sure they were inside their houses when darkness came. Sometime after the CRM, one of the things Frank did to make his living was to spray tobacco fields with his own equipment. The farmers would tell Frank which patches to spray and would leave him on his own to spray while they tended to their business either in town or elsewhere. Frank had a really good relationship with his farmers. Well, Frank lived in Warren County, and he had to go to Edmonson County one day to spray some fields. Prior to taking this particular job, some of his buddies were talking with him, and the incident of the man who had been hanged came up. His buddies told Frank one day that if he was ever across a certain river in Edmonson County after dark, they’d hang him too. Well, his buddies were just messing with him, but poor Frank didn’t know that at the time. He didn’t think too much about it until one of his jobs had him crossing this river.
It was early afternoon so it wasn’t that big of a deal. When he got to the farm, however, he found that the owner wasn’t there yet and that he would have to wait on him to get back in order to get directions for spraying the fields. As luck would have it, the owner just didn’t show up and didn’t show up. As the sun began to slide down toward the horizon, Frank began to worry. He was so worried, he went up to the house, knocked on the door, and inquired as to the whereabouts of the owner. This act, prior to the CRM, would have been a very big no-no, as black men were prohibited from speaking to a white woman. She was unable to give him a satisfactory answer, and he went back to waiting. He was getting more and more worried as time went on, and he began to regularly knock on that door and ask if there wasn’t an update on the owner’s whereabouts. Finally, the owner showed up, showed Frank the fields and everything. The owner could tell that Frank was very antsy to get going, so he asked him, “Frank, what in the world has got you in such a hurry? I hear you’ve been knocking on my door every five minutes.” So Frank said, “Yes sir. I need to get back across the river before dark.” Upon hearing the details, this struck the owner so funny, and he just laughed and laughed. It wasn’t funny to Frank at the moment, I’m sure, but in his recalling it, he and I both went hysterical. The owner reassured him that that was erroneous information and that he was quite safe being on this side of the river. Frank said, “I had broken out into a sweat by the time he showed up.”
Then Frank told me his tragic love story. He got married at age sixteen. “Had to,” he said. Or he would’ve had to move back in with his parents, and they had too many kids to feed the way it was. Well, he was in love with and was dating Mabel. Something happened—not sure what exactly—but Mabel ended up marrying someone else and moved to California. So Frank ended up marrying May. About ten years ago, 1995 or thereabouts, May died. Likewise, Mabel’s husband also died. In the course of events, somehow Frank and Mabel reconnected when she came to visit her sister in 2000. They picked up right where they had left off so many years ago. They loved each other and decided they would get married and finish life out together. This, according to Frank, was the most exciting thing that ever happened to him in his entire life… getting back with Mabel. They had made the arrangements and everything—they even had housing arrangements made and had the wedding date set. Then Mabel said, “Now before we get married, I want you to come to California and meet my family and see how it is out there.”
Frank said, “I don’t know, Mabel. It’s an awfully long drive out there.” He didn’t know if his car could even make it that far. “Of course you wouldn’t drive,” Mabel said. “You would fly.” Now THIS was something that poor Farmer Frank could NOT do…even for love. He said, “I will absolutely not fly. I have avoided trees and barn roofs all my life, and I’m certainly not going to get into an airplane.” And thus came about a Very Large Argument. “Fine then,” Mabel said. “We’re not getting married unless you do.” “Well, h*!l then,” said Frank. “Give me my money back. I am not flying, and that’s all there is to it.”
So Mabel left in a huff, and that was the end of it. I, of course, had a fit. [Not flying in an airplane is beyond my imagination.] “What did your kids say?” I asked him. “Oh, they were all for it,” he said. “They loved Mabel. My son said, ‘Dad, just drink a couple of drinks before getting on the airplane, and you’ll never know you were on one.’” “Well,” he said. “If I’m going to have to die, I sure as h*!l don’t want to be drunk when I do.”
I sure got my share of cackles. “Were you mad at her, Frank?” I asked. “No,” he said. “But she shore ‘nuff was mad at me.”
“So that was crossing the line, huh?” I said. “That was crossing the line,” Frank confirmed. “I’m going to remain single until I die.”
Frank says he has farmed all his life; all he needs is right here. He has never wanted to go see the world, and he’s not going to start now. The farthest he’s been away from home has been one time to Indianapolis. The next farthest place was Louisville.
And there you have it. Barring anti-traveling, I hope I am like Frank when I’m old. I love Frank—he’s a great guy.
I will have to say that being in my Cultural Diversity class has certainly given me a new perspective on all things cultural. It is astounding to me that merely fifteen years prior to the date of my birth, black folks were treated the way they were. My entire life, colored folks just haven’t been an issue, and prior to this class, I tended to think of the Civil Rights Movement as something that must’ve happened way back in the….oh, say…the Great Depression or so. So now, as I come across different people, I think of them in terms of them must having memories of a different America than I know. So I’ve started asking them what they remember.
Enter my friend Frank. He is a 75 year old black gentleman who is one of our patients. I think he must be my favorite patient. He is always laughing and kidding around, and he is an absolute joy to have around. I always look forward to his appointments. Today was his day to sit in the waiting line, and because the doc was so far behind, I thought I’d keep him company by interrogating him. So I called him in to my office. Now if there is something I learned from Dee it’s how to pull information out of people. The trick is simply this: Ask whatever you want to know and you’ll often get more than you asked for.
Here’s what I found out.
Frank certainly does remember the Civil Rights Movement. Rosa Parks and the Montgomery bus boycott certainly did make the news here in Kentucky. Whether you turned on the television or turned on the radio, you heard about it. I asked Frank if he was cheering them on, and he said, “Well, yes, in a way.” But unlike some of his acquaintances in Glasgow, he refused to go down and join the protestors. There were a lot of them from here that did evidently.
When Frank was a boy—he was one of eleven children—he actually was “adopted” by some white folks, which was absolutely unheard of prior to the Civil Rights Movement. Essentially, this family had a boy who “wasn’t all there,” and the family wanted Frank to be around to do the things their son couldn’t. He was given his own bedroom and was fed and clothed by the Green family; the lady of the house refused to wash his clothes, however, and Frank had to make the mile or so trek down the road to his own mother for his clothes to be washed.
The main difference that the Civil Rights Movement made around here, according to Frank, was that colored folks were allowed to eat in the same areas as the white folks and you could talk to white women without being beaten or murdered.
Edmonson County—just up the road—is even today known as being a very racist community. The Ku Klux Klan is even thought to still be active there. Well, it was especially so way back when. In fact, one black man was hanged there for being in a certain area after dark. So the colored folks made sure they were inside their houses when darkness came. Sometime after the CRM, one of the things Frank did to make his living was to spray tobacco fields with his own equipment. The farmers would tell Frank which patches to spray and would leave him on his own to spray while they tended to their business either in town or elsewhere. Frank had a really good relationship with his farmers. Well, Frank lived in Warren County, and he had to go to Edmonson County one day to spray some fields. Prior to taking this particular job, some of his buddies were talking with him, and the incident of the man who had been hanged came up. His buddies told Frank one day that if he was ever across a certain river in Edmonson County after dark, they’d hang him too. Well, his buddies were just messing with him, but poor Frank didn’t know that at the time. He didn’t think too much about it until one of his jobs had him crossing this river.
It was early afternoon so it wasn’t that big of a deal. When he got to the farm, however, he found that the owner wasn’t there yet and that he would have to wait on him to get back in order to get directions for spraying the fields. As luck would have it, the owner just didn’t show up and didn’t show up. As the sun began to slide down toward the horizon, Frank began to worry. He was so worried, he went up to the house, knocked on the door, and inquired as to the whereabouts of the owner. This act, prior to the CRM, would have been a very big no-no, as black men were prohibited from speaking to a white woman. She was unable to give him a satisfactory answer, and he went back to waiting. He was getting more and more worried as time went on, and he began to regularly knock on that door and ask if there wasn’t an update on the owner’s whereabouts. Finally, the owner showed up, showed Frank the fields and everything. The owner could tell that Frank was very antsy to get going, so he asked him, “Frank, what in the world has got you in such a hurry? I hear you’ve been knocking on my door every five minutes.” So Frank said, “Yes sir. I need to get back across the river before dark.” Upon hearing the details, this struck the owner so funny, and he just laughed and laughed. It wasn’t funny to Frank at the moment, I’m sure, but in his recalling it, he and I both went hysterical. The owner reassured him that that was erroneous information and that he was quite safe being on this side of the river. Frank said, “I had broken out into a sweat by the time he showed up.”
Then Frank told me his tragic love story. He got married at age sixteen. “Had to,” he said. Or he would’ve had to move back in with his parents, and they had too many kids to feed the way it was. Well, he was in love with and was dating Mabel. Something happened—not sure what exactly—but Mabel ended up marrying someone else and moved to California. So Frank ended up marrying May. About ten years ago, 1995 or thereabouts, May died. Likewise, Mabel’s husband also died. In the course of events, somehow Frank and Mabel reconnected when she came to visit her sister in 2000. They picked up right where they had left off so many years ago. They loved each other and decided they would get married and finish life out together. This, according to Frank, was the most exciting thing that ever happened to him in his entire life… getting back with Mabel. They had made the arrangements and everything—they even had housing arrangements made and had the wedding date set. Then Mabel said, “Now before we get married, I want you to come to California and meet my family and see how it is out there.”
Frank said, “I don’t know, Mabel. It’s an awfully long drive out there.” He didn’t know if his car could even make it that far. “Of course you wouldn’t drive,” Mabel said. “You would fly.” Now THIS was something that poor Farmer Frank could NOT do…even for love. He said, “I will absolutely not fly. I have avoided trees and barn roofs all my life, and I’m certainly not going to get into an airplane.” And thus came about a Very Large Argument. “Fine then,” Mabel said. “We’re not getting married unless you do.” “Well, h*!l then,” said Frank. “Give me my money back. I am not flying, and that’s all there is to it.”
So Mabel left in a huff, and that was the end of it. I, of course, had a fit. [Not flying in an airplane is beyond my imagination.] “What did your kids say?” I asked him. “Oh, they were all for it,” he said. “They loved Mabel. My son said, ‘Dad, just drink a couple of drinks before getting on the airplane, and you’ll never know you were on one.’” “Well,” he said. “If I’m going to have to die, I sure as h*!l don’t want to be drunk when I do.”
I sure got my share of cackles. “Were you mad at her, Frank?” I asked. “No,” he said. “But she shore ‘nuff was mad at me.”
“So that was crossing the line, huh?” I said. “That was crossing the line,” Frank confirmed. “I’m going to remain single until I die.”
Frank says he has farmed all his life; all he needs is right here. He has never wanted to go see the world, and he’s not going to start now. The farthest he’s been away from home has been one time to Indianapolis. The next farthest place was Louisville.
And there you have it. Barring anti-traveling, I hope I am like Frank when I’m old. I love Frank—he’s a great guy.
posted by Kris at 4/26/2005 11:18:00 PM
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