Blogs

By Dean Norman

I was playing pool with Pvt. Morgan in the company rec room at Ft. Miles, Delaware, in July 1954. Sgt. Day had given us a two-hour break from KP duty between breakfast and lunch.

“I'm taking two weeks leave and going home,” said Morgan. “Sgt. Day is taking leave at the same time. He said I could ride with him, because he is driving through Atlanta on his way home.”

“That's nice,” I said.

“But there's a problem. I think maybe I should ask Sgt. Day to drop me off two blocks from my house. Not right at the curb in front of my house.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't know how my parents will react if they see I rode in a car with a black man.”

I said nothing.

“I don't have any prejudice against Sgt. Day or any other black man,” said Morgan. “Before I was drafted, it was so different. I mean I never had anything to do with black people. A lot of them live in Atlanta, but black kids went to different schools. Different everything. If I was walking on the sidewalk, and a black person was walking toward me, he would step off of the sidewalk to let me pass. I just never really met a black person until I was drafted into the Army.

“The first day when we got off the bus for basic training, it was lunch time. I went into the mess hall, and I was really hungry. The food looked good. Then I sat down at a table and saw a black man sitting across from me. My stomach clenched up. I couldn't eat a bite. I picked up my tray, and dumped the food into the garbage can.”

“What was the black guy doing to scare you so much?” I said. “Was he looking angry at you, or eating his food so sloppily that it grossed you out?”

“Oh, no,” said Morgan. ”It wasn't him. He was fine. It was me. I just had never associated with a black person in that way. As if he was the same as me. Eating at the same table. They couldn't eat at the same restaurants back home. It was such a shock.

“Well, I got over that. Being in the Army where all of us draftees and recruits go through the same training. Living in the same barracks, eating at the same mess hall. Sgt. Day is a good boss. I will enjoy riding with him. But my parents have never...well, I don't know if I can explain it to them.”

“How will you explain to Sgt. Day why you want him to drop you off two blocks from your home?”

“I don't know,” said Morgan. “I don't want to hurt his feelings. But my parents...I don't know what I will do.”

Pvt. Morgan leaned over the table to make his next shot. The white cue ball was close to the black eight ball. He was being very careful not to bump the eight ball into a pocket.

Three weeks later Morgan and I were shooting pool again.

“How did it go when you went home?” I asked.

“I told Sgt. Day to park in our driveway,” said Morgan. “My parents came out, and I introduced them to Sgt. Day. They invited him in for coffee and apple pie. We had a nice long talk before he left. We had a nice talk again when he picked me up to come back to Ft. Miles. There was no problem.”

— Dean Norman

Dean Norman is a cartoonist and humor writer, whose work has appeared in greeting cards, The New Yorker, MAD Magazine, The Cleveland Plain Dealer Sunday Magazine and The Kansas City Star. He's also written comedy for cartoon shows and written and illustrated children's books. He illustrated a cartoon book for Cleveland Metroparks, Cleveland Metroparks Adventures.