1950's Archives - The Race Card Project

You might hurt the man’s feelings

December 18, 2023 1950's, Buick, dad, different, Early 50's, father, hurt feelings, Lakewood, lesson, negro, NJ, Paul J. Mercer, pointing, school

Paul J. Mercer,
Lakewood, NJ

These words were from my father in the very early 50s. My Dad and I were watching the world go by waiting for Mom while parked outside the store she was in. We did not yet have a TV, I had not gone to school yet and I had no idea that anyone looked different than those people I saw at home or family get-togethers. Suddenly, my little hand rose to point at a man walking down the sidewalk by our ’49 Buick. A large hand gently pushed mine down as Pop offered these words. Using the accepted term at the time he said, “don’t point, you might hurt the man’s feelings.” He went on to say that the man was a negro and a brief history of where Negros came from. He left the lesson on slavery for a day when his 4-year-old was a tad older. A great lesson that provided many rewarding relationships with people of all ethnicities as I grew older.

The Hiroshimas were good Americans.

October 20, 2021October 21, 2021 1950's, Family, good American, Hiroshima, Ken Prestwich, LA, MA, People, second family, War, Worcester

Ken Prestwich,
Worcester, MA.

The Hiroshima family included my first friends growing up on a small farm just outside of LA (they had one too) in the early 50s — the parents, like so many where we lived, had been interred during the war. They were fine people; a second family to me (I am white).

“Beauty Inside Shines through the Outside”

October 28, 2020October 28, 2020 1950's, 1960's, African American, beauty, black dad, CA, Catholic School, CBU HIS311, Inside, interracial families, irish, isolation, Matthew Powers, Mexican, outside, Riverside, shine, single mom, whit ekids, white mom

Matthew Powers,
Riverside, CA.

“Growing up Irish and being raised by a single mom in the 50’s and 60’s in Omaha I saw racial tension and acts all around the city, but I can’t say I understood anything about it until my younger sister and I were transferred to a different school because mom couldn’t afford the tuition at the Catholic school we were attending. The elementary school we were moved to was an all African-American school and we were the only “white” kids there, we took a lot of abuse and faced the fact that our skin color wouldn’t allow us to fit in or be accepted. We were the target of a lot of being beat on, racial slurs, isolation, and being chased home daily but eventually we did make a few close friends and things settled down. I can’t say we ever fit in but we survived and built a few relationships. It was one of the best things that could have happened to me from an understanding point of view as I saw and felt from the other side what being defined by a color or race felt like, it didn’t matter who I was inside. My family reflects that lesson we learned, my seven children’s mother had a white mother and African-American father, my children are mixed and they are proud of it, and have spouses and boyfriends and girlfriends from other races and it’s a beautiful community. My sister married a Mexican man and had three boys. Through the experience I learned that true beauty, goodness, and humanity comes from the inside, and shines through the outside regardless of what color or race that outside is and we taught the kids to see all people in the same way, individually from the inside out.” CBU HIS 311

Because I’m white, I feel ashamed.

September 21, 2020February 21, 2021 1950's, ashamed, best friend, check the box, excluded, first experience, ice cream, Minority, PA, Philadelphia, Sadie Petersen, small family, too white, white

Sadie Petersen
Philadelphia, PA

As a child, the streets of west Philadelphia were my playground. I loved going to school in the area and wouldn’t change a thing about how I was raised and how race was never even noted in my small family of four, which eventually grew to a family of 7. However, living in west Philadelphia and being a white female, I was the minority at my, almost, all black school. I was one of 5 white kids but seeing as we were such a community, race and skin- tone never seemed to be of any issue to any of us as young children. The story seemed to change, as I got older though. I was never teased or bullied, but sometimes I was excluded from conversations or hangouts because I was “too white” and “wouldn’t understand because I had it better.”

There was a time in my life when all I wanted to be was black and I was jealous of the coffee-cream skin tone of my best friend at the time, Amanda. Later, when I graduated to high school, I found that some people still held racial prejudice, and seeing as my youngest sister was mixed, I was horrified. It was astonishing to me that being black wasn’t as desired at it was at my old school, or at least for me. No matter how you look at it, when It boils down to me and that box, I cannot help but feel the twangs of embarrassment for the privileges and acceptance that I may receive out of racial bias over others because I am a white female with brown hair a green eyes. I feel ashamed that my appearance is what defines me and assess me as a human being. I feel ashamed for admitting that every last crime committed by my ancestors in the 1950’s and earlier is a part of me. That is what makes me cringe when I check that box labeled “White.”

Neighborhood party we were not invited

July 1, 2020July 1, 2020 1950's, American, American Dream, College Station, Mexican, neighborhood, Ninfa Pena-Purcell, parents, party, TX

Ninfa Pena-Purcell,
College Station, TX.

This picture of my parents captures a young Mexican American couple with aspirations to live the American dream in the 1950s only to find out that their family of six children would never be welcomed in their neighborhood. Years later this experience has stayed with me and made me resolve to live my life with purpose and compassion for others.

Excuse me, are you a Negro?

September 1, 2019February 21, 2021 1950's, elementary school, first experience, Jean Pierce Morrow, negro, PA, school, skin color, State College, West Philadelphia, white privilege

Jean Pierce Morrow,
State College, PA

I grew up in a suburb of West Philadelphia in the 1950s. My town had two elementary schools, and I spent my first four years at the completely white school. Then we moved to another part of town and I started fourth grade in the school with about a 20% black population. I didn’t know anybody, and at lunchtime that first day, looking for a place to sit in the cafeteria, I spotted a table full of girls with one seat left. I asked if I could join them and they said yes. Everyone ate in silence for a few moments, then one girl asked me that question. I thought about it a minute, realizing I didn’t know the answer. I knew race was connected to skin color, but I’d seen so many shades of skin that I wasn’t sure exactly where the dividing line was. I looked down at my own skin, and finally answered “I don’t think so”. After that we had a fine time. My mom later explained that they had asked me because they couldn’t think of any other reason why a white girl would sit at a Negro table. I’ve come to understand that experience as white privilege; I learned by accident at 10 what those girls had, for their own safety, been taught at a much younger age.

My mother boiled the girl’s utensils.

May 23, 2019May 23, 2019 1950's, 1960's, boiled, clean, maid, Michael Vines, mom, mother, New York, NY, the girl, utensils

Michael Vines,
New York, NY.

Just want to make sure that you understand “the girl” was how many people in the 50-60’s referred to their maid.

1950’s – Mother worked for Civil Rights

May 2, 2019May 2, 2019 1950's, Anne Elizabeth Wolfe, CA, Christian, civil rights, Civil War, Revolutionary War, San Rafael, South

Anne Elizabeth Wolfe
San Rafael, CA

My mother grew up in the South . She worked for Civil Rights in the 1950’s and was called a Communist. The label was erroneous as her ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War and Civil War (relatives fought on both sides). My mother was not a Communist, but the other “C” word –Christian. She took her religion very seriously. Our family of five moved from the South and grew up in an ideal home without racism , sexism, and not too much classicism . I am proud of my mother’s contribution to society and what she gave us – no handicaps, baggage, or the face .of ugliness towards any human beings. Thanks to my mother’s idealism, I was able to help better our society too by working as a diversity awareness trainer in San Francisco in the 1990’s.

Little brown girl, white man’s world

March 4, 2019March 4, 2019 1950's, Beatriz Mallory, brown, father, girl, IBM, Newfoundland, PA, Puerto Rican, white man, world

Beatriz Mallory
Newfoundland, PA

My father was one of the first black men to work at IBM in the late 50’s; my mother a Puerto Rican who migrated to NY to go to college. My father embedded this mantra in my head from a very age. I was a “little brown girl” in a world dominated by people we could never be. Thus, I had to be not just as good at everything as any white person could be — I had to be far better. This tenet was not lost on a growing mind experiencing integration unfold as IBM transferred us from city to city, but the constant pressure to be perfect were to ricochet through our family’s complex life, and still reverberate today.

Parents gave me Confederate flag: protection

March 2, 2019May 2, 2019 1950's, Confederate flag, ct, FL, gas station, negro, parents, protection, Seattle, Steve Morris, WA

Steve Morris,
Seattle, WA.

In the mid-1950s my father made a business trip from our home in Connecticut to Florida and back. He decided to make the trip by car, and to take my mother, my brother, and me along with him for a family travel experience. In the Deep South I witnessed undisguised segregation for the first time. I was 10 years old. At a gas station I asked the attendant why there were different bathrooms and drinking fountains. I told him my best friend in Connecticut was “a negro” (the terminology hadn’t changed yet). and I described how we did all the same things at school, and used all the same facilities. The attendant said, “Well that’s not the way we do it down here, sonny.” My parents, watching this exchange, sensed an edge — and perhaps a threat — to the man’s tone. They instructed me to address my questions to them in the future, and they bought me a little Confederate flag. I carried it everywhere, waving it around as I would have any other colorful souvenir. I was unaware of any meaning it might carry beyond its attractive surface. Years later my parents told me their side of the story, and explained that the flag was intended to smooth our journey through the South, and perhaps to provide a degree of safety. They had been more concerned than they let on, about the gas station attendant’s tone.

I saw them in the back

February 7, 2018February 7, 2018 1950's, 1960's, baby boomer, Black, black family, Black President, Dennis Jack Higgs, God, MO, Saint Peters, saw, sixties, THEM

Dennis Jack Higgs
Saint Peters, MO

I was raised in West Texas in the 50’s and 60’s. Although racism was rampant around us, we were not raised to be racist. I am now in my mid sixties and still to this day, one incident, when I was about six or seven years old, that lasted only about three seconds was burned into my memory and has never left. My family and I were eating a meal in a restaurant near the swinging kitchen door. The door swung open and I saw a black family eating their meal at a table in the kitchen because they were not allowed in the main dining area. I don’t remember the conversation at my table after that, but I will never forget that picture and the way I felt. I’ve spent many years wondering how God felt about it, too.

“Hush, Child, they’ll take Grandma away!”

January 21, 2017January 23, 2017 1950's, Ancestors, child, Choctaw, Grandma, grandmother, MO, Pueblo, reservation, Robin Greeley, St. Louis

Robin Greeley
St. Louis, MO

This is what my relatives said to me at a family reunion in the 1950s.They were afraid that if it was known that Grandma was Choctaw, she could be sent to a reservation – something that was done in those days. In Pueblo, Colorado, the hatred and direct discrimination of the American Indians was very strong and noone would divulge that they were Indian, if they could “pass”. But Grandma was proud of our Indian heritage and told me fabulous stories of our Choctaw ancestors.

Name unpronounceable – never called on

September 19, 2016September 19, 2016 1950's, Clinton, Edvige Kromayer Barrie, German, name, NY, unpronounceable

Edvige Kromayer Barrie,
Clinton, NY.

Growing up in the ’50s, I was unaware that most people had no idea how to pronounce my name and were therefore reluctant to call on me in class or say hi to me on the playground. At the beginning of kindergarten, one kid even asked if I was a boy or a girl. My father came from Germany in 1938. My mother’s first language is Italian. They wanted to give me a unique name, that reflected their European origins. That’s how I came by my first name, Edvige. My maiden name is Kromayer. “Edvige Kromayer” is quite a mouthful in elementary school. I would have loved to have been a “Karen” or “Kathy” or “Susan” or “Linda.” My name made me feel so foreign and odd. I didn’t know anyone with a non-American name in my grade school. My name went with my guttural pronunciation of words with the letter “r,” probably a replication of my father’s German accent. I just wanted to be American, to be like everyone else.
As an adult, I am pleased to have a unique name, usually shortened to “Vige” and grateful to my parents for bestowing it on me. And, I assure people that when called by my name, I will respond to anything that begins with the letter “V.”

Silas couldn’t come to my party!

August 23, 2015August 24, 2015 1950's, central KS, child, KS, love, Mulvane, Nancy Harris Cadwell, Silas

Nancy Harris Cadwell,
Mulvane, KS.

As a small child in the early 1950s, I really loved the black man that worked at the local drugstore. Every time we went to town in central Kansas, I wanted to go see Silas.

Ladies Needn’t Wear Long Gowns

March 26, 2015March 14, 2022 1950's, black only, gowns, ladies, lady, Miami, OK, Oklahoma City, Savannah, Susan K. Schmidt, water faountain

Susan K. Schmidt,
Oklahoma City, OK.

It was the mid 50’s in Miami, Florida. It was the time of “white only” and “black only” water fountains and bathrooms. I was 6 or 7 years old and riding in the back of the family car with my Grandmother, who was raised in Savannah, Georgia. We passed a black woman standing at the curb, possibly waiting for a bus. She was wearing a mid-length ordinary dress, possibly a cleaning woman, likely waiting to get home after a hard day’s work. I said something about “that lady” and my grandmother corrected me, “that’s no lady.” I didn’t say anything but wondered how my grandmother would know the woman was no lady without having met her. I figured it must have to do with her clothing; a lady must be like a princess and have to wear a long glittery gown. So that evening I asked my mother if a lady has to wear long gowns. When I got the answer “no” I knew immediately my grandmother was wrong.

Avery. Ate on the back porch.

January 4, 2015August 18, 2020 1950's, back porch, Dee Abbate, IL, leftovers, Oakwood Hills, segregate, service entrance

Dee Abbate,
Oakwood Hills, IL.

Although I was raised in Chicago and my parents “were not racists” they fed our colored handiman leftovers for supper out on the porch behind our kitchen. That was in the 1950’s. The memory sticks in my throat today.

A lifetime of challenge, determination, triumph.

September 24, 2014 1950's, Betty J Byrom Sanford, challenge, determination, education, Lansing, Michigan, reparation, rural, students, triumph, urban, USA

Betty J Byrom Sanford,
Lansing, MI.

I am a child of the 50’s and know full well why we ask for reparation. While I have been recognized through my work which has brought national recognition to Michigan State University, I remain forever mindful of the educational deficits that left holes in my education that will never close. It’s agonizing to see that there are urban and rural students who have the same educational experiences that I had in K-12 during the 40’s and 50’s. This is one of the glaring reasons why the dream is yet to be realized. Thanks for allowing for this expression.

Drank from the wrong fountain: white.

September 18, 2013 1950's, 1960's, Arlington, drank, Ty Cooper, VA, water fountain, white

Ty Cooper
Arlington, VA

I was born (1950) into a family of sharecroppers in eastern NC. We lived one mile from the nearest road. I was starting school soon, so my mom paid a friend to take us to town to get my preschool health check. Sitting in the waiting room, I noticed people walking up to a device, pressing a button, and leaning over to drink water. (We did not have indoor plumbing at home; nor did we have TV, so I had never seen people drink water this way.) Curious, I decided to check it out for myself. My mother was preoccupied with my infant sibling in her arms. I slid out of my chair and raced over to the fountain to get a drink of water. Moments after I began to drink, there was a commotion. I looked around and observed disapproving frowns. My mom raced over to the fountain to pull me away. “He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know any better.” That’s the day I became aware of the concept of segregation.

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