A Black Man and Me
By Charles C. Hall, Ed.D. 

"Reading makes a literate man; Speech makes a thoughtful man; Writing makes an exact man."

He and I were sitting in my father's Texaco service station during a "downtime" between service jobs, having a coke. I went to the station each day after school to relieve Dad who would depart to drum up more business. The black man was about twenty-two years of age. Somehow we drifted to talking about the future of each of us. I, of course had not seriously contemplated my future. The war was raging the world over, rationing of food, gasoline, tires, so forth and so on, kept everyone on a short leash. I only knew my next two moves: graduate from high school and join the Marines.

As we "shot the breeze," he suddenly said, "I know what you're gonna be."

"Oh yeah," said I, "what is that?"

"You're gonna be a teacher."

"Yeah? What makes you say that?"

"Because you got some kind of spark, and I just know."

"OK, so what are you gonna be?"

The black man said something that disturbs me to this day. He said, "Man, I ain't got no future. I'm black."

Up to that time, I had never really noticed, nor taken into account the color of his skin. He was simply another human being whom I considered a friend and just like me. I valued him as though we had always known each other.

For a split second, that may have seemed an eternity at the time, I was speechless To break my embarassment and to encourage him, I said, "Hey Man, don't say that. You're healthy, nice looking and you're not mean. You can be whatever you set your mind to."

At that time, I was ignorant of the deep racial divide between black and white. Oh yes, I read the signs posted over drinking fountains, and public restrooms, but I never gave much thought to them. From somewhere in me, I knew that was wrong and watered myself wherever I dang well pleased. Suddenly, I realized that he could not be as cavalier as I.

I was immediately depressed when the fullness of his comment hit me like a punch in my midsection. Right away, the artificiality of the black/white divide made me angry. I tried not to show it. Such insanity was set in place by stupid white men who wanted to feel superior. I've never forgotten that afternoon nor my black friend. I wonder where he is today? Did he enlist in the segregated army? Did he, too, become a teacher? I hope he had a good life, because on that muggy afternoon so many years ago, I became a teacher.

But first, I had to learn what there is to be learned, then I had to learn how to find ways to teach those who do not want to be taught, and then teach them that there is still something to be learned. Teaching is many things, but the most important thing I learned is that "precept" is the most formidable of all.

No one ever thought of me as an "intellectual" nor "deep thinker." I see myself as a seeker of information since one's education never ceases. I'm thrilled to learn new "stuff." Sitting mindlessly in front of a toob thrills me not one whit.

I admit to have twittered away some of the time in which I should have been "hitting the books" during nineteen years of formal education. After the Corps, I had one wife, one child, no mistress, worked all night (10 - 6), went to class. After Korea, I had one wife, three kids, one dog, no mistress. It was a good life and fun. If learning can't be fun, I'm in the wrong business.

Learning isn't for everyone, and I appreciate and understand that. But for me, it's my life. We are not all cut from the same piece of cloth, although we are all related in the human venture. There are many colors of cloth from which one derives oneself. My cloth spelled "education," with its exciting allure. I have never felt that I made a mistake in my choice of psychology and education. Never.

My TV choices lean to Discovery, History and National Geographic channels. What other people like concerns me not at all. Tastes in entertainment run the gamut just like sizes of people. Life is a phantasmagoric panoply of colors, tunes and so on and so forth.

The Marines taught me things as did the Army. One takes away from an experience those things for which his temperament appreciates. That's the essence of education. The trappings of a position are unimportant. What matters is how one responds to the opportunities at hand.

One enters the "search" as a student not a master. He who calls oneself master is a fool who never learned to be a student.

So it goes . . . .