It was 1964. We were intentionally inconspicuous, huddled in a car, just half a block from the North Philadelphia police station. Our eyes were fixed, waiting for a red car, a red police car to emerge from the precinct. The plan was simple: follow it, observe, and bear witness. Our mission was to document, not to interfere, to watch the actions of law enforcement in their patrol. This was CORE in action, a silent observation for justice.
A Moment of Questioning
Sitting in the backseat, a wave of introspection washed over me amidst the anticipation. We were members of the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), tasked with monitoring police behavior. The guidelines were clear: observe without intervention, record diligently, and maintain respect in all interactions, even with law enforcement. These were CORE’s Rules for Action, principles of non-violent observation and witness. Yet, the question echoed within me: “What am I truly doing here?”
This wasn’t just about following a red car; it was about something much larger. A blend of deeply held American ideals of fairness and equality, intertwined with Christian teachings of community responsibility and justice, fueled my commitment. But beneath the resolve, a stark question lingered – “What am I, a white man, truly contributing in this space?”
Crossroads with Black America
Prior to my early adulthood, my interactions with Black Americans were minimal, almost non-existent within my predominantly white upbringing.
Returning from Marine Corps training in 1963, I sought guidance from my priest, Don Farrow. His suggestion changed the course of my summer and subsequent years: working with Father Paul Washington at the Church of the Advocate. For four summers, and intermittently throughout the year, I became part of the day camp staff, often the sole white face in a vibrant Black community. This experience was transformative. I shared confessions with a Black priest, supported Black-owned businesses, socialized within the Black community, and was profoundly inspired by Paul and Christine Washington. Attending Sunday services and community events at the Advocate broadened my understanding of “being the Church.” Inspired, I joined CORE, participated in demonstrations, underwent non-violent civil disobedience training, and established a CORE chapter at Penn State.
In the years that followed, my life became interwoven with Black friends and colleagues. I served as a consultant for Black non-profits and churches, ministered in integrated parishes, and gained glimpses into the realities of pain and resilience within Black America. Yet, I remained acutely aware that these were just glimpses, not true, deep understanding.
The Subtle Yet Powerful Force
One stark realization emerged from these intersections: engaging with Black American life as a white person can bring unexpected repercussions. This is separate from the inherent risks of protests, then and now. Three personal experiences underscore this point:
The Swimming Pool Incident: We lived in Somerton, a predominantly white Philadelphia neighborhood. My parents, having forgone vacations, invested in a backyard pool. Inviting the Church of the Advocate summer staff for a Saturday picnic seemed natural. Black and white, together, enjoying a swim. The idyllic scene was soon disrupted by a police car. “Noise complaints from neighbors,” they cited. Addressing my father, “the property owner,” they pressured him to end the gathering. My working-class father, in no uncertain terms, told them to leave his property. And they did. The noise wasn’t the issue; the mixing of races in a white space was.
The Wedding Day – My deep connection to the Advocate made it the natural choice for Donna and my wedding. Paul Washington agreed, and Don Farrow was to officiate. Shortly before the wedding, my father revealed that his family would not attend. My interracial friendships and choices were perceived as forcing unwanted views upon them. While my father attended, his siblings, who had raised each other after their parents’ death and shared wartime service, were absent. The rift lasted years.
The Party Interruption – During student teaching, we rented an apartment in Philadelphia, near my parents. A party with friends, again a mix of Black and white, drew unwanted attention. Two police officers arrived at the door, citing “noise complaints.” They demanded entry, wanting to inspect and shut down the gathering, suspecting underage drinking. Channeling my father’s defiance, I refused entry, promising to lower the noise. They threatened a warrant and surveillance of departing guests. To avoid escalation, the party ended prematurely.
These events, triggered by interactions with Black America, highlight a crucial truth. The point isn’t my discomfort, or even my father’s. The core issue is the relentless, often unseen pressure experienced by Black Americans daily. What I, my father, and my white friends encountered was merely collateral damage, a glimpse into the pervasive power of racism in Black lives.
Life Enriched
My life has been profoundly enriched by the relationships I’ve forged with remarkable individuals: Claudia, William, Paul and Christine, Mark, Barbara, Robert, Margie, Bob, Don, Heide, Georgia, Howard, Don and Esther, Mary, Denise, Kim, Fred, Mary, Anne-Marie, Winston, Bill, Bob, Victoria.
Margie, a social worker, became a regular presence. We’d meet, share cigarillos, coffee or scotch, and engage in deep conversations, tackling world issues and parish matters. Often, her perspective as a Black woman illuminated aspects I’d overlooked.
A Peripheral Perspective
I recognize the privilege in my narrative. My experiences, though formative, are a minor footnote in the larger narrative of race, policing, and justice in America. They are incidental, peripheral.
This realization necessitates humility. My understanding remains partial, “seeing through a glass darkly.”
Parish Engagement
How can parishes meaningfully address these critical times? How can they guide their members in prayerful reflection and faithful action? How can they foster communities that are more attuned, compassionate, courageous, and persistent in the pursuit of justice?
Encouraging individuals to share their encounters with race and policing is a crucial step. “Where has your life intersected with Black Americans?” This question invites contemplative sharing of personal stories and empathetic listening to the experiences of others.
By fostering humility, courage, patience, and persistence, parishes can strengthen their core and connect individuals with the Beloved Community.
What can we do to cultivate reflection within our communities? To find that “inner core of silence” that allows us to resist consumerism and embrace enduring principles of truth and justice?
On the Feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist:
“Then I will draw near to you for judgment; I will be swift to bear witness against the sorcerers, against the adulterers, against those who swear falsely, against those who oppress the hired workers in their wages, the widow and the orphan, against those who thrust aside the alien, and do not fear me, says the Lord of hosts.” Malachi 3:5
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Red Cars series part 1
Red cars series part 2
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