Growing up during the Civil Rights era, I can vividly recall watching national news at night with images plastered all over the screen of sit-ins and police with fire hoses aimed at Black folks while their German Shepherds barked furiously. My mother, a lifelong member and activist with the NAACP, would take us to conferences. I remember going to hear Louis Farrakhan who spoke about strategies used by “the man” to destroy Black men. (Seeing the fall of Bill Cosby, Tiger Woods, O.J. Simpson, and so many of our previously highly revered heroes, I think Farrakhan was spot on.)
I can even remember learning back then, the year that Hispanic people would surpass Black people as the largest U.S. minority. I watched Ruby Bridges on the national news walking into school in New Orleans, the first Black student to desegregate a school in Louisiana. I watched the Little Rock Nine head into Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas. If I’m being honest about it, I became rather numb to all those images—my people getting hosed, being spit at, having dogs—ferocious and foaming at the mouth—sicked on them. Young people look at these old black-and-white documentaries with sadness and fury, but this was our daily life. We saw it every single day on the news.
There was a weird dichotomy of being Black [on the block] back then. There was both the numbness to our people’s overall situation (and maybe it wasn’t even numbness, but a lack of awareness of some things because I was a child) and the joy we still found in daily life. Playing with my friends when I got home from school; eating dinner prepared by my mother, seated at the table with her and my sister; going to church on Sundays with my grandfather and listening to his endless lectures about life and what we needed to do to be able to take care of ourselves as young women. The balm of my family, our neighbors, and the community, softened the realities of our experiences as a people.
I lived in an all-Black neighborhood, went to an all-Black church, and because of the structure of Catholic school (run by nuns) thankfully there was no room for overt racism. I don’t know if I didn’t get invited to parties and outings because I was Black, but I assume so. Then, I attended the University of Illinois where Black students were less than 10 percent of the student body. My first roommate freshman year was from Washington, Illinois. When I went home with her one weekend people stared at me everywhere we went. I remember her church being almost unbearable.
While I was at the university, they introduced the “500 Program”, in which they recruited 500 Black/African American students. Up until then there were fewer than 300 of us out of the 27,000 students enrolled. We knew our routes to class and which days we might see another Black person on campus. With the addition of 500 minority students, the university attempted to comply with demands of the Black Student Union. They made tiny changes—having ethnic food like collard greens in the dorm cafeteria and adding relevant courses to the curriculum.
As an upperclassman, I became a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority and lived in Gamma House. It was a wonderful experience. Gamma house had been founded as a result of Black girls not being permitted to live in university housing. The Alphas, Kappas, and Omegas also had houses. Our Greek houses were not only our sanctuaries but the hub of our social lives.
After college I moved to Detroit, which was a whole new wonderful world. The city thrived with dynamic Blackness. After living in small-town Illinois, Detroit was a little bit of heaven. There were not only multiple Black radio stations and a television station, but jaw-dropping neighborhoods, fabulous nightclubs, Motown, and more Black businesses than one ever could have imagined. Black wealth was evident. This period of my life is marked by the beauty of the afro, women’s rights, my first job where women were permitted to wear slacks, going to nightclubs on the weekends, and sitting at red lights in the summertime with windows down and Al Green blasting from everyone’s radios all at the same time. It was magical.
I’ve been Black on the block in many different places in my life, from my childhood neighborhood to the lively streets of Detroit in my early 20s. Each experience was so different, and yet the pulse that our people and our culture put onto a place created experiences that I will never forget.
How has living during your particular era impacted your Black experience?
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Diane Hunter says
Being Black on the block was also my foundation, growing up in” money earnin” Mt. Vernon, a suburb outside of NYC. I resonated with most of the writers sentiments about living and thriving in a black neighborhood. It was a blessing and am thankful for it made me who I am.
Velerie Sancho says
I can relate.
Terri Kimber-Edwards says
Family, family reunions, friendships and church relationships have kept me happy and sane in my beautiful blackness. In addition, I believe it goes without saying, God has kept us as a people in this country.
Adrienne Gray says
I grew up in a Black neighborhood in Pittsburgh, PA in the 60’s, 70’s. I went to a Black elementary and high school. When it came time for college my mom wanted me to go to a PWI. I chose an HBCU; in Atlanta. Best decision I ever made. I now live in a predominately Black neighborhood in Atlanta. I cherish the Black experience I have lived with and will continue to live with.
Julia says
Portions of your passage reminds me if my neighborhood and my college experience. We were numbed by the negatively to the point we survived with our nose to the grindstone. As we exhale we are still surviving. Thank you for your well written piece. We’re blessed.
Alicia Armstrong says
Very nice article. In the 50’s & 60’s we never missed the Ed Sullivan show on Sunday nights when we knew there would be Black people performing. I saw Blacks being mistreated in the South on TV, but that really seemed like worlds away from Philly. I was a teenager when Motown was building its empire. We could see shows with several Motown acts at the Uptown Theatre on the same stage, same day for about $1.50! If you cut your last period class on Fridays, you could see a show for .50 cents!! I was devastated by the loss of President Kennedy, Dr. King & Robert Kennedy. In 1970 Philly’s Mayor Rizzo had the police raid a Black Panther house at 2:00 a.m & the police made all of the men come outside in the boxers after an officer was killed. There was no evidence that the BP’s committed the crime, but they were blamed. In 1985, Mayor Goode gave the OK for police to “bomb” the home of the MOVE (Black people) organization. Instead of just scaring the members, the ENTIRE block caught on fire. 11 people died incl. 3 kids, and folks who had nothing to do with the MOVE group lost their homes (250 people ended up homeless)! I really experienced racism between 1979 & 1982 when I could not get hired for a permanent job despite having excellent skills & an Associate Degree in Exec. Secretarial Science. In my pursuit of work, an HR employee shared that the company he worked for was “seen as a white organiztion”. In ’82 they started LOOKING for Black applicants they had previously denied employment to. In 1982, I was hired as the 1st Black person in my dept. I disagree with the writer re: Mr. Cosby, Mr. Woods & Mr. Simpson. Cosby & Simpson committed crimes & Woods got caught having affairs. I can agree that their actions caused them to have issues, but they did whatever they did bc they’re men, not bc of white men. No one of any color forced them to do what they did. If anything, it kind of looks like they experienced a level of “Black celebrity” privilege. Friend Al Cowlings drove O.J. & led the police on a slow speed chase for 2 hrs and not even the tires were shot out on the vehicle.