racist coworker
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Ok, kids, I finished it. Willie is gonna lay down another story. This one happened while I was temporarily enjoying the hospitality of the State of Florida, forty or fifty-some years ago. I got into a serious fight just after I got out of the Military that involved some extenuating circumstances that took it beyond the usual 15 day county jail detention I was all too familiar with. I caught a full year, but they knocked off some time so that it ended up doing not much more than six months. But there was a catch, it was “real” time this go-round, and I ended up in the State Prison system. Big Time. I got shuffled around a little until my time was almost up. Then I got transferred to a “release” facility.
It was a nice, clean, fairly well-run facility near Ocala, Florida. I was finishing up my time there on this short sentence for fighting. I was transferred there to serve out my final time before release.
My first job assignment was the same as almost everyone else’s. I was working on the prison farm. The farm land hugged the Western edge of the camp, so we only had to go about a quarter mile to get to the barn, the informal work headquarters. The tasks were relatively easy, picking up small rocks, planting, hoeing, and some potato harvesting. We also had a small plot of tomatoes. I was on the big work crew for about two weeks, and decided I needed something better.
Most of the inmates were pretty young guys. The typical kind with an attitude. This was actually a boon to us “more seasoned” cons. While the young studs were busy posturing and trying to act cool, we “old dogs” set ourselves up to be favored for the best jobs. All this required was showing a little hustle and giving the farmer in charge of us a small degree of common respect. It was easy… too easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel. I almost felt sorry for the cocky kids. Every time they might have had a chance for a better job, you could bet that they would just HAVE to go out of their way to prove to the other kids that no one told them what to do. Poor dumb kids, just couldn’t catch on.
Me, I was shooting for the clerk’s position. Unfortunately, the guy already firmly entrenched in that cushy job just wasn’t going to let it go. I had to reset my sights. The next best thing was the tomato patch. It was close to the barn, right next to a lot of nice, big shade trees. And all this other guy and I had to do was water the plants twice a day, fertilize once a week, and then spend some lazy time picking suckers off the branches.
It was a dream job… as prison work goes… but I got bored. I put in for a job on the “New-Construction Crew”. They worked over at the Women’s Prison across the street. Actually about a mile away. It was a tough assignment to land, and I had to wait a month, or so, for the approval to come through.
And while I was waiting, the real essence of my story begins.
One day while waiting in line for something (we were always waiting in one line or another for just about everything) another con came up and stepped in line two places ahead of me. Well, when you are a stupid, reactionary punk, totally engrossed in “image”, you just don’t let something like that go unchallenged. I made noises about it, and he and a few friends didn’t take kindly to it. They said he had been in line there earlier and was just coming back. I didn’t buy it, and said so, but there were four or five of them, and only one of me.
I figured it was all over when an hour or so later, while I was bent over getting a drink at the water fountain… Wham! This same guy lands one on the side of my head. I learned later that his friends had pressured him into cold-cocking me to stand up for himself.
As luck would have it, the blow landed on the high side of my cheek bone, and to tell the truth, I hardly felt it. A few inches lower, and he might have broken my jaw, and a few inches higher, and I would probably have been knocked out. I shook it off and turned to him with my best Schwarzenegger impression and said: “Ni___r”, (yeah they were all black, and frankly saying something like “Afro American…” just wouldn’t have carried the weight of the threat I wanted to convey. So I employed the “n” word. Apologies to all reading this in a more enlightened era.)… continuing now: “N”, if that’s your best shot, you’re in a world of s---T!”
I thought he was going to faint dead away! I was pretty proud of myself. Pure dumb luck had helped me look like I was invincible, and I scared the daylights out of him with a beautifully delivered macho BS line straight out of the movies. Well, that was short-lived.
Within seconds, I discovered, to my dismay, that he was backed up by at least a half dozen other Afro Americans. And they weren’t anywhere near as scared of this white boy. It wasn’t much of a fight. Too many of them to really get in many good shots on either side, but the racial division prevalent back then worked to my benefit. It was very quickly a black/white thing, and the fight soon took on a free-for-all appearance. Other inmates broke it up before the guards got involved, and things cooled a little.
Nobody really got hurt, but the tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. In fact, I think most of us directly involved carried knives most of the time for a few days. I wanted him, and I suppose he wanted me. This was about as serious as it had ever gotten for me in all my four months locked up.
Sure, I had gotten into a lot of fights. I still have a capped front tooth as a reminder of one of them. But they had usually been just plain fist fights. Now, this thing appeared to be brewing into a killing date. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but I sure didn’t want to be shived myself.
Well, I was out on the soccer field a few days later on a Saturday, and I wracked up my knee. Real bad. I could hardly walk. You talk about being scared! There was no way I could defend myself, and “they” knew it. I hardly even slept that weekend.
And wouldn’t you know it, the very next work day I was assigned to the new job I had been waiting for. Guess who was the first person I saw when I got on the truck bound for the Women’s Prison? Yep. There he was. I just knew my ass was grass.
I tried with everything I had to act like the knee was fine. But in actuality, it was KILLING me. I gritted my teeth through some serious pain for a few days till I started to heal. I guess it worked, because we both just watched each other.
As time went by, we adopted a sort of truce. In fact, we almost became comfortable around each other. Almost. Then something very surprising happened.
We did the hard, especially heavy, physical work… jack hammering, digging footers, hauling blocks etc. The women there had lighter duties. One of those jobs was mowing the grounds. One day as we were taking a break, one of the women on a riding lawn mower flipped it over on herself while trying to cut a steep grade. The mower had a cut-off safety, but it didn’t work, and she was still caught under the whirring machine.
This same inmate (we’ll call him Grady) and I dashed over and lifted the machine off her. We both avoided the blades but Grady was on the end with the exhaust pipe. He very seriously burned one hand and part of his arm. But the girl was OK.
Now, I honestly don’t recall all the specifics of everything leading up to the best part of this story, but it doesn’t matter too much. The short version is that now the tables were turned, and I had the upper hand. He was incapacitated, and I was in good shape. Ya know what? I probably only considered that fact for about a minute or two.
Over the next week or two we became fast friends. We totally pissed off both his black friends and my white ones. But we didn’t care. He had ignored his friend’s ribbings to do me while he could, and I returned the respect when he was down.
Eventually I wrote some letters in his behalf, pumping up the lawn mower rescue as big as I could make it. We found the right people to send them to, and he got early release out of it. I still had to do some short time before I got out, but the days were easier knowing at least one of us had gotten a pretty good deal out of the whole affair.
Sad to say, I never looked him up – though we were both from the same county – and it has always bothered me inside. I guess it’s a lot like guys who crossed racial barriers to become friends in Nam, but left it there when they came home. He probably wouldn’t remember me anymore, but it’s good to think about him now and then.
It was a nice, clean, fairly well-run facility near Ocala, Florida. I was finishing up my time there on this short sentence for fighting. I was transferred there to serve out my final time before release.
My first job assignment was the same as almost everyone else’s. I was working on the prison farm. The farm land hugged the Western edge of the camp, so we only had to go about a quarter mile to get to the barn, the informal work headquarters. The tasks were relatively easy, picking up small rocks, planting, hoeing, and some potato harvesting. We also had a small plot of tomatoes. I was on the big work crew for about two weeks, and decided I needed something better.
Most of the inmates were pretty young guys. The typical kind with an attitude. This was actually a boon to us “more seasoned” cons. While the young studs were busy posturing and trying to act cool, we “old dogs” set ourselves up to be favored for the best jobs. All this required was showing a little hustle and giving the farmer in charge of us a small degree of common respect. It was easy… too easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel. I almost felt sorry for the cocky kids. Every time they might have had a chance for a better job, you could bet that they would just HAVE to go out of their way to prove to the other kids that no one told them what to do. Poor dumb kids, just couldn’t catch on.
Me, I was shooting for the clerk’s position. Unfortunately, the guy already firmly entrenched in that cushy job just wasn’t going to let it go. I had to reset my sights. The next best thing was the tomato patch. It was close to the barn, right next to a lot of nice, big shade trees. And all this other guy and I had to do was water the plants twice a day, fertilize once a week, and then spend some lazy time picking suckers off the branches.
It was a dream job… as prison work goes… but I got bored. I put in for a job on the “New-Construction Crew”. They worked over at the Women’s Prison across the street. Actually about a mile away. It was a tough assignment to land, and I had to wait a month, or so, for the approval to come through.
And while I was waiting, the real essence of my story begins.
One day while waiting in line for something (we were always waiting in one line or another for just about everything) another con came up and stepped in line two places ahead of me. Well, when you are a stupid, reactionary punk, totally engrossed in “image”, you just don’t let something like that go unchallenged. I made noises about it, and he and a few friends didn’t take kindly to it. They said he had been in line there earlier and was just coming back. I didn’t buy it, and said so, but there were four or five of them, and only one of me.
I figured it was all over when an hour or so later, while I was bent over getting a drink at the water fountain… Wham! This same guy lands one on the side of my head. I learned later that his friends had pressured him into cold-cocking me to stand up for himself.
As luck would have it, the blow landed on the high side of my cheek bone, and to tell the truth, I hardly felt it. A few inches lower, and he might have broken my jaw, and a few inches higher, and I would probably have been knocked out. I shook it off and turned to him with my best Schwarzenegger impression and said: “Ni___r”, (yeah they were all black, and frankly saying something like “Afro American…” just wouldn’t have carried the weight of the threat I wanted to convey. So I employed the “n” word. Apologies to all reading this in a more enlightened era.)… continuing now: “N”, if that’s your best shot, you’re in a world of s---T!”
I thought he was going to faint dead away! I was pretty proud of myself. Pure dumb luck had helped me look like I was invincible, and I scared the daylights out of him with a beautifully delivered macho BS line straight out of the movies. Well, that was short-lived.
Within seconds, I discovered, to my dismay, that he was backed up by at least a half dozen other Afro Americans. And they weren’t anywhere near as scared of this white boy. It wasn’t much of a fight. Too many of them to really get in many good shots on either side, but the racial division prevalent back then worked to my benefit. It was very quickly a black/white thing, and the fight soon took on a free-for-all appearance. Other inmates broke it up before the guards got involved, and things cooled a little.
Nobody really got hurt, but the tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. In fact, I think most of us directly involved carried knives most of the time for a few days. I wanted him, and I suppose he wanted me. This was about as serious as it had ever gotten for me in all my four months locked up.
Sure, I had gotten into a lot of fights. I still have a capped front tooth as a reminder of one of them. But they had usually been just plain fist fights. Now, this thing appeared to be brewing into a killing date. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but I sure didn’t want to be shived myself.
Well, I was out on the soccer field a few days later on a Saturday, and I wracked up my knee. Real bad. I could hardly walk. You talk about being scared! There was no way I could defend myself, and “they” knew it. I hardly even slept that weekend.
And wouldn’t you know it, the very next work day I was assigned to the new job I had been waiting for. Guess who was the first person I saw when I got on the truck bound for the Women’s Prison? Yep. There he was. I just knew my ass was grass.
I tried with everything I had to act like the knee was fine. But in actuality, it was KILLING me. I gritted my teeth through some serious pain for a few days till I started to heal. I guess it worked, because we both just watched each other.
As time went by, we adopted a sort of truce. In fact, we almost became comfortable around each other. Almost. Then something very surprising happened.
We did the hard, especially heavy, physical work… jack hammering, digging footers, hauling blocks etc. The women there had lighter duties. One of those jobs was mowing the grounds. One day as we were taking a break, one of the women on a riding lawn mower flipped it over on herself while trying to cut a steep grade. The mower had a cut-off safety, but it didn’t work, and she was still caught under the whirring machine.
This same inmate (we’ll call him Grady) and I dashed over and lifted the machine off her. We both avoided the blades but Grady was on the end with the exhaust pipe. He very seriously burned one hand and part of his arm. But the girl was OK.
Now, I honestly don’t recall all the specifics of everything leading up to the best part of this story, but it doesn’t matter too much. The short version is that now the tables were turned, and I had the upper hand. He was incapacitated, and I was in good shape. Ya know what? I probably only considered that fact for about a minute or two.
Over the next week or two we became fast friends. We totally pissed off both his black friends and my white ones. But we didn’t care. He had ignored his friend’s ribbings to do me while he could, and I returned the respect when he was down.
Eventually I wrote some letters in his behalf, pumping up the lawn mower rescue as big as I could make it. We found the right people to send them to, and he got early release out of it. I still had to do some short time before I got out, but the days were easier knowing at least one of us had gotten a pretty good deal out of the whole affair.
Sad to say, I never looked him up – though we were both from the same county – and it has always bothered me inside. I guess it’s a lot like guys who crossed racial barriers to become friends in Nam, but left it there when they came home. He probably wouldn’t remember me anymore, but it’s good to think about him now and then.
I totally get that the N word is a vile disgusting term. I personally do not use it to address anyone because of all of the vitriol attached to that word. By you telling your coworkers what this individual said, you are creating a hostile work environment which I'm sure is against company policy.
You possibly missed an opportunity to witness to this individual. He may not have cared or gotten the message right then but at least a seed was planted. One plants another waters and God gives the increase. (1 Corinthians 3:6.) I get frustrated, angry and offended at times by folks ignorance. I'm from South Carolina originally so I have experienced it ALOT. I live in the north now and the only difference is it is more hidden up here. Down there it's more bold.
Since the race for the white house began, all of the police shootings etc. I have seen who is who and it really saddened me. Black and White alike. I may not like something that a group of people are doing but I don't think the whole group is that way. That is just plain silly and ignorant. "The Blacks do it so why can't we." "The Whites do it so why can't we."
What is this grade school? What does God's Word say?
Matthew 5: 44 But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
Matthew 6:15 But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
Matthew 18:21 Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?
22 Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.
I was going to leave this site because I couldn't believe the words that came from some people and the blatant hate and disrespect, yet they want to be respected. The only showing love and calling someone brother or sister if they agreed with your opinions. If not then they were the enemy.Want to be understood but not willing to listen. Many people here have pm'd me the last few days with encouraging words and Godly kindness.
They by far outweighed the negativity that I have experienced here.
You possibly missed an opportunity to witness to this individual. He may not have cared or gotten the message right then but at least a seed was planted. One plants another waters and God gives the increase. (1 Corinthians 3:6.) I get frustrated, angry and offended at times by folks ignorance. I'm from South Carolina originally so I have experienced it ALOT. I live in the north now and the only difference is it is more hidden up here. Down there it's more bold.
Since the race for the white house began, all of the police shootings etc. I have seen who is who and it really saddened me. Black and White alike. I may not like something that a group of people are doing but I don't think the whole group is that way. That is just plain silly and ignorant. "The Blacks do it so why can't we." "The Whites do it so why can't we."
What is this grade school? What does God's Word say?
Matthew 5: 44 But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
Matthew 6:15 But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
Matthew 18:21 Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?
22 Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.
I was going to leave this site because I couldn't believe the words that came from some people and the blatant hate and disrespect, yet they want to be respected. The only showing love and calling someone brother or sister if they agreed with your opinions. If not then they were the enemy.Want to be understood but not willing to listen. Many people here have pm'd me the last few days with encouraging words and Godly kindness.
They by far outweighed the negativity that I have experienced here.
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Well, the point I was trying to make is the same one I have been trying to convey on several threads on this forum, but no one seems to be listening. Both Grady and I were reacting like "others" made us feel we were supposed to respond. Or, should I say, more accurately, the way we allowed others to make us feel.
When we both started acting like our own man, we found a good friend in a perceived enemy that we actually might have killed a few weeks earlier. It took all that for us both to understand what being men is all about.
When we both started acting like our own man, we found a good friend in a perceived enemy that we actually might have killed a few weeks earlier. It took all that for us both to understand what being men is all about.
T
