Thanksgiving, forty one years later

Editor's note: A tweet from the National Museum of African American History and Culture recently caught our eye. They asked an interesting question: who was your first friend of another race? For curator Karen Lee, her first friend of another race was also her first best friend. In the Thanksgiving spirit of reflecting on memories, family, and friends, we're sharing the story of Karen's recent reunion with her best buddy from long ago.

We didn't recognize each other at first. When her Dad answered my call from the airport he said, "Find Tammy, she's at baggage claim, I'll pick you both up." Last I had seen her, I was nine years old. Once we stood face-to-face, 41 years evaporated through our tears. Without hesitation I said, "Let's go, your Dad's outside in the car." Driving from the airport in Shreveport to their farm in Mansfield, Louisiana, we laughed about our momentary disconnect—did we seriously think we would recognize each other after four decades? Then I pulled out a photograph of us—inseparable friends in New York during the 1960s—and the memories erupted. We didn't stop smiling, crying, eating, or remembering for the rest of the weekend.

 

Melissa Lee, Karen Lee, and Tammy Jones, Peekskill, New York, 1967

Tammy and I grew up together in Peekskill, New York, where my grandfather settled after immigrating from Czechoslovakia. Tammy's Dad moved his family to New York for better teaching jobs but later returned to Louisiana when his in-laws became sick. Looking back, he recalled the difficulty of going back to segregated schools in Mansfield after teaching in integrated ones up North. Tammy's brother Horace Sharp served two tours in Vietnam. Sometimes we'd sneak into his room to snoop around. I remember his art work taped to the walls. Now his paintings hang in museums.

 

Horace Jones, "Taste of Freedom"

Mr. Jones, me, Horace, Tammy

Adulthood had taken Tammy and me in different directions and we lost touch. While I was traipsing around the world, she built a family. She worked hard and tried her hand at many trades to raise eight kids. She loves her current job in the local elementary school kitchen. "Feeding people makes me happy," she told me. We share this love for feeding people but, unlike me, she's at ease cooking for large numbers. Tammy's kids now have their own children so when she prepares a family dinner, it's usually for 20 people. 

 

Serving gumbo

My life—full of friends and professional responsibility—seems lacking by comparison. But when I mentioned it, Tammy was quick to remind me that I've visited all the places we used to fantasize about when we played with the globe. How many times had we tried to dig to China? And where did that idea come from? Turns out it was inspired by a storybook our grade-school teacher used to read at nap time. Would any kid today—with the internet and Facebook friends around the world—ever believe you could dig to China? What a different world we grew up in.

At church on Sunday, when the pastor asked if there were any visitors, my first thought was to ignore him until I realized I was the only white person in the audience. Moments later Tammy made an amazing dedication to our childhood—testifying to how, "we didn't know the difference between Black and White." She and the choir dedicated a song to me that I'll never forget.

Zion Hill Missionary Baptist Church, Mansfield, Louisiana

Tammy's brother Horace took me to visit his mother's grave—fulfillment of a promise I made to my mom. She and Mrs. Jones were best friends, too, and it was my mother's ongoing contact that led me back to this, my first family. So as I look forward to celebrating Thanksgiving with my mother in Peekskill, I look back with certainty that attributes of my personality—curiosity for world culture, stubborn persistence for righteous causes, and optimism despite despair, to name just a few—were lovingly shaped by this vibrant family and good luck that Tammy was my first best friend. Before I left Mansfield, she reminded me that we will always be best friends no matter the time or distance. Happy Thanksgiving.

So who was your first friend of another race? Tell us in the comments below or send us a tweet. 

Above, video clips of Karen's trip. 

Karen Lee is a curator of numismatics at the National Museum of American History. Karen's first book is The Private Sketchbook of George T. Morgan, about the sculptor and coin designer George T. Morgan, whose works of art include the Morgan silver dollar minted beginning in the 1870s. The book is now available.

Comments

[Byron]

Adults and the social structure most of the times forces us to be separated from other races. But come to think of it, when we are children we see each other as real person, no skin color can separate us. You're lucky and blessed to have experienced such wonderful friendship. God bless!

[Ern]

Simple but inspiring story. You get a glimpse of how time flies so fast. 60's seems a galaxy away from us already. But the memory never fades. :-)

[Erin]

Thanks for your comment, Billy. We agree that the 1967 photo is especially poignant.

[Billy Suratt]

Thanks for sharing such a wonderful story. The photo from 1967 is especially touching knowing the political climate of that time. If the world were run by children -- as opposed to adults who often behave like children -- there would probably be no racism.

[сглобяеми къщи]

I live in a small country in eastern Europe and it was very unusual to meet anyone from anther race when I was young. It is very uncommon even now days to meet black people in my home town. And this is why I remember very clear the first time I saw a black man in person. I was 4-5 year old and I hurt my arm on a broken glass. My parents rushed me to the hospital and there was a young medical student from Nigeria who stitched me up. I remember him as very kind and caring man. And when I was growing up and iron curtain fell I started learning about racism in America and the racial segregation and it was a big mystery to me how was this possible. Now after I've grown up I see that most of this is history and and the minds of most people have evolved past this and I am very glad.

[Erin]

Colleen, thank you for commenting! It's interesting how social media like Facebook can keep us in touch with old friends. We really appreciate you sharing your experience.

Julia, thanks for sharing your story. Sounds like your childhood friend made a big impact on your life. Were you ever able to find him again?

Janet, thank you! We're glad you liked the post.

[HB]

Very Interresting

[Janet Stoeke]

Beautiful.

[Julie Stewart]

My first black friend was a boy in my first grade class at Edgewood Elementary in Farmington, Michigan. We were the only two kids in the room with brown eyes & always shared our crayons, pencils, paper, etc. No one else would talk to him or play with him on the playground. He was such a happy kid with a huge smile & a great attitude, I liked him immediately. One day he told me they were moving to Redford & he was very excited to be changing to a school where more kids looked like him! I was confused by that & didn't understand for a few years what he meant. He was gone before the Christmas break & I missed him the rest of that school year. I always wondered what happened to him in life...

[Santri Jaya]

Thanksgiving inspiring us as a social humans who must live together, helping, sharing and giving each other without looking what ever our background.

[Colleen Smith]

I didn't get to know anyone from another race growing up where I did in the 50's and 60's. It's sad to think that there were about 4 different black families represented in my high school and I never got to know any of them. But when I moved to Greenville, SC in 2005, I started to work at a bank with Estoria. She was opinionated and determined. I loved it. We became friends and when I visit SC, I always make time to see her. She texted me when she was pregnant with her first and second child.I am thankful for facebook too so I can keep up with her and other friends I have made over the years and don't get to see in person much.