The Story of Mr. Ronald
;)
When he was a little boy, his favorite aunt and his favorite uncle, a burly polar bear of a man, named Melrose, would often stop by his house on Saturday mornings on their way downtown to pay their bills and shop. If his parents did not object, they would pick him up and let him tag along with them.
Part of what made these excursions so rewarding to the youngster was that his uncle Melrose frequently would do this literally, and let him ride upon his strong shoulders.
He was no more than 4 years old, but he was a cute though diminutive black boy who was quite precocious for his age. This last trait was particularly appealing not only to his beloved uncle and aunt and his entire extended family but to virtually all who met him throughout the community of his native Winston Salem, NC.
This was during the era of Jim Crow, before the now famous 1954 Supreme Court decision of Brown vs. the Board of Education, Topeka Kansas, and way, way before the 1964 Voting Rights Act, and the enactment of other landmark civil rights legislation.
Along the route from where he lived to the downtown area, a distance of several blocks, the youngster and his uncle Melrose and aunt Teena would typically encounter a diverse but unfailingly friendly and engaging cast of characters. There would be white people and there would be black people, almost all of them adults.
And consistent with the Southern protocol of polite congeniality, as they passed one storefront after another, many of the occupants and proprietors would exchange morning pleasantries with them. Occasionally, along the way, the youngster’s relatives would stop and enter an establishment to pay a bill or make a purchase. And inevitably, during these adult transactions, everyone’s attention would somehow shift to the cute and precocious skinny little black boy.
He had been amply schooled and rehearsed by this uncle Melrose for just such occasions and so he always knew perfectly just what to say as well as how precisely to answer when anyone dared to ask. “Well, what is your name young man?”
And regardless of the race of the adult who made the inquiry, it didn’t matter to him one bit if the person’s complexion was black or white he always proudly, enthusiastically gave the same answer. “My name is Mr. Ronald!”
His uncle and aunt would always beam down at him with pride in their warm black faces at his answer and responses to the inevitable other questions about his age and the invariable compliments to his intelligence, cute looks and poise.
But they never bragged so much about his rhetorical feats as when the Southern white men or women would pose him the loaded question and out of the exigencies of Southern congeniality be required to repeat to him the name he had given---Mr. Ronald. “Oh, I see, well how do you do, Mr. Ronald.” And invariably the amused adult would reach down to shake his outstretched hand.
In this way he was assiduously instructed to carry himself with dignity and confidence among all persons he encountered from his earliest days as a child. And being a child, who was obedient and without guile, he did.
It was only until much later when he matured as a young man, could he really appreciate the courage, the shrewdness and profound insight of his beloved uncle Melrose, who lived his entire life in a region of this country, our nation, where no White man, woman or child even, would stoop to ever address him with the simple salutation of Mr. or Sir.
His uncle became a life-long hero, who uniquely inspired him to become the man and the person he is today.
This column is dedicated to his memory-an enduring legacy of my heart.
Columnist, Mr. Ronald