Getting My Ears Cut Off: Becoming “Bi-racial”
Roscoe Harvey, a wise and very dignified black gentleman who lived in my hometown, La Grange, Kentucky, holds a special space in my earliest childhood memories. I see him in overalls and wearing the stripped, dark blue and white cap worn by railroad workers in those days. I remember him as tall and thin with white hair– and perhaps a close, grey beard.
Roscoe was close to my father and may have helped from time to time at my father’s hardware store. Roscoe and his wife Mary also occasionally helped at our home, but I don’t remember their work or any social visits.
He was a kind, spiritual man. When I think of him, I immediately smile as I can hear him teasing me. I would laugh when he would tell me that he was going “to cut my ears off.” I wasn’t laughing in fear, but because the teasing was great fun coming from such a gentle man.
We don’t have any photographs of Roscoe. My family didn’t have much of a camera and it was rarely used. The small drawer where our family kept some photos had only a few images of my brother and sister and me when we were very young– and the fish we caught on vacation.
Years later, as a freshman in college, I became interested in civil rights. I’m sure I had been learning much about civil rights from Roscoe during my early years. As a college senior, I talked with him about segregation. I shared with him my idea of including the town’s two black churches in the joint community church service the white Protestant churches held on Easter and Thanksgiving.
He took me with him on a Saturday evening to the white fundamental Assembly of God Church in our town. He attended services there from time to time, and I think he wanted me to see that not all churches practiced segregation. He was the only black person there. I don’t remember our conversation about the black and white churches worshipping together, but I am sure he offered me his support and gave me the courage to invite the two black churches to the sunrise service the following Easter.
After college, I was away in military service and didn’t see Roscoe again. My father had told me that he went to Roscoe’s home from time to time to pray with him. I must have heard about his death from my father, but I don’t remember getting the news. Now 50 years later, I have not been able to learn anything about Roscoe or to find the Harvey’s children who had left La Grange for somewhere “up North” when I was very young.
One day a year ago, I was talking with a friend who told me she was “bi-racial.” I was surprised as I had not noticed. I replied without thinking, “I am bi-racial, too.” My response was also a surprise, but it seemed a natural thing to say. And I was pleased to reveal how I saw myself.
If Roscoe were still living, I would tell him of my new “identity.” He would understand and tell me that his teasing and friendship had touched me like he had hoped. He didn’t want to “cut off my ears,” but was cutting away at my prejudice and racism.
William J. “Bill” Meers; May 2012
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