Walk A Mile In Someone Else’s Shoes
His name was Ozzie and he was my favorite driver during the three years I was a tour guide for Colette Vacations. In his mid-60s, with a smile as wide as the Mississippi River and a sense of humor that kept people laughing, Ozzie was always dressed smart with his outfit topped off with a men’s “flat cap” (also known as a Bannett) and driving gloves. We made a great team, co-hosting 10-12 day bus trips where our guests would meet us by flying into Louisville, Kentucky and then at the end of the tour, fly out of Memphis, Tennessee. Traditional overnights included visits to Bardstown, KY (home of My Old Kentucky Home), Gatlinburg (where we visited Pigeon Forge and Dollywood and later toured the Great Smokey Mountains), Nashville (home of the Grand Ole’ Opry) and Memphis (home of Elvis), TN so the fact that we ended in the city of Ozzie’s birth was a big bonus for our passengers! They always loved picking his brain about Memphis!
On this particular trip we had a private group out of California, with a group leader named Bill. The average age was no surprise, ringing in at 70+ but despite their age, they were a fun loving, laid back group. Because they knew each other from home, they were livelier and more social than other groups we’d had in the past. One of their daily traditions was to gather in their group leaders hotel room to enjoy cocktails. Although we were invited, most of the time Ozzie and I begged off for a few hours. Yes, we wanted the group to have their own fun but I have to admit that after spending 10-12 hours a day on the bus or at a museum, restaurant or city tour with a bunch of 70+ year old’s, all I wanted to do was put my feet up and relax with some quiet time before heading out for a group meal. They’d head off for drinks, and Ozzie and I would off-load the bus, and go our separate ways for a few hours.
It was our last night with this group, and while we finally accepted their invitation to join them for pre-dinner drinks, Bill called to ask if Ozzie would be willing to take him for wine and spirits, mixers and food … food meant a stop at a grocery store and alcohol meant a stop at a liquor store. Normally this was something a group leader would take a cab for but Bill didn’t know Memphis and he rightfully figured that since it was Ozzie’s home town, he’d know the best spots to go that were close to our hotel near Mud Island.
I knew Ozzie would be happy to help Bill out, so I didn’t mind making that phone call. Always affable and accommodating to our passengers, Ozzie was good to go but the caveat was that I had to go along with them. Odd that he asked me but Ozzie always had a valid reason for everything he did so I shrugged my shoulders into the phone, agreed and hung up. They’d been an awesome group and small things like this made the biggest difference to our gratuities, so as we met in the lobby and headed out, Bill could not stop thanking us for going above and beyond the call of duty.
Now the truth of the matter was that Ozzie and I could not have been more different. I grew up in the North, Pennsylvania by birth and by this time had made Boston my home. Ozzie was from the deep South. I loved to listen to him talk, his southern accent warm like the honey dripping off of a butter biscuit. His stories were filled with wisdom and a sadness that I could not understand but my incessant curiosity had me constantly asking questions about his life and what it was like to grow up in the South. Luckily for me, Ozzie didn’t mind. He was patient and understood the innocence of my nature, so the depth of our friendship grew despite our many differences. I was 21 and Ozzie was 61, 40 years my senior however because I was raised around my grandparents, that didn’t bother me in the least. For as tall as I am, that is about as short as Ozzie was but man, was he a fire cracker with his energy so what he lacked in height, he certainly made up for with his larger than life personality. And lastly for as white as my skin color, that was as black as Ozzie was. His skin was the color of dark chocolate. Like I said, on the surface we were polar opposites and yet at the same time, kindred spirits, forever seeing the good in people and a love of adventure.
Our first stop was the liquor store where Ozzie forewarned us that he would need to wait in the motor coach while we shopped. Logical, because this was a very expensive vehicle that was not easy to park due to its size. Bill and I were fine with that so as we pulled up to the neighborhood liquor store, we hopped out and headed towards the building where we both searched for the front door. In this case, to our surprise, there was none. We discovered a bullet proof window that was reinforced with bars and you had to tell the cashier what you wanted through an external microphone, and then pay through a small drawer that was controlled from inside. When your order was ready, they would open a larger door and push your bottles through an opening that was large enough to fit the liquor bottles but small enough that someone couldn’t crawl through. This was definitely a first for me.
When we got to the grocery store, in order to save time, I offered to split the shopping list with Bill. Since he was paying for everything, we agreed to fill our baskets and meet back at the checkout counter. Bill went right and I went left and just like with the liquor store, Ozzie was holding down the fort in the motor coach outside. Obviously this was a new grocery store for me, so the shopping was taking longer than I expected. I found that I was literally having to walk every aisle looking for the things on my part of the list. Not a problem as one of my favorite things is to get lost in the grocery store every once in a while, especially when I’m in a new city. I get to see what the locals like to eat and also see what products are new. But the longer I walked, I had this nagging feeling like something was “off”. I couldn’t put my finger on it, it was just a sense. I wasn’t afraid. It was just one of those moments when you cock your head to the side, tap your finger on your chin and say “hmmmm” but carry on.
It wasn’t until I reached the checkout counter and saw Bill that I finally recognized what the feeling was. I looked at Bill as his blue eyes gazed back into mine and as I turned my head to look down the line of customers, it hit me. Bill and I were the only white people in the entire store. Yes, while I noticed the other customers as I passed them in the aisles, it didn’t phase me … we were all doing what we came to do, grocery shop. I wasn’t raised to be afraid of people of color so it never occurred to me that quite possibly I would be looked at as out of place. There were customers who looked at us with curiosity. Some with a bit of “what are you doing here” and others just went about their business.
Bill paid for the groceries and we gathered the bags, leaving the store. Ozzie was watching for us so as soon as we walked outside, he pulled the motor coach up and opened the door. He took one look at my face and laughed, slapping his knee in delight. I have no idea what my look “looked” like but I would guess it was the same one on the faces of the American Indians when they first sighted the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria along the coast. You see it but you have no language for it because it is so foreign. That is truly how I felt in that moment. As Bill boarded the motor coach and headed back to sit down, Ozzie’s warm brown eyes met mine and he said to me, “Girl, you’ve asked me what’s like to grow up black in the South and I can tell you all sorts of stories that would curl your hair, but it’s easier to talk about what it’s like now because you just got a taste of understanding. Now you know what I feel every single day when I am the only black man with all of these white folks we travel with. It’s not bad. It’s not good. It just is.”
“A rattlesnake, if cornered will become so angry it will bite itself. That is exactly what the harboring of hate and resentment against others is -- a biting of oneself. We think we are harming others in holding these spites and hates, but the deeper harm is to ourselves.” - E. Stanley Jones
Ozzie asked me to go on this outing, knowing full well that I would experience what it was like to be the only white girl. I had grown up in a white neighborhood, hearing the “N” word used on occasion and it always sickened me when I heard it. I never understood it’s meaning, just knew it was horribly derogatory and only sowed seeds of hatred. Eventually when I heard it, I would say something to the person about how offended I was by its use. I can only imagine what Ozzie felt every time we visited Bardstown, a testament to the enslavement of his ancestors. On this day of my lesson, it was the only way Ozzie knew how to teach me so that I would not only understand but feel it in my body, further erasing the lines of demarcation in the dividing lines of color.
I can never begin to imagine the depth of pain and anguish that he and his family had lived but instead of showing me hatred, he showed me love.
That day has had such an impact on my life. I have never forgotten it and no matter where I go, Ozzie and his words have stayed with me. It was a gentle lesson that he taught me, from the goodness of his heart and I am eternally grateful. He knew that I wanted to truly understand. So while we can read books, watch movies, and listen to TedTalks, what good do they serve until that knowledge becomes wisdom and we begin to change?
What is that saying “don’t judge a man until you walk a mile in his shoes”?