Wit and Wisdom: Prejudiced But Didn’t Know It

It’s easy to be deluded into thinking that you know yourself, especially at the age of fifteen. But events can suddenly thrust you into a set of circumstances that shatters the crystal castle you’ve built in your mind. Then you find yourself on your knees trying to pick up the shards, only to discover they will never fit together in the same way again.

It was 1968 - the summer of change. Social upheaval. Unrest in the streets. Strains of “We Shall Overcome.” I witnessed many of those changes, but it wasn’t until I moved to Tennessee and met Eugene McDonald that I experienced change on a personal level.

One of the scariest things for a kid is attending the first day of school at a new school in a new town. Yet there I was, for the fifth time in my life, enduring this Hitchcock-like tension. The butterflies in my stomach beat their wings nervously, and my sweaty hands gripped my books as the lump in my throat swelled until I had a hard time swallowing.

I dragged my feet through the shade of giant maple trees and climbed the steps of the ancient building - like something from a gothic novel - known as Dresden High School to begin my sophomore year. (One rumor I heard was that the building had been condemned twice. The town ultimately demolished it the year after I graduated.)

The lobby of the school that morning was an assault on my senses. The musty smell of the old building and multiple samples of the latest perfumes (White Shoulders, Chanel No. 5) and aftershaves (English Leather, Brut, and Hi Karate) made me sneeze. A cacophony of voices pelted me as friends greeted each other with a smile, hug, or slap on the back.

The looks I got were sideways glances, followed by questions delivered from mouth-covered hands. I read the questions in their eyes. “Who is that?” “Is he new?” “What grade is he in?”

In a town of 2,500 and a high school of 350, hiding the fact that you’re an outsider is impossible.

Students strode toward their assigned destinations, but I feel lost. I walked slowly across the worn wooden floor of the lobby, not having a clue where I was supposed to go. Then I saw Bob. He was one person I met when we moved to Dresden a few weeks ago. He came straight toward me.

“Hi, David. How’s it going?”

“I’m not sure which way I’m supposed to go.”

“Let me see your schedule. What’s your first class?”

I show Bob my list of classes.

“First period – P.E. That’s great. That’s my first class, too. Follow me.”

Relieved to have some direction, I followed Bob and exited the building through a set of heavy double-doors. We joined a small stream of people into another building I expected would be the gymnasium. Three steps inside the building confirmed it.

Back then, all gymnasiums smelled the same - a mixture of musty clothes, newly varnished floors, and soap from the showers. And they sounded the same – rubber soles squeaking on the wooden floor, voices echoing to the point of being unintelligible, coach’s whistles, and someone barking instructions.

Everyone clamored onto the wooden bleachers. Bob introduced me to a couple of people. Because he was born and raised in Dresden, he seemed to know everyone. He had no idea what it was like to be an outsider.

A man with a whistle around his neck told everyone to get quiet.

“That’s Coach Gibson, the basketball coach,” Bob whispered. “Did you bring some clothes to change into for P.E.?”

The second portion of Prejudiced But Didn’t Know It will continue next week.

* Taken from The Wit and Wisdom of David Johnson, Volume III: A Harrowing Halloween Tale