Thankfully, mom never
saw life in black and white

Robyn’s ‘Hood
By Robyn McCloskey

For those of you who’ve been reading my column for a while, you might recall that my mom Darlene is a diehard Elvis fan. And while I have shared a lot of the humor that accompanies being an adult child of an Elvis fanatic, I have rarely shared the surprising serious lessons learned from someone who lived for those hip-swiveling, pelvis-thrusting, blue-suede-shoe-dancin’ gyrations.
So, in honor of Black History Month, I thought it’s about time I did. Because it seems that before Elvis was crowned "King" and was still a poor boy from Tupelo just beginning to receive airplay on the radio, his faceless voice often was mistaken for that of a black crooner. In fact, after hearing Elvis on the radio, many people who later saw him in person found it hard to believe that this skinny, fresh-faced boy could belt out such soulful tunes.
But belt them out he did, no matter the color of his skin. Which was just one of the many virtues that made Elvis Presley exceptional. He crossed boundaries people hadn’t yet begun to cross. Not only was he color-blind to people but people were color-blind to him.
And this, I happen to believe, is the greatest thing my mom has in common with the King of Rock ’n’ Roll.
Back in 1974 my parents decided to take our family on a vacation to Disney World. Wanting to make it seem even more of an adventure, they planned to take us by train, a mode of transportation that would enable us to see some of the countryside on our way down to Florida. Well, that and the fact that my father was deathly afraid of flying.
But hey, an adventure is an adventure, so all aboard!! I was 10 at the time, thus my recollections of the trip are a little hazy these days, but I will never forget the events of that train ride. The entire train was jam-packed; our car did not have one available seat, leading me to marvel at the number of dads who must have been afraid of flying.
The train was rolling along nicely until around five that afternoon, when the air-conditioning in our car just died and soon put a lot of families on the verge of losing their cool. This was July, mind you, and since we were speeding toward the muggy warmth of a stretch of Southern states, the heat had become unbearable by 7.
It wasn’t until two hours later that a conductor approached my mother and engaged her in conversation. I couldn’t hear what he was saying; I could see a great look of relief wash over my mother’s face. As the conductor moved along, my mom leaned over to tell us there were open seats in another car — with air-conditioning!!!
We grabbed our belongings. That’s when my mom announced to the entire car, "Gather your things, everyone, they’re putting us in an air-conditioned car!"
The sighs and cheers of relief were louder than the screams heard while riding Space Mountain. And as everyone began to push and jostle toward the exit of our rail car, I still vividly recall the look of panic on that conductor’s face.
He rushed over to my mom.
"Oh no, ma’am, you don’t understand, it’s just your family we’re moving."
"What do you mean??" she replied. "You said there was plenty of room."
"Well that may be, but still, it’s just for your family."
"Is it that these other fine people didn’t pay their tickets?" mom wanted to know.
"Well, no, they paid."
"Is it that we’ve won some sort of contest?"
"Uh, no ma’am, that’s not it either," the conductor stammered.
"I’m sorry, but you are just going to have to explain yourself, young man."
The conductor paused a moment and leaned a little closer to my mother.
"Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, ma’am, but all these other folks . . . well, they ain’t white."
"Oh, well then, you are correct . . . I hadn’t noticed," she told him. "But since you were so kind as to point that out to me, I think I will just stay here with my new friends, if you don’t mind."
"Suit yourself, ma’am."
And that’s when my mom got her first standing ovation. It may not have been as enthusiastic as the many that her hero Elvis had gotten over the years, but it was just as well-deserved.
And while that night stands out in my mind as the hottest, stickiest, sweatiest night of my life, I must admit one thing.
It was also the coolest. ••
Robyn McCloskey’s column appears each week in the Northeast Times. She can be reached at crmccloskey@verizon.net