EDITORIAL NOTE: This February,
the Geary County Historical Society will celebrate Black History Month by
taking a look at 4 different accounts of African-Americans who have lived in
this community. These stories will look at different aspects of their life in
Junction City, and how race played a part in their everyday life. This is the
first part of a four part series that will run through February.
That Look Like Me
When I reflect on my childhood in
Junction City it is inevitable to question the significance of my skin color. Born
with deep dark skin shortly after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King
Jr., I came into the world and Junction City when things were changing for
everybody. I, not unlike JC, progressed
and grew through the 70s and 80s. From
my early childhood I can remember feeling different. Sometimes it was different
good and sometimes it was not so good.
I have fond and fun memories of
attending Nursery School at the Methodist Church on Jefferson in the early 70s.
The building housed spacious classrooms and a basement big enough to race
around on the coveted Big Wheel. My
classroom was delightfully scattered with books, toys, and arts and crafts
supplies. The latter included magazines used to cut out people in our likeness
and paste them on construction paper to recreate our family. I immediately realized I had quite a
dilemma. I could not use these
magazines. As a matter a fact, my Mother had to supply some because nobody in
any of their books looked like me.
Later in early elementary school my
skin color would come into play again. During an activity we were asked to hold
up our pinky. After spending a few seconds looking at my little finger I
readily complied after informing the teacher that I indeed, had a brownie.
As I progressed through Franklin Elementary
and enjoyed Play Days and Fun Night, I began to understand the impact of the
color of my skin. During an activity in the fourth grade, the teacher needed to
select an “IT”. She proceeded with the
classic “Eenie, meenie, miney mo however in her version, the object to be
caught was not a tiger but a “nigger”. Though
I did not perceive hostility, I was shocked at encountering a real life person
that used that word. I also realized that not all people followed the golden
rule when it came to people that looked like me. I wrote a poem in fifth grade that scored an
A+. The teacher praised its greatness and I excitedly waited to hear her
announce that it would soon hang on the Principal’s Board. When this never
happen I asked why and was informed that my cursive x was incorrectly crossed. Several
changes later I realized it would never be good enough. Eventually, I discovered
the same teacher taught my sister and was not very fair to her either. In sixth grade, I called a white male
classmate to get a reading assignment. His mother haughtily assumed I was
calling with a romantic interest and was not pleased. She was nice enough to me in person however she
did not want this dark skinned girl dating her son. My Golden Rule lesson was reiterated not only
by my own personal experiences but by external factors as well. Roots aired on
television and sometime around then I saw Gone with the Wind. The Colonial
Theater showed the movie “Tough”, the story of a young black male. We studied Black History in school but stayed
on the safe subjects like Dr. King, or Fredrick Douglass. Junction City is just
two miles from Fort Riley, however the Historical Buffalo Soldiers were rarely
discussed in school. The Freedom Train came to Topeka in 1976. It was Kansas cold and the line was long but
the reward was priceless. The sight of President Lincoln’s Coat and Dr. Mr.
Luther King’s Robes brought the reality of racism home.
Growing up I never let my skin
color prevent me from enjoying the community. I participated in Girl Scouts and a multitude
of activities at the First Presbyterian church where a lot of the time the only
other people that look like me were my Sister and Mother. I joined softball leagues and participated in
the Drama community at the Little Theater. Though most of the plays were Caucasian
based, I was filled with pride and ambition when a stage full of actors that
looked like me presented the play “9th Street”. Written by a black
local author, “9th Street” was based on Junction City’s famous East
9th street. The Fourth of
July’s Sundown Salute was going strong at Milford and Piñata was the meeting
place for everybody of all races. We had two Dairy Queens, an arcade, a new
movie theater with multiple screens and a skating rink. All enjoyed pretty
peacefully by people of all races. The city was growing and so was I.
It wasn’t until I was commuting to
and from Topeka that I encountered racism again. When my card failed to work at
a gas station on the west side of South Washington the clerk demanded to see my
ID. She then contemptuously informed me I did not have enough money, however
the white customers before and after me were advised of a “system issue”. During same time I made an appointment to
speak with a broker two blocks up the street to get information on investing.
The enthusiasm he depicted over the phone to share his knowledge changed to more
than subtle disdain and a “you’re wasting my time” demeanor when he saw my dark
skin.
On my most recent visit it was
good to see businesses that depict Junction City’s growth in diversity as well
as the community’s stability. I drove by Mark’s Beauty Salon and Foster Cuts,
both owned and operated by people that look like me. I visited the Groove where
a warm Junction City welcome awaits patrons of all races. Central National Bank,
where I opened my first account is going strong and the ever loved Daily Union
is still the paper of choice. All places
where people that don’t look like me and people that do are joined together by
the love for Junction City.
By : Karren Kilpatrick
By : Karren Kilpatrick
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