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Not-So-Random Ramblings
These writings about my experiences with the
African-American community in Brooklyn were to be part of a whole that has
yet to be written. I am a white middle class woman in my sixties. In the
period I write of I was in my twenties when I met and married an
African-American man. The years were 1962-1972. They were very crucial
years in the Civil Rights movement across the country. They were crucial
years for me too. I had much to learn. He and I lived in the Crown Heights
section of Brooklyn which began to turn black as whites fled to Long
Island. My husband had a theory that whites flee when the black population
of a neighborhood exceeds a certain percentage.
I worked both in
Brooklyn and Manhattan in Headstart and Day Care programs and later taught
fledgling teachers in a special program at N.Y.U. My husband owned and
operated a popular coffee house on the Lower East side of Manhattan for
part of that period. In 1963 we had a baby boy, Patrice Eivind Mackey. He
was named for Patrice Lumumba of the Congo and my father, a Norwegian sea
captain. He was a very cute baby.
The learning curve for me during
this period was enormous. My husband was a very knowledgeable person about
history, particularly the history of black Americans. I learned a great
deal from him. I immersed myself in writings about and by African
Americans. I got involved with the Brooklyn chapter of C.O.R.E. (Congress
of Racial Equality) in non-violent demonstrations until they became too
dangerous for my young son to be exposed to.
I don't know if I was
a brave young woman then or very naive. Probably both. I certainly was
ignorant of much of American history in 1961 after 5 years of college. The
learning that took place during those years permanently changed my
perceptions of myself and this country. I am more realistic today than I
was then about how long change takes, but I am still hopeful (naive?)
about the future.
Bergie Lustig
January 2002
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