Why is the chapter titled Brown, Black and What? Because i grew up to just naturally adopt the culture or look or style or conduct of those I was with. When i was with my cousins (all poor white folks) that was who i felt i was irregardless of the color of their skin. You wanna be color blind, be it, but never be culture blind
Airman Arrington! My best friend in Vietnam. For obvious reasons I called him AA & he called me RR. Why? What I called him just by his initials was obvious but he called me RR for Red Rock. (see black & white photos below) Because of that friendship I had to move to a more black hut! I was told if I didn’t my bunk bed would be set fire w/me in it then I could be a charcoal color like him! Similar thing happen in Lowery AFB barracks! Non of the whites would room w/me! While the barracks weren’t segregated the rooms were – all accept mine! To me it was a friendship issue not a racial one! Still is!
I had no really black friends till I went to the Air Force because schools were still mostly segregated in Oklahoma in the 50’s 60’s. Indian and Whites went to school together but not with Blacks.
The following facts are based on preference and circumstance and not based on race. My attitude about race (brown, black and white or as the title of this chapter say ‘Brown, Black & what) was shaped by me & my families friendship with our Indian neighbor and later my military life with Blacks airmen and photographers.
Most dry land rancher/farmers were poor! Those who had livestock were not as poor as farmers Who didn’t have enough land to raise cattle! Dad had bought 100 acres at least 200 more so he could raise cows! It would’ve been really rough just living off of farming. I have never in my life thought of myself as poor, or white, or educated, or ignorant and I have never felt a need fo others to view me as anything other than a friend. I just wanted us (whoever i was around at the time) to play good together.
So I never felt one poor person was better than another poor person (even with a different skin color) however we did feel like one poor person might’ve been a little more poor than another poor person but that didn’t matter – everybody was the same – we were all poor just in varying degrees.
However as i look back to write about certain periods and events in my life I guess I can’t escape the necessity to explain (not defend) who I was and will always be.
In my minds eye there was a difference between POOR Roberts family (brown) and POOR Scrimshire family (White)
We had more land not because we were white but because my Dad wanted more land so we could raise cattle & Roberts family didn’t. The difference was not our skin color so I saw no difference cause I didn’t see myself as poor or as white nor did i see them as poor or as brown – I simply saw myself as their friend and my family as their neighbor and to a degree family.
Funny thing though my dad never considered us cattlemen. Most people Dad knew considered cattlemen were never spoken of as poor but certainly farmers were. We always called ourselves farmers.
We had cleaner homes then most farmers but so did many Indian families have cleaner homes than most Indians. A person was basically categorized by how they chose to live, to carry themselves, the cleanliness of lack of cleanly ness of their homes nut not their race or social status.
Roberts family home was considered by some as less clean & less sanitary than many Indian families (poor or not).
Scrimshire home was by many standards cleaner & more sanitary than many other white families (poor or not)
We had screen doors and screened windows (even screened porches) built by a first cousin to Harley Roberts! His name was Johnny Bear – while the home Harley and Elizabeth Roberts lived in had no screens on doors or windows! That Wasn’t because they were poorer than us or other families, is just was how they chose to live… if you choose to look down on something like that, face it, your a snob…
BTW growing up on a farm w/running water, especially in the winter, personal Hygiene was a luxury not a necessity.
No doubt the Roberts 8 kids verses mom & dads two kids kids made a big difference in the clothes we wore and in our personal hygiene. So to a degree Sherrie and I were a little better dressed (less holes in our clothes) and even a little neater than the Roberts family we lived by.
I had white cousins that had no more materially than my brown friends. All that was dictated more by size of family, cultural preference than race but still some of each race would attribute some of those traits and circumstances as being due to race or social status when really they seldom were.
Harley had a brother and his kids (Mitchels 1st cousins) were cleaner than or at least equal in cleanness and style of dress and grooming to any well to do white family and they were just as poor as the rest of us but Roy (my age who I graduated with) and Paul (a year older) were really stylish dressers. Clean creased blue jeans, nice haircuts, and perfectly stylish shoes. Their sports gear was also immaculate and perfect fitted just for them… all the way to their ball caps. Still today I try and copy the baseball cap curve and look as Paul and Roy. Mitchel seldom wore a cap or hat of any kind… Mitchels Dad always wore a ball cap but not Mitchel.
Sadly a few years ago Camilla and I heard Roy Roberts from Okfuskee County Okla was in prison for murder. We don’t remember the details except he was about my age so his name, where from & his age so it was probably him. I actually did a sleep over at this home when i was in grade school. We went up through the grades and graduated together.
Nellie Roberts ands my SisterSherry dress alike. Except for the wearing of a hat, by choice, Mitchel and I dressed alike. While I did wear a cap or hat neither of us liked to wear shoes or freshly ironed and pressed pants or shirts. Both wore belts but safe to say Roy and Paul dressed much differently as did most of my white or Indian friends… as much as my mom and sister tried to teach me other wise clothes just didn’t mean that much to Mitchel and I. However even though I wasn’t stylish, once i started to school, i did refuse to wear the same style overall as Sherrie (see below left). They were for us kids one size fits all.
My dad preferred bib overalls with a hat most of his life (above right). When he got older he traded in the hat for a ball cap.
When I got my first car, a 1949 Hudson and started going into Okemah to the drive-in movie theater, I always took Mitchel with me if he wanted to go… Mitchel‘s sisters seldom wanted to go with us into town they were very quiet and reserved and didn’t feel at home with anyone but each other! Mitchel and I felt like brothers but I don’t think the girls ever considered me like a brother and they never considered Sherrie like a sister.
I only remember the names of a few of Mitchels siblings.
Don’t take me wrong I was close with many of the girls and they would sit on the porch with me and Mitchel and we would just enjoy the evening quiet. Believe it or not none of us talk much back then… when you enjoyed each other‘s company we just enjoyed being with each other. None of us felt it necessary to carry on any long conversations especially personal ones!
As I was growing up I lost a couple of white girlfriends because my closest friends were Indian and because I hung out so much with Mitchel! One of those so-called girl even called me an Indian lover. I’ll never forget that I thought that was a compliment. Come to find out it wasn’t meant to be one! That confused me for quite a while but I didn’t care a friend was a friend irregardless of the color of their skin.
Actually the first few girls I ever kissed were Indian girls! We thought it was fun to kiss each other and giggle like the kids we were. Eventually when the giggling stopped and it got a little too serious we just stop kissing each other that simple…
Just a few of Mitchel sisters went to high school so once Mitchel and I started high school we also started working our way through puberty The kissing became more uncomfortable and and somewhat scary and eventually our silly little kissing games stopped.
When I look back on that time in my life I understand why Jesus Christ said at Matt 18:1-4 we should become like little children in our love for one another because they love and show affection without judgment, prejudice or hypocrisy and I guess to some degree I’ve tried to stay a little kid at heart throughout the rest of my life!
Somewhere during our high school years we even stopped swimming together in our underwear and started swimming and playing together in shorts and swimming trunks. It just happened that way nobody made us do it that way.
The school photo below is of Nellie (the oldest of the Roberts sister and Mitchel the oldest of the Roberts brother). I couldn’t find any other school photos od any of the other Roberts children. Left photo is Nellie & Mitchel 63 Sophomore Class and right 62 Freshman class.
Strange turn of events in the first 20 years of my life. It just happened I went from mostly Indian friends growing up in Oklahoma to mostly black friends in the military! I love both cultures. I never purposely sought out or associated with one group of people except for Jehovah’s Witnesses in my entire life! Life’s circumstances and the environment I was in at any given time dictated who I primarily associated with not the color of their skin!
When I was growing up in Oklahoma most of my friends were Indians, when I served in the military most were black, when I travel the world and was in Asia most were Asian, in Persia most were Persian and so forth. I always always tried to immerse myself or wanted to immerse myself into the culture and environment I found myself. I preferred to focus on enjoying those around me in the moment and never focused on enjoying a particular color of skin yet many of those around me often concluded otherwise except those that I really became close to and they knew it had nothing to do with skin and everything to do with friendship. It simply was what it was not what someone even myself made it.
If I had a culture of my own I must’ve never recognized it and I’m so glad because that mind and heart condition allowed me to enjoy so many beautiful people and show many beautiful cultures. I Saw up close and personal the best in the worst of cultures but never judged accordingly as to one being superior to another because how could I, I didn’t recognize that I had a culture myself. It was as if I believed when I was with them I was part of their culture yet looking back I can see not everyone agreed that I was…
Early in this article i said I only remember the names of a few of the older siblings of Mitchels but that’s not totally accurate I remember one of Mitchels brother who died because early in my relationship with the Roberts family.
Heres what happened and how he died. Michel and I were in grade school and my dad had just built a pig pen. The shelter portion of the pen was a small wooden shed type structure with a tin roof but probably only about head high to us at the time. Back in those days when a roof was added the nails and nail holes in the tin roof would be covered over with tar. That served as a protection from water seeping through the nail hole and ruining the work rafters underneath.
As we had often did we loved to sneak on top the roof and peal off a tar pour or two. Why? We thought it was cool to act like we were chewing tobacco as we spit out the juice from the black tar pour and eventually we would spit out the tar itself but Mitchels much younger brother Harley Jr didn’t understand he should probably spit out the tar ball after chewing it or didn’t want to so literally eat the tar balls and swallowing them as he did so.
Here is where the story goes south. Evidently the tar balls clogged up and blocked up his intestines and he died. Sorry goes the family, not knowing he had ate a lot of tar balls, just thought he was suffering from a stomach ache as kids tend to have. But evidently that was true and he died before they could get him to a hospital. The doctors claimed the cause of death was due to a blocked intestine. All I remember is being so sad and so confused and scared of what happened. Us older kids were made to feel like it was partially our fault. We were shamed and punished for what we did. Our parents said at the least, if we were gonna act all big and chew tar balls – at the least we should have explained that after chewing the tar Jr needed to spit out the tar ball. Such things never entered our mind.
As kids we seldom went out just to chew tar balls. If we did which we seldom did, it was just for fun cause one thing we did understand; Don’t chew too many cause water would seep through the nail hole and ruin the wood rafters underneath. We kinda knew it was wrong but It was fun and Jr wanted to play with us and so we let him. We never noticed he was swallowing the tar balls and even if we had we probably wouldn’t have said anything. No way kids our age could have even guessed what the consequences might be of swallowing tar balls.
Part of the above account is from how i recall what happened but part of it is how I remember Mom telling it and over the years, sometimes, the difference between those two recollections are blurred.
I went to Jr’s funeral at the Indian Baptist church. Afterwards the family and friends performed a stomp dance in his memory. Here is what a google search says about stop dances – http://www.northerncherokeenation.com/the-stomp-dance.html : The Stomp Dance is a ceremony that contains both religious and social meaning. To the Muskogee Creeks, Cherokees, and other Southeastern Indians the Stomp Dance is affiliated with the Green Corn Ceremony. The term “Stomp Dance” is an English term, which refers to the “shuffle and stomp” movements of the dance.
Growing up I attended many a stomp dance. The main Creek Indian Community Hut was just 1/2 mile from where i are up. Often when I would hear them singing I would go over and join them. Often as a very you boy by myself. Mom and Dad was ok with that.
Even though stomp dances were often an opportunity for those in attendance to abuse alcohol and get drunk. However even when most (men and women) were in a drunken state, i never felt threatened but it was kinda scary and exciting.
Actually I attend a stomp dance (with some Creek & Osage Indians) just a few weeks before I left home for basic training in the Airfare at Lackland AFB in SanAntonio Texas. Until later in life did i realize how unusually my growing up around the Indians was. There weren’t many Osage in Oklahoma so I jumped at the chance to attend when invited to do so. The invite was offered when I was at a Cherokee Indian stomp dance.
Now hopefully you can kinda tell why I titled this chapter ‘Brown, Black and What?’.Brown Black or What
Why is the chapter titled Brown, Black and What? Because i grew up to just naturally adopt the culture or look or conduct of those I was with. When i was with my cousins (all poor white folks) that was who i felt i was irregardless of the color of their skin.
Airman Arrington! My best friend in Vietnam. For obvious reasons I called him AA & he called me RR. Why? What I called him just by his initials was obvious but he called me RR for Red Rock. (see black & white photos below) Because of that friendship I had to move to a more black hut! I was told if I didn’t my bunk bed would be set fire w/me in it then I could be a charcoal color like him! Similar thing happen in Lowery AFB barracks! Non of the whites would room w/me! While the barracks weren’t segregated the rooms were – all accept mine! To me it was a friendship issue not a racial one! Still is!
I had no black friends till I went to the Air Force because schools were still mostly segregated in Oklahoma in the 50’s 60’s. Indian and Whites went to school together but not with Blacks.
The following facts are based on preference and circumstance and not based on race. My attitude about race (brown, black and white or as the title of this chapter say ‘Brown, Black & what) was shaped by me & my families friendship with our Indian neighbor and later my military life with Blacks airmen and photographers.
Most dry land rancher/farmers were poor! Those who had livestock were not as poor as farmers Who didn’t have enough land to raise cattle! Dad had bought 100 acres at least 200 more so he could raise cows! It would’ve been really rough just living off of farming. I have never in my life thought of myself as poor, or white, or educated, or ignorant and I have never felt a need to others t view me as anything other than a friend. I just wanted us (whoever i was around at the time) to play good together.
So I never felt one poor person better than another poor person (even with a different skin color) however we did feel like one for person might’ve been a little poor of another poor person but that didn’t matter everybody was the same we were all poor just in varying degrees.
However as i look back to write about certain periods and events in my life I guess I can’t escape the necessity to do as I explain who I was and will always be.
The difference between POOR Roberts family (brown) and POOR Scrimshire family (White)
We had more land not because we were white but because my Dad wanted more land so we could raise cattle & Roberts family didn’t. The difference was not our skin color so I saw no difference cause I didn’t see myself as poor or as white nor did i see them as poor or as brown – I simply saw myself as their friend and my family as their neighbor and to a degree family.
Funny thing though my dad (your Grandpa) never considered us cattlemen. Most people Dad knew considered cattlemen were never spoken of as poor but certainly farmers were. We always called ourselves farmers.
We had cleaner homes then most farmers but so did many Indian families have cleaner homes than most Indians. A person was basically categorized by the cleanliness of lack of cleanly ness of their nomes not their race or social status.
Roberts family home was considered by some as less clean & less sanitary than many Indian families (poor or not).
Scrimshire home was by many standards cleaner & more sanitary than many other white families (poor or not)
We had screen doors and screened windows (even screened porches) built by a first cousin to Harley Roberts! His name was Johnny Bear – while the home Harley and Elizabeth Roberts lived in had no screens on doors or windows! That Wasn’t because they were poorer than us it other families is just was how they chose to live…
BTW growing up on a farm w/no running mater and especially in the winter personal Hygiene was a luxury not a not a necessity.
No doubt the Roberts 8 kids verses mom & dads two kids kids made a big difference in the clothes we wore and in our personal hygiene. So to a degree Sherrie and I were a little better better dressed (less holes in our clothes) and even a little cleaner than the Roberts family we lived by.
I had white cousins that had no more materially than my brown friends. All that was dictated more by size of family, cultural preference than race but still some of each race would attribute some of those traits and circumstances as being due to race or social status when really they seldom were.
Harley had a brother and his kids (Mitchels 1st cousins) were cleaner than or at least equal in cleanness and style of dress and grooming to any well to do white family and they were just as poor as the rest of us but Roy (my age who I graduated with) and Paul (a year older) were really stylish dressers. Clean creased blue jeans, nice haircuts, and perfectly stylish shoes. Their sports gear was also immaculate and perfect fitted just for them… all the way to their ball caps. Still today I try and copy the baseball cap curve and look as Paul and Roy. Mitchel seldom wore a cap or hat of any kind… Mitchels Dad always wore a ball cap but not Mitchel.
Sadly a few years ago Camilla and I heard Roy Roberts from Okfuskee County Okla was in prison for murder. We don’t remember the details except he was about my age so his name, where from & his age so it was probably him. I actually did a sleep over at this home when i was in grade school. We went up through the grades and graduated together.
Except for the wearing of a hat, by choice, Mitchel and I dressed alike. While I did wear a cap or hat neither of us liked to wear shoes or freshly ironed and pressed pants or shirts. Both wore belts but safe to say Roy and Paul dressed much differently as did most of my white or Indian friends… as much as my mom and sister tried to teach me other wise clothes just didn’t mean that much to Mitchel and I. However even though I wasn’t stylish, once i started to school, i did refuse to wear the same style overall as Sherrie (see below left). They were for us kids one size fits all.
My dad preferred bib overalls with a hat most of his life (above right). When he got older he traded in the hat for a ball cap.
When I got my first car, a 1949 Hudson and started going into Okemah to the drive-in movie theater, I always took Mitchel with me if he wanted to go… Mitchel‘s sisters seldom wanted to go with us into town they were very quiet and reserved and didn’t feel at home with anyone but each other! Mitchel and I felt like brothers but I don’t think the girls ever considered me like a brother and they never considered Sherrie like a sister.
I only remember the names of a few of the older siblings Mitchels.
Don’t take me wrong I was close with many of the girls and they would sit on the porch with me and Mitchel and we would just enjoy the evening quiet. Believe it or not none of us talk much back then… when you enjoyed each other‘s company we just enjoyed being with each other. None of us felt it necessary to carry on any long conversations especially personal ones!
As I was growing up I lost a couple of white girlfriends because my closest friends were Indian and because I hung out so much with Mitchel! One of those so-called girl even called me an Indian lover. I’ll never forget that I thought that was a compliment. Come to find out it wasn’t meant to be one! That confused me for quite a while but I didn’t care a friend was a friend irregardless of the color of their skin.
Actually the first few girls I ever kissed were Indian girls! We thought it was fun to kiss each other and giggle like the kids we were. Eventually when the giggling stopped and it got a little too serious we just stop kissing each other that simple…
Just a few of Mitchel sisters went to high school so once Mitchel and I started high school we also started working our way through puberty The kissing became more uncomfortable and and somewhat scary and eventually our silly little kissing games stopped.
When I look back on that time in my life I understand why Jesus Christ said at Matt 18:1-4 we should become like little children in our love for one another because they love and show affection without judgment, prejudice or hypocrisy and I guess to some degree I’ve tried to stay a little kid at heart throughout the rest of my life!
Somewhere during our high school years we even stopped swimming together in our underwear and started swimming and playing together in shorts and swimming trunks. It just happened that way nobody made us do it that way.
The school photo below is of Nellie (the oldest of the Roberts sister and Mitchel the oldest of the Roberts brother). I couldn’t find any other school photos od any of the other Roberts children. Left photo is Nellie & Mitchel 63 Sophomore Class and right 62 Freshman class.
Strange turn of events in the first 20 years of my life. It just happened I went from mostly Indian friends growing up in Oklahoma to mostly black friends in the military! I love both cultures. I never purposely sought out or associated with one group of people except for Jehovah’s Witnesses in my entire life! Life’s circumstances and the environment I was in at any given time dictated who I primarily associated with not the color of their skin!
When I was growing up in Oklahoma most of my friends were Indians, when I served in the military most were black, when I travel the world and was in Asia most were Asian, in Persia most were Persian and so forth. I always always tried to immerse myself or wanted to immerse myself into the culture and environment I found myself. I preferred to focus on enjoying those around me in the moment and never focused on enjoying a particular color of skin yet many of those around me often concluded otherwise except those that I really became close to and they knew it had nothing to do with skin and everything to do with friendship. It simply was what it was not what someone even myself made it.
If I had a culture of my own I must’ve never recognized it and I’m so glad because that mind and heart condition allowed me to enjoy so many beautiful people and show many beautiful cultures. I Saw up close and personal the best in the worst of cultures but never judged accordingly as to one being superior to another because how could I, I didn’t recognize that I had a culture myself. It was as if I believed when I was with them I was part of their culture yet looking back I can see not everyone agreed that I was…
Early in this article i said I only remember the names of a few of the older siblings of Mitchels but that’s not totally accurate I remember one of Mitchels brother who died because early in my relationship with the Roberts family.
Heres what happened and how he died. Michel and I were in grade school and my dad had just built a pig pen. The shelter portion of the pen was a small wooden shed type structure with a tin roof but probably only about head high to us at the time. Back in those days when a roof was added the nails and nail holes in the tin roof would be covered over with tar. That served as a protection from water seeping through the nail hole and ruining the work rafters underneath.
As we had often did we loved to sneak on top the roof and peal off a tar pour or two. Why? We thought it was cool to act like we were chewing tobacco as we spit out the juice from the black tar pour and eventually we would spit out the tar itself but Mitchels much younger brother Harley Jr didn’t understand he should probably spit out the tar ball after chewing it or didn’t want to so literally eat the tar balls and swallowing them as he did so.
Here is where the story goes south. Evidently the tar balls clogged up and blocked up his intestines and he died. Sorry goes the family, not knowing he had ate a lot of tar balls, just thought he was suffering from a stomach ache as kids tend to have. But evidently that was true and he died before they could get him to a hospital. The doctors claimed the cause of death was due to a blocked intestine. All I remember is being so sad and so confused and scared of what happened. Us older kids were made to feel like it was partially our fault. We were shamed and punished for what we did. Our parents said at the least, if we were gonna act all big and chew tar balls – at the least we should have explained that after chewing the tar Jr needed to spit out the tar ball. Such things never entered our mind.
As kids we seldom went out just to chew tar balls. If we did which we seldom did, it was just for fun cause one thing we did understand; Don’t chew too many cause water would seep through the nail hole and ruin the wood rafters underneath. We kinda knew it was wrong but It was fun and Jr wanted to play with us and so we let him. We never noticed he was swallowing the tar balls and even if we had we probably wouldn’t have said anything. No way kids our age could have even guessed what the consequences might be of swallowing tar balls.
Part of the above account is from how i recall what happened but part of it is how I remember Mom telling it and over the years, sometimes, the difference between those two recollections are blurred.
I went to Jr’s funeral at the Indian Baptist church. Afterwards the family and friends performed a stomp dance in his memory. Here is what a google search says about stop dances – http://www.northerncherokeenation.com/the-stomp-dance.html : The Stomp Dance is a ceremony that contains both religious and social meaning. To the Muskogee Creeks, Cherokees, and other Southeastern Indians the Stomp Dance is affiliated with the Green Corn Ceremony. The term “Stomp Dance” is an English term, which refers to the “shuffle and stomp” movements of the dance.
Growing up I attended many a stomp dance. The main Creek Indian Community Hut was just 1/2 mile from where i are up. Often when I would hear them singing I would go over and join them. Often as a very you boy by myself. Mom and Dad was ok with that.
Even though stomp dances were often an opportunity for those in attendance to abuse alcohol and get drunk. However even when most (men and women) were in a drunken state, i never felt threatened but it was kinda scary and exciting.
Actually I attend a stomp dance (with some Osage Indians) just a few weeks before I left home for basic training in the Airfare at Lackland AFB in SanAntonio Texas. Until later in life did i realize how unusually my going up around the Indians was. There weren’t many Osage in Oklahoma so I jumped at the chance to attend when invited to do so. The invite was offered when I was at a Cherokee Indian stomp dance.
Now hopefully you can kinda tell why I titled this chapter ‘Brown, Black and What?’.
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