As with many things, Sainted Mother said it best. She told
me, “Son, a man is known by the company he keeps.” She was also known to
remark, from time to time, that “Sorry is as sorry does.”
That was far, far better than some recent remarks I’ve heard
lately such as, “There were some fine people in that crowd” (in Charlottesville,
Virginia). Mother certainly wouldn’t have had it that way. She had no time for
Nazis, and she would have had no time for anyone marching alongside one.
The KKK she found more interesting than anything. There weren’t
any Jewish folk or African-Americans living in the rural, South Arkansas area in which she
lived as a child. With no jews or people of color to terrorize or lynch, the local Klan
pretty much confined itself to bullying white teenaged boys who became unruly.
Anyway, I’ve never forgotten her advice. I always ran with a
decent crowd and still limit my associations to folks who are higher on the educational
scale than I. And if I happen to go somewhere “fine,” I make sure it deserves
that sobriquet.
Let’s say I attended a church. What could be considered
finer in the eyes of many Americans? Then, suppose instead of passing around love and grace, let’s
say the folks there began passing around rattlesnakes? Would I symbolically
march alongside them?
Not no, but hell no!
It happened to me, metaphorically at least, when I was in
high school. I was trying to impress this girl, see, so I attended church with
her on Sunday. It wasn’t any rural snake-handling place either. It happened to
be the largest and most sophisticated Baptist church in the city.
Imagine my surprise, when, instead of pointing out the
grandeur of the Galilean’s Sermon on the Mount, the pastor began to demonize,
in the most explicit manner, people of the Catholic faith. Yes, it was the year
John F. Kennedy ran for president. I learned, from that pastor—in the most tragically
ironic way imaginable—that, up until then, every person who had ever assassinated
a U.S. president had been a Catholic.
I’m not sure that was true, but when the basis for a sermon
is hatred and bigotry, a little mendacity is a minor side-note.
Our city was in the migratory path of literally thousands of
Italian immigrants. Shysters had lured them to the United States with the
promise of fortunes to be made farming in the State of Mississippi. When, upon
arriving, they learned that the intent was simply to replace African-American
sharecroppers with Italian-American sharecroppers, those immigrants left. More
than a few settled in my home town. I had many Catholic acquaintances and
some Catholic friends. They all seemed like nice folks to me, and they were.
I started searching for a new girlfriend the next week after
seeing the kind of crowd with which my “ex” associated. It was a tough
decision, for she was smart, popular, and mighty cute.
Now, I watch the news and hear, over and over again, the
shouts of “The Jews will not replace us,” “you will not replace us,” "the KKK," and “blood
and soil,” (a Nazi rallying cry).
There may have been some “fine” people who started the march
in Charlottesville, but there were no decent people in the crowd the moment
after those shouts began.
For you see: sorry is as sorry does.
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