THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 10, 1996 TAG: 9603060046
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K3 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REAL MOMENTS
SOURCE: BY JACQUE DELBAUGH
LENGTH: Medium: 88 lines
SOMETIMES, I hear one of their names. Sometimes, someone says the word ``Hoot.'' Other times, the memory returns when I read an article about black history.
It's funny what brings on memories of Carl and Rachel.
I don't even remember their last name. I'm sure I knew it at one time, but too many years have passed. Still, I remember them. They were the first black neighbors we ever lived next door to.
We were a career Navy family, stationed at Corpus Christi, Texas. They were a career Army family, stationed at the same base. It was the mid-'70s.
It was not unusual, living in base housing, to live in a mixed ethnic neighborhood.
But being born and raised in a small northern town in Pennsylvania, my husband and I had little exposure to blacks. The only blacks we knew, we'd met in the Navy.
Most of them were no different from us. They were in the military, because it afforded a regular paycheck. They had a special feeling for their country. They wanted to learn a trade or they wanted to ``see the world.''
We had not, however, been raised under a bushel basket. We knew blacks and whites didn't always get along. We had read of race riots, heard degrading name calling.
When Carl and Rachel moved in, I had mixed feelings. Carl played this awful music that vibrated my living room walls with its bass notes, and Rachel screamed curse words at anyone who gave her the least bit of trouble. I wasn't sure it would be easy to be friendly.
Rachel make the first gesture. One Saturday, they had a group of their friends over for a crab feast. They'd caught crabs, cooked them and were eating, drinking, and enjoying each other's company. She invited my husband and me over. I thanked her but declined. I was sure we would feel uncomfortable.
Rachel was not to be put off easily. She invited us each time they had friends over. I kept declining.
Then one day she came over to use my telephone. She wanted to call her ``Mama'' collect. She explained they couldn't afford a phone of their own just then. I said, ``Sure,'' and invited her in.
I couldn't help but notice, when she talked to her Mama, that she never said a single curse word. I saw a gentle side to her. A side that showed respect for someone she held dear. When her call was finished, I offered her a cup of coffee. She told me growing up in Washington, D.C.; about her and Carl's lack of formal education; about choice of a military career because it was security and afforded them the ability to keep their handicapped son in a home and provide for their two daughters.
I guess I discovered that day that she and Carl were no different from my husband and me. They had dreams. They had hopes for a better future for their children than they'd known. They were trying to make their way in a world that could sometimes be very lonely.
After that visit, Rachel and I established a relationship. We often shared coffee and conversations. I admired her clothes and often complimented her. She told me she bought most of them at discount shops in the black section of Corpus Christi, and she offered to take me with her.
One day, on returning from a shopping trip, she invited me into her home. On her coffee table, by her purse, lay a gun. She explained she always carried it when she went to that part of town. Needless to say, I never went shopping with Rachel, but it made me realize what she had to contend with.
Off base, in an unpopulated area outside of town, was a place called the ``Hoot Club.'' It was a ``blacks only'' nightclub that Rachel and Carl frequented often. Many times they invited my husband and me.
Though we were very comfortable with Carl and Rachel by then, we weren't sure we were ready to tackle the Hoot Club. But they continued to request we go with them.
I don't remember why we ever agreed to go with them, but one night we did. My husband and I hesitantly followed them into the building. Once inside, it was apparent we were expected. We were escorted to a center table set with a small vase of flowers and asked what we wanted to drink. Not only were our drinks supplied all night, but all Rachel and Carl's friends came over and talked with us.
We were the only white people there, but we never once felt out of place.
I will never forget that night, nor Rachel and Carl. They were a wonderful lesson in being human. Color really had nothing to do with it. They liked and respected us. We like and respected them. What it was about, was being neighbors. MEMO: Jacque Delbaugh is a reception/ secretary in the radiation/oncology
department at Virginia Beach General Hospital. Her husband Lewis retired
from the Navy in 1980. They have four grown children and live in
Virginia Beach. by CNB