When kids talked about kids being different at Grantosa Drive they were usually talking about somebody being Jewish. We were the ones that didn’t have to participate in the Christmas program. If I recall correctly some of the parents complained because their child wanted to sing in the holiday program. So, Hanukkah songs were added. We sang theirs and they sang ours. Simple, unless you were Jehovah Witness. I think there were two. Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and atheists didn’t make themselves known until long after my younger brother had left. Other than that the differences were relatively straightforward, you were either Catholic or Lutheran. The Catholics generally split between Polish and Italian with a few German and Irish thrown in for good measure. Lutherans had two synods. To this day I’m not sure what that meant, but they were the Wisconsin synod and the Missouri synod. One believed if you were Jewish you would be forgiven and the other believed you would go straight to hell for not having Jesus in your life. It was pretty scary stuff as a little kid, but lost its potency as we moved on to junior high and closer to our bar mitzvah. Walking through the halls of John Muir one difference every kid from Grantosa and similarly configured elementary schools noticed was the addition of students with darker skin. My only prior contact with negroes, as people with darker skin were referred to during that period of history, was when I visited Aunt Jane at her store, or when we rode the bus or our bikes the two and a half miles to McGovern Park to go swimming in the summer. A curious thing occurred when we rode our bikes to McGovern. We were told by our parents to lock them up so they wouldn’t get stolen. As far as I recall we rarely, if ever, locked our bikes in our own neighborhood. Needless to say my life was devoid of negro friends. This lack of diversity, a term that would not become fashionable until long after the word negro disappeared from the vernacular, was lost on me. Certainly, none of us saw it as a form of deprivation or detriment to our adjustment in the world. But, it was. Before physical education class began those who got into their gym clothes quickly were able to shoot baskets or talk with their friends. When the teacher blew the whistle all seventy-two kids scattered to their assigned number along the black lines at the edge of the court. Well, seventy-one kids did. Matthew was always chasing the pennies kids threw across the wood floors, or he was doing handsprings or snapping somebody’s jockstrap. Not maliciously. Just for fun. He was the class clown. Well over six feet tall in the eighth grade, his long lean frame moved with amazing grace. By the second whistle he would make his way to his number. More important for me than his ability to skirt authority was his lack of intimidation by troublemakers. During one of the first few weeks of the semester, Dewey and a few of his friends cornered me in the locker room after class. Fortunately, Matthew saw what was happening and came over and snapped my jockstrap. While Dewey was laughing Matthew lifted his comb out of his pants pocket. Dewey took off after Matthew, and I was able to dress and escape. As far as this incident goes it really makes no difference that Matthew’s skin was the color of coal and Dewey’s complexion looked like fresh laid cement. For me, however, it was an early lesson in how many of my fears and suspicions were misplaced.
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