I must have been in fifth or sixth grade when we were assigned to read “Call Me Charley,” by Jesse Jackson. Not that Jesse Jackson, but Mr. Jackson the author was an African American and “Call Me Charley” is about an African American youth trying to fit into a white community.
Mr. Jackson said he didn’t write the book to create teachable moments about race relations. He wrote it, he said, to reflect his life experiences because he hadn’t seen books about people like him.
Regardless of his intentions, the book was widely read in white suburban schools in the late Civil Rights Era when I grew up.
It’s been almost 40 years since I read “Call Me Charley,” but I remember (or think I remember) it pretty well. Charley is a friendly, mild-mannered African American teen who has just moved with his family to a white suburb. Charley is eager to make new friends but most of the white kids and adults have problems with him being who he is.
After working hard to win a contest, Charley shows up to claim his prize – a pass to the town pool. Rather than give Charley the pass, the white man in charge of the pool gives him some money and tells him that is what the pass is worth. Charley can have the money, but he can’t come into the whites-only pool.
“Call Me Charley” was published in 1945 and by the time I read it 1972 or ’73, I was able to look back and think, “I’m glad things aren’t like that anymore.” On the other hand, I didn’t swim in a town pool. In the summer, we swam in pools in backyards in the neighborhood. I attended a racially-mixed (although majority white) summer camp, where we all shared a lake. In winter, we’d swim at the high school or CYO or YMCA pool and there sometimes were black kids who swam with us. But not many and not often.
My childhood swimming was 40 years ago, “Call Me Charley” was 64 years ago and yet two weeks ago 65 children – mostly black and Latino – showed up at the Valley Club private pool outside Philadelphia. The kids were from Creative Steps camp and the camp’s directors paid Valley Club $1,950 to let the campers swim at the club.
The children were treated to the same kind of racial epithets that Charley had to put up with in the 1940s. Some white parents pulled their kids from the pool as the children from Creative Steps looked on.
Four days later – the day before the Fourth of July, no less – Creative Steps had its fee refunded by the Valley Club. Just like Charley. “Here’s the cash equivalent, kid. No blacks allowed. You understand, right?”
The story hit the papers and all hell broke loose. At first, the Valley Club dug in. No, it wasn’t a racist thing; it was just too many kids in the pool at once. Not enough lifeguards. You understand, right? If that’s the case, what was Valley Club management thinking when they accepted the fee from Creative Steps? It’s a camp; of course, they’ll bring dozens of kids.
Now Valley Club has specifically invited the Creative Steps kids back to the pool, but the kids’ parents aren’t sure they want their children to go back. Why would they want to send their children back to a place where they’d been treated poorly?
America’s come a long way. The president’s black. His wife is black. His kids are black. They’re welcome at any pool in the country. Unless the kids go without their parents and the white people running the pool don’t recognize them.
Call Me Charley
I must have been in fifth or sixth grade when we were assigned to read “Call Me Charley,” by Jesse Jackson. Not that Jesse Jackson, but Mr. Jackson the author was an African American and “Call Me Charley” is about an African American youth trying to fit into a white community.
Mr. Jackson said he didn’t write the book to create teachable moments about race relations. He wrote it, he said, to reflect his life experiences because he hadn’t seen books about people like him.
Regardless of his intentions, the book was widely read in white suburban schools in the late Civil Rights Era when I grew up.
It’s been almost 40 years since I read “Call Me Charley,” but I remember (or think I remember) it pretty well. Charley is a friendly, mild-mannered African American teen who has just moved with his family to a white suburb. Charley is eager to make new friends but most of the white kids and adults have problems with him being who he is.
After working hard to win a contest, Charley shows up to claim his prize – a pass to the town pool. Rather than give Charley the pass, the white man in charge of the pool gives him some money and tells him that is what the pass is worth. Charley can have the money, but he can’t come into the whites-only pool.
“Call Me Charley” was published in 1945 and by the time I read it 1972 or ’73, I was able to look back and think, “I’m glad things aren’t like that anymore.” On the other hand, I didn’t swim in a town pool. In the summer, we swam in pools in backyards in the neighborhood. I attended a racially-mixed (although majority white) summer camp, where we all shared a lake. In winter, we’d swim at the high school or CYO or YMCA pool and there sometimes were black kids who swam with us. But not many and not often.
My childhood swimming was 40 years ago, “Call Me Charley” was 64 years ago and yet two weeks ago 65 children – mostly black and Latino – showed up at the Valley Club private pool outside Philadelphia. The kids were from Creative Steps camp and the camp’s directors paid Valley Club $1,950 to let the campers swim at the club.
The children were treated to the same kind of racial epithets that Charley had to put up with in the 1940s. Some white parents pulled their kids from the pool as the children from Creative Steps looked on.
Four days later – the day before the Fourth of July, no less – Creative Steps had its fee refunded by the Valley Club. Just like Charley. “Here’s the cash equivalent, kid. No blacks allowed. You understand, right?”
The story hit the papers and all hell broke loose. At first, the Valley Club dug in. No, it wasn’t a racist thing; it was just too many kids in the pool at once. Not enough lifeguards. You understand, right? If that’s the case, what was Valley Club management thinking when they accepted the fee from Creative Steps? It’s a camp; of course, they’ll bring dozens of kids.
Now Valley Club has specifically invited the Creative Steps kids back to the pool, but the kids’ parents aren’t sure they want their children to go back. Why would they want to send their children back to a place where they’d been treated poorly?
America’s come a long way. The president’s black. His wife is black. His kids are black. They’re welcome at any pool in the country. Unless the kids go without their parents and the white people running the pool don’t recognize them.
© Mark Floegel, 2009