September 13, 2010 | 11:58 AM | By

“I never owned any slaves and you never picked any cotton.”

FILED UNDER: Around the City

M Street in Georgetown. No, the restaurant isn't pictured.

I walked in to one of my favorite restaurants in Georgetown on Saturday, famished and ready for a salad– that’s not contradictory, it’s very filling, I promise. The manager, nattily dressed as always, approached me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Not the Georgetown air-kiss, mind you. I’m no socialite and he’s no enabler. He’s just very old-school, from his ever-present formal cuff links to his defiantly-retro mustache. The interesting thing was, I was about to find out exactly how retro he truly is.

I’ve been eating at his restaurant for almost a decade and he is kind to his regulars, so he seated me himself and ordered one of his staff to take great care of me. Again, this is not as exclusive as it may sound; I heard him issue the same command twice while I munched mixed greens and goat cheese. That’s just the way he is. He’ll be walking from one end of the restaurant to the bar and he’ll turn, lock eyes with you and wink merrily. Old-school.

When he had a moment, he walked up and asked how I was doing.

“What are you up to these days?”

“I just started an amazing new job up the street, at WAMU.”

He nodded. “I listen to them. Are you on the air?”

This happens to me every time I tell people where I work. Perfectly understandable assumption and reasonable question for a person who works at a radio station.

“No, they hired me to write for a new website called ‘DCentric’. It’s about race and class in the district.”

“Race and class? THAT’s your beat?”

“Yes…” I stammered a bit. He looked incredulous and I immediately wondered if he was going to launch in to a litany of reasons for why that was silly. I continued, awkwardly. “They’re topics which really need to be explored, right now.” I said, earnestly. “Some may think we’re ‘post-racial’, but at the same time, we’re in the midst of a Mayoral race where people love hearing about how white people love Fenty and black people prefer Gray. We’re consumed with race in this city.”

He regarded me skeptically. I took a deep breath to continue to make my case, fully aware of how if this were someone else, I wouldn’t feel compelled to do so. Perhaps because of his age, he reminded me of one of my Dad’s friends, the kind of person I go to greater lengths to explain (or justify) my choices to. When I opened my mouth, he cut me off decisively.

“Not in this city, in this country. This whole country is consumed with race.”

I was slightly shocked. I hadn’t expected that!

“Let me tell you a story about race”, he said. “Just happened last week when I was down in Florida.”

I nodded and put down my fork.

“I was meeting up with some old buddies of mine from undergrad, couple of them went to law school, one of them went to Yale law school. He’s black. And he kept, talking, talking about slavery. Wouldn’t stop. Slavery, slavery, slavery. Finally, one of our friends looks at him and says, ‘Frederick*, I never owned any slaves and you never picked any cotton. Move on.’”

I placed my palm under my jaw, accomplishing two things: I looked like I was interested and it prevented my jaw from dropping.

“Don’t you love that?”, he asked. “I’ll say it again, ‘I never owned any slaves’” he repeats, pointing at himself when he emphasizes the word “I”. “And YOU never picked any cotton”, he finishes, pointing at me before convulsing with laughter.

Let me be clear: I don’t think he, an older white man, meant anything specific by pointing to me, a person of color, while reciting the line about picking cotton. But I do think he really loved and agreed with the sentiment which one of his friends expressed to another.

“Doesn’t that just sum it up, beautifully?”, he asked. “Done. I never owned a slave, he never picked cotton. I mean, he’s a partner with a firm on Wall Street, been there for years. He sure didn’t pick any cotton.”

“How did your friend feel at that point?”, I asked carefully, extremely interested in what he might say.

“Ah, you know.” He gestured dismissively.

He clapped me on the shoulder warmly and said, “It’s good to see you.” before walking away.

::

*Names have been changed to protect African-American lawyers whose skill set does not include the harvesting of staple fibers.

About the author

DCentric was created to examine the ways race and class interact in Washington, D.C., a city with a vibrant mix of cultures and neighborhoods. Your guides to the changing district are reporters Anna John and Elahe Izadi. View all posts by Anna →

  • Salil Maniktahla

    So is it okay for me to own slaves now? As a brown person, I mean :-)

  • Salil Maniktahla

    You know, on a more serious note. We'd be a lot closer to “post-racial” as a society if the “friend” of the “yammering Yale lawyer” had said, “YOU never owned slaves, and I never picked cotton.”

    But the racial roles were pretty blatant in that comment, huh? There are really only two: owning people as property, and being property. If you don't belong in either of those two camps, then all is well!

  • ccmartin

    Slavery was terrible. Racism is terrible. But there is some merit in moving on. In fact, we have to move on. I am reminded of the Scots who still weep over the Massacre of Glencoe that took place in 1692. Many other examples exist; harboring resentment, hatred and grief for decades – centuries – accomplishes nothing. It's time for that young black lawyer to expend his energies on the future; apparently his forbears did, and in doing so, made his future secure. And yes, the columnist does go on too long re salad and the pleasant personality of the maitre 'd.

  • dcentric

    Thanks for taking the time to comment. I see that you think my post was “dumb” and “stupid”, but if you are serious about the “issues”, it would be helpful if you could be more specific and constructive with your feedback. For example, what are the “real issues” you are concerned with?

    We're trying a lot of different things with this blog– this post is just one of them. I hope you looked at the rest of the site and that you have interesting, civilly-worded suggestions for how we can improve it.

  • DC_Driver_and_Dispatcher

    I am a white guy who did not vote for Fenty the first time. How can someone supposedly 'favour' white people and keep a hater like Skinner in his company? There were other reasons that I did not vote for Fenty the first time, as well. I did not vote for Fenty the second time, because I voted my purse, to which Fenty has done serious harm. Race had nothing to do with my opposition to Fenty and choice of Gray. Gray was the only one who could get Fenty out, and if I my purse were to have any coins left in it, Fenty had to go.

    Race had nothing to do with my choice of Obama over McCain. I was not that crazy about Obama, but I knew that 'George Bush Light' was not going to get it. Ol' B-O-B was being kind when he said that 'John McCain [didn't] get it'. I would have used similar words, but added a few that I assume this blogger does not want on her blog'.

    The point here is that most of us are beyond the race thing. Whites are starting to express frustration with the guilt trip that has been laid on them since the early 1960s, or maybe before. I have always resented it, because I am not carrying the DNA of anyone that ever owned slaves (at least not in the Americas, maybe in Ancient Europe, but not in the Americas).

    On my father's side, in the 1850s, my ancestors risked life, freedom and property to help escaped slaves on their way (they, and the local Constabulary, even shot at slavecatchers and Federal Marshalls, brought in from out-of-State, while their wives and daughters were sneaking the escaped slave out the back door and down to a boat in the creek to get him on his way to Boston). Once the Civil War came, they fought, bled and some of them even died to put an end to slavery. Confederate apologists who assert that war was over something other than slavery fail to pay note to the men, at least on the Yankee side, who fought that war. Their diaries reveal that they volunteered for the military to help wipe the stain of slavery from our Country.

    On my mother's side, her immediate ancestors came during the Civil War and marched off to fight for the Yankees shortly after arrival in New York, as they were willing to help fight slavery, because, as they stated, in Ireland they were little better than slaves under the English.

    There are some interesting stories about the employment of escaped slaves as 'boomers' (railroad slang for casual labourers) on the railroads in Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont (at least as far as the railroads went into Vermont, at the time). At the time, Brakeman was a job that no one wanted, as it was dangerous. When the train came to a downgrade, you had to walk along the top of the cars, while the train was moving, and set the brake on each car. Once it got to the bottom of the hill, you had to run along the top of the cars, again, while the train was moving, and release the brake on each car. Air Brakes did not arrive until the 1870s. If this did not get you, the type of couplers prevalent then could take and arm, if you were not careful. Escaped slaves were not unwilling to do the job, as they had never been paid for anything in their lives, and it helped speed them on their path to escape. One even commented to one of the relatives on my father's side that he had worked on cotton gins all his life and had never gotten anything for it but beatings, and a cotton gin would take your arm faster than anything on that railroad, so he was glad to work on the railroad and get paid for it.

    My lack of feeling guilt for anything goes back further than the restaurant manager's.

  • acbjrpfx

    I like the friend's comment. I wish it was as simple as agreeing on that and moving on. Could it be? Great post.

  • Kevin

    Very interesting story. Never mind the haters. You obviously know that you addressing a hot button topic here, so thick skin is probably a prerequisite for your beat.

    Keep up the good work.