BHM -- RDC
Black History Month
Rupert Dickson Cornelson
So, I began to muse on a civil rights
activist, Rupert Dickson Cornelson
From rural southern
Mississippi, a hotbed of racial tension?! Economic hard times forced RDC to
leave home when 14, becoming merchant marine.
Only after 51 years, five decades, of hard work, did he retire. Sent money home. Gave it to needy folks. Tithed
(plus!) at his church. I only wish I
knew stories on his upbringing that made him the man he was. Taught me to be “color blind”
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Story #1 – Being from MS, some fellows surrounded, Rupert, the young
kid with the dark curls, and confirmed his Mississippi roots. They then asked him if he would be interested
in joining the Ku Klux Klan. I do not know the details, but something in his
heart told him to politely answer, “no thanks…”
I guess they walked away and forgot about him. That had to have been a tense moment for a
teenager, far away from home, on a ship in the Atlantic.
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Story #2 – “would you be interested in joining the NAACP, Mr. Dick?” This question was asked by a group of locals
some four decades later, in his south Alabama home. They knew his heart and the stand he had made
to treat all with respect and dignity.
Interestingly, he turned them down, not because of disagreement with
their cause, though. He explained, “I
will just try to do my good through my church… but thanks for asking…”
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Story #3 – A new home for the Lyles, new converts driving 30 miles to
church, was a problem. They worked in the
local school, but lived across the county line, out in the rural area. Seemingly, there were no homes available (for
them) according to the local real estate people. So, Rupert and Millie went to a real estate
agent, and expressed an interest in a home in town. Several
options were discussed. Then,
they showed up in the real estate office, with the Lyles! Now, the Lyles had a new home nearer to their
jobs and their new church. The
neighborhood was now integrated, though.
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Story #4 – Also, there was a confrontation with another church elder
who wanted to build “them” their own church. The demographics of the church was
changing, starting with Howard and Lula Mae.
Howard was the “yard man” for Ruth, one of the church members. Then Starling and Shirley (Howard’s son) … Blacks
were coming in the front door; and, whites were slipping out the back
door. The elders met, and considered
options. Finally, “…they make me sick to
my stomach…” was the first honest thing said by one of the leaders. Finally, that elder left, driving 30 miles or
more to another church, who never asked him why?!
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Story #5 – I also remember a work interaction – Daddy was on a creeper,
slid up under some equipment, working, and another fellow kicked his foot and
said they needed to talk. He asked, “Dick,
are niggers going to church with you? Don’t you know that those black apes have
no souls…” Daddy just looked at him,
and with a silent prayer, answered, “anyone welcome there, even you.” Then, he slid back under the equipment, and
went back to work.
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Story #6 – There was a family meeting about going to all-white private
school. We were hold outs at the local
high school, now integrated for two years.
I was playing on the high school football team with some new, BIG transfers! But, this new school year began with several
bomb threats that emptied out the classrooms, every other day. It was chaos.
(likely it was a recruiting device for the local “academy” to get all
the whites over there?!) It was a
dilemma, a hard place “between the sea and Satan”. After a couple of weeks, Dad told us three
kids that our mother was a nervous wreck, worried about us kids. We would have to leave the public
school. “but…” “I know we have not
raised you to be racist, but…” I made
new friends, but at the other academy on the other end of the county!
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Story #7 – A more ominous memory is one when I, as a teen, overheard
whispered breakfast chatter about a threatened “burning cross” in front of the
church building. (1970’s) Nothing ever
happened. But, one has to wonder how the
demons were maneuvering behind the scenes?!
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Story #8 – After a while, with a different preacher, or two, it was
time to locate a new minister. Small
churches, in the best of times, often have to do this every two or three
years. After some discussion, Dad suggested,
“we have had white preachers; time to hire a black preacher…reach out into both
communities…”
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Story #9 – Somewhere along the way, in my teen years, family discussion
turned toward spouse selection! It was
understood that marrying an unbeliever was not an option. "We are not concerned about the color of your date; but her faith..." “marry a Christian, a
black Christian over a white unbeliever…” (do not misunderstand this) They were NOT suggesting that a second-rate
believer was better than a first-rate unbeliever. The point was to look on the heart, not the skin. They were just impressing upon their children
the need to marry a believer. With all
the troubles that mixed race marriages have to overcome, a mixed faith marriage
was worse, eternally worse. I do suspect that the ultimate test of racism may be one's feelings about "interracial marriage"?! There is but one race, though, the human race.
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Story #10 – I left for Bible college on a Trailways bus. My first car was not bought until I was 20
years old, a 1967 Ford. My parents bought
it from a machinist at the mill where Dad worked. As I took the keys from my dad, he cautioned,
“I would take off the front plate…” The
previous owner had a nice “Stars and Bars” plate on the front. Even then, in the late 1970’s, my dad was
sensitive to the perspective of others, blacks, who saw remnants of the Old
South, as reminders of slavery. In this
decade, all this has boiled over with statues being torn down, even monuments
of former Supreme Court justices. (there
is a similar story about a Maltese Cross that I had traded somebody for at
school, as a 4th grader)
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Story #11 – This story involves my dad, only indirectly, and is cutting
humor. Mama had taken me clothes shopping
for Bible college. Blue jeans, tee
shirts, and flannels were not going to be enough. I selected a few dress shirts, a tie or two,
some dress shoes, and was trying on some nice dress pants. I am not a fashion mogul, and do not want to
be one. But, the salesman quietly whispered
to me, as I tried on some snazzy, polyester bell bottoms with a cummerbund style
waist, “… sir, mostly those blacks wear those pants…”. He completely disappeared as I looked at him,
without flinching, and straight-facedly informed him that my dad was
black! Daddy was at work, so the lie was
successful, on several fronts!
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Story #12 – Finally, at his funeral, 2010, two groups were there, as
one, family and church: Norse/highlanders and African Americans! And all were welcome at the reception at Aunt
Sally Jean’s house after the funeral. I
guess he was from a long line of whites who were “color blind”?!
Perhaps “color blind”
is not the best descriptor of this heart condition? Maybe, “diversity appreciation”? That is a little cumbersome, maybe.
