In writing this, I am sharing my own experience as an identified white suburbanite. I think back to growing up in the South, 40 miles from North Carolina more than 60 years ago. The red clay of Virginia was my home ground. The first Black adults I knew worked for my family. These first impressions were all positive. I knew no Black young people; they were invisible to me.
By the time I arrived at the University of Tennessee, James Baxter was elected president of the student body; he was Black. After graduation, I married and moved to Cleveland. I got a job in the Glenville Public Schools not long after Dr. King’s death and the Hough riots. I was a teacher in a Title I junior high. My department chairperson, Mrs. Moore was Black. My principal, Mr. Mitchell was Black, and so were all my students. I had a lot to learn. We rented a beautiful second floor apartment in East Cleveland because Mr. Naybor, who was Black, introduced me to Mr. Thomas, who became our landlord. He was also Black.
When we moved to Illinois, we found an affordable home with FHA financing. Bellwood offered multiracial experiences for our daughter; we enjoyed block parties and a multicultural playgroup where more than one language was spoken. My children have six biracial first cousins who identify as Black; family gatherings were an array of complexions and a variety of viewpoints.
When we moved to LaGrange, Mrs. Virginia Topps, another member of the eastside community, invited me to join the local Board of the NAACP. The best sprinter coach for my daughter was Samantha Caffey, a Black track star. Kenny Williams, a Black UIC basketball player, picked my son to play in park district tournaments. The starting line-up for the junior high were Black athletes; they schooled my son in the finer points of the game. Julia Doris and Linda Eastman asked me to join them in approaching Lyons Township High School to promote diversity and inclusion as well as forming a coalition, CommUnity.
Bernadette Jones and Sherlynn Reid asked me to lunch and subsequently hired me to serve as consultant to a HUD project they were sponsoring. Yvonne Poindexter and Rev. Jim Shannon invited me to interview for the position of real estate specialist; Leadership Council Director Aurie Pennick, an attorney, became my boss. All of these were Black professionals who gave me experience which made me qualified to become housing programs manager for the village of Oak Park. Sherlynn Reid and Rogene Hill were Black department heads. My bank in Maywood was Black-owned. My Realtor, Dorothy Reid, my doctor at MacNeal, and my insurance agent, Don Williams, were Black.
When I lost my job and had cancer, Marjorie Johnson, an elegant Black neighbor, offered me her United Pass which allowed me to fly anywhere in the world for one year! It transformed my depression into a magical year. Rev. Adonna Reed and Pastor Megan Tobola at my mainline church are both Black. Rev. Doctor Ebony Only inspires us in our congregation’s Networking for Social Justice over the last four years. Dr. Judi Savage is my dearest poetic friend. Ron Thompson, a Black neighbor in my building, looked after me during COVID and did not hesitate to check on me or pick up grocery items.
So what have I told and why? I have recounted my own experience where I have benefited in housing, education, and employment. If I am successful today. I can thank:
The first Black child who sat next to me in class;
the first Black president of my Southern university;
the first Black landlord who rented us an apartment;
the first Black employer who recruited me for a job;
the first Black neighbors who invited us to dinner;
and the Black literary authors, musicians, and artists who have shaped my spirit.
It is my hope that, especially in these times, others will recognize their own Black History, and that our children will someday celebrate a shared history of mutual success.
Printed previously in the Suburban Life and the Wednesday Journal. Cynthia Breunlin is a 30-year resident of Oak Park.