The Stone Catchers

When I was in the fifth grade, in 1969, my school in Miami, FL, was integrated.  I remember standing in front of the school on that first day and seeing parents picket with signs that read “GO HOME!”, and “GO BACK TO YOUR OWN NEIGHBORHOODS”.  These signs were referring to the African American children who had been bussed in just that morning to “our” neighborhood.  I remember feeling confused about why the Cuban parents, among the whites in that picket line, were telling the black Americans to go home.  They were home.  It was the Cubans who were on foreign turf.  My mind had a lot to process at ten years old.  But one thing I was sure about was the fact that the angry parents – both Cuban and white American – were the ones scaring the peewally out of the children.  Us kids weren’t frightened of each other.

Earlier in that decade, about five hundred miles north, in Jacksonville, FL, a teenaged African American girl named Eloise Oliver (a.k.a. Kitty Oliver), cleaned a teacher’s house on the weekends in order to save enough money to see the Beatles in concert.  The only problem, though, was the town council (all white, of course), said that the “colored folks” weren’t allowed to attend.  HOWEVER, the Beatles put their very influential foot down and said that either African Americans could attend or there’d be no concert at all  Thus, the concert took place, much to the delight of Kitty Oliver.  She was an only child, used to doing things alone, and going to that historic concert was one of those things.  She said that after all of the brouhaha about the integration of the concert, she saw only two other black kids there.  I think it’s a reasonable guess to say that there weren’t more because of fear of retaliation from the whites.  Imagine the ENORMOUS courage that those few African American kids must have had to go to that concert, risking God only knew what just to see four long-haired British boys twist and shout.

Fast-forward twenty-five years, and that little white girl – yours truly, who stood in front of that newly integrated, picketed school – met that courageous teenager of yesteryear, who had braved dirty toilets and backward-thinking prejudiced white folks to attend the Beatles concert.  Kitty and I met through mutual friends and we hit it off immediately.  The very next week, we went out on what we laughingly call “our first date”, which was to a museum and lunch, and we’ve never looked back.  She’s been my best friend for over twenty-five years now.  And she’s far more than that: Kitty is now Doctor Kitty Oliver, and a journalist, book author, professor and singer. But, the impacts of those turbulent years of her childhood instilled an undeniable cause in Kitty: She became an oral historian, earning a Ph.D. that focused on race and ethnic communication.  Among all of her credits, accolades and accomplishments, CNN chronicled her innovative cross-cultural intergenerational race and ethnic relations dialogue work in their series,”Black in America”.

Funny thing how life can bring things full circle.  It just so happened that one of the articles Kitty wrote about seeing the Beatles caught the attention of a friend of a friend of a friend of producer and director Ron Howard (a.k.a. Opie, of The Andy of Mayberry Show, in the 1960’s).  Mr. Howard was producing a movie about the fifty years of the Beatles, and Ron’s “people” contacted Kitty, and asked her to come to L.A., to be interviewed as part of the documentary film.  She is now an integral part of the movie, “Eight Days a Week”.  Kitty just returned from London, where the movie premiered, and she hobnobbed with the likes of Ringo Starr, and Paul McCartney.  (Who’s laughing now, you 1960’s town council good ol’ boys?!)  Kitty is successful.  Kitty is glorious.  And Kitty is a stone catcher.

This morning at church, our very hip, compassionate and wise young minister, Jeremy Troxler, was courageous enough to talk about the racial tensions that are causing such upheaval, discord and division in our country.  More fuel was poured onto this ongoing fire when another young black man, Keith Scott, was killed by a police officer a few days ago.  This time, it hit even closer to home; in Charlotte, NC, just two hours from here.  Our little town, Spruce Pine, has seen its fair share of racial divide, as well.  Just ask any old timer if they remember how the blacks were beaten and run out of town after a black man assaulted a white woman in this community in the 1920’s.  We’re still hard-pressed to see many African Americans in these parts, and that saddens me.

Reverend Troxler told the story of an old African American woman who hung around a courthouse everyday.  A black lawyer, who was Harvard educated, was beckoned over to her one day.  She told the attorney that he looked like he needed a hug.  The attorney took her up on her offer.  In talking to her, he learned that her son was killed years before and she was at court everyday during the trial of the young man who’d killed her child.  Even though she was overcome with grief, she was still able to see that the perpetrator’s family was overcome with grief, as well.  They hurt, she realized, just as badly as she did.  She said she decided then not to cast stones at others anymore.  No more judging them.  No more hating them.  Instead, she’d do what she could for them.  After all, we’re ALL just human beings, she said, suffering our own injustices, pain, trials and tribulations.  So, she “quit throwing stones and started catching them instead”.  Maybe by doing so, she’d make a difference in people’s lives, she thought.  And, so, she’s at that courthouse everyday to offer hugs to anyone – ANYONE – who might need one.   At the end of Reverend Troxler’s sermon, I looked around.  People in the congregation were in tears.  Most, if not all, had heard his message loud and clear:  Let’s stop throwing those stones and pick up that catcher’s mitt instead.

The way of doing that may not always be clear.  But, stepping out of our comfort zone might be a beginning.  Instead of shouting negatives at protestors in protest lines, maybe we should serve on a soup line instead, offering words of compassion and hope, or just a simple smile to someone who desperately needs one.  Perhaps we might help with a reading program for those who are trying to learn English as a second language, or help bring supplies to storm-ravaged areas.  In these ways, there are many opportunities to meet a wide variety of people, people from all walks of life, and from all parts of the world.  People who seem so very different from us.  But, we just might realize that they’re really not.  We might actually find that we have more things in common than we ever thought possible.  I’d be willing to bet the last dollar in my pocket that the majority of them love their friends and families just as much as we do.  And that they know what heartbreak is, and exhilarating joy, disappointment and insecurity, frustration, and…

All things considered, we still have a long road to travel, and many bridges to build.  Perhaps our best hope of doing so is to understand that fear is the cause of most of the bad in this world.  And, sometimes, you just have to say the heck with it, I’m not going to let fear stand in the way of something that might be really good, perhaps great, amazing even.  Taking the risk might be VERY well worth it, indeed.  Just ask Kitty, and the Beatles.  If you ask me, they need to start a new band: The Stone Catchers.