I was born and raised in a small town in Kansas that had a population of about 5,000. We didn’t have the ethnic groups like you find in the big cities in the East. There were no Irish neighborhoods, Italian neighborhoods, black neighborhoods, barrios, or Jewish communities. We did have a half dozen Mexican families, a couple of Jewish families, and a couple of Indian families (the Native American name wasn’t used when I was a kid.) These families were scattered throughout the town. People lived where they liked and where they could afford. The largest group of kids were the Mexican Americans. They were all smart, good-looking, and well-liked. I never heard of any racial strife, and hope my friends never had to put up with it.

I was in third grade when a boy named Jackie Glass joined the class. Jackie was the first Negro (they weren’t called African American then) I had ever met. I had seen Negro people when we went to Wichita. Discussing it with my parents afterword, they told me that black people were just like us and just wanted to work and raise their families and enjoy life. That was good enough for me.

Jackie and I liked each other immediately and hung out together at morning and afternoon recess and lunch times. We didn’t become full-time buddies because we lived on opposite sides of town, and being only eight years old, neither of us was permitted to range that far.

One Saturday morning, my mom, Dad, sister, and I were downtown and bumped into Jackie and his parents in front of Cooper’s Rexall Drugs. The adults introduced themselves and visited for a couple of minutes while we kids talked. That was the only time I saw Jackie outside of school.

As the weather got cooler, we all started wearing our coats and hats. Most of the guys wore stocking caps, but Jackie and I were different. He had a cap that I thought was really cool. It was small, knitted, and flat and had a small bill. This was during World War II, and I had an aviator’s helmet that was made of leather, fleece-lined and with ear straps. Jackie liked my head gear as much as I liked his, so we traded at recess and lunch. We knew our folks wouldn’t let us trade permanently, so we just enjoyed the time at school.

About this time, I was introduced to racism and ignorance. One of my classmates pulled me aside and said that his mother told him I shouldn’t wear that boy’s hat because I might catch something. Even at eight years old, I knew that was a stupid thing to believe.

As I said, Jackie and I were friends in 3^rd grade. I’m not sure when he and his folks moved on. It must have been tough to not have another kid in town that looked like yourself.

Looking back, I can see that this time with Jackie made an important contribution to my education as a real person. That’s why I remember him.

Dave Thomas

10/5/2023