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I was told by a seemingly ageless teacher that long life is often granted to those who have a worthwhile task to be completed; or those helping someone complete such a task; or to those who are to bear witness to the truth or accuracy of an event or era, heretofore denied, forgotten or never known.
In the late 1950s, I witnessed an unreported injustice. Since the point of this narrative is to indicate hysterical hypocrisy which led to shameful intolerance and hatred, it is necessary to include ethnic backgrounds of those involved.
I lived along a short street in Westchester County, north of New York City. Twelve houses had been recently built. All but one contained an almost stereotypical suburban family. One father was an Italian gangster, who soon disappeared. Another, an ex-German officer. His neighbor was a Jewish businessman. Across the street was an alcoholic Irishman who worked in advertising. Next to him was a bank president. Next to my family was a psychiatrist with a pornographic library.
One day, Harry Belafonte came to buy the remaining house. The same man who recently died and was honored for his civil rights activities, his artistry and humanity. But the color of his skin turned my neighbors into a mean and ignorant mob. Organized and threatening, it forced the builder to refuse Harry's offer.
Not long after, Floyd Patterson, heavyweight champion, moved into a nearby white neighborhood and suffered the indignities of race prejudice.
Raphael O'Suna
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