My Grandma was born in Georgia in 1919 in a time where our country, and more specifically the South, was still feeling some of the ripple effects of the Civil War. Certainly, slavery had been abolished, the union preserved, but there were still the undercurrents of racism - not just in the South but everywhere. While blacks were now afforded certain "rights", all things were not equal.
I doubt I have to explain the dynamics between whites and blacks in those days. Generally speaking, southern whites who had the means could afford to hire someone black to handle practically all of the day-to-day chores and child care. This was the case with my grandparents. And naturally (albeit somewhat embarrassingly), that particular person was referred to as "Mammy" to my family in those days.
"Mammy" was beloved by my grandparents as well as my father, whom she primarily raised as a young boy - though realistically I surmise she did not revere my family in the same light. It seems as if those of that generation always assume their hired help loved them unconditionally, in spite of what I am sure were not the greatest of situations.
To fast-forward through time a bit, my Grandma had developed dementia by her late 80's and had started to become a bit of a handful. My father, by comparison, had just been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. Before my father got too bad and was still able to drive himself, he would often visit my grandma and offer to drive her around primarily as a distraction from her day-to-day issues with being alone in her house. A man with Alzheimer's driving around a woman with dementia is sort of like the blind leading the blind, and that recipe would come to a boil one particular day.
Driving aimlessly around town as they would often do, Dad and Grandma pulled into a convenience store to buy some coffee. As they parked, a young attractive black woman exited the store. My Grandma exclaimed to my father while still in the car, "I believe that's Mammy's granddaughter!" Never mind that my Grandmother had probably not seen "Mammy" in over 50 years or that she wouldn't know "Mammy's" granddaughter from Adam's house cat - she was convinced she had accurately spotted the offspring of "Mammy". She then convinced my father to inquire.
My father still had the presence of mind to recount the story to me, but obviously did not have the presence of mind to logically conclude what he was about to do probably warranted him being shot dead by this young woman. With conviction that my Grandma was right, but without the realization of what he had done, Dad told me "so I walked up to her and asked 'Are you "Mammy's" granddaughter?"
I asked him if he was summarily punched in the face immediately after the question. He paused for a moment, thought about what he had just said and with a hint of regret said, "Oh...".
But that story isn't what I'm ultimately getting to. That's a story of a woman who grew up in a time where those things were considered acceptable, and she no longer had the self-awareness to conscientiously stop herself from saying something in a time where it was no longer acceptable (nor did my father). In her mind, she loved "Mammy", and "Mammy" loved her. Why wouldn't her granddaughter be delighted to know she was still alive and thinking of Grandma Mammy?
Prior to that lowly time in her life, my uncle had bought my grandma as a birthday gift a trip to New York City, her first ever visit. First class plane tickets.
When the day came to depart, my uncle and grandma boarded the plane, only to find a woman was already sitting in her first class seat. My grandma informed the stewardess someone was in her seat.
"Oh, that's Coretta Scott King," the stewardess told my grandma in a hushed tone. "She flies with us often and she takes a seat wherever she wants."
Apparently, as it was explained to my grandma, Mrs. King never bought plane tickets. Whenever she wanted to fly, she'd just show up at the gate and walk aboard. And when she chose a seat, it was always in first class.
My grandma took all this in and said "I don't care who that is. She is sitting in my seat, which my son paid for. If you don't remove her I will."
The shocked stewardess had several discussions with the other attendants, and shortly another conversation with Mrs. King. Mrs. King chose another seat.
The fact was, Grandma didn't take crap from anyone.
The other fact was, growing up in the South prior to the civil rights, if you were white, probably meant you were a racist...at least in some form or fashion. And on the surface, that's what appears to be the case. Old, southern white lady, likely dressed to the nines (as my grandma always was) kicking Coretta Scott King out of her first class seat.
But the cool thing about my grandma was, it didn't matter that it was Coretta Scott King. It didn't matter that she was black. It mattered she was in her seat.
Nope, Grandma wouldn't take crap from anyone. When her 20 year old car needed a new bumper and it took 2 weeks to get one, she called and demanded to speak to Lee Iaccoaca (or whoever might be above him at the Chrysler Corporation). When I bought the wrong flavor of ice cream, she demanded I return it in spite of my protests (you can return food to a grocery store?). When her next door neighbor's dog was bothering her, she gave it away to the next passerby.....hm.
Maybe she was just a jerk.
