I grew up in the South, in the waning days of segregation. I can remember separate water fountains and public bathrooms; separate seating at the movie theater and on the bus. And separate schools.
I knew these things as a child; they were what was.
Integration had started the year before I began high school. It was ugly that first year, and you could watch it on the news every night. The next year, it was no big deal. It had become part of what was.
Every place I worked – a college newspaper, a small town paper, three large corporations – were predominately white. Not by design or intent, but by what was.
Then, for nine months in 2003 and 2004, I led Communications for the St. Louis Public Schools. The system was in convulsions; an outside management firm had been hired to restructure, downsize, outsource and streamline. I was brought in some months after the firm’s arrival, after the current PR director had left.
My biggest problem was this: I was white, and I was male. I was a double minority. I was part of what wasn’t. My first week on the job, my department went out for lunch. I wasn’t invited.
I’d never been in that kind of situation before. I’d never even thought about that kind of situation before.
I was viewed with suspicion.
Most employees saw the management firm as the enemy, the people who were taking away their jobs. The management firm was exclusively white. Most of the employees were black. There was often a willingness to misunderstand on both sides. I shuttled back and forth between them, but I was in one group and wasn’t in another.
I had to work twice as hard as others.
No one said anything, but I had to prove my ability to do the work and that I could be trusted. People simply didn’t want to tell me things that they thought might get them into trouble, or they thought I might repeat to the superintendent or one of his people, or that might end up on the local news. You don’t trust wasn’t.
I had to work through intimidation.
There were people of both races in the central office who refused to go into the high schools because of fear of bodily harm. This reluctance was a real problem, because we were doing considerable community outreach through these schools. That was a physical safety issue. But then there were people who would try to make me back down because of what my skin color was, and I had to stand firm.
So what did I do?
I did work twice as hard as most people, but because of my personal work ethic rather than a desire to impress. A school needs communications help? I’m there. A mob of news media is covering a school board member attacking an administrator? I take it on (and that really happened). A central office administrator is unfairly criticized or a principal is under attack for no good reason? I defend. Someone is getting rightly barbecued? I help prepare them for the grilling. Slowly, was became is.
I refused to be intimidated. I went into school situations that would give anyone pause; I got used to it and stopped thinking about it. It became part of what was – shootings, food poisonings, school board meetings that turned into riots. I kept telling myself that 40,000 children experienced these things all the time, and like some of the heroic people teaching them, I had to focus on what is and will be.
The peak came the night I walked through a crowd of more than 2,000 very angry people waiting outside a board meeting, and I walked calmly through, smiling at people I knew. I was recognized as the public face of the school district, and the crowd parted to let me through (the board members had to be slipped through a secure building entrance). It was the moment I knew I was accepted. I had become part of what is.
And I wore my faith publicly. That’s an odd thing to do in the work place, but in that work place, my faith mattered. In fact, I later learned it was one of the reasons I was hired. Faith was important to so many people that I could talk with them in ways that others couldn’t. I could tell someone I’d pray for them, and they knew it wasn’t a throwaway line.
Faith is always about is and will be.
It was the most intense work experience of my career. I learned a lot, but most of all, I learned how to pay attention to what was. Mostly, that it didn’t mean what is or what will be.
Photo by nAncY, used with permission.
Post by Glynn Young, of Faith, Fiction, Friends.
{ 44 comments… read them below or add one }
Okay, Glynn, I want to watch a movie of your life now. Incredible story.
A movie of my life would likely be entitled “I Fix Mess.” Thanks for reading and commenting, Kelly.
It sounds like they picked the right man for the job, Glynn. And what an amazing learning experience, to be on the other end.
Corinne, there are so many stories. It was the most intense working experience of my career. Thanks for the comment.
I wish there were more like you.
Unfortunately, what you write about remains with us. It just goes by other names.
The distinction you draw in your conclusion is marvelous.
Maureen, neither before or since have I seen this kind of fear in the work place. People were afraid to do their jobs, afraid to make decisions — both of which probably helped me because I figured it was always better to act and then ask for forgiveness. Thanks for your comment.
That’s an amazing story, thanks for sharing. I can imagine that this had a major impact on your life!
I did more media interviews in those nine months than I did in the rest of my career combined — more than 1100 (we had to keep count and log them in). It was full-time crisis communications, and typically seven days a week. Thanks for commenting, Leon.
Were you a family man at the time? If so, how did you manage? If not, how did you manage to do this without support from a family?
At the time, I had one son out of college and one son who was a sophomore in high school. I had lots of support from my wife, who got to watch TV news interviews in our family room (they followed me home at night) and Saturday inteviews outside the car dealership (making me look like a used car salesman). My wife, in fact, was often the switchboard operator and media traffic director, because of how many calls we received at home. And then there were the calls from people in the school district — parents, teachers, former teachers, cafeteria workers — who figured I had a sympathetic ear. I often had to manage 60-hour weeks, sometimes more. And only a wife who loved would have put up with that.
“40,000 children experienced these things all the time, and like some of the heroic people teaching them, I had to focus on what is and will be.”
This is a lot of it right here, isn’t it? We can choose to be in places that we don’t have to be because others do.
People thought I was crazy to take the job. I thought I was crazy to take the job (and the hiring process is a story in and of itself). The very first words spoken to me my first day on the job was from my secretary, even before we introduced ourselves: “Channel 4 and Channel 5 are outside waiting for a statement.” Oddly enough, I had plenty of oppotunities to doubt doing what I was doing, but I never did. Thanks for commenting.
Faith was important to so many people that I could talk with them in ways that others couldn’t. I could tell someone I’d pray for them, and they knew it wasn’t a throwaway line.
Proving yourself by words and actions in the situation you describe, that is mighty. And your live-it-out-loud reliance upon God to fill-in the nooks and crannies, that is faith defined, is it not?
Glynn, you are quite a word-weaver and heart-entangler.
There was many days when I knew it was just me and God. But He had some surprises for me — like one of the outside consultants was a devout Christian, and we could pray together. Like principals defending me when the central office complained. Even the angry critics of the district were invariably cordial and polite to me. Thanks for the nice words.
I somtimes think that wearing the faith of Christ in public was more accepted in the early to mid 1900’s. But, that started to change around 1960. By the time you were in this job, it would have been more unusal to be in a place were one would be able to use their faith as part of the relating within a job. I find this to be just as much of a change as the race relations have been. Almost like it has shifted from race to religion. One could even say, the politics of religion.
It’s a good point, nAncY. There has been a shift. But I still try to keep aware of the fact that race is still an issue in most work places. It’s not obvious when you’re in the majority, not at all. But it is felt keenly when you’re not. Thanks for the comment.
Glynn,
Thanks for the needed reminder that we shouldn’t check our faith at the workplace door!
Jeff
I will say that I was surprised that I didn’t need to. The people who hired me, however, were well aware of my faith (which I didn’t find out until later) and the church I attended — they saw it as a positive for working within the school district. Thanks for reading and commenting.
What an amazing story.
Thanks, Erin, for reading it.
You did better than I did, friend. My time in an urban district, complete with many of the crises you discuss, left me completely broken. I had wanted to be a “savior” to underprivileged kids and instead I needed to be emotionally, even physically saved. (If my daughter hadn’t been born, I might have kept working there, but I was completely burned out in less than a year.)
You know what though? Of the three districts I worked in (the first two ‘affluent white’), it was the only setting where I was asked to (openly) pray with black colleagues at lunch, where children explained that of course the delicacy of the universe made sense because God designed it that way, and where kids talked about what had happened in church on Sunday.
L.L., I will say this — there were 12- and 14-hour days that I thought would never end. My cell phone would (usually) stop ringing about 10:30 at night, and then start about 6:30, sometimes earlier. And burn-out was always a potential problem. One thing I did have was a lot of people praying — people at my church, friends, and people in the school district. Just knowing that was an enormous help.
Yup, me too (everybody praying).
But I was young and a new teacher. I think we put too many teachers in these kinds of situations without helping them in practical ways. These kinds of school systems eat teachers up and spit them out. Which is what they do to kids too. No easy answers.
L.L.–
This piece of your story is inspiring too. That you cared enough to take the risk…it’s one of those situations where we keep giving though we don’t see the return.
Your strength to do that–even for one lonely year–made a difference. And, wow. That’s amazing.
That is truly an inspiring story Glynn – and so beautifully written. When we adopted our little biracial daughter, I got just a little taste of what it is like to be judged by outward appearance. Shopping with her on my own, without my husband accompanying us, I would get those “looks.” I felt so vulnerable and angry.
You did an amazing job. “Faith is always about is and will be.” I love that. Your faith and determination to do what was right is inspiring.
What I found, Linda, was that when it comes to race, all of us tend to think in stereotypes. We make assumptions about people that are wrong. Iit’s wrong to make the assumptions in the first place. We don’t know what a man or woman thinks until we walk in their shoes, or come close to walking in their shoes. So we see, we react, we give a “look.” The model for us, of course, is Jesus. I think of how he treated all of the people who were resented, looked down on or sneered at — Samaritans, tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers, Roman soldiers. Look at how he treated and responded to them. Thanks for the comment.
Glynn, I live in a part of this country where race is not determined by the colour of your skin but rather, your postal code. I work in an environment where people are judged because they don’t have an address — and I am in awe.
thank you for sharing this amazing story — and for clarifying the power of faith and its ability to transcend common day occurence into Divine experience.
You are amazing!
I live in St. Louis, and grew up in New Orleans, and in both places you were always asked “where did you go to high school?” Which was a seemingly innocuous way of asking what your social/economic status was. Of course, going to a public high school like I did meant you didn’t count. It’s everywhere. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Thanks for sharing your story, Glynn. I suspect you have the sequels 2 and 3 in the works, as well as the prequel (You may have here the Star Wars of HCB!), all of which we will want to hear about. You give a unique perspective of work that addresses so many layers of issues – faith, race, overcoming obstacles, intimidation, getting along with people, career development, etc etc. But God is at the center of it all.
Great job!
Thanks, Brad. Actually, what I have sounds more like a novel. Think a combination espionage-thriller-mystery-suspense-horror-literary work. (I threw the literary in for the anonymous lady who would call me each morning to let me know what I had mispronounced on the TV newscast the night before.)
Amazing!
“I did work twice as hard as most people, but because of my personal work ethic rather than a desire to impress”
and
I could tell someone I’d pray for them, and they knew it wasn’t a throwaway line.”
We need more Glynns in our world.
Thanks, Michelle.
In the public eye we are so exposed. Our jobs (I share the same one as Glynn) is all about media spin and hype. To be real — as you were — is amazing. You inspired me.
David
http://www.RedLetterBelievers.com, “Salt and Light”
It’s a good post, David — and I checked and there rteally is a Jesus Action Figure. Oh, my.
“I had to focus on what is and will be… Faith is always about is and will be.”
You have an amazing experience, Glynn — of walking through such a charged situation.
Your story reads like a scene from a movie — but, all the more powerful because it is true.
It felt like a movie at times, Bonnie. Like The Hurt Locker. Thanks for reading and the comment.
Have I said that you are my hero?
I’m with Maureen. I wish there were more like you. It takes a pretty special person to see what needed to be over what is. And the comment about the 40,000 kids struck me too, Glynn. You were standing up for the least of these.
I know you will say that it is God in you, but He doesn’t shine quite as brightly from unwilling vessels. I admire you tremendously.
Laura — thanks for the comment. But when I look back, it wasn’t me. If it had been me, I would have been afraid to go into a school building, afraid of some really rough parts of town, afraid of what people were going to think, afraid of the news media and how they might distort what I said. No, that wasn’t me.
Although I can say this — the news media never once screwed up anything I said. And that was a blessing.
Glynn you humble and move me.
“Faith is always about what is and what will be.”
I know racism. I have grown up in South Africa. I still get up and walk out of conversations that include racist remarks. I still openly and blatantly refuse to participate in this type of behaviour. Racims opens a chasm in my heart that reaches so deeply that I sob.
Reading this I see the faces of each and every person of colour whom I have grown to love, who have become my friends, who have altered my life forever.
Your work is noteworthy and godly.
Please do write sequel 2 and 3. I am waiting in anticipation.
Claire — thanks for the comment. That year in the school district forced me to confront my own values and thoughts and beliefs — I suyppose I could collectively call it my heart. I didn’t like all of what I found, and I”m still in the process of “finding.”
I echo everyone here, Glynn.
And I could read all of this and more as a novel(s).
Sometimes if we know we aren’t alone, that we are doing right, we can walk on water, no?
Deb — it did feel a lot like a novel, a very human novel, full of human frailties and shortcomings (including mine). Coming to work every day was an act of faith.
Thanks for reading and the comment.
It never ceases to amaze me what we can accomplish with God’s guiding hands. Thanks for sharing!
Joani – thanks for reading. And while I had the experience, you’re right — it wasn’t me.