Mister Carter

One year ago tonight Illinois Senator Barack Obama won the presidential election over Arizona Senator John McCain. As my wife and I watched Obama's victory speech from Grant Park in Chicago we both began to cry. The tears flowed not just because we supported him with our funds and our feet, but because our country made a choice for change.

I'm not so much referring to a change in party or political philosophy (although that was huge in itself). No, I'm referring to the fact that the majority of the voting populous when faced with a decision over who should run this country, chose the guy they thought would be best and didn't care that he happened to be black.

This country looked past its long history of racial division and picked the "black guy." Not so long ago this would have been unthinkable. Consider our history. It's a past fraught with slavery, Jim Crowe laws, segregation, and lynchings. Certainly, electing Obama did not eliminate all racism and prejudice, but it was one hell of a step toward "a more perfect union."

So, I was very proud of my country that night. And while I know the success or failure of Obama's presidency is a story that is still being written, and that there is a sizable gap between inspiration and achievement, I still feel hopeful. This President who has a sick economy and two wars to navigate deserves that much from all of us.

All of that being said, on this one year anniversary of that historic election result, President Obama isn't the only one I'm thinking of. Tonight, I'm also thinking about Mister Carter. You see, Mister Carter was my elementary school principal. He was tall, thin and a little nappy headed. He was also black.

It's a distinction I didn't give much thought to back in the day. But think about this: Mister Carter was the Principal of a predominantly white grade school in the mid 1970's. The 1970's! I wonder what he must of had to go through to reach that position. What indignities must he have suffered? I'm sure there were many.

I have two particularly vivid memories of Mr. Carter. The first centered around discipline and authority. Once, when I was playing soccer at recess, the ball bounced away and landed in a neighboring residential lot by the school. When this happened at Eastside Elementary, the rule was that you were to get one of the teachers who would then fetch the ball for you. However, me being a precocious lad, I chose to get it myself. Even worse, when the teacher reminded me of the rule, I chose to get smart. Big mistake.

Shortly after, I was summoned to the office by the school secretary, Mrs. Purdy. "Ask not for whom the bell tolls, for it tolls for thee" the poet John Donne once said. As I entered the office I was shepherded into Mr. Carter's room. The first thing I saw was a wooden paddle sitting on his desk. To be fair, it looked more like an oar from a viking ship. With holes in it. Mr. Carter then suggested that I have a seat. At this point, my bladder and bowels were in deep argument over who would lead the jail break. Now, I can't tell you a single word that Mr. Carter said to me that day. But I remember the flat steely tone with which he addressed me. He didn't end up using the paddle on me--- he didn't need to. Suffice it to say, I never strayed from school grounds again. As I left his office I was feeling two emotions. One I understood very clearly. It's called fear. The second I would only come to comprehend later in life. It was respect.

My other memory of Mr. Carter had to do with the misfortune of another student. One day at recess, Kelly West climbed the ladder to the top of the slide. He then slipped, lost his balance and planted his face into the ground below. Kelly rolled over writhing and sobbing while his pale face turned red with blood. We kids simply stood there frozen in shock. Then, seemingly from nowhere, came Mr. Carter. He reached down, scooped the boy up into his arms and carried him into our school to receive medical attention. The slide was seven feet tall. On that day, Mr. Carter was ten.

I have no idea what happened to Mr. Carter after he left Eastside Elementary. I hope his quietly trailblazing path carried on well into the future. In fact, I scarcely thought of him at all until November 5th, 2008. It occurred to me on that evening that this wasn't just Barack Obama's night, but Mr. Carter's too.

Because for every Nat Turner, Harriet Tubman, Jackie Robinson, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., and Barack Obama, there were hundreds, if not thousands of Mr. Carters. People of color who with quiet dignity made giant steps that lead to the great leaps by the aforementioned individuals.

So yes, on this fall evening I'm thinking of Barack Obama. But I'm thinking of Mr. Carter too. Godspeed good man, wherever you are.