Random Acts of Racism: One Love

Is your everyday living interrupted by hostile strangers?

I loved the idea of traveling long before my first actual trip. My maiden voyage in 1957 on Eastern Airlines was a happy confirmation of this eternal love. I was traveling from Idlewild Airport, baptized JFK in 1963, to Atlanta, Georgia with my younger brother, Barry and Aunt Lessie, our mom’s aunt. The flight attendants — stewards and hostesses back then — were solicitous, helpful, informative, and nice. They chatted us up and gave us wings. Aunt Lessie had bought us big red name buttons and pinned them on our chests, so the flight staff knew as we boarded to call us “Barry” and “Louise” (there was no “Alberta” pin). I cannot remember one other passenger being on that flight.

My initiation to flying made a lasting impression and I mourn the loss of stewards and hostesses of old. I don’t mind the appellation change; it’s the evolution of the métier that I have observed over decades of air travel that has saddened me. Maybe it’s merely due to the ubiquity of travel. I digress. The outright acts of racism I experienced haven’t been at the hands of flight staff, but of fellow passengers.

South of the Border

I have been blessed to travel the globe and very often, in the best conditions. A friend invited me to Cabo San Lucas, which before this escapade was only a place name to me. We traveled down as a group and stayed in fully equipped luxury villas in a compound with a pool. We leased vans, visited the beaches, and ate touristy meals on the…