From “US: The Resurrection of American Terror” by Rev. Kenneth W. Wheeler
When I was eight years old my mother decided to take me to the city zoo after shopping downtown. The bus would stop in front of the zoo on West Capitol Street, where we would get off, pay our money, and walk through the gates. I was excited to be going to the zoo for the first time. It was a hot summer day. We walked slowly through the exhibits and after an hour my mom brought us both a cone of ice cream at a nearby stand. She had a cone of vanilla and she bought me a double cone of strawberry, which was my favorite. It was so hot out I found myself licking the ice cream really fast to keep it from dripping. I wasn’t licking fast enough because much of it got on my hands and my shirt. There was a park bench close by where we decided to sit to rest, cool off a bit, and enjoy our ice cream.
Those plans would soon be disrupted by the gruff command of a white police officer. He confronted my mother, asking her if she saw the white mother with her young son waiting to sit down. We had not seen them. But before my mother could respond, the officer grabbed her by her right arm and violently pulled her out of the seat, causing her to drop her cone of ice cream. That action also caused the packages that were between us on the bench to fall to the ground. I immediately jumped up to help balance my mom to keep her from falling, letting my ice cream fall to the ground. The police officer shouted some violent and ugly words to my mother. They were words laced with profanity as well as the racial epithet, nigger. What began as an innocent surprise trip to the zoo turned quickly into an ugly nightmare.
I would help my mother gather up the packages that had been knocked to the ground. Several white people were standing nearby, watching. There were several Black people present. No one stepped forward to help us. We proceeded to walk home. I remember looking up at my mom; I could see the hurt in her eyes and on her face. I said the only words that were spoken between the two of us as we walked in the sweltering heat.
“Mom, you don’t ever have to bring me to the zoo again. I can see all of the animals I want on TV on National Geographic.”
I took my Mom’s free hand and we continued our journey home. I was eight years old and this event left an indelible impression upon me. It was something that I would never forget. Recalling this story stirred up deep emotions even now, when I thought that I had come to terms with an ugliness that happened sixty-two years ago. But the pain of that day is soul deep.
I can still see my mother’s face wet from tears. I was a child. It was a day that I was so excited about and it turned into such an ugly experience.