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Separate Pasts: Growing Up White in the Segregated South
In Separate Pasts Melton A. McLaurin honestly and plainly recalls his boyhood during the 1950s, an era when segregation existed unchallenged in the rural South. In his small hometown of Wade, North Carolina, whites and blacks lived and worked within each other's shadows, yet were separated by the history they shared. Separate Pasts is the moving story of the bonds McLaurin formed with friends of both races―a testament to the power of human relationships to overcome even the most ingrained systems of oppression.
A new afterword provides historical context for the development of segregation in North Carolina. In his poignant portrayal of contemporary Wade, McLaurin shows that, despite integration and the election of a black mayor, the legacy of racism remains.
A new afterword provides historical context for the development of segregation in North Carolina. In his poignant portrayal of contemporary Wade, McLaurin shows that, despite integration and the election of a black mayor, the legacy of racism remains.
192 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 1987
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About the author
Melton A. McLaurin
16 books12 followersMelton Alonza McLaurin received his Ph.D. in American history from the University of South Carolina in 1967 and taught at the University of South Alabama prior to joining the UNCW department of history as chairperson in 1977. From 1996 until 2003 he served as Associate Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs, retiring in 2004. He is the author or co-author of nine books and numerous articles on various aspects of the history of the American South and race relations.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
December 1, 2017
Melton McLaurin was a young white boy living in Wade, North Carolina in the 50s just prior to the Civil Rights movement. Wade is a small rural town that was very segregated during McLaurin's youth, with a specific mindset for both blacks and whites. His granddaddy ran the general store where Melton worked when he wasn't in school. McLaurin talked with everyone that came into the store and knew everyone well. It was these encounters that began to shape the impressions he had about racism. His daddy, grandaddy, and their cronies were segregationists. They were mostly kind to the blacks in town, but there were obvious racist views and separation between the two races. As young Melton grew older, though, he started questioning this ideology. Whites and blacks living in the same town, separated by color with distinctly different histories that intertwined.
In this book, Melton describes some of the stories of his youth about the people that helped shaped his ideas on the divisions between the races and the ones that helped unravel those views. He gets to know the blacks in town and forms a bond with many of them. As Melton progressed in his views, the tiny town of Wade began to change as well, slowly, but change did occur.
This is a side of the southern race story that is not often told. It is the view of a young, impressionable child who is taught to be a racist, but questions this philosophy. The book proves the point that racism is learned and passed through future generations until it is challenged and rejected. Sadly, there are many towns in the rural south that have not challenged these views but they are dwindling in numbers. This book is a reminder of how far we have come and how far we still have to go.
In this book, Melton describes some of the stories of his youth about the people that helped shaped his ideas on the divisions between the races and the ones that helped unravel those views. He gets to know the blacks in town and forms a bond with many of them. As Melton progressed in his views, the tiny town of Wade began to change as well, slowly, but change did occur.
This is a side of the southern race story that is not often told. It is the view of a young, impressionable child who is taught to be a racist, but questions this philosophy. The book proves the point that racism is learned and passed through future generations until it is challenged and rejected. Sadly, there are many towns in the rural south that have not challenged these views but they are dwindling in numbers. This book is a reminder of how far we have come and how far we still have to go.
March 28, 2024
This book is intensely racist and I'm baffled how nobody else is discussing this. One chapter, "Betty Jo," is just the author masturbating himself about how he has fetishized Black women since childhood. The book reads defensively, the author clearly wants us to see him as having grown from his racist upbringing but doesn't really demonstrate that growth in the way he writes or structures the book. I was insanely frustrated by the way in which McLaurin linked his unlearning of prejudice to his college education, without fully acknowledging the immense privilege of his upbringing. Instead, McLaurin consistently suggests that because he is an intellectual, he cannot be racist, and it was the process of becoming an intellectual which cleansed him of racism. All the while, he's talking about his Black neighbors with minstrelesque invented names and almost exclusively using food adjectives to describe their appearance.
I had to read this book for class and I received low marks for consistently suggesting that y'know... maybe we don't need to hear the perspective of an old white male historian who comes from a wealthy Southern family to understand the history of the small-town South. Maybe that particular perspective is well enough understood to not warrant a book.
Some redeeming qualities are that it's short and that it has some good maps and images.
I had to read this book for class and I received low marks for consistently suggesting that y'know... maybe we don't need to hear the perspective of an old white male historian who comes from a wealthy Southern family to understand the history of the small-town South. Maybe that particular perspective is well enough understood to not warrant a book.
Some redeeming qualities are that it's short and that it has some good maps and images.
May 10, 2016
This was a delightful memoir but a hard read. McLaurin grew up in the 1950s in town of Wade, North Carolina. This village was along Old Highway 301 and the Atlantic Coast Line, just northeast of Fayetteville, North Carolina. Things were changing in the South in the 50s and shortly after McLaurin left Wade, cars driving south on 301 bypassed Wade on Interstate 95. And there were other changes under foot. Starting in the seventh grade, McLaurin began working at his grandfather’s store across from the “Black” elementary school. McLaurin focuses on his work at the store and his encounters with the African-American community which provided insight into the segregated South on the eve of its demise. This book opened my eyes as I was born in the next county to the west, a year before McLaurin left Wade for college. Our experiences of growing up in the South were different, yet in many ways similar.
McLaurin’s grandfather was a man respected by many in “The Bottom,” where most of Wade’s African-Americans lived. He was one who extended credit when needed, especially in the off seasons when there were little work for the men in that community. He was also able to intervene on their behalf with government bureaucracy. One story is about a hard working woman named Viny Love who lived alone with her son who had cerebral palsy. When she was shunned by a county welfare agent, he took it upon himself to get action from the county. In pondering the event, McLaurin realized that he was okay to risk social censure to help “deserving” blacks. Yet, even with that he also understood that his grandfather thought of them as human, they were incapable of fending for themselves and ”Irrevocably flawed.” (132) McLaurin’s family didn’t allow him to use the “N” word, and he realized this was primarily used by lower classed whites; however, he came to learn that just because one didn’t think it was appropriate to belittle those of another race didn’t mean that they were above racism. As he pointed out, African-Americans didn’t come to his home (except to work and then it was through the back door). Nor did he go inside one of their homes. There was one exception to this, when an elderly couple invited him into their kitchen for some pumpkin pie after he’d made a delivery for his grandfather. By the standards of the African-American community, this couple was well off, but McLaurin was shocked by how little they had.
Most of this book is about the McLaurin’s memories of interacting with particular individuals from “The Bottom.” He writes about teenage boys playing basketball together and the disgust he felt when he realized that he had wet a pump needle to inflate the ball after he’d been in the mouth of a black boy. He tells about the talk of sex, about myths of the men and women of the Black community. He tells about his talks with “Street,” an African-American man who was considered crazy by both races (he was a Jehovah Witness). Although McLaurin later realized the shallowness and fallacies of some of Street’s arguments, he did credit Street with forcing him to more deeply question his Presbyterian upbringing. And he tells about the one older black man, Jerome, who, like McLaurin, was a Yankee fan. When he’d come into the store, the two of them would discuss baseball. No one else in the community liked the Yankees, according to McLaurin. The whites didn’t because their name and because they were just too good through the fifties. But they weren’t liked by those in the Bottom, either. They were mostly Dodger fans as they were the first team in the major leagues to integrate. The Yankees was one of the last teams to integrate when they signed Elston Howard in 1955 (there were three other teams that integrated after the Yankees: Tigers, Phillies, and the Red Sox).
In what had to be one of the more painful stories to write, McLaurin confesses about an incident when he, with a group of other white boys, taunted Sam, an older black man. In the lead up to the event, the reader realizes how of mob mentality can take over. This is McLaurin’s confession:
“There was, I knew, no excuse for my behavior, and with that knowledge came a growing sense of guilt. It sprang partly from the realization that I had betrayed the family’s expectations, especially Mother’s, that I have violated the basic human dignity that my family acknowledged blacks possessed. Yet there was another sense of betrayal, deeper and more personal. I realized that I had hurt Sam, had hurt him deliberated, and worst of all, had hurt him for his race.” (109)
This memoir was originally published in 1987. It was reissued in 1998, with a new afterword. At that time, McLaurin was the chair of the History Department at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington and he reflects back on his adolescent years through the lens of the 100th anniversary of a terrible racial tragedy in Wilmington. These stories are easy to read, yet difficult because of the subject matter. McLaurin is not writing as a historian but as a memoirist. As one who grew up as segregation was waning, I would recommend this book as a glimpse into a world that thankfully has ended even though there is still remnants remaining. I find it odd that McLaurin now lives (or at least when this book was published) where the old Uncle Henry Kirkum’s Oyster Roast stood at the mouth of Whiskey Creek. I grew up not far from there and from the fourth to the sixth grade, I sat in Bus #6, an orange over-sized stub-nose bus, as it passed Kirkum’s on the run through Masonboro Loop Road and on to Bradley Creek School.
For more about the Wilmington Race Riot/Massacre of 1898, check out H. Leon Prather, Sr., “'We Have Taken a City': The Wilmington Racial Massacre and the Coup of 1898"
McLaurin’s grandfather was a man respected by many in “The Bottom,” where most of Wade’s African-Americans lived. He was one who extended credit when needed, especially in the off seasons when there were little work for the men in that community. He was also able to intervene on their behalf with government bureaucracy. One story is about a hard working woman named Viny Love who lived alone with her son who had cerebral palsy. When she was shunned by a county welfare agent, he took it upon himself to get action from the county. In pondering the event, McLaurin realized that he was okay to risk social censure to help “deserving” blacks. Yet, even with that he also understood that his grandfather thought of them as human, they were incapable of fending for themselves and ”Irrevocably flawed.” (132) McLaurin’s family didn’t allow him to use the “N” word, and he realized this was primarily used by lower classed whites; however, he came to learn that just because one didn’t think it was appropriate to belittle those of another race didn’t mean that they were above racism. As he pointed out, African-Americans didn’t come to his home (except to work and then it was through the back door). Nor did he go inside one of their homes. There was one exception to this, when an elderly couple invited him into their kitchen for some pumpkin pie after he’d made a delivery for his grandfather. By the standards of the African-American community, this couple was well off, but McLaurin was shocked by how little they had.
Most of this book is about the McLaurin’s memories of interacting with particular individuals from “The Bottom.” He writes about teenage boys playing basketball together and the disgust he felt when he realized that he had wet a pump needle to inflate the ball after he’d been in the mouth of a black boy. He tells about the talk of sex, about myths of the men and women of the Black community. He tells about his talks with “Street,” an African-American man who was considered crazy by both races (he was a Jehovah Witness). Although McLaurin later realized the shallowness and fallacies of some of Street’s arguments, he did credit Street with forcing him to more deeply question his Presbyterian upbringing. And he tells about the one older black man, Jerome, who, like McLaurin, was a Yankee fan. When he’d come into the store, the two of them would discuss baseball. No one else in the community liked the Yankees, according to McLaurin. The whites didn’t because their name and because they were just too good through the fifties. But they weren’t liked by those in the Bottom, either. They were mostly Dodger fans as they were the first team in the major leagues to integrate. The Yankees was one of the last teams to integrate when they signed Elston Howard in 1955 (there were three other teams that integrated after the Yankees: Tigers, Phillies, and the Red Sox).
In what had to be one of the more painful stories to write, McLaurin confesses about an incident when he, with a group of other white boys, taunted Sam, an older black man. In the lead up to the event, the reader realizes how of mob mentality can take over. This is McLaurin’s confession:
“There was, I knew, no excuse for my behavior, and with that knowledge came a growing sense of guilt. It sprang partly from the realization that I had betrayed the family’s expectations, especially Mother’s, that I have violated the basic human dignity that my family acknowledged blacks possessed. Yet there was another sense of betrayal, deeper and more personal. I realized that I had hurt Sam, had hurt him deliberated, and worst of all, had hurt him for his race.” (109)
This memoir was originally published in 1987. It was reissued in 1998, with a new afterword. At that time, McLaurin was the chair of the History Department at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington and he reflects back on his adolescent years through the lens of the 100th anniversary of a terrible racial tragedy in Wilmington. These stories are easy to read, yet difficult because of the subject matter. McLaurin is not writing as a historian but as a memoirist. As one who grew up as segregation was waning, I would recommend this book as a glimpse into a world that thankfully has ended even though there is still remnants remaining. I find it odd that McLaurin now lives (or at least when this book was published) where the old Uncle Henry Kirkum’s Oyster Roast stood at the mouth of Whiskey Creek. I grew up not far from there and from the fourth to the sixth grade, I sat in Bus #6, an orange over-sized stub-nose bus, as it passed Kirkum’s on the run through Masonboro Loop Road and on to Bradley Creek School.
For more about the Wilmington Race Riot/Massacre of 1898, check out H. Leon Prather, Sr., “'We Have Taken a City': The Wilmington Racial Massacre and the Coup of 1898"
April 6, 2021
This was recommended to me as historical context for my thesis work studying To Kill a Mockingbird, so I gave it a go. Though the author is a few years younger than Harper Lee and his story takes place in North Carolina rather than Alabama, it does provide valuable insight into the racial climate of the time period when the novel was released. McLaurin is honest without being self-flagellating. He details the ways in which his interactions with his black neighbors transformed his understanding of segregation as he grew up. Although I found the chapter dealing with sex to be gratuitously detailed and the epilogue unsatisfyingly concluded, it was a worthwhile read overall.
June 5, 2020
Growing up white in the secregated wouth, Dad wanted me to read this book that he had received from little Jessie so we could talk about it. An honest memoir about a small town in Alabama rife with racial inequality.
September 17, 2017
An interesting memoir.
January 15, 2021
NF- Memoir
May 28, 2022
Bobo 😭
June 1, 2008
This one was also part of my early processing of my own racist upbringing. There are so many things white people never talk about--all the overt and covert messages we internalize about people of color. I come from a very tiny town in very rural north Mississippi, and unfortunately the experience of living there was very similar to McLaurin's youth in North Carolina--even more than twenty years after the period he describes... Until very, very recently there was a clearly defined line between Duck Hill "Proper" and "Niggertown" (that IS what we called it as children, what all white people called it), not "the tracks" like in many towns, just a road that white folks and black folks never crossed. I was absolutely shocked when I drove through Duck Hill this past Christmas and there were black families finally living on the other side of that road! Unfortunately, knowing my fellow white folks, that means that Duck Hill will probably be an all-black town in twenty years because the white folks of Duck Hill "Proper" will not stay. Wow, I just realized how depressing that reality is. It doesn't make me want to stop trying, but it makes me seriously doubt that the trying will ever make any difference. :(
December 25, 2013
Excellent collection of reminisces and observations on growing up white in the rural segregated South of the 1950s. Unlike this guy, who worked at his grandfather's store and interacted with blacks regularly, I don't remember talking to or seeing a black person up close until my high school was integrated when I was in the 10th or 11th grade. My only related childhood memory is a very clear one of side-by-side drinking fountains (white and colored) at the Kress 5 & Dime in Greenville SC, in the late 50s. Why I remember this, I don't know, maybe I drank from the wrong one and my Grandmother lectured me on it. Glad I left the South when and for as long as I did. Some things don't change; they just get subtle and better hidden.
May 21, 2012
Really well writen account of a world that for me, a 21st century young man from the north, is completely foreign, and honestly disconnected. the very human connection between the reality of the segregated south and melton did allot for me to come to a better grasp of how racism in the south percisted. In the last chapter when he returns home from college the story really comes full circle.
November 13, 2013
Read this for my History class... actually really liked it!
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews