Now It Can Be Told

Talk at book club today turned to President Obama's memories that made him identify with Treyvon Martin. He was profiled as a teen, followed around in stores by suspicious clerks. He heard the clicks of car doors locking when he walked through parking lots, saw women clutch their purses a little tighter when he came near. Several of the Bookies confessed that they had done the same thing, and now felt bad about it. I confessed this story that trumped theirs.

I had gone to Tampa, some 20 years ago, to get some paperwork from the Sheriff. I was directed to a substation in Ybor City. I got lost, and found myself in College Hill, a particularly scary section of Tampa that showed evidence of firebombs, burned out cars, and a total absence of people on the street at noon. I saw a building that had a flagpole, slowed down and saw that it was a Tampa police station. I pulled into the parking lot, and went to ask for directions to the Sheriff's station. I walked up to the door, but it was locked. I looked in the windows of the door, and saw policemen and others working, but they ignored my knocks and yelling.

I turned around to see a large black man running toward me. I tossed him my purse, and he caught it.
He laughed, came over and returned my purse, and said "Let me walk you to your car. This is a dangerous neighborhood." I said "I'm so embarrassed. I was afraid of you." He said "Don't feel bad. All those police in there are afraid too. They don't take walk-ins in this neighborhood." I felt better, but I still felt like a fool.