Living While

Black
inAmerica
A Story of Hurt, Bigotry,
Love, Hate, and Forgiveness

A Profound Love Story

Two people from two different worlds unite to
defy their cultural upbringing.

Written and Inspired by True Events

MARSHALL & ROSEMARY CAMPBELL

 LIVING WHILE
BLACK IN AMERICA

A Story of Hurt, Bigotry,

Love, Hate, and Forgiveness

Marshall & Rosemary Campbell

LIVING WHILE BLACK IN AMERICA
A Story of Hurt, Bigotry, Love, Hate, and Forgiveness
Copyright 2014 By Marshall Campbell
marshc1111@yahoo.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced by any

mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of any
audio recording. No part of this book is to be stored in a retrieval system,
transmitted or otherwise published or copied for private use without the
written permission of the author.

Book cover and page design by Shannon Crowley,

Treasure Image & Publishing - TreasureImagePublishing.com

Editorial Development by Minister Mary D. Edwards,

Leaves of Gold Consulting, LLC- LeavesOfGoldConsulting.com
 Table of Contents
Endorsements.................................................................................. 5
Acknowledgements ........................................................................ 7
Introduction .................................................................................... 9
The First Hurt ............................................................................... 13
More Hurt and Pain ..................................................................... 21
Destitution and Destruction ....................................................... 37
Education Stifles Some Pain ........................................................ 49
Suffering Penalties ........................................................................ 57
Grandparents Remembered ........................................................ 75
Moving North ............................................................................... 85
Growing Anger ............................................................................. 97
Discovering Realities .................................................................. 107
Hard Times .................................................................................. 117
Elementary Experience .............................................................. 129
Living Impaired........................................................................... 139
Growing Pains ............................................................................. 149
Accepting the Pain ...................................................................... 157
Living With the Pain .................................................................. 165
Leaving Home ............................................................................. 181
Diamond In The Rough ............................................................. 191
Rude Awakenings .......................................................................205
New Beginnings ..........................................................................221
Uniting Two Different Worlds ..................................................241
Recompense Claimed .................................................................253
Hope Rewarded...........................................................................265
Rosemarys Narrative On Living While Black In America ....271
More Futile Relationships ..........................................................277
Living On The Edge ...................................................................281
Familys Vision, Vague And Obscure .......................................289
America Conclusively Determines My Position .....................295
Passions Kindled To A Blaze .....................................................301
Nathenas Feelings about Being Mixed .....................................307
Stacey, A Mixed Girl In America ..............................................311
Nine Years Later ..........................................................................315
Encounters of a Hostile Kind ....................................................329
About the Authors ......................................................................337
 ENDORSEMENTS

Campbells life story of Living While Black in America could

truly be the story of any number of Blacks in this country. For
those who have not experience everyday living with bigotry,
cruelty and racism, this is absolutely required reading. He and his
wife should be commended for their fortitude in spite of the
adverse conditions they encountered. It honors me to endorse
this great work, knowing that it will be a knowledgeable
experience and a true blessing to the reader. Without a doubt,
LIVING WHILE BLACK IN AMERICA, is an example of Gods
movement in Campbells life and his trust in Gods guidance.

Reverend Jim Holley PH. D., Pastor

The Historic Little Rock Missionary Baptist Church
Detroit, Michigan

LIVING WHILE BLACK IN AMERICA: is an awesome review of

historical facts, told in a stunning array of experiences normal
people just trying to live a normal life. This is a necessary reading
for anyone who wants to know the truth about racism in
America. The raw experiences draw the reader into a moving
living drama of pain, people, and victory! Campbell's artful way
of presenting his life story gives the reader a rare experience of
up-close and personal view in the hearts and minds of blacks and
whites from the late 50's until current day! A great book for
anyone who wants to know the truth about racism and what
people think behind the scenes. A great work truly inspired and
given by GOD!

Rev. Dr. Samuel Stephens, Pastor

PURE WORD MBC, Detroit, Michigan

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Living While Black in America

6
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As an ordained minister, I would be remiss if I did not thank

God for these seventy-five years that he has kept me through
this tedious journey of my life; and for bringing me through
and out of trying pitfalls that desired to engulf me and prevent
me from completing this manuscript. I give thanks to the Holy
Spirit for his guidance, counsel, and direction from beginning
to end. I thank Jesus Christ for his protection and staying
power through the good and bad years, as I completed what I
was instructed to do.

Thank you, my lovely wife Rosemary for your deep insights

and willingness to share such sensitive and personal
experiences so openly. Also for your patience with me
throughout this endeavor, especially while I was up into the
early dawn and did not accompany you to bed. I promise you I
will make up for it.

Thanks to my pastor for his help in bringing all the loose ends
together to finalization.

Thanks to all those who were instrumental in the completion

of this work. I am deeply indebted to you all, and I thank you
from the bottom of my heart.

A special thanks to my dear sister in the ministry, Gods

marvelous creature, Monzella James, who labored faithfully
with me in organizing and constructing this finished work.

MC

7
Living While Black in America

8
 INTRODUCTION

This could be the story of any number of thousands of Black

Americans in this country. Its a story that tells of many lives
that were scarred and marked by torture, abuse, rejection,
inhumanity, and merciless disrespect; lives left never to be
retrieved or restored again.

As I write this documentary of my life, I do so by the

encouragement of my psychological therapist who validated
my thought that it would be quite interesting to read and
that something positive might be learned from it for me, as
well as others.

I changed the names and some places for the sake of privacy,
knowing that some of the people would be highly
embarrassed and disheartened about having to relive a past
that they have painfully been trying to put behind them.
Also, some would be angry with me for writing about them
and our familys history in Americas South.

I apologize for how the story of our Black blight in this

country has caused emotional suffering and hurt feelings for
some. I have honestly and sincerely come to understand how
some people feel because of the injury and damage done by
living in a society that suppresses truths about their wrongs.
However, I will not apologize for telling these truths, which

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Living While Black in America

have drastically impacted, diminished, and utterly changed

my life and the lives of my family.

I have witnessed such harsh and severe treatment of Blacks

in this country that sometimes I wonder if the wrongs done
to us were really warranted or justified, or if the ones
inflicting the cruelty just needed other humans to bear the
brunt of their frustrations and feelings of insecurity. What
people group was a better target to attack with ones
discouragement, hostility, dissatisfaction, and adverse
behavior than the Blacks? The group, thought to be beneath
others and subsequently stepped on, provided others with a
false sense of elevation and just enough of a little more
sense of significance. Its like committing the perfect crime.
There was no recourse; Blacks had no one to turn to, no one
to ask for assistance or protection. The government sent no
aid, but rather turned its head away from the humiliating
plight and emotional hurt that cut deeper than any knife
could. The pain and disgrace caused by the merciless
behavior have left emotional scars that put physical pain to
shame.

People today are still suffering from the abuse and cannot
put it to rest. I could understand the meanness and one
wanting to inflict hurt and pain on a person, if that person
had done something to you or a loved one. But, to be so
contemptible and malicious when you do not even know the

10
 I n tr oduc ti on

person and they have done nothing to you is bordering on

the brink of insanity. When you think of it, insanity is what
appears to be running this country at times; some might
even say, without a doubt, most of the time.

Through it all, I have come to forgive and forget, because as

one of my mentors once said to me, If they knew better,
they would do better. They just dont know any better, and
well just have to love the meanness right out of them.

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Living While Black in America

12
 1

THE FIRST HURT

When did the hurt and pain start? I often used to sit and
wonder about that. Some say it started the first day upon
this earth. Others say that it is just impossible to recall it
from such an early age. I really do not know if that is the
case, or whether it was just so painful coming into this
world that the brain just blocked it all out, thereby not
allowing the hurt to be remembered. I say this because I do
not remember the first excruciating pain upon being born,
but I do recall my first pain as a child experiencing innocent
youth, and not yet having tasted the suffering of a merciless
southern society.

I was born in the deep south of Alabama. And I do

remember, as though it was yesterday, what was probably
the second most painful experience of my short existence in
this world at that time.

From my understanding, in listening to hushed

conversation, my mother and I were living with my

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Living While Black in America

grandmother, who I called Grandma, but most people in

the neighborhood called her Miss Julia. Her birth
certificate listed her as Julia Heard. Grandma was on the
short side of five feet, but when it came to protecting her
family, she was every bit of six feet tall. It was told that
Grandma carried a Derringer in her apron pocket wherever
she went and nobody messed with Julia.

I overheard members of my family saying that my mother

was going to have a baby, but she was having a hard time
carrying it. I must have been around four years old at that
time. There are no visual or physical memories of my father
from this time. Some in the family said that he was on the
road selling clothes to make a living for us. Later, I found out
that it was not my dad who was selling the clothes, but the
white man he worked for, and my father just drove for him.
My fathers name was James Campbell. It was said by my
mother that he was tall, dark and handsome. He had a
brother named Frank and two sisters, Jennie and Elizabeth. I
dont remember his mothers first name, maybe because I
thought she was mean, and I didnt like her very much. I
heard that my grandfather was not living in the home and
my grandmother sent my dad to school, because he was the
youngest, and the rest to the field to work. Mother often said
thats why my dad learned to keep house, got an education,
and became a very good cook. He taught her everything she

14
 T he Fir s t H u r t

knew about cooking. I recall my mother being called Sadie

Ivery, which led me to believe that she and my father were
not married at the time of my birth.

The house that my grandmother lived in was what they

called a shot-gun house. You could stand in the front door
of the house, look all the way to the back door, and see every
room in the house. There was a tiny living room, with a
small sofa bed that slept two people, along with two
matching chairs that sat adjacent to each other in each
corner of the room.

During the week, the furniture was covered with sheets to

protect the furniture from wear and tear, and, most of all, so
that it could look good and unused if we had guests on a
Sunday, or any holiday. The children were never allowed in
the living room without an adult to supervise us around and
on the furniture.

Next to the living room was an open area that housed a

small fireplace that was used for heating the whole house,
and for cooking in a big black pot which hung in it. This
open area was a gathering place for the family, after a hard
days work, where stories were told of what had taken place
that day in and around Mister Charlie and Miss Anns
house. We would laugh and talk about their ordinary
common place and exceptionally highly conventional

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Living While Black in America

lifestyle that we called square. We marveled over the things

that they did not know, and paid the Black men to do; things
that were absolutely taken for granted in our neighborhood.
In this gathering, we would also sigh in envy and
amazement over their wealth and prosperous lifestyle. That
part of the conversation would always bring on an
unresponsive silence, as everyone seemed to be caught up
with their own personal thoughts of needs and wants. The
stillness would be interrupted by my grandmothers quiet,
wise voice saying, Well you know, when you got a lot of
money, you got more problems.

Everyone would respond, You got that right, Ma.

Someone would then start talking about being patient and

waiting on the Lord. Hell make everything all right one of
these old days. Most of them had been waiting so long, I
often wondered if they even believed it any more.

The later part of the evening was taken over by the old
folks, as they would tell stories of our ancestors, where they
might be, and who belonged to whom.

This particular night my mother was in the living room

resting on the sofa bed my grandmother had prepared for
her. This location was better than a bedroom because
Grandma could do her chores and keep an eye on my ailing
mother. My cousin, Samuel Gregory Watkins, Jr., who we
16
 T he Fir s t H u r t

called Junior, and my mothers sisters only child, was

staying with us, because my Aunt Loreal, his mother, was
having domestic problems with Samuel Gregory Watkins, Sr.
They seemed to be fighting all the time, and she brought
Junior over to keep him out of harms way.

Junior was six months older than I, and we were very close;
but I think he saw too much hostility and it had a negative
effect on him. He stayed in trouble all the time. Junior
wanted to be like his father who was an alcoholic and
intensive gambler who lost most of the time and eventually
was killed in a gambling dispute. Later in life, Junior moved
to New York and turned heavily into drugs and, like his
father, was mysteriously found dead.

One of my earlier memories is the night some of us were

lying on our stomachs near the fireplace, fascinated by the
burning wood. All of a sudden, Grandma jumped up and
started blowing out all of the oil lamps in the house. She told
everyone to be still, quiet, and not to make another sound.
You could literally hear a pin drop, because when Big Mama
seriously spoke in that tone of voice, and started moving
through the house like she was, everyone knew what was
going on outside the house. What they knew, I was about to
learn.

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Living While Black in America

It was the Ku Klux Klan riding horseback through our

neighborhood. I had heard my family talk many times about
how much they hated Black people, and some of the cruel
things done to those deemed out of line and nonconforming
to their standards. They had once mentioned a Black man,
named Jake, who was taken from his home by the KKK and
beaten in front of his family for speaking to a white woman.
After the beating, he was tied with a chain to the rear of a
pick-up truck and dragged into the woods. Later, he was
found hanging from a tree with his private part and testicles
cut off and stuck into his mouth. It was told that he had only
said, Good morning to the woman.

Other stories were told of Black women terrorized by KKK

mobs. One situation involved a woman who had been
repeatedly raped at the whim of as many as 20 men, over
and over, until they were completely satisfied.

What I could never ever understand was how in the world

you could say you hate, despise and consider people utterly
worthless and distasteful but still want to have sex with
them. Now, that kind of mentality is frightening, and I am
still waiting for someone to explain that one to me. I can
only think of one word to describe such an individual:
crazy, one that is out of their only mind.

18
 T he Fir s t H u r t

When I was older and heard mention of this type of

behavior, I came to the conclusion that these men just did
what they had wanted to do anyway, have sex with a Black
woman. At the same time, they could demean the Black man
and crush his pride by forcibly seizing his cherished
treasure. These were poor white men who could not buy
Black woman, as did their white ancestors. Therefore, this
was their sick way to gratify their lust, by taking what they
wanted, because no one was going to stop them. They were
the good ole boys, doing what drunken good ole boys do.

Now, it was beginning to make a little sense, the feelings,

thoughts and actions of the white men toward a Black man
even approaching or addressing a white woman; to him, this
was the ultimate and extreme intrusion to his treasured gem.
He did understand that all men want the certainty that their
treasure is safe and secure. Once you have forcibly taken the
most sacred and treasured part of the woman, which was
only privy to her spouse, it was definitely a way to vent your
pent up, prejudiced hostility, while also discharging your
secret lustful desires without worry of being called out or
even questioned about it.

The KKK struck fear into the hearts of some of the strongest
Black men I knew, and that was only because Blacks were
helpless when it came to getting help and protection. That
night when

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Living While Black in America

Grandmother whispered the words, Ku Klux Klan, I froze

in place. I now remember how controlling fear is. I was so
terrified the moment I heard that name, I tried not to utter a
sound or move. I even wet my pants and was so
embarrassed that I kept it to myself. Worse than that was the
hurt and extreme fear I felt from not being able to get the
safety and protection that a family is supposed to offer their
children.

I recall hearing this high pitched, whining voice saying, You

niggers better keep that damn noise down and them damn
lights off after dark, you hear, or you gonna be sorry.

The fear I saw on Grandmothers face ran throughout the

house, as we were huddled motionless by the fire. My mouth
was so dry that my tongue cleaved to the top of it. Terror
had so intensely possessed me that I forgot I had wet my
pants. By the time the men left, I was shaking so badly, I
went straight to bed so no one would know I had wet on
myself. I didnt even realize myself, that I had already dried
out. No child in this country should be made to feel that
terrified and experience the agony of not being shielded and
guarded in their own home, ever. A child should at least
know that if no one else in the world can keep them safe
from injury, the members of his or her family can.

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