Lake Michigan

When I was a kid in Indiana, most of our vacations were about going to Michigan.  I always remember loving the big lake, Lake Michigan, which had actual waves, and playing in the waves the way people who go to an ocean play in the waves.

One year, we were going to Michigan and a guy my dad knew from work told him about this county park that was north of the state park on Lake Michigan and was “less crowded.” So we went there. Of course, we kids were really excited about going to the lake, and even about being on a less crowded beach.

There was a line of cars to get in and some guys checking IDs, and I was in the backseat thinking, Oh, they’re going to know that we don’t live in this county because we obviously have a license plate from Indiana. But when we got to the front of the line, they were waving us through to go in. My Dad made a U-turn and we left. We kids in the back seat were confused, and probably a bit clamorous. The lake! The beach! My Mom told us to be quiet and that she’d explain to us later. Dad was really quiet.

Turns out that the “private county beach” was discriminating. White people from Indiana would be allowed in, but black people from Chicago were being turned away – that’s what my Dad had seen and why he did the U-turn. We went over to the state park, which allowed everyone in, and of course I got one of the worst sunburns of my life. But also one of the great lessons of walking the talk. I don’t know if Dad actually said the words, but in my mind, the words were, “We may be good enough for your beach, but your beach isn’t good enough for us.”

Dad had been a B-17 navigator in WWII, and didn't talk about it much. But when people tried to ban books or movies or people, he had something to say, and it was, "That's what I fought against before, and I'll fight against it again."