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likely saved myself and another little girl from something which could have ranged from the traumatic to the tragic. And, I ain't exaggerating.
This is one of those experiences in which the 'innocence of youth' masks reality. It wasn't until I was almost an adult that I realized what might have happened to us, were it not for Mr. Walker.
I grew up on NYC's lower east side, on a block of small walk-up buildings which were across the street from a smallish park. There was another girl in our small apartment building who was in my class at grammar school: our mothers were friendly with each other, so of course, we two kids were also friends.
It was a working class neighborhood then and while there was crime, it wasn't of the sort which would have affected kids in grade school. At the time, the kids' playground stuff (swings, see-saw) were practically across from our building. So, my parents and the other girl's mom (she was divorced) thought it was perfectly safe to let us go to the playground on our own at that point.
Many of the buildings on our block were owned by the same guy. He employed the same fellow as the super for his buildings. He was Mr. Walker, a black man who lived in Brooklyn, was a deacon in his church and was rather 'spry', likely because he always rode his bike into Manhattan if the weather was dry. He was at least 60 years old, if he was a day.
One day out of blue, while we were on the swings, 3 guys came over to us, probably from the basketball court then at the other end of this section of the park. Two were probably older teenagers and one was probably in his early twenties. (For the record, while I don't know what their ethnicity was, they certainly weren't black.) They sat down on the adjoining swings and started talking to us. We did our best to ignore them and they eventually left. It happened again a week or so later, the same way.
The next time they showed up, we just left and went home. (Being 10, it would never have occurred to us that we were likely safer staying put in this wide open, visible area than showing them where we lived.) When we got to the building, it happened that Mr. Walker was there, mopping the entrance floor. We stopped to say hello to him. While we were talking to him, out of blue, the three guys from the park came racing into our building. And I do mean racing: they were clearly trying to catch up with us.
They were obviously very surprised to find an adult standing in front of them. For his part, Mr. Walker, an averaged size man and a senior citizen to boot, advanced on them, mop pole in hand, demanding to know what they wanted. (I'm pretty sure that he used a few words that were not part of his Sunday duties lol.) They easily could have hurt him. However, they reversed course and fled. He asked us what on earth was going on. When he discovered that we had not told our parents about them, he told us that if we didn't, he would. We promised to tell them and we did.
My father was a construction worker and the other girl's mother was dating a large bald guy, aka a really scary looking white man, who very likely was 'mobbed up.' They decided to run their own sting operation: we only went to the park when the two of them were available to watch us at a close but unapparent distance from outside of the park.
It didn't take too many tries for the older ring leader to show up. We promptly got up and left, which was 'the signal'. And once again, this a-hole started to follow us. However, when he reached the exit from the park, my father and the other man were there to meet him. They literally took him for a walk around the block.
Now, while I dearly loved my father, I'm certain that the other guy took the lead at that point. They only talked to him but never told us what they said. (Even in NYC, whacking someone in broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon was not Plan 'A', unless you were a mob boss dining in Little Italy in full view al fresco.) It was likely one of those moments when being 'mobbed up' was quite helpful. We literally never saw any of these three guys again, despite this being the primary park in the neighborhood.
It wasn't until years later that I realized that twenty-something young men don't chase after little girls with anything but bad intent, and understood what that intent might have been.
Given his age back then, I suspect that Mr. Walker has long since gone to heaven.
True humanity knows no color or ethnicity.
So that's my personal white girl, black man story. Correction: white girl, noble black man story, which comes to my mind a few times a year.
Footnote: Since I do not wish to be perceived as maneuvering for a coveted AAIG Beat spot, I will add that I've been held up twice in my life, once at knife-point and once at gun point. The very young guys with the gun were black: all that convinced me of was that stupidity also knows no racial or ethnic boundaries.
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