The Negro in Chicago: A Study of Race Relations and a Race Riot

by Chicago Commission on Race Relations

The white proprietor of a drug-store in a residence neighborhood volunteered this story to a member of the Commission's staff:

Several years ago, there was a fine old colored man who used to come in frequently to buy drugs, supplies, etc. One day he came in with his wife, sat down at one of the little tables, and asked for soda water. My clerk refused to serve them, and the idea occurred to me that I would serve them myself in such a way that there would be no possibility that they would ever come back. I compounded a vile concoction and served it to them. They tasted it, paid for it, thanked me, and went out without making any complaint. I have never got over feeling mean about it. I not only humiliated them, and insulted them, but I cheated them out of their money.

An instance of unusual absence of friction in contacts under conditions which might be expected to produce it was given by a white woman who visited a restaurant patronized by many whites and Negroes:

In talking with Mr. O—— he asked me, "Would you consider it possible that you would voluntarily go into a restaurant and eat your lunch where you might have a Negro sitting on the next stool, or perhaps one on either side of you at a table?" I answered promptly, "No, I can't imagine it." He said, "A year ago I wouldn't have imagined such a thing possible myself, but now I do it quite frequently. There is a restaurant across the street from my office, right here in the heart of the Negro district, which a few years ago was a very good one, with regular table service, excellent food, and all the rest. Last year it was changed into a sort of a cafeteria, with a lunch counter down one side, and some tables. You get your knife and fork, go to the serving counter, and a man gives you on a plate whatever you order. The other day I found myself between two colored men, and took a good look at the restaurant. There is absolutely no disturbance, or even consciousness of any reason for disturbance."

Today I decided I would try it myself. The restaurant has no frills; it is simply an eating-place. I chose a corner seat at a table, because I could see all over the room. As I sat down, a courteous arm reached across the table to shove back the used dishes. I looked up to say "thank you," and found a good-looking young colored man opposite. No further attention was paid to me, nor was there any consciousness in his face, other than courtesy. In a few minutes, two young white truck drivers took the other places at my table. They were in working jeans, and except that the color was blue instead of khaki, looked just like the young soldiers in transport service who used to come into my canteen in France. At the next table was a quietly dressed young colored girl eating her lunch in a business-like way. A young white father brought in his little daughter. At the long lunch counter were neighborhood business men, white and colored, some professional men, each taking whatever stool happened to be vacant. Occasionally a truck driver or roughly dressed working man came in. Even the white dandy, immaculate in linen and with a cane hooked over his arm, took his cup of coffee to the counter and sat between a laborer and a business man.

In theaters, as in restaurants, there are petty evasions of the law, disagreeable encounters, and small but insistent snobberies. A colored investigator reported the result of a test of the purchase of tickets for a play which had had a long run, as follows:

On July 5 I went down to the —— theater and asked the ticket seller if I could get two seats for Thursday or Friday night between the third and ninth rows, center. She hunted out two seats in the ninth row for Thursday. I said, "If you have them I would prefer them for Friday." I asked the price, paid her, and she thanked me.

Friday, I went to the theater, and handed the doorman my tickets. He tore off the coupons, and directed me to the main-floor door. The lady usher seated us three rows from the back on the aisle. I counted and found that I was in the seventeenth row. I went to the usher and said, "I beg your pardon, but you seated me in the wrong place." She took the coupons, said, "Wait a second," and started out with them. I followed to see that she did not exchange my coupons. She went to the lobby and talked with the manager. He looked at me and said, "Well, seat them; there is nothing else to do now." She went back, gave my coupons to another usher, who asked her if I was to be seated in the seats the coupons called for. She answered, "I guess so." Then we were shown to the correct seats. There was no protest from those around us.

The manager of this theater was later interviewed. He had been in Chicago only a few months and was not at all interested in the general question of race relations, but was decided in his opinion that the attendance of Negroes in any high-class theater was not desirable. His views were about as follows:

Not many Negroes buy seats down stairs. Usually the ticket seller gives them tickets in the balcony or gallery and on the side aisles. Usually had complaints from white patrons if they found a Negro seated near them, especially if there were ladies in the party. It was not that the conduct of the Negroes was objectionable, but their mere presence was objectionable. If Negroes present tickets for the best main-floor seats, ushers try to put them in less conspicuous places. If they insist on taking their seats as shown on tickets, nothing can be done. If white patrons object, every effort is made to change their seats. Usual objection is offensive odor and proximity.