The Breakfast Club
Just once in my lifetime, I had the privilege of joining the Breakfast Club on a Saturday for their weekly ritual.
My dad and some of the men he had become very good friends with at church over the years, went to breakfast at Kipp’s on Saturday mornings. I always referred to them as The Breakfast Club.
During a visit home to help care for my mother, my dad asked me if I’d like to join him and ‘the guys’ for breakfast.
I’d always wondered about their breakfasts: the dynamics of their friendships, what they talked about, how long they stayed conversing after they had finished eating.
Of course I said yes.
As Saturday approached, I started getting a little nervous. I wasn’t sure I could hold my own in a conversation with this group.
After all, these were men who had grown up during the depression, fought in the war after the war to end all wars.
They had each worked a lifetime to raise customarily large families (all of them being good Catholics), done years of charity work together through the church, and had formed friendships with each other that had lasted almost as long as I’d been alive.
Their bonds were formed by a desire to grow spiritually through helping others in need.
I had a deep respect for them.
They were keenly aware of the human condition, and had often worked side by side to try to alleviate some of the suffering-in homes, prisons, nursing care facilities, wherever there was a need.
I’m not sure what topic of conversation I expected, I was just hoping I would have something of value to contribute.
Even if it was only a woman’s point of view.
We sat down at a table and ordered our breakfasts. As the waitress headed towards the kitchen, Doc Hayes asked me how long I had been living in the south.
At that time, I’d been in Georgia almost thirty years.
We started talking about the culture shock I experienced when I first moved down here.
I started out with the small stuff.
Like learning the language.
Trying to figure out where “yonder” was.
Why milk was called sweet milk and potatoes were called Irish potatoes and why mashed potatoes were creamed instead of mashed.
We all had a good chuckle.
And then we got to the real issue. Race.
They were curious to know what my experiences around race had been when I moved south.
I had never experienced prejudice before so I had no reason to expect it.
~~~
I was driving into town one morning not long after we moved here. There were men at the corner I was approaching leaning into people’s cars, handing out pamphlets.
There was nothing in my previous 25 years that could have prepared me for what happened.
I’m thinking March of Dimes, Fireman’s Fund, Shriners?
They turned out to be members of the Klan passing out white supremacist literature. Come on–it was 1983 not 1883.
I told them, in no uncertain terms, to get their crap out of my car. My “welcome to the south” experience totally blew my mind.
I started driving to town with my windows rolled up even though it was summer.
~~~
The Breakfast Club members seemed to be quite fascinated with my experience, asking questions as the conversation went along.
~~~
I shared with them my experience working in a wood shop with this black man, Henry (not his real name), for five years. He was a really nice guy.
I spent my first day training on the NCR–predecessor of today’s CNC.
Henry was a janitor.
Some time later, I found out Henry was hired the day before I was. He was seven years older than me and had experience working in a metal shop operating a band saw.
It made me wonder. Was it prejudice or the DUI’s he had on his record that had him assigned to sweeping instead of operating equipment?
I walked into the office one day and the staff was talking about Henry in a way that made me very uncomfortable and very angry.
I do not like, condone, or use the “N” word.
I spit out my anger in one sentence.
“Don’t think just because I’m white that I’m not offended by what you’re saying.”
I turned around immediately and went back to the floor. I didn’t even remember what I had gone in there for.
~~~
Back at Kipp’s, we drank some more coffee as we talked about how hard it was to fathom how some people were still holding on to that attitude, how some people felt no shame in treating others with that kind of disdain.
Throughout our conversation, it became clear that we were all in agreement.
We are all children of the same Father.
We are all bound together as brothers and sisters in the Lord.
“The most important one (commandment),” answered Jesus, “is this: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” (Mark 12: 29-31)
What a wonderful gift my dad had given me. I was of a different generation, I was female, and I hadn’t been to church in years. And yet they included me in their weekly round table discussion for which I can’t thank them enough.
After all, my father taught me as I was growing up all about my race and how I should care for them.
I’m of the Human Race and the best way to care is with love.
~~~
Join our community
Subscribe to get our latest content by email.
I know its been awhile since you dined at Kips, other than getting older the only thing that’s changed there is the arrangement of his decorations. awhile back Paul and I had one of our Sat. am breakfasts. As usual Kip was in back cooking, I sat with my back to the kitchen, Paul got a “what the hell” look on his face, when I turned to see what was going on I see Kip coming out of the kitchen knife in hand. He said holy crap I thought it was Art.
The picture of the “club” is priceless. Sorry to say all but Doc Hayes are no longer with us, he was the kid of that group as his military service was during Korea. I miss that bunch, thanks for the memory.
Poor Kip! I bet that was a startle. I love that you and Paul (for those of you who don’t know-Mike and Paul are my brothers) continue to eat at Kipp’s on Saturday mornings when you can. Love you. ❤️❤️❤️
Okay, that made me cry, the post, the picture, and your comment. I miss them too. Love you
Great story Carol. As you know, I also lived in Georgia for a while. I had all of the language barriers, including a couple I still chuckle about – ink pin (pen) vs straight pin (pin)! And Katty-Corner instead of Kitty-Corner.
The prejudice against blacks was palpable. I heard the N word quite often. I did my best to be very respectful of every black person I encountered. I was in charge of hiring at one company. I still remember hiring a lovely young black woman named Shell. I loved Shell. She was a single mother who had worked hard to become an accountant. She was always upbeat and excited about life. I met her very handsome and charismatic boyfriend at the company picnic. A few months later Shell was murdered by that boyfriend. He hid her body and left her car in the ghetto. This saddened me beyond words. I don’t know why your story compelled me to write about Shell, but she was someone I tried to help.
You might be surprised to hear that I was sitting in a reception area in Marietta waiting to be interviewed for a job once. There was a man waiting with me. He was talking to the receptionist and for some reason (not sure how the subject came up) he started saying how much he hated Catholics!!! I was so shocked that I was speechless! Even though I was raised as an Episcopalian, all of my friends were Catholics. So this experience made me realize that no one is safe from prejudice. I admire you for speaking up when you encountered it. I wasn’t surprised when I heard people speaking prejudicially about blacks, but learned an important lesson the day I heard someone speak in the same way about Catholics. That hit much closer to home.
Thank you for your story. I think it must have been quite an honor to be invited to join The Breakfast Club 🙂
~Nancy
Oh, Nancy. I’m so sorry about Shell. How awful. I just don’t understand the hatred that some people harbor. It’s so ugly and unnecessary.
I experienced some of the Catholic bashing early on as well. I’ve often wondered if it had to do with there being a large population of Irish-Protestant descendants in the area. It’s so sad that people perpetuate their prejudices by setting a bad example for their children. Prejudice is not instinctual, it’s a learned behavior.
Lucky for me, my husband’s family and I took to each other right away and they were very good to me (despite my Catholic upbringing!) and loved me like I was their own.
Thanks so much for sharing your experiences (that’s my favorite part of this whole blogging thing!) and yes, joining the Breakfast Club that Saturday morning was a huge honor for me! ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for your posts, Carol! I can’t believe either that there are still people who seem to have no respect for others or think that they are something better… Who can’t see that this world could be a better place for all of us if we took more care for others. Who make fun of minorities and disadvantages – and become president…
Remember John Lennons’s hymn “Imagine”? Or the beautiful song of Jill Jackson and Sy Miller that i first heard at St. Katherine’s:
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me
Let There Be Peace on Earth
The peace that was meant to be
With God as our Father
Brothers all are we
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me
Let this be the moment now.
With ev’ry step I take
Let this be my solemn vow
To take each moment and live
Each moment in peace eternally
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
Songs like this should be defined as the worlds national anthems… So let’s take care of each other – and the world…!
Blyb – heiner
The sad part is that a lot of people want it to begin with someone else. If we each took the responsibility to love those we encounter, to help those we can, to look beyond our prejudices to see the person, this world would would be so much better for all of us. I love your kind, loving, gentle spirit. If only there were more people like you in the world! ❤️❤️❤️
Luv’ you, too 🙂
I know I’m older than y’all, so some of my memory’s collect dust. Nancy’s “catholic” story brought up one I had almost forgotten. Way way back in 1960 there was a presidential election, John Kennedy VS Richard Nixon most of the scuttle-but was in the line of you can’t elect a Catholic president because his allegence would be to the POPE not the USA. As you know JFK was not the Popes pawn. Funny how a sentence can trigger an old memory.
Your writing always sparks memories of my own. A few years ago I was reading The Dark End of the Street about the women behind the Civil Rights movement. It hit me that I was born in Alabama within six months of Selma, which meant, of course, that my mom was. Young twenty something during that time. Of course, I had to call her for her perspective.
During our conversation, she told me a story about her and my Dad choosing the contractor when they built their house. They had interviewed a couple already and had the last one over to interview him. He and my dad sat on the porch of their rental home to discuss the contract. When my mom offered him iced tea, he politely refused. They talked a little longer and as the man was about to leave, my mom asked to stay for supper, which he again politely refused while giving my Dad a confused look. After he left, my mom told my dad she had been insulted that he wouldn’t even take her iced tea. My dad had to explain to her that if a black man had been seen drinking out of one of their glasses or if word got out that he had dined with them at their table, there would’ve been trouble for both my mom and dad. My mom grew up on a farm and the farmhands always drank iced tea and ate food that my Grandma offered them. Two different views from two different white people of a very strange world.
I find that so interesting. Did they both grow up in Alabama? I guess what was acceptable varied according to where you were.
My friend Henry was seven years older than me. He went to a black high school. I remember thinking that segregation was over by then-wasn’t it? Talking to him over the years we worked together, I learned a lot. It was very eye-opening.
It’s such a shame that people back then had to be afraid of being kind for fear of retaliation from those who were afraid to let it go.