Ben Kinchlow - Black Yellowdogs: The Most Dangerous Citizen Is Not Armed, But Uninformed

THE MOST DANGEROUS CITIZEN IS NOT ARMED, BUT UNINFORMED

BEN KINCHLOW

BLACK YELLOWDOGS

WND Books
Washington, D.C.

Copyright 2008, 2013
Ben Kinchlow

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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-936488-42-1
eBook ISBN: 978-1-936488-61-2

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Printed in the United States of America
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Oreo; Bounty Bar; Coconut; Tom; Uncle Tom; Boot-Licking Uncle Tom; Official Government Issue Uncle Tom; Fried Chicken/Biscuit Eating Uncle Tom; House Nigger; Boy; Foot Shuffling Steppin Fetchit; Handkerchief Head; Trojan Horse; Anti-Black-Pro-White; Sambo; Sell Out; Neutralized Negro; Unauthentic Black; De-Blacked; Fraud; Con Man; Ventriloquist Dummy; Right-Wing Conspirator; White Wannabe; Clarence, (as in Thomas); Non-Practicing Black; Zebra; Black Republican; Reverend Pork Chop; Judas.

I have provided the foregoing ready reference list of descriptive phrases for my critics, those nattering nabobs of negativity, and defenders of the arbitrarily established politically correct Black Position. The preceding are but a sampling of the more polite titles reserved for use on those blacks who fail to toe the party line. Let the record show, I have already been called all, or most all, of the above (including some I choose not to dignify by repeating).

She was a mother, a Baptist, a Democrat, a white, and from the South (in that order) sending her son into the world via the military. Son, she admonished him sternly, be a good boy and always rememberwe are Baptists and Democrats. Having been raised a Baptist, he had some idea what Baptists do, but precious little information as to how one should conduct oneself as a Democrat. Mama, he asked, wanting to please and bring honor to the family, what does it mean to be a Democrat? Well, son, she paused, it means... er, ah, ahem... finally, in a fit of frustration, she gave him the definition he still remembers some fifty years later: Hell, what damned difference does it make? We believe it anyway! Apparently, he never did find out, or maybe he did. At any rate, he grew up to become a Presbyterian and a Republican.

In the 1928 presidential elections, senior Senator Tom Heflin (D-AL) decided not to support New York Governor Al Smith, the Democratic candidate for president. He chose instead the Republican, Herbert Hoover. Hard-line rank and file Southern Democrats were outraged. Despite the fact that this was Alabama (they were Deep South Protestants and he was Catholic, and a Yankee to boot), dogged party loyalists were determined to support Smith. When asked why, the leader of the hardliners replied, Id vote for a yellow dog if he ran on the Democratic ticket. The press popularized the phrase Id vote for a yellow dog... and subsequently, the phrase Yellow Dog Democrat has become a part of the American political lexicon. A Yellow Dog Democrat is traditionally someone who votes Democratic, period, no matter the issue or candidate. As a black American who consistently voted Democratic (when I did vote), I easily qualified as a Black Yellow Dog. Unfortunately, many black Americans have, as did I, engaged in a deadly game of follow the leader.

Made aware of certain historical facts, I began to challenge the flawed concept of voting in blind faith for any party or candidate. Tragically, it seems we have ignored an ancient warning that could easily be applied to many of our African American leaders: Beware... they are blind guides. And if the blind guide the blind, both shall fall into a pit. It is my fond hope that these are, indeed, merely blind guides, for I shudder to consider the alternative. Additional fuel will, no doubt, be added by this quote from Justice Clarence Thomas:

I have come.... to assert my right to think for myself, to refuse to have my ideas assigned to me, as though I was an intellectual slave. (Couldnt have said it better myself, Your Honor.)

Born in a small Texas town at the close of the Great Depression to a hardworking laborer and his schoolteacher wife, I know firsthand about biscuits and fried chicken (we raised chickens and rolled out biscuits), and I have hands-on experience with doin without and hand-me-downs. Blacks knew Jim Crow intimately. Black kids learned early on about lynchings and how to avoid putting oneself in a potential situation, and we discussed them when they happened. In the wild, this would have been tantamount to learning survival skills.

In a four-classes-in-one-room, two-room separate but equal school, we learned reading, writing, and arithmeticNo, Ben, it is not rithmatic. We also learned discipline and respect for our elders. Every yes or no to an adult had a Sir or Maam attached to it, and all adults came with Mr. or Mrs. in front of their name. Mrs. Harris taught first through fourth grades in Room 1, and Mrs. Jewel (first name, because she was younger) taught fifth through eighth grades in Room 2. Four different grades in the same room, at the same time, all taught by one teacher left no time for youthful exuberance. Recess was for play. Classrooms were for learning. There was little time for individual tutoring. Mama (my fifth-through-eighth-grade teacher) had maxims. One Mama maxim was, Find things out for yourself. Thats what books are for. Form the habit of reading and you can know. There was once an old joke about books and black people: When the white man wants to keep something hidden from black folks, he puts it in a book. He knows the Negro aint gonna pick up no book. (Mama didnt think that was funny.)

Black children were not taught that we were objects of pity, disadvantaged, or underprivileged. We learned the hard facts about slavery from old folks and our family histories; some of us had great-grandparents who had been born in slavery. My great-grandfather, Ben Kinchlow, was born a slave.

Everybody in the black community knew who the neer-dowells, loose women, and worthless men were. Ask any successful black entrepreneur or business owner over fifty and youll find we got precious little support from our elders for any concept of being deprived by virtue of being black. Slavery was not an excuse or justification for failure. Back then, black folks version of affirmative action was root hog or die. My mother, Mrs. Jewel Kinchlow, earned a M.Ed. from Huston-Tillotson, a historically black college in Austin, Texas. Mama, like thousands of other