I miss Johnny Most. In the winters and springs of the mid to late 1980's, it was his voice on my clock radio, fed through ear phones, that would lull me to sleep during Celtics games. It was during this same period that I went through the roughest of times in my little New England town, violently harassed on a daily basis in my all white working-class town. Everyday, the sight of my white bus driver, white classmates, white teachers, white administrators, and white lunch monitors made my stomach churn and made me fight back tears that I didn't want to give them. Every night, I would listen to the Red Sox game or the Celtics game before I went to sleep.
Thursday night, I decided I wasn't going to watch the game by myself, but I didn't want to watch it with friends who were Lakers fans. So I decided to go to Sonny McLean's in Santa Monica. I'd heard about it before, that it was this amazing Boston-style sports bar... like an oasis in the middle of LA-LA land. I never felt comfortable going because ... well, in Boston I knew which bars were ok for people of color and which ones were for drunk white people. With no such variety in LA, I took a deep breath at half-time with the C's down by 5, and drove out to Santa Monica with ESPN radio on for half-time analysis.
It was easier to find parking than I thought it would be. There was a spot in front of a nice Audi. All I needed to do was parallel park - something I've done a million times, and people think I'm awesome at. I credit my time in Boston for this skill. But then I saw the 2 white people in the Audi, and I could feel my stomach and my grip tighten. There was no car in front of me, so this parking job was one I could have done in my sleep, but I was nervous. I backed into the spot I was sure not to hit the Audi. The 2nd half had started on the radio, so I decided I wouldn't get out of my car until the first time out. It would also give me time to breathe and gird myself for the inevitable of walking into this bar and surrounding myself with white faces and bodies that would automatically elicit the feelings of fear and anxiety I always had growing up around white folks that went to such bars.
Time out. OK, time to get out of the car. The 2 white people in the Audi got out too. They're either going to accuse me of nicking their car or they're here for the game too. I walked fast across the street and down the block. Three white people were standing outside smoking and talking on their cell phones. One guy with a Celtics jersey and a Red Sox cap on backwards was on his cell phone, "Yea! Dood, you gotta get down heah. Thea's even a tv noos croo heah." I took one last breath and gave the bouncer my id. He was wearing a t-shirt that said, "Manny & Papi '08," and I thought to myself, "Damn I need me one of those... Red Sox and voting!" I walked into the doorway, which was jammed with people. A 40-something white guy looks me up and down and asks, "What are you wearing?" I had a black sweater on over my Celtics shirt. Kinda creeped out, and suddenly slouching, I opened the sweater to reveal my glittery C's shirt. The guy broke out in a smile and said, "OK, youah alright. Some o' dees yahoos heah they ain't even got on no green." I laughed along nervously and said to him, "Well gettem outta heah to make some room." And just like that, I was playing that game I know all too well - consciously putting on that Veil that DuBois talked about. I laughed with the guy, but I couldn't help but feel like I just passed through border patrol and had been racially profiled.
"Weah you from?" Tensing up some more, I responded, "Oh... grew up in Boston Chinatown and out by Springfield."
Border patrol guy: No kiddin?!
Me: Yea.
BPG: Right theah huh? I grew up on the South Shoah.
He didn't ask me, the requisite "No, I mean where are you really from?" Perhaps I sidestepped it claiming my roots in C'town.
Making my way through the massive crowd of white male testosterone, finally through the doorway, I caught a whiff of stale beer and suddenly felt as though I was in another dimension. The place was dark and decor was everything Boston sports memorabilia. It was one hell of a trippy sight, knowing that palm trees and Santa Monica were right outside. I pretended to be looking for someone as I walked through, trying to find a spot where I could stand and just enjoy the game. I fake checked my phone. Suddenly everyone was groaning in disbelief and anguish. "Sunuva bitch!" "You gotta be fuckin kiddinme!" "Ahh you serious!?" I looked up at one of the many tv screens and saw Paul Pierce in a wheel chair, and my stomach went from being tight because of the smell of drunken white people to my heart falling to my feet with the C's captain injured, and I joined in with the crowd, "NOOoOOOOOO!" The game started again and I started to feel at ease, letting myself let go of the Veil just a little bit, especially when I noticed that there were about 4 people of color in front of me - 3 Desis and an East Asian woman. There were about 4 other people of color in the space that I could see. Two East Asian folks to my left closer to the doorway, a Black woman at a table in front of me and a Black man in the corner of the room. During a timeout I asked the Desi guy in front of me, "Are you from back east?"
DG: Yea, Mansfield. You know wheah that is? Down by Foxboro?"
Me: Yea, I know Mansfield. I grew up in Boston Chinatown and out by Springfield. I went to BC.
DG: Oh yea? That's cool. This is my sistah (pointing to the Desi woman next to him), weah out heah on summah vacation. What ahh you doin out heah?
Me: Grad school at UCLA.
DG: Oh cool. We drove up heah from Irvine. Owah parents moved out heah last yeah. You come out heah alone?
Me: Yea, I didn't want to watch the game alone or with my friends out here who are all Lakers fans.
DG: Well you came to the right place. Everyone heah's friends.
And just like that, I made friends with 25% of the people of color in the room, and had people to high five with for the rest of the night.
During timeouts I looked around the room, and really felt like Sonny's was like a portal into a gritty South Boston bar... the kind I would NEVER go to back home, but the kind that is sorta comforting if I ever feel homesick. I overheard people all around me asking each other, "Wheah you from?"
"Connecticut." "New Hampshah." "Rhode EYE-lynd." "I grew up in Wuh-stah/Peab'dy."
"Oh no shit! I grew up in Somahville/Sharon/Lynn." "Lynn Lynn city of sin!"
It was like a gathering of refugees from New England... all looking for a slice of home.
And DG was right about everyone being friends (on a very very superficial level) because of the common Boston sports bond. Everyone was high fiving each other throughout the game as the Celtics came back from injury and a point-deficit, and went on to win by 10 points that night! I said my good bye's to DG and his sister, and they said, "See you Sunday!"
