"He can put his shoes under my bed anytime," my mother used to say. At the time, I naively thought her attraction to Sidney Poitier was proof that she couldn't be racist. Now it seems more like what I have been accused of: fetishizing black men.
1967 was a big year for Mr. Poitier in the movies. For me, too. Ken was in Viet Nam and Mary took me to see "In the Heat of the Night," "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," and "To Sir With Love," all of which made a huge impression.
Not long ago, more than half a century later, I re-watched the first film, and realized it probably did more to influence my early attitudes about race than anything other than "To Kill A Mockingbird," another white take on racism. Who ever can forget Mr. Poitier declaring "They call me Mister Tibbs"? It dismayed me to recall that many African Americans dismissed him as a "magical negro" who refused to confront the status quo.
I refuse to judge Mr. Poitier by the standards of either the late 20th century or early 21st. He embodied grace, intelligence and pride for a 14-year old movie-mad boy in El Paso who had very little contact with other cultures at the time. As Stephen Sondheim reminds us ("children will listen"), role models are important and I am forever indebted to Mr. Poitier for having served as one of mine.
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| Photo by Sam Falk |
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