What Should I Do with the Rest of My Life_ - Bruce Frankel [123]
Dressed carefully to avoid calling attention to herself, Betty slipped into the school auditorium unnoticed. She listened as, one after another, residents stood and spoke against “The Invasion of the Undesirables!” She was lost in ironic reflection that for all her “undesirability,” no one had noticed the blackest woman in Walnut Creek when her attention was called back by a shrill voice: “If we can’t get the niggers out any other way, we can use the health department because of the filthy diseases they’ll bring in!”
Now Betty rose from her seat. She walked to the front of the auditorium and turned to face the crowd. “I’m Betty Reid and I’m one of the undesirables you’re speaking about,” she said. The audience stared at her in disbelief. “The words threatened to dry up mid-throat! I spoke nonstop for ten minutes,” she said. She talked about her family’s experience in Walnut Creek. She said that she knew that members of her community had every right under the Constitution to feel that resentment. “But I said that that same Constitution guaranteed my family and the new neighbors in Pleasant Hill the right to house our families as we wished. I told members of the homeowners association that they would survive, just as we had.”
When she finished speaking, she walked straight down the aisle to the main door and into the menacingly dark parking lot. “My mouth was bone-dry and panic was taking over my body as I heard chairs scraping against the floor of the auditorium and feet scuffling.” As she reached her car, Betty heard footsteps rushing behind her. She was crying in terror as she struggled to put her key into the door lock. At last, she heard a young reporter’s voice reassuring her. He only wanted her address and phone number. She was momentarily relieved. But as the reporter retreated, Betty felt a strong hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, I’m David,” a man soothed. He was a lawyer, David Bortin, who had read Betty’s recent letter to the editor in the newspaper denouncing the homeowners’ association’s racism and called to offer his support. When she had told him she was going to speak at the meeting that night, he had expressed his concern for her welfare and promised to be present at the meeting.
The following day, the Contra Costa Times reported on Betty’s appearance at the last known meeting of the Gregory Gardens Improvement Association and on the night that was a turning point in Betty’s life. Not only had she dared to speak as never before, but Bortin’s support gave her hope in humanity that she desperately needed. He also invited Betty to the fledgling Mt. Diablo Unitarian Fellowship. She went, and the congregation’s embrace was additionally healing and empowering. “It gave me permission I didn’t have from any other place,” she said. “Here was a community of people who were content to search together, who did not need to agree on answers.” She became an active and adored member. “Betty just had this delicate, shimmering quality and a warmth that put everyone at ease,” said Bortin’s widow, Beverly.
But Betty’s newfound courage put her on a psychological collision course with her upbringing, her religion, and the racially hostile community where she lived. In addition, she was contending with the painful stress of knowing that her adopted teenage son, Rick, was homosexual—long before gay liberation—and that her toddler daughter, Dorian, was brain-damaged and would need support for the rest of her life. Making matters worse, Mel was unwilling to discuss any of the issues with Betty. Instead, he retreated into longer hours at the store and affairs with other women.
As a result, she grew depressed and suicidal. One afternoon, she nearly killed herself after suffering a panic attack while driving across the