The Black Experience : Members of Minority Living in Orange County Explain Anxieties and Successes

Orange County’s traditionally white complexion is changing, but with shades of Latinos and Asians, not blacks.

Contrasted with the 286,331 Latinos and 138,297 Asians counted in Orange County in 1980, the 25,287 blacks were a minority among minorities, scarcely more than 1% of the 1.9 million total population.

Nor will their numbers grow greatly, according to population projections that forecast less than a 2% black population by 1990.

Behind also in family income--an average of $18,084, contrasted with $22,788 overall in Orange County--some blacks say they suffer from severe isolation:

- “My aunts and grandmother and others won’t come (to visit) because I live in Orange County, because of its past reputation of being a racist place and being dangerous for blacks to go through.”

Some see opportunity:

- “I believe that Orange County presents a unique opportunity for black professionals and others to become part of the American Dream. . . .”

Others are frustrated:

- “Orange County is like no place else I’ve ever lived. For a black in Orange County, you need survival skills you wouldn’t need any other place.”

The frustration occasionally has become visible.

Last month, black religious leaders threatened to boycott Santa Ana’s seventh annual Black History Parade in a dispute over whether city workers should have the day off to observe the Martin Luther King Jr. national holiday.

From time to time, members of the black community have criticized police conduct such cities as Newport Beach, and have complained of difficulties in buying or renting homes or joining social clubs.

In 1982, black students at Irvine High School, along with their parents, protested against a mural that depicted hooded members of the Ku Klux Klan.

While Orange County celebrated Black History Month, Times staff writer Heidi Evans asked several black residents of Orange County to reflect on their experiences. Here are the responses of seven:

Reggie Garner, 24, a laboratory worker who lives in Santa Ana, moved with his family to Orange County from Louisiana when he was 5 years old. He returned to Louisiana in 1979 to attend college and came back to Orange County last year.

“I’ve had ups and down with living in Orange County. You meet people who really don’t care what color you are or your background. And then you meet people who like to, well, kid you about certain things.

“The thing about it is that California is supposed to be the fast-paced life style and everyone is not supposed to care what the other person is or what they do. But I would say too many times I run into situations where my race makes a difference. It’s sad to think about, but in reality it’s just as bad here as it is anywhere else. It’s just here you can go out with white people but as far as going home with them or meeting their family, they don’t do that here.

“Like it’s OK to laugh and talk with women but as far as meeting cousin Bob or Uncle Joe, you can’t do that. Maybe the women would want to but would be afraid to catch hell from their parents. Whereas other places, like when I lived in Louisiana, it’s understood you live on your side they live on their side.

“So I think it’s worse here because to me that’s more hypocritical, because people here are supposed to be so liberal-minded, or enlightened or whatever. You think you have a friend, right, until you realize there are certain places you can’t go with them. You can tell because they don’t ask you to go there. . . .

“In the South Coast area--places like El Toro, Mission Viejo--things are pretty much set down there, the way they do things. You can get invited but you’re not accepted. They look at you funny and they want to ask you questions. They try and test you to see if you are the kind of person they could kid about their race or tell nigger jokes around. I don’t think they mean any harm but it’s not nice to hear. . . .

“The way I see it now, if it keeps going the way it is, blacks won’t have anything to do with Orange County. With everything so high, and it’s getting higher, and blacks losing jobs, they would only be . . . like Uncle Toms in Orange County. . . .

“What I like about Orange County is that it’s clean, there are a lot of beautiful sites here, nice homes. . . . I think, well, it doesn’t matter really where I’d live. . . .

“It’s sad because there’s nothing I can do about it. . . . There’s good and bad in every race. I’m not saying do back like we did in the ‘60s. I just want people to show that they are proud to be black. They should be more themselves, more natural. A lot of blacks are scared to do that. . . .

Tina Thomas, 25, works part time at a catalogue store in Fullerton and is living with her three children and her mother in Placentia.

“Finding a rental place for three kids and myself is real hard. I guess, with three kids it’s hard for anybody. But then being black, female, by yourself, the typical thing they think: ‘She’s a welfare mother and she doesn’t want to do anything to better herself so we better not rent to her.’ That was my impression.

“When I called about an apartment in Anaheim, they told me it was available so I said I will be over in a few minutes. So a friend of mine went with me. He (the manager) told me that it was not vacant, it was not available, that he might have one March 1. It was reasonable and I could afford it.

“Then my (white) friend went back the next day. They showed her the apartment, and it was available and she said that her friend had come in to look at it yesterday and was told it wasn’t available. If there wasn’t anything available then how come the ad was still in? He showed her the apartment and said: ‘I don’t understand why. It’s been available. . . .’

“Eventually I’ll find somewhere to live because I’m myself, I’m not anybody else. I don’t like being stereotyped. As far as I see it I’m a nice person, I don’t intentionally walk over anybody like stereotypically blacks have been known. That’s not me, I’m just a nice person. . . .

“For my kids at school, Orange County is a totally different environment. At first they were feeling kind of weird about it. Like, ‘Wow, there are only like six blacks in the whole school!’

“And that’s OK, but sometimes you need to relate to other black people, just like in any culture. Where we lived in San Bernardino, it was primarily black and Hispanics. . . .

“Hopefully it will get better. . . . I want to make a brand new start. Orange County seems like a good place to do it. I feel like it is, especially for my kids.

“There’s more people here that have more of a sense of success than where I came from.”

Joseph Gatlin, 53, is the executive director of Orange County’s Sickle-Cell Program and owner of Gatlin Custom Covers in Santa Ana. He is also the founder of the Orange County Black Republican Council. Gatlin retired from the Marine Corps in 1981 after 30 years of service. He has lived in Orange County since 1969.

“I’m a conservative Republican. I consider myself an upper-class black in Orange County in terms of education and money. So my view of Orange County is from a conservative standpoint. I sort of have it made. I’m a retired Marine and I live very good.

“I’ve lived above the prejudices that might exist for a person of low income. What happens to a person like myself, my being black, and in my views, I tend to be the same level of the majority of Orange County. I make about $150,000 a year. . . .

“The dominant society doesn’t touch me that much. The majority in Orange County tend not to frustrate a person like myself in terms of where I go and what I do. I don’t perceive I have any problem because I know with money I can go anywhere and buy anything I want.

“I have no troubles getting loans, whereas blacks that are middle class may not have enough equity. They have a different view of the system.

“My view of Orange County is that it’s the best thing that could have ever happened to me, especially coming from Texas. The opportunity here is great. To me, it is not a county that has a policy of discrimination based upon race. The county seems to be too busy in its progress as a county.

“This county only allows you to get ahead if you are willing to play by the rules. The rules are understanding the work ethic, long and hard hours, and understanding how money moves. Getting involved in real estate deals, waiting your time, working and waiting your time. I don’t think you can ask the government to give you something. . . .

“There are a lot more opportunities here for blacks. But I don’t think they have the kind of social life they could have in Los Angeles. There is no long line of black families that have established a social networking system. I don’t think blacks have carved out (a piece) of the county--like the super rich, or the athletes. All the blacks tend to go to the same church. That’s frustrating. There is no social system like you’d find in Los Angeles or Atlanta. . . . Orange County has been extremely good to me. I would live no place else.”

Benedict Boyd, 39, of Tustin is a human relations specialist at the Orange County Human Relations Commission. He has lived in Orange County for four years.

“I come from a background that’s very traditionally black. My great-grandmother was a slave. We were raised with all of the slave culture and the stories. I grew up in the South right during the civil rights movement. The part of the black community I’m most familiar with was entrenched in organized religion and organizations in the community. I’ve been a registered Democrat since before I could vote and I’ve been a member of the NAACP since I was 13.

“It’s not the experience that all blacks come from, so their approach to the county will be different than mine.

“I come from a politically left-wing-oriented family, so the county seems much more conservative to me than it might seem to other blacks. Politically, Orange County is an anomaly in that it’s 24% minority and has less than 1% political representation of minorities. This to me is where Memphis, Tenn., my home, was in 1952!

“Socially, as few as there are, the blacks here have a fairly tight social network. It’s sort of an interesting twist. The county is 650 square miles, a helluva lot af area, yet most of the blacks in the county would almost know another black personally by name. When you go to a meeting of blacks, for instance, my sister and I went to the Martin Luther King celebration in Santa Ana . . . each person must have known at least 30 or 40 or 50 other people of the 2,500 people there.

“Everybody feels very at home. Of course, that’s the enclave experience that most blacks are used to. That makes you feel very comfortable.

“On the other hand, there is the reality that you are apprehensive about relations to the police, apprehensive about certain restaurants, hotels, or towns. . . .

“I wouldn’t say Orange County is a good place to be. I came out West to be with my family. I landed a job here, but my social life is still in Long Beach. In fact when I give family get-togethers, I can’t get anyone older than mother to my house. My aunts and grandmother and others won’t come because I live in Orange County, because of its past reputation of being a racist place and being dangerous for blacks to go through.”

Sadie M. Reid, 55, is the president of the Santa Ana Unified School District, and the only black elected official in Orange County. She also is director of public relations for the Creative Learning Institute in Compton. Reid spent her childhood in rural Georgia and lived in Detroit before moving to Orange County in 1964.

“For me, personally, the experience has been one of gladness and one of sadness. Because of the struggles that I have experienced in Orange County in my activism, I would say it has sometimes been extremely difficult to immediately see the gains which one is trying to accomplish.

“Twenty years ago, I could not even envision being president of a Santa Ana Unified School District. And yet today, 1986, I am.

“So that’s an accomplishment. But getting from the beginning to this point has been extremely difficult. I’ve run for public office several times and been defeated. And yet I would not allow myself to give up. . . .

“The fact that there is such a small percentage of blacks in Orange County--we seemed to have become an island. There is not a unity within the community, not a strong support system. A system like you have in the South or in the inner city. So when you are fighting for a cause, many times you find yourself out there alone.

“Some of the very early projects I got involved with was the developmentally disabled and child care. As a pioneer and black woman, I was accused of being a radical and of bringing up issues that elected officials weren’t comfortable with.

“And so I found myself always having to justify that the problem existed or the need to service the problem. It therefore becomes overwhelming if you don’t have any elected officials and community leaders who are aware of these issues from a grass-roots level. City Hall has the power to do something about community problems, but it is operating from an ivory tower. . . .

“Orange County is sort of like no place else I’ve lived. For a black in Orange County, you need survival skills you wouldn’t need any other place. For me, coming from the South, it’s just hard to envision the kinds of attitudes there are here, yet I have tried to take that and use that to my advantage. I call it making bitter waters . . . sweet.”

Robert C. Bobb, 40, is the city manager of Santa Ana. He moved to Orange County two years ago.

“I have not experienced any culture shock living in Orange County because the cities that I have lived in most of my adult life have not been cities that have had large black populations. I came to Orange County from Southfield and Kalamazoo, Mich., and before that Hartford, Conn.

“I believe that Orange County presents a unique opportunity for black professionals and others to become part of the American Dream in terms of living in a location which has tremendous economic growth. It is an area which has a tremendous richness of ethnic diversity, particularly Santa Ana.

“I would guess that the most dramatic experience (for me) is the overall lack of opportunity to interface daily with large numbers of other black professionals who share similar experiences. Like the attitudes toward black professionals in the workplace, the sharing of social outlets--those opportunities are less frequent (here) than they are in areas with large . . . (numbers) of black persons and where the black institutions are much more prevalent and dominant in the community.

“My perception is that the people that I deal with frequently are so busy trying to live that there is very little time to concentrate on the color of one’s skin.

“Nonetheless, Orange County does present some unique challenges for blacks: The black population is very small compared to the balance of the county; Blacks are not at the forefront of the major interests of the county. For example, they are not major developers of commercial and industrial properties. They are not owners of major business, although a number of blacks own small businesses. And to my knowledge, there is only one black elected official in Orange County.

“That can be interpreted as a weakness in terms of political influence. As a result of these challenges, the issues that are important to blacks are not as visible in the county as they are in other areas. Like the debate on affirmative action, apartheid, the issue of financial incentives for small minority businesses or the issue of the dropout rate of black students in the school system. . . .

“I am concerned, however, with my son, in that he is now in an educational environment where he does not have a lot of contact with black children. Therefore, he has to be educated at home in terms of the experience of being a black person--what that’s like, the contributions blacks have made and are making in the building of America--so that he does not forget his heritage.

“Blacks should and must take control of the educational system in terms of whether or not the opportunities to educate our future generations are available. And we have to shoulder the responsibilities ourselves to make sure that our children are staying in school.”

Jewel Plummer Cobb, 62, is the president of California State University, Fullerton. A native of Chicago, she moved to Orange County five years ago.

“I had a very positive welcome when I came to Orange County in 1981. And many people extended themselves in friendship beyond the call of protocol. Since arriving, I have developed a number of friends who are white and black and have been pleased with this reception.

“There is much more openness and kind of a relaxed, almost unsophisticated openness that I enjoy here in the West. ‘How are you? Nice to meet you,’ they invite you to dinner and what not.

“I have also lived in New Jersey and in Connecticut and each place I’ve been, a lot of what happens to you, the reception you get, depends on what your attitude is about other people. If you expect to have an outgoing or open relationship, then that will come about.

“I came out here as a single person. I live in a community where there is a cluster of 24 houses within a private street. So there is a sense of community. It’s all white except for one other family.

“My point is that everyone has been very friendly. . . .

“Some people would be surprised about that, but in the 1980s I haven’t found my blackness to be a problem. As a person who does not have children in California, I have a special kind of relationship. I don’t know what my relationship would be if I were to have children here. In the previous mixed neighborhoods I’ve lived in, the relationships, as far as my son has been concerned, were excellent.

“I think as you start looking for problems or the media starts looking, that’s where trouble can arise.”

Times staff writer Mark I. Pinsky contributed to this story.