The Served and Them Who Serve

I recently viewed an excellent, ‘star-studded’ movie, “The Butler.” It was loosely based on the life of a long-time White House butler by the name of Eugene Allen; a black man who served in that position for 34 years.

In the movie the somewhat composite character, “Cecil Gaines,” serves throughout the course of eight presidential administrations; beginning with Truman and ending with Reagan.
And we, as it were, stand in the shadows and watch as Cecil hands out cookies to visiting children, dusts the bookshelves in the Oval Office, shines the shoes of various members of the First Family, and serves at state dinners.
Perhaps it goes without saying, but Eugene, (aka Cecil) began his White House career during the height of the Civil Rights Movement, and as the scenes and dialogue of the movie play out, there are a myriad of allusions to the racial tension and innuendo of that time period. In one poignant scene our butler makes President Reagan aware of a 40 percent pay differential which then existed between the wages of the white and black staff. And, (at least as the movie portrays it) their conversation represents the catalyst by which African-American employees of the White House began to receive more equitable pay.
Ultimately, Cecil makes this same president aware of his plans to retire which leads Nancy R., (aka Jane Fonda) to, in short order, locate his whereabouts, and ask a leading question.
“Cecil, you will be at the state dinner for Chancellor Kohl of Germany, will you not?”
To which her humble servant responds,
“Well, yes, Mrs. Reagan. I serve at all the state dinners.”
The conversation continues.
“No, Cecil. I’m not talking about serving. I’m talking about being served. President Reagan and I would like you and your wife to be our guests that night.”
The butler could hardly believe his ears.
“Me? My wife? Mrs. Reagan, I don’t know what to say!”
Nancy smiled.
“Just say, ‘yes’ and make plans to join us, Cecil. God knows, you deserve it. And buy your wife a fancy dress. I guarantee this will be ‘the highlight of your twilight,’ my dear man.”
As the movie nears its conclusion, Cecil, (portrayed by Forest Whitaker) and “Gloria,” his wife, (portrayed by Oprah Winfrey) find themselves seated opposite the Reagan’s, and the Kohl’s at a long table decorated with the finest dinnerware; and attended by black waiters in tuxedo’s.
I hasten to add that while the movie, “The Butler” was guilty of numerous errors, and fabrications, the inclusion of the real life, Eugene Allen and his wife, Helene at Chancellor Kohl’s state dinner was not one of them. For you see, this particular scene is based upon fact.
As we linger off camera, we behold the extravagance of the entire affair. A multiplicity of guests of rank and honor. A comparatively smaller number of the most proficient of White House butlers.
The servers and them who are served.
One of Cecil’s understudies, (and his close friend) bends to whisper in his ear,
“More champagne, Mr. Gaines?”
To which the chief butler responds,
“Shut up, with that ‘Mr. Gaines’ stuff.”
And as our humble hero ponders the laviousness and solemnity of the occasion, and considers those with whom he has (momentarily) been blessed to “rub shoulders,” he reflects,
“It was different sitting
at the table instead of serving it.
…Real different.
I could see the two faces
the butlers wore to survive.
And I knew I'd lived my life
with those same two faces.
Gloria looked so happy,
but I didn't feel the same way.
I guess I wished we were there
for real …instead of for show.”
Two faces
Speaking of ‘two faces…’
The served and them who serve.
In a previous story I alluded to having administered a DNA test to my mother, only one week before she left us; the results which have only just now been made available to me.
As I scrolled through the results of the test, my eyes fixed on one minute bit of information.
While the large majority, 98.2 percent, of my mother’s ancestors, hailed from Great Britain and Western Europe, 1.8 percent originated …in Sub-Saharan Africa, and more specifically, Western Africa; from whence multiplied millions of hapless and helpless men and women, boys and girls began their unwilling journey to the Americas, and the forced labor, oppression and humiliation which awaited them there. (Interestingly enough, the State of Mississippi still observes 'The One Drop Rule' in which anyone who has the slightest trace of African-American heritage continues to be classified as such. And even more interesting, at least in terms of an implication of how I might have been classified, is that while I was involved in my military training, I lived and served for a short time in Mississippi).
Two faces
Eugene Allen, the real life character upon which “The Butler” was based, found himself, during his lifetime, among them who served. It was only after he was, unexpectedly, provided the opportunity to “sit with royalty” that he was afforded the privilege of being served; (which, subsequently, cast his servers in a light to which he had never before been privy).
Two faces
I, on the other hand, have lived out my entire lifetime as a member of a racial group who, perhaps, think of themselves as they who “sit at the table.” Granted, as an adolescent I witnessed the cessation of “separate, but equal,” public schools, segregated transportation, and white and black water fountains, restrooms and restaurants.
My siblings and I grew up as members of what might have, at that time, be characterized as the upper middle class. At least we had a maid, a beloved old, (or so it seemed to me at the time) black woman named, Etta Ponder.
I have, admittedly, “sat at the table.”
The served, and them who serve.
My friends, I can tell you that the realization that one of my distant grandfathers or grandmothers was African-American, and endured the rigors and humiliation of a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean, and delivered into the bonds of slavery has cast a new light on the privileged position I have thus far enjoyed.
And as a result, I have experienced something rather akin to the unique circumstance of which our humble server was afforded; as he sat among ranks of the served.
However, I think the diametrical opposite played itself out here.

For you see, I, if only in my imagination, and for the briefest of moments, found myself among the ranks of them who serve.

Two faces


By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol.33. Copyright pending

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