Paul Kusuda’s column
Are racial minority groups truly accepted in the Midwest?
Are racial minority groups truly accepted in the Midwest?
Paul H. Kusuda
I don’t remember where we stayed the first couple of nights, but within a few days, we moved to an apartment on the east
side of the City. Carl Sam, an accountant with the State Department of Public Welfare whom I met at work, said he and his
wife Margie were about to move from an apartment to a house they had just closed on. They had two young children and
decided the one bedroom apartment was no longer suitable. So, Atsuko and I moved in the day they moved out. The
apartment was the front rooms of the first floor of a large house that had been remodeled into four apartments, two on
each of two floors, each with its own bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom/sitting room. The place was clean, okay for a
couple, on a bus line, and in a neighborhood with grocery stores, a drug store, a department store, two gasoline stations,
a plumbing supply shop, a television repair shop, a bowling alley, a savings bank, a Ben Franklin store, a movie house,
places to eat, all the conveniences within easy-walking distance.
Carl and Margie became our best friends over the years. They moved to the nearby Village of Monona. Carl moved his
work interest from accounting to business machines. Accounting and statistical records moved from manual to machine,
and in the 1950s Wisconsin used IBM computers for all of its Departments. Carl became adept from the beginning and
soon became supervisor of IBM operations for the State Department of Public Welfare. Since I was a research analyst
and had responsibilities for statistical data for the Division of Child Welfare, we began working together. Until the advent
of IBM machines, I was shuffling papers by hand or using McBee punch cards to categorize information. Carl was using
IBM 80-column keypunch cards and electrically-wired boards to produce printed outputs for accounting purposes. He
also used produced statistical tables. Soon, he adapted to technological changes and used ARGOL and COBOL
(Common Ordinary Business-Oriented Language) to move from card-punch machines to computers. Our office
relationships became friend relationships as time went on.
Carl and Margie invited friends and relatives whenever they celebrated one of their children’s high school or college
graduation. We were always included. They accepted us without reservation, and we joined them on many occasions,
including their church fund-raising dinners. We never felt any slight at any time. We were friends for sure.
Other coworkers and supervisors at the Division of Child Welfare were also accepting of us and cordially invited us to
various events. Ernie and Eukie Goranson were like siblings to us. We went out frequently to eat out with them and their
friends. There was no question about picking up the checks; each couple paid its own tabs. The sense of equal
partnership was always present. Both were happy when our children were born. In fact, before our son was born, I asked
Ernie to be like an uncle and expose him to the outdoors world that Ernie loved. We had two daughters and then our son.
Sure enough, as our son grew older, Ernie took him under his wing and had him spend weekends at the cottage they had
about 50 miles north of Madison. Our son learned outdoor and camp life. He learned about squirrel hunting, skinning
animals, snow shoeing, making fire, frogs, the fun of fishing, etc. He got to like the outdoor world and adapting to
changing weather conditions. He also learned much by observing Ernie chopping wood and generally being an
outdoorsman. Me, I’m a city person through and through. So, Ernie was our son’s surrogate father, and a good one.
Fred DelliQuadri was the Director of the Division of Child Welfare. He and his wife continued to be our good friends and
invited us to Sunday lunches. His wife was a down-to-earth person who deplored the fact that they lived in a west side
neighborhood where people discouraged hanging laundry out to dry in back yards. She felt too many of her neighbors
were “uppity.” We didn’t feel ill-at-ease with their family and enjoyed visiting them. Fred invited me to attend an opening
day game to watch the Milwaukee Braves play baseball. It was cold, and I don’t remember whether the Braves won or
lost, but I enjoyed watching Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews.
Bill Lentz was my immediate supervisor, but after work hours, he took me fishing in Lake Mendota using his small boat
with a trolling motor. Once we got caught some distance out on the waters when a storm suddenly came up. The trolling
motor being so weak made us take a long time getting back to tie up. Not being an outdoor type, I just endured the
experience. Bill was also a golfer, so he wanted me to have that experience. Another outdoor endurance for me.
Fortunately, we didn’t go too often. One experience both of us didn’t particularly care for occurred at the then Burr Oaks
Golf Course. One hole was at the top of a hill. The start point was at the bottom, and we could only see the top of the flag
from where we were. We only went there once. More interesting was Bill’s showing me how to play chess, a game I never
played before—much more interesting than checkers. I learned such terms as “castle” and “en passant” and the correct
moves for the rook, knight, bishop, pawn, king, and queen. We visited Bill and his wife occasionally. They had a nice
house in the Village of Monona.
Perry Baker was a coworker at the Division of Child Welfare who also helped our son enjoy a fishing outing. One opening
day, they went to Devils Lake to fish for trout. My son was fortunate enough to catch a big one. Perry suggested that it be
recorded, so on the way back home, my son registered it. A few weeks later, he found out that the fish was a record
weight for the month will continue and that he had won a dinner for two at a local restaurant. My son invited me to join him,
so I was able to join him for a steak dinner because Perry had been kind enough to take my son fishing.
side of the City. Carl Sam, an accountant with the State Department of Public Welfare whom I met at work, said he and his
wife Margie were about to move from an apartment to a house they had just closed on. They had two young children and
decided the one bedroom apartment was no longer suitable. So, Atsuko and I moved in the day they moved out. The
apartment was the front rooms of the first floor of a large house that had been remodeled into four apartments, two on
each of two floors, each with its own bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom/sitting room. The place was clean, okay for a
couple, on a bus line, and in a neighborhood with grocery stores, a drug store, a department store, two gasoline stations,
a plumbing supply shop, a television repair shop, a bowling alley, a savings bank, a Ben Franklin store, a movie house,
places to eat, all the conveniences within easy-walking distance.
Carl and Margie became our best friends over the years. They moved to the nearby Village of Monona. Carl moved his
work interest from accounting to business machines. Accounting and statistical records moved from manual to machine,
and in the 1950s Wisconsin used IBM computers for all of its Departments. Carl became adept from the beginning and
soon became supervisor of IBM operations for the State Department of Public Welfare. Since I was a research analyst
and had responsibilities for statistical data for the Division of Child Welfare, we began working together. Until the advent
of IBM machines, I was shuffling papers by hand or using McBee punch cards to categorize information. Carl was using
IBM 80-column keypunch cards and electrically-wired boards to produce printed outputs for accounting purposes. He
also used produced statistical tables. Soon, he adapted to technological changes and used ARGOL and COBOL
(Common Ordinary Business-Oriented Language) to move from card-punch machines to computers. Our office
relationships became friend relationships as time went on.
Carl and Margie invited friends and relatives whenever they celebrated one of their children’s high school or college
graduation. We were always included. They accepted us without reservation, and we joined them on many occasions,
including their church fund-raising dinners. We never felt any slight at any time. We were friends for sure.
Other coworkers and supervisors at the Division of Child Welfare were also accepting of us and cordially invited us to
various events. Ernie and Eukie Goranson were like siblings to us. We went out frequently to eat out with them and their
friends. There was no question about picking up the checks; each couple paid its own tabs. The sense of equal
partnership was always present. Both were happy when our children were born. In fact, before our son was born, I asked
Ernie to be like an uncle and expose him to the outdoors world that Ernie loved. We had two daughters and then our son.
Sure enough, as our son grew older, Ernie took him under his wing and had him spend weekends at the cottage they had
about 50 miles north of Madison. Our son learned outdoor and camp life. He learned about squirrel hunting, skinning
animals, snow shoeing, making fire, frogs, the fun of fishing, etc. He got to like the outdoor world and adapting to
changing weather conditions. He also learned much by observing Ernie chopping wood and generally being an
outdoorsman. Me, I’m a city person through and through. So, Ernie was our son’s surrogate father, and a good one.
Fred DelliQuadri was the Director of the Division of Child Welfare. He and his wife continued to be our good friends and
invited us to Sunday lunches. His wife was a down-to-earth person who deplored the fact that they lived in a west side
neighborhood where people discouraged hanging laundry out to dry in back yards. She felt too many of her neighbors
were “uppity.” We didn’t feel ill-at-ease with their family and enjoyed visiting them. Fred invited me to attend an opening
day game to watch the Milwaukee Braves play baseball. It was cold, and I don’t remember whether the Braves won or
lost, but I enjoyed watching Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews.
Bill Lentz was my immediate supervisor, but after work hours, he took me fishing in Lake Mendota using his small boat
with a trolling motor. Once we got caught some distance out on the waters when a storm suddenly came up. The trolling
motor being so weak made us take a long time getting back to tie up. Not being an outdoor type, I just endured the
experience. Bill was also a golfer, so he wanted me to have that experience. Another outdoor endurance for me.
Fortunately, we didn’t go too often. One experience both of us didn’t particularly care for occurred at the then Burr Oaks
Golf Course. One hole was at the top of a hill. The start point was at the bottom, and we could only see the top of the flag
from where we were. We only went there once. More interesting was Bill’s showing me how to play chess, a game I never
played before—much more interesting than checkers. I learned such terms as “castle” and “en passant” and the correct
moves for the rook, knight, bishop, pawn, king, and queen. We visited Bill and his wife occasionally. They had a nice
house in the Village of Monona.
Perry Baker was a coworker at the Division of Child Welfare who also helped our son enjoy a fishing outing. One opening
day, they went to Devils Lake to fish for trout. My son was fortunate enough to catch a big one. Perry suggested that it be
recorded, so on the way back home, my son registered it. A few weeks later, he found out that the fish was a record
weight for the month will continue and that he had won a dinner for two at a local restaurant. My son invited me to join him,
so I was able to join him for a steak dinner because Perry had been kind enough to take my son fishing.
PART 2 OF 2
By Paul H. Kusuda
Last month, I began this two-part article noting that it would “…deal with one racial-minority
subgroup that may have had unique experiences with the concept of inclusiveness as opposed
to exclusiveness.” The major questions bothering me continue, and I have no viable answers.
The one that vexes me the most is: “Is there some way I can positively encourage
understanding and true practice of inclusivity in the Madison area?” Madison has a long-held
reputation of being a city accepting of minority groups--racial and others; however, that is but a
façade. Institutional racism is not always in the open, but those who feel its sting understand its
covertness and are always aware of its presence. They face the dilemma of how to deal with it,
how to discuss it openly with those who are not consciously aware of its existence within
themselves, how to reduce its impact, etc. Having no word of advice, I can only relate part of what
happened to one couple who moved to Madison, Wisconsin, in 1951. That couple is Atsuko and
me.
By Paul H. Kusuda
Last month, I began this two-part article noting that it would “…deal with one racial-minority
subgroup that may have had unique experiences with the concept of inclusiveness as opposed
to exclusiveness.” The major questions bothering me continue, and I have no viable answers.
The one that vexes me the most is: “Is there some way I can positively encourage
understanding and true practice of inclusivity in the Madison area?” Madison has a long-held
reputation of being a city accepting of minority groups--racial and others; however, that is but a
façade. Institutional racism is not always in the open, but those who feel its sting understand its
covertness and are always aware of its presence. They face the dilemma of how to deal with it,
how to discuss it openly with those who are not consciously aware of its existence within
themselves, how to reduce its impact, etc. Having no word of advice, I can only relate part of what
happened to one couple who moved to Madison, Wisconsin, in 1951. That couple is Atsuko and
me.
Others were very friendly and helpful to
Atsuko and me. I joined bridge groups and
poker groups and felt comfortable and
accepted at all times. I felt no hidden
antagonism or race prejudice with my
coworkers or supervisors. Only once did a
racially offensive remark come to my
attention. I was promoted when a coworker
felt he deserved it more than I. During an
office get-together soon after, he remarked
that the job had been filled by a “Damned
Jap.” I knew he had had too much to drink, so
I took no offense. Occasionally, that which is
at a subconscious level becomes overt.
Racism is present in everyone. What’s
needed is to hold negative manifestations of
racist feelings to a minimum. That task is not
easy and cannot be accomplished merely by
discussion. There must be a monumental
change in acceptance, understanding,
attitude, empathy, and feeling. And it must
involve Non-Whites as well as Whites. Until
that happens, the observable gaps will
continue.