Life on the Color Line: The True Story of a White Boy Who Discovered He Was Black

“[O]ur spot on Route I was kind of a racial dividing line. Across from us, on the east side of the highway, it was all white, starting with Mary Vavola’s trailer court and continuing down past the Twin Barrels Tavern all the way to Engleside. West of the highway we were surrounded on three sides by the all black community of Gum Springs, home of former slaves and their descendants since the time of George Washington. I guess there has never been a time in my life that I haven’t been right on the color line. Although in those Virginia days I didn’t really understand what it meant, let alone begin to appreciate the irony and symbolism of our life and location. Even though most of my playmates were Black, I saw segregation of the races as part of the natural order of life.”

Writing about his earliest memories, Williams reveals the part that racial bias played in his life and mindset, even as a young child. In addition, this passage speaks to the irony of his first home setting in that it was just to the Black side of the color line that separated Black and white communities. This placement, always just on the color line, follows him throughout his life, determining his outlook, opportunities, and relationships. The essential struggle of his life is against the absurdity and determination of the color line, something in which he succeeds to a surprising extent.

“He leaned closer and spoke very softly. ‘There’s something else I want to tell you!’

‘What?’ I groaned.

‘Remember Miss Sallie who used to work for us in the tavern?’ Dad’s lower lip quivered. He looked ill. Had he always looked this unhealthy, I wondered, or was it something that happened on the trip? I felt my face—skin like putty, lips chapped and cracked. Had I changed, too?

‘It’s hard to tell you boys this.’ He paused, then slowly added,

‘But she’s really my momma. That means she’s your grandmother.’

‘But that can’t be, Dad! She’s colored!’ I whispered, lest I be overheard by the other white passengers on the bus.

‘That’s right, Billy,’ he continued, ‘She’s colored. That makes you part colored too […].’”

In this pivotal moment, the boys’ father, Tony, confesses to them that their grandmother is Black. Even though they’re only 9 and 10 years old, he knows that they’ll grasp what this portends for them. Like those who hear of the unexpected death of a relative, the boys’ first response is denial and then amazement. Knowing what it means to be Black, they spend days fantasizing that their parents will reunite and take them back to the relatively privileged life they led in Virginia.