T. Geronimo Johnson Quotes & Sayings

Atlanta's nickname was well earned; a Chocolate City indeed it was. — T. Geronimo Johnson

Don't curse a child for doing childish things, but don't 'courage him none neither. — T. Geronimo Johnson

The table was shocked. The entire class in fact. They'd heard tell of Civil War reenactments, but they were still occurring? The War Between the States was another time and another country. As was the South. Are barbers still surgeons? Is there still sharecropping? What about indoor plumbing? — T. Geronimo Johnson

Meet the New World, same as the Old World. — T. Geronimo Johnson

At the San Francisco airport Charlie discreetly pulled Daron aside and asked if there was anything he needed to know, if he should expect more crazy-Colonel-Sanders types of people in Braggsville. — T. Geronimo Johnson

They'd read about this in class, how stereotypes distorted, affected, reflected reality. Asians were peaceful. Gays were nonviolent. As were women. Blacks (and sometimes Mexicans) were rarely accused of hate crimes for a number of reasons, but the underlying logic was that they were naturally predisposed to violence and mischief, and so seldom was any attack on whites motivated by hate. Contrarily, it was extremely easy to claim, and prove, that a white perpetrated a hate crime. In fact, popular opinion among the liberals was that conservatives were motivated by hate in everything they did wrong: hiring practices, legal negotiations, and any criminal activity affecting blacks, Mexicans, or gays. If Denver decided that Daron had intended to send a message of terror, then Daron's every denial must have sounded like an attempt to protect his co-conspirators. — T. Geronimo Johnson

A relationship is like a road trip: You get bugs splattered on the windshield. By the time you see them, it's too late, but you still keep going. — T. Geronimo Johnson

He blew time like he had it to spare, like it grew on clocks instead of died there. — T. Geronimo Johnson

He had thought it through, even though following his own logic was a bit like tracking a shadow through a tunnel, he was never sure the idea he was tailing at the exit was the same idea he had been following at the entrance. — T. Geronimo Johnson

It was nearly midnight when Daron sat down next to his friends again. They looked pleasantly tired. He was about to ask them if they were enjoying themselves when his father opened the back door and whistled for him. His parents were alone in the kitchen. His father studied his face, his mother was straightening the canisters, her back to them, but her posture belied where her attention lay. Call it off, son. How do you mean? D'aron, I don't want to keep you from your friends or have a big discussion about this. Whatever you was planning, call it off. — T. Geronimo Johnson

It was precisely the perverse type of academic thinking that caused the mess in the first place. It was as though academics thought the entire world was some kind of ant farm constructed for their pleasure and enjoyment and strained observations. He had no place in an institution that suggested personal loss be re-wrought, re-vised, re-fashioned as intellectual palaver, as a paper. Not even for honors. — T. Geronimo Johnson

Micro-aggression - The plastic gun of racism; you can sneak this one through security most of the time because it is comprised of nonracist ways of being racist, nonsexist ways of being sexist, and the like. E.g., You're not like other BLANK people, or, You speak English very well. — T. Geronimo Johnson

Finally, as was their way, as Daron had learned in Berzerkeley, a group of miscellaneous white people arrived to involve themselves in affairs none of their concern. This particular group was a brightly colored rainbow coalition (in dress only), complete with rainbow posters and matching rainbow shirts - So cute, said his mom - and the chanting of slogans such as, Equal Rights for All, Abolish Reenactments, and States' Rights = Slaves, Right? — T. Geronimo Johnson

On the right was a collection of mailboxes, maybe twenty, several of which Daron had met in a previous life with an aluminum Louisville slugger, as well as several blue boxes labeled COUNTY EXAMINER, a few of which had not recovered from their own interrogations, that local version of the great American pastime. D'aron, much to his credit, he'd once thought, was only blowing off steam, and never once - not even one time - cracked lip when the others asked, Who writes Gulls anyway, and when they get a letter, who reads it to them? He now wondered how much of his fear about coming back here was actually guilt, and how much of the guilt was fear - nothing was as it seemed. — T. Geronimo Johnson

Signs for the reenactment adorned every corner, each one a line drawing of a Civil War soldier superimposed over the Confederate battle flag. The signs promised THRILLING HISTORY AND HERITAGE, BREATHTAKING SCENERY AND SOUND EFFECTS, and the EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE OF A LIFETIME all at the Pride Week Patriot Days Festival. — T. Geronimo Johnson

It's not that the Davenports had never had black people around their house before, or even a Chinese guy once, but never a Malaysian who looked Chinese to some and Indian to others, fancied himself black at times, and wanted to be the next Lenny Bruce Lee; a preppy black football player who sounded like the president and read Plato in Latin; and a white woman who occasionally claimed to be Native American. They were like an overconstructed novel, each representative of some cul-de-sac of idiolect and stereotype, missing only a handicapped person - No! At Berkeley we say handi-capable person - and a Jew and a Hispanic, and an Asian not of the subcontinent, Louis always said. — T. Geronimo Johnson

The whole town is a Confederate museum, replied Louis, holding his hands up palm out. I'm not saying your whole town is housist or anything! Housist! Housist was Louis-speak for racist, invoked after Daron tried explaining that just because someone preferred a mansion didn't mean they'd torch a ranch. Housist, Loose? — T. Geronimo Johnson

College makes you smart. It doesn't make other people stupid. I'm not so sure it makes you so smart, to have a second say. — T. Geronimo Johnson

Oppression porn - (1) The depiction of poverty, oppression, and/or despair with the intent of provoking moral arousal. Frequently appears as digital media, literature, and pseudo-immersive favela tours. The most common side effect is a dangerously inflated sense of national and/or cultural superiority. — T. Geronimo Johnson

After the welcome home barbecue, Candice had said, People here aren't that different, they just have accents. But if she could hear this, how their plan was being twisted, it would rock her little white-girl world, as Louis had always called it. — T. Geronimo Johnson

It felt like a reunion after an embarrassing absence. The affection and appreciation were earnest, but things had changed so much no one knew what to say. — T. Geronimo Johnson

Fire isn't flavor, but the Big Green Egg, that ingenious ceramic capsule of goodness, that Reese's Peanut Butter Cup of cookout equipment, both grill and smoker - God bless! - was — T. Geronimo Johnson

The powerful intellect leashed by an impoverished vocabulary is a myth. Without a vocabulary, a language, the intellect cannot develop. — T. Geronimo Johnson

Once more Mary Jo, Bobby, Kevin, Dennis, Raymond, Lucille, Frankie, Coddles, Lyle, John, Andy, Miss Ursula, Jim, Lonnie, Postmaster Jones, William, Travis, Todd, Tony, Dennis M. . . . On the ride home from Sheriff's office, everyone was again on porches or at windows. Daron didn't call out their names this time, and this time no one waved. Where do the black people live? In the front yards! It was funny. (I guess that's better than the back of the bus, Louis had later added. Daron had thought that funny, too.) Louis's absence was always noticeable. Though skinny, he'd filled space like a fat man on a crowded elevator, except a welcome addition, not someone who provoked strangers to regard each other with situational solidarity. He had, in fact, induced people to regard each other with suspicion, to question the known. — T. Geronimo Johnson