For the first eleven years of my life, I lived in places where my Judaism was not an issue, as we had lived in the suburbs of Washington, DC and New York City. In 1975, that all changed with a family move to the Panhandle of Florida. My family moved to Gulf Breeze, Florida, which is a “suburb” of Pensacola. We moved to Florida because my father joined the Navy, and was to be trained for approximately 5 months. My parents went ahead to find a place to live; the number-one concern was finding a place with safe an good public schools. For that, they were directed to the town of Gulf Breeze. My parents found a waterfront townhouse in Gulf Breeze that was available for a short-term rental.
We moved to Gulf Breeze in August, 1975, about three days before the school orientation at Gulf Breeze Middle School. At Orientation, what struck me first was that everyone was White. There were no Blacks, Asians, or Hispanics.
Back then, on that hot August day in 1975 at Middle School Orientation, for the first time in my life, I felt out of place…different. Why? The Principal of the school started orientation with a prayer to Jesus for a good year. I had never been asked to pray to Jesus before. And I didn’t. My mom was furious and wanted to make a big deal. I just wanted to fit in.
The first few weeks were fine. We went to the beach a lot, and I tried to make friends. Rosh Hashanah was on a weekend…but Yom Kippur was on a Monday. That meant that I had to miss school. When asked about the absence by my classmates, I explained that it was a religious holiday for me: the holiest day of the year. In hindsight, I should have lied and said I was sick. Because after that, things started to change.
I do not remember the date that things went to outwardly hostile, but I remember that it was between Yom Kippur, which was September 15th, and before Hurricane Eloise, which was Sept 23. During that week, I was out on the pier with my sister. One of the neighborhood boys and his “gang” were making racist comments about black people – how they smelled funny. My sister commented back, something like, “Have you ever been close enough to smell one, because one of my best friends was black, and she did not smell bad”. At that point, the leader, who was a few years older than I, called my sister a “Nigger Loving Pollack Jew”. My sister corrected him: We are only half Polish (or is it Austrian? Borders change).
At this point, the leader started his dirt bike, and chased me down to the end of the pier. His friends then threw me off of the pier, saying that the dirty Jew needed to be cleaned. I swam to shore, at which point they carried me back out to the end of the pier and threw me off again. And again, and again. I think it repeated at least one dozen times.
The next day, in school, his friends beat me up. We all got sent to the principal’s office for fighting One of the boys went as far as saying I started it for being Jewish. I was the only child punished. In 1975 in Gulf Breeze, Florida, being Jewish justified corporal punishment. The other boys continued beating me without punishment.
At home, I gave up riding my bike: every time I was out the bike, the leader would try to run me off the road with his dirt bike. I would only go outside when no one was around; otherwise I would get beat up. But I could not avoid them in school.
Somewhere during this time, a cross was burned in front of the school, because of the loss of purity, and there was a bomb threat against the school…It seemed to me that the principal of the school blamed me, as I was the difference that was causing the problems….without me, everything would have been fine. So, the paddling continued.
I remember one day, probably in mid-October, where at lunch or recess, I was playing on the monkey bars. I was pushed from about six feet up, not by accident, but because of what I was. I landed hard in the sand, head first. I had a seizure from the blow. When I woke up, the other kids were kicking sand on me, saying how they will bury the Jew. Hopefully, today, the injury would be recognized as serious. Then, they would have sent me back to class, except I wet myself while passed out.
That was the last time I went out during recess. The only person who seemed to understand was my art teacher. She invited me to come into the art room for the free time. Between classes, though, the beatings continued. And, reports of me fighting, followed by the paddlings. One day, the principal told me the best thing to would be to accept Jesus. Then, everything would be fine.
The good news was that my Father’s assignment was temporary. I think he graduated from Flight Surgeon school on 18 Dec 1975. By Thanksgiving, we knew my father was being assigned to Naval Air Station Lemoore in California. Around my birthday, my parents informed the school that we were moving in a few weeks. My mom then pulled me out of school for the remainder of our stay.
Thirty-six years later, I think I understand the impact this experience had on my life. Through my teens, 20’s and even 30’s, when encountering perceived injustice, including anti-Semitism, my reactions were much stronger than the situation warranted. I think I have since mellowed. Such reactions have resulted in a wedge between me and other people.
My experiences have also shaped my political views. I am moderate overall, but believe in an absolute separation of church and state. Any politician that tries to blur that line will not get my support. That, more than anything, is why I am a Democrat.
I am incredibly proud of what I see in the current crop of youngsters in Northern Virginia. Mty daughter and her classmates not care about the differences in outward appearances. They are all just children, playing. Black, White, Hispanic, Indian, Korean, Chinese, Arabs, etc: the kids see a playmate. The children today make me proud and hopeful for the future.
I have heard that since the mid 70’s the south has changed. However, according the the Gulf Breeze Middle school web site, the school remains largely white (88%), with only 0.47% African American students.
David Salzberg
December 17, 2011
36 Years to the day from when we left Pensacola.
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