Before beginning this unfortunate story I must make one thing clear, even though I lived in Fredericton for 22 years, I can also say that I grew up in Woodstock as well. It is where my grandmother still lives and is the stomping grounds of my father and his brothers and sisters as well.
Woodstock was like a second home to me as well as the many students who populated the college. So it is never easy to talk about such a place with negativity.
Racism is everywhere, it’s on every street corner, it’s in every school, and it’s in every city and every town. But just because it is everywhere doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. A few of the students of the college could call Dwayne a friend or colleague, but even fewer could call him a brother, like some of us did. He would always greet you in the hallway with a smile or sarcastic comment or was always one of the first one to buy you a drink at the bar. (Especially on cheap night) Dwayne fit the college like a glove and vice versa. But the same couldn’t be said about the town itself. You see, Dwayne was just like everyone else, except he was black.
In the hundreds of years that Woodstock has existed, it has never really boasted a large population of African-Canadians, barely any at all to tell you the truth. It would be easy to estimate that 60% of the residents of the small town of Woodstock are over the age of 50.
In an earlier story, Dok eluded to the term “bible-belt,” which is a reference to Woodstock and surrounding area and their love affair with the church. African-Canadians weren’t always a popular people in Woodstock, not only with the elderly residents but the younger generations as well.
It wasn’t uncommon for a group of us to be walking up the street, Dwayne being part of the group. A school bus full of junior high or elementary children would drive by and stare in amazement that white people were walking with a person of color. Even if he wasn’t with us we would be approached by some of the town folk, which I will refer to from here on out as hardcore rednecks and we would be asked, as if it was no big deal to them “how can you stand to be friends with a nigger.” (editors note: I will no longer be using the entire “n” word for the rest of the story. It upsets me greatly to even think of it.)
Such rednecks didn’t even have a problem approaching Dwayne himself on the street and calling him the n-word directly to his face. But we would just keep walking and calm him down.
Being at the bar was a totally different story. It wasn’t an easy task to calm him down after an altercation on the street. It was one hundred times harder when alcohol was involved. For the most part the 300+ students that filled the college any given year weren’t overly popular in the town. It was like we were stomping on their toes or something. Some people would show their displeasure at us in a grander form at the bar. For the better part of the school year it was the NBCC students that ran the bar, (and were told as much by management on a number of occassions) in our minds we were just giving it back to the town while we were gone for the summer, and get it back once September rolled around again.
Sixty percent of the people on the dance floor at any given time were students, cause we were just out for a good time, while the rednecks would be sitting around or even standing in close proximity to the dance floor eyeballing each and every one of us. Once a song was over, or once we decided it was time to sit down, more times than not we would be tripped or purposely bumped into while leaving the floor as their sign of disapproval.
One night, myself, Dok, Homer, Brucie, Dwayne as well as some other friends were leaving the floor and someone bumped into Dwayne basically to get a rile out of him. Words were spoken and the bouncing staff was quick to jump in to prevent the altercation from heating up any further.
Once our buddy Kevin the DJ played the final song and the house lights went up, these “brave” souls decided to confront Dwayne on the floor. By this time I was already half way to the coat check. Dwayne, who rarely brought his jacket to the bar passed me and once outside lit a smoke. I followed him outside then all of a sudden was bowled over from behind by someone who had been after Dwayne the entire evening.
“You’re mine now n*****” Dwayne’s assailant muttered as he began to rain haymakers to the side of Dwayne’s head. Once I regained my balance and actually realized what was going on, I grabbed on to the assailants arm to prevent him from landing another blow. Before I knew it, I was being detained by another person, obviously a friend of the guy who was using Dwayne as a speed bag, who grabbed me by my jacket, pushed me up against the outside door and said to me very calmly that I shouldn’t interfere or I will “get exactly what the n***** is getting.”
During this very brief conversation, Dwayne had been pushed the rest of the way down the stairs. As I am still being detained I say calmly back to the prick who is holding me. “If you are going to hit me, hit me mother f**ker, otherwise get the fuck out of my way.” I grabbed his hands removed them from my jacket and promptly pushed him down the steps.
Luckily by this time, more of our group of friends had come outside, so the numbers were now pretty much even. Reddawg and I would be holding Dwayne back cause I am certain if we had let him go, Dwayne probably would have killed the guy. But everyonce in a while the waste of skin would get to close, so RD and I would “temporarily” let go of him and the coward would retreat.
I would like to say this was an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. It seemed like every second week or so Dwayne was being harassed or assaulted sometimes by the same group but often times by different people. But the assaults weren’t just limited to Dwayne himself. Another friend of Dwayne’s, who at the time of these incidents was to young to get into the bar, McCormick was also assaulted on his way home from class one day.
As he was walking towards his house, vehicle drove by him and stopped soon after. Next thing McCormick knew he was being attacked from behind, after being kicked and punched repeatedly, one of the assailants said “you are being beaten because you are friends with the n*****.” This sickened all of us who were McCormick’s friends, and unfortunately after the attack and after talking it over with his friends and teachers around the college, McCormick returned to his hometown, fearing for his safety.
The worst incident that I can remember was one night after the bar, the same sort of story inside, words being thrown around and such, but it was a different story outside. Instead of having a fair fight, which 95% of them were, this time around Dwayne was gang beaten in the parking lot of the bar by a group of infamous brothers, The Jecartins. The rap sheet on these boys was as long as a Stephen King novel, everywhere they went they instilled fear in most people. On this night, the brothers made their point clear. Four on one, they un-mercifully beat Dwayne down to the ground and even continued to beat him while he was down. What makes this tale even more horrific, there were two Town of Woodstock police cars sitting no more than twenty feet away. Two police cars means four officers, who decided to do nothing but stick their thumbs up their asses while an innocent man was being beaten.
Finally a friend of ours Nick ran over to one of the police cars forcibly opened the drivers side door and asked “are you fucking pigs going to just sit around and watch this or are you going to do your f**king jobs and stop it.” By the time the officers approached the scene, the brothers were already in their vehicles and allowed to drive off with no questions asked. Not only were the some of the younger generation of Woodstock bigots and racists, but so were a handful of the police force. The only one taken to the police station and questioned was Dwayne, after he got out of the hospital of course.
In a later court hearing, the police officers would testify that the only reason they didn’t interfere when the fight broke out was because “they didn’t want to create a mob scene.” The only reason they didn’t do anything cause the police force consisted of guys who grew up either in Woodstock or in the Woodstock area, they all had the same frame of mind. A good portion of the force were just as bigoted as the rest of the town, probably even more so depending on who you talk to.
Of the three years I spent in the town, I would safely say that this was the only dark side. It’s just to bad that most of it had to do with the color of Dwayne’s skin. Now like I said, I really have nothing against the town, I grew up there for the most part and anytime I’m in that part of the country I continue to visit the friends and family that I have there. Gram, Grampie (May he rest in peace), Chucky, Sherri(Scott/Jillian), Carina (Greg and Rianna and now Victoria), Kevin, Mike, Stacy….you all know who you are, and you all stood behind him in his time of need. You all are the true souls of Woodstock.
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