Summertime Sadness: When True Love Gets Cut Short
A black marine, his caucasian lover, and a summer neither will forget.
Some men care a great deal about their appearance, going to great lengths to prim and preen. James was no exception.
He stood in front of his mirror, paying special attention to the very last golden button on his jacket. Next came his white belt — in immaculate condition — with its golden snap. The final piece — his white cap.
Studying his appearance, it was hard not to admire the full ensemble — one any United States Marine happily sports. Though he wasn’t on tour duty, he wanted to wear his dress blues to the local farmer’s market.
It was the Spring of 1939 — even though he proudly served his country, he was still a dark-skinned, Black man.
Living in rural Illinois didn’t help this much. He wanted people to see him as a person, not a color. Wearing his uniform was the easiest way to accomplish this.
He meandered down the steep steps from his third-floor apartment to the pristine lobby, then bounded out the front door toward Common Ground, his choice location for fruits, vegetables, and whatever produce he could get his hands on.
