Big Burt decided to take his two sons and me on an expedition to the Red River. On the long drive north I wondered if the river was, indeed, red.
Skip, Hank and I got into a skirmish, as usual, while Burt drove in silence.
"If we left you out yonder you'd be dead in two days," Hank said.
"One day," Skip added.
"True," I replied. "But what would you two shit-kickers do if you found yourself in New York City? Harlem, say."
"Yes. Where all the Negroes live." The terms Black and African American weren't part of the language in those days.
"Sheeee-IT," Hank said. "You'd never find me in a bunch of Nigras."
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