Racism as Sweet as Dessert: Blactiquing in Tacoma, Washington
I’ve always enjoyed learning about Black people and other cultures. My maternal grandmother was a collector and made sure we knew a lot about African American experiences in history, music, politics, sports, and books.
Though I’ve collected Black historical artifacts for more than two decades, COVID-19 is really what gave birth to my Blactiquing — an intentional hunt for artifacts that tell Black experiences in the US and beyond.
COVID-19 highlighted a reality: I was living alone and needed more than just working from home to sustain me. Scavenging online auctions and visiting antique shops, once they opened, allowed me to feel less isolated and didn’t really require me to interact with people. Plus, it helped me find items to add to my office for Zoom meetings, as I’m usually the only Black face present. Aunt Jemima salt and pepper shakers, Blackamoor figurines, Little Black Sambo posters, and distinctively Black wood carvings join the meetings, and I feel less alone.
I was beyond excited to take a trip to visit my brother Kadeem, who is serving in the U.S. Army at Joint Base Lewis McChord, and go Blactiquing in Washington State. Kadeem had already visited a few antique shops and acquired a few items the previous year. This would be my first time visiting and physically examining the artifacts.
We had spent the earlier part of Saturday in sunny Seattle. I got a chance to meet a colleague and his family, who provided a great walking tour of the area and introduced me to Seatown Market & FishFry, which had the best oysters that I’ve ever eaten.
They were generous in allowing me to talk on and on about my passion for antiquing and vision for a boutique-style museum and antique shop. They suggested that I visit Tacoma’s impressive Antique Row.
So that day, Kadeem and I drove to Tacoma, WA and arrived around 5pm. We knew we would only get to visit one or two shops, as most seemed to close by 6pm. I rarely find any that stay open beyond this hour.
The first shop, an antique market with many vendors, was technically closed. The owner, an older white man, invited us to walk around and to “feel free to turn on the lights” in the lower levels of the large, multi-story building.
With a smile and a chuckle, he told us that he had mistakenly left with customers inside so many times that local 911 dispatchers knew how to direct stranded customers to the one door that would let them out.
We took him up on his offer but stayed in the lighted areas. Initially, we didn’t find much. We did find a few albums and sheet music from Black artists and one of a white man in blackface. The owner offered us beers before we were set to leave. He was very hospitable.
The second location, another multi-vendor shop, also had a few items of interest. I was stunned to find a beautiful bust hanging on a wall. It looked distinctly Egyptian to me. I was confused and, initially, sad to see the vendor’s description of it: “Monkey Wood Bust (?).”
Was the vendor suggesting the bust was made of monkey pod wood? Or, was the vendor describing the wooden bust as a monkey?
I try not to go down that rabbit hole, since the vendor isn’t there to interpret. It’s highly unlikely that any shop owner is intimately aware of the many pieces that are there and how they are labeled. But still, I can’t help but recall the racist tropes that associate Black people with monkeys. My grandmother once told me that when my identical-twin brother and I were little, a white man saw us in our strollers and said to my grandmother, “Look at those cute monkey babies.”
Even the shop owner, a white woman, seemed taken aback when reading the label description aloud while ringing us up. We could feel her mustering the strength and courage to say “monkey” out loud, as she looked at the label and then looked back at us.
We were delighted to find and purchase a large box that was used for shipping smaller boxes of Fairbank’s Gold Dust Washing Powder. Introduced in 1889, it was the first all-purpose washing powder used for dirty laundry. Being a twin, I’ve had a fascination with Goldie and Dustie, the brand’s mascots. They were very recognizable and even had a radio show in 1929 that was sponsored by Gold Dust and the Lever Brothers Company, who bought the brand in the 1930s. Gold Dust was one of many products that used black imagery to boost its sales, playing on the racial trope of the docile negro.
I also thought this was a serendipitous find, as the first Black artifact that I ever gifted to Kadeem was a Gold Dust Scouring Cleanser can that we found at an antique shop in Saginaw, MI.
It was getting late, so we decided to visit Tacoma’s Primo Grill Restaurant. Their website described them as “a chef driven restaurant using relationships with local farmers to craft a Mediterranean by Northwest cuisine featuring the freshest local produce and seafood.” We ordered drinks, salads, and I got an entrée. The food and drinks were great.
We initially thought the service was just ok. We noticed that the other tables had their empty water glasses filled regularly. Even after Kadeem ordered multiple drinks, our water glasses remained empty. Even the party at the round table closest to us were enjoying playful banter with the server as he handed them their dessert menus. Despite the differences in service, I was curious and excited about dessert, hoping they had at least one of my favorites.
Eventually, someone came and took my empty plate away. He was the same person that welcomed us when we arrived and examined the computer to see if there was an available table. He had walked past the table at least 4 times while we were enjoying the visit.
More than 10 minutes passed before anyone interacted with us. We noticed it, talked about it, but wasn’t really bothered by it. We were preoccupied with our reunion and remaining drinks. Plus, the food had been really good.
Once the server finally came to our table, we noticed that he had a white paper, presumably the check, in a glass. In fact, he was bringing us our check.
With a disarming smile, I asked him why he assumed we wouldn’t want dessert. I playfully inquired if there was something on the dessert menu that he thought would offend our taste buds — you know, doing us a favor by not offering a sweet entrapment.
He tried to explain that “the manager” said that we were ready to go. He couldn’t explain why they thought that, as we never asked for a check or traded words with anyone. We asked to speak with the manager so that we could understand how they came to their conclusion and further explain why we were being denied the dessert experience.
The gentleman who welcomed us, took my plate earlier, and walked past the table a few times came back to our table and introduced himself as the owner. He never provided his name. I later learned that he’s Charlie McManus, a co-owner.
For a brief moment, I was speechless. Why would a business owner behave like this or allow their establishment to operate as such? I could only think about my experience early that day with one of Seattle’s celebrity chefs, Tom Douglas. He was out in front of the restaurant shucking oysters, stopping by tables, and having conversations. It seemed natural for Douglas and his team, because they were all doing it. I look forward to visiting all of his restaurants when they re-open (although, sadly, he’s already lost several to COVID).
Once I found words and the ability to smile, we shared our confusion and disappointment about what had taken place, even as we complimented the meal and drinks that we had enjoyed. We were given a half-hearted apology and an offer for a free dessert. He shared that he had made something special that wasn’t on the dessert menu.
We accepted the offer to see the menu, knowing good and well that nothing would taste delightful or be appealing at this point. Plus, they didn’t have key lime pie. In my heart, I felt it was the owner who gave the directive to end our dining visit.
After a couple of minutes, the server returned for our orders. We told him we wouldn’t be having dessert and asked for the check. We finished our drinks, paid, and left.
Despite years of experiencing racism or related micro-aggressions, the blows still hurt. Sadly, I never have these experiences when dining with white people. And I can’t help but wonder if this would’ve happened if Kadeem was wearing something that highlighted his multiple years in the military with multiple deployments to protect our freedoms.
Racism is exhausting because it makes you question so much and makes it more difficult to take things at face value. Like the monkey wood bust, perhaps this was just a misunderstanding. I’m sure some who are reading this will try to convince me that it was such. I’m rarely convinced.
Blactiquing is a reminder of the racism that’s existed in our society. It’s also a testament to how far we’ve come and the work that remains undone.
I’m happy to return to Tacoma. I’m confident that there must be more Black memorabilia and blactiques given what we found and experienced.
But next time, I’ll look for a soul food restaurant instead.
