"Stay away from that racist." The warning was clear, blunt and hostile. The sergeant getting the warning was African-American, the person he was being warned against eating lunch with was my dad, another sergeant. The guy giving the warning had an extra stripe or two, but was part of the squadron.
"He's a Mormon *&* and you know how they are."
"Yeah, I know" replied the sergeant. "When the shippers screwed up and I went more than two months without my car showing up, Marsh here was the only person who would give me a ride to work. Every morning he drove over from Landstuuhl, crossed the base, out the other side, to my house, picked me up and drove us both to work. Every night he drove me home. Never asked me for a penny, never hassled me, the only one of you man-jacks who doesn't swear at me."
"I know who the racists are, and I know who the Christians are in this group. I'll sit with Swampy here."
Made me proud of my dad. Kind of like how I felt on learning that when my grandfather's first pastor joined the KKK my grandfather found another church. Sometimes actions are the only true message.