“My happiest memories are from when I was growing up in South Carolina. I remember sitting in the kitchen, waiting on breakfast and listening to the coffee perkin’. My grandmother had her own garden, and my grandfather had his own grocery store, so we always had fresh vegetables and grits and bacon and eggs. That was a big deal back then in the 50’s-- for a black man to own a grocery store. If someone needed credit, my grandfather would just write their name in a book. And if they couldn’t pay, he’d just forget about it. He was shorter than I was, and very quiet. But everybody respected him. He used to walk to the store every morning before dawn, with a 38’ in his hand. Every night he’d walk home with that same gun in his hand. Even the white delivery men called him Mr. Robinson. MISTER Robinson.”