Where I grew up in Wisconsin, there were no black people.

Seriously. I can't conjure a single memory from my first 11 years of a personal encounter with a black person.

Then, toward the end of fifth grade, we moved to Las Vegas. Suddenly, attending Ira J. Earl Elementary School in the northeast valley, I had black classmates.

This was a little unsettling, not because I was racist, but because it was brand new.

I was not brought up in a racist environment, and I had no occasion to develop any racist views. But I definitely was anxious about the unknown.

I also was shockingly naive. Sure, some of my favorite athletes and actors were black, but they were images on TV. I wondered to myself if a black person's skin felt different from mine. I was curious what their hair felt like. I worried about saying the wrong thing in conversation with them.

With time and life experience, those feelings dissipated, of course. But I admit I still possess a remnant of that anxiety, although nothing like when I was a dopey kid.

I suspect this is a typical feeling for a whole lot of Caucasian people in America.

And this is fundamentally related to the challenge Illinois Sen. Barack Obama faces if he ends up running for president in 2008.

Will a majority of white Americans, in the secrecy of the voting booth, cast a ballot for a black presidential candidate?

We know the declared racists will not vote for Obama or any other African-American candidate. These sad folks, through some combination of upbringing, ignorance and experience, have embraced the notion that skin color denotes something more than, well, skin color.

Fortunately for Obama and other African-Americans, old-school racists represent a relatively small and dwindling segment of the voting public. But that doesn't mean everybody else is ready and eager to elect a black president. It's just not that simple.

Racism is not always so upfront.

Emily Bernard, an ethnic studies professor at the University of Vermont, wrote an essay in 2005 in which she discussed teaching her students about the n-word. Bernard, who is African-American, explored how her mostly white students felt about uttering the word.

Bernard tells a story about parking near campus. She tends to park in one lot, but a student recommends that she park in one that's closer to her office. The problem for Bernard: The closer lot requires walking across a busy street. She worries, she says, that crossing the street exposes her to the possibility of a passing motorist shouting at her -- shouting the n-word.

Perhaps it isn't likely to happen in a place such as Burlington, Vt., but Bernard has a memory of this happening when she was growing up in the South. It's a memory that has stuck with her.

Discussing the n-word leads Bernard to ponder who, among her friends and colleagues, has the n-word "in the back of her throat." In other words, who among them is capable, if sufficiently provoked, to utter the word in anger?

The parallel: How many white people who profess to support racial equality, and who tell pollsters they would be willing to vote for a black presidential candidate, would actually do so within the sanctuary of the voting booth? How many have the n-word in the back of their throats?

Unless you're a black comedian, it's the height of political incorrectness today to make disparaging racial judgments. And so when I hear someone unabashedly reveal racial prejudices, it's a little shocking.

I got an earful of racial stereotypes from an acquaintance at a recent holiday gathering, and I didn't quite know how to react. I certainly did not agree with this person's views, and I offered some modest counterarguments, but that's not what I really wanted to do. I wanted to unleash a loud, angry denunciation of his nonsense, but it didn't seem like the time or place and could have ruined the whole gathering for everybody else.

But here's the thing: This person, whom I know only casually, had no qualms about going into great detail about his views on African-Americans and Hispanics. And apparently he felt comfortable telling me all this.

Another bit of naivete: I had this notion that my daughters' generation -- the so-called Millennials (7- to 25-year-olds) -- is the first in American history for which race is truly a secondary or even nonexistent issue. Among my teenage daughter's friends and acquaintances, interracial friendships and dating are common in a way that previous generations could not imagine.

Unfortunately, my Pollyanna daydream of racial harmony among the Millennials turns out to be a middle-class suburban phenomenon at best. It's painfully obvious that on the streets of urban America -- in Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, etc. -- the world remains sharply divided by race and ethnicity. A colleague who worked as a teacher in the Bronx just a few years ago describes an environment consumed by racially motivated conflict and violence.

Still, this new generation holds the most hope for a candidate such as Barack Obama. The kids with whom my daughter associates seem to spend little or no time dividing the world by race or ethnicity. But this group's representation in the 2008 election will be numerically insignificant. 2012 could be another story.

As a college senior in Reno in 1988, I recall proudly standing up for the Rev. Jesse Jackson at a Democratic presidential caucus meeting. This precinct, encompassing the university district, ended up going to Jackson -- perhaps the only Nevada precinct he won that year outside of Las Vegas.

But I believe most of us who supported Jackson knew he couldn't win. By contrast, if Obama runs this time, I think he has a legitimate chance to go all the way. He appears able to transcend racial politics in a way that Jackson could never manage.

Nevertheless, I fear that the country's still not ready, that in the privacy of the voting booth, we will not take the leap.

I hope I'm wrong.

Geoff Schumacher (gschumacher@ reviewjournal.com) is Stephens Media's director of community publications. He is the author of "Sun, Sin & Suburbia: An Essential History of Modern Las Vegas." His column appears Sunday.