Julius Byrd met Susan Deuitch at Hope College's 1982 homecoming dance. He spied her across the room and asked her name.

"Sue and Ju," he said. "That rhymes. That goes together."

And then they danced.

Twenty-two years later, the Byrds are still dancing. Sue transferred from Hope in Holland, Mich., to Oregon State University 20 years ago, and Ju followed. They've celebrated 16 wedding anniversaries since then, and the births of sons Kyle, 17, and Spencer, 15.

In homogeneous Corvallis, the Byrds are a rarity: an interracial couple. Ju is black, and Sue is white. Their different ethnic backgrounds never bothered them, and they say that the vast majority of their fellow citizens don't seem to care, either.

The pair act as a unit, laughing together, supporting each other, enjoying each other's company. They still visit the occasional dance club, but these days they save most of their dancing for the stands at their kids' football and baseball games. These spirited shows might draw attention in any case, but Ju and Sue on rare occasions get an extra look or two.

"Racism is out there," Ju acknowledged. "I'm sure other people have had to deal with it, but fortunately I have not."

Sue recalled her only major experience with other people judging her marriage based on its racial mix: "At OSU, the only time I ever felt anything (racist) as I was walking through campus with him was more from the black girls. Just the looks. ‘What are you doing with him?'"

The couple sometimes agree to disagree on racial issues. Sue cited the recent incident at the Headline Cafe as one example.

Last month Joe Rudulph, a black OSU football player, allegedly punched Gabriel Sapp, a white National Guard sergeant on leave from Iraq, outside the downtown Corvallis bar, where Sapp had been dancing with his wife, who is black. Police at first believed the attack was racially motivated, although statements by Rudulph and others have since suggested otherwise.

Sue and Ju differed in their initial reactions to the brawl, but they decided to withhold judgment until they know all the facts. Regardless of the fight's true impetus, however, the incident brought attention to the challenges facing interracial couples in the mid-valley.

Interracial pairs accounted for only 2.9 percent of all U.S. married couples in 2002, as reported by the U.S. Census Bureau's population survey. And they are even more uncommon in the mid-Willamette Valley. According to the 2000 census, Oregon is 86.6 percent white. Benton County is 82.9 percent white. Linn County tops all Oregon counties, with a 93.2 percent white population.

Terryl Ross, director for community and diversity affairs at OSU, moved to Corvallis from Seattle four months ago. Ross is black and has experience dating people from various ethnic communities. He finds being a minority in Corvallis more challenging then it was in more diverse cities such as Los Angeles and Seattle.

Ross has not been involved in a racially mixed relationship since moving to Corvallis, but he suspects that would compound the attention he already receives because of his skin color. "Just me walking down the street here is an anomaly," he said. "So imagine walking down the street holding the hand of someone of a different ethnic group."

From Ross' personal and professional experiences, he said that being in an interracial relationship can add unique hurdles to the already challenging adventure of coupledom. "People in the relationship aren't usually the problem, though," he said. "It's the people around them. The way I look at it, it's so hard to find love in our society. So if you find love in another ethnic community, go for it."

Tammara and Maurice Walker felt the same way. Tammara is white, and Maurice is black. The Albany couple started dating three years ago and will celebrate their second wedding anniversary Monday.

"One of the weirdest things about being an interracial couple is that you forget you are," Tammara said. "Initially we taught each other things (about our different ethnic backgrounds) and dispelled things. But that didn't take long. Then you don't think about it. I just think of him as my husband and the man I love."

Tammara is a nurse, and Maurice is a minister at Hill Street Church of Christ. When they first became a couple, it was a cousin in his family who voiced the only opposition. They lived in Los Angeles as well as Albany. Unlike Ross, the Walkers find this area more welcoming than bigger cities; Los Angeles had more diversity, but it also had segregated ethnic enclaves, making it more difficult for a racially mixed couple.

Maurice said that most people in Albany treat him just as they would a white man. Some people, he added, treat him even better and go out of their way to make him feel welcome.

Tammara and Maurice sometimes joke with each other about their different skin colors, but they do not usually feel comfortable discussing race with their friends. Tammara said she is actually more sensitive to possibly racist comments and actions than her husband, an observation Sue Byrd echoed.

Sue said that sometimes older women seem the most uncomfortable around black men. She recalled how when she used to take her sons to the doughnut shop when they were younger, elderly ladies would ask her if she was their babysitter or adoptive mother. Sue chalked their inquires up to their generation's lack of exposure, not malice.

Ju and Sue said they feel lucky to be surrounded by supportive friends and neighbors. Their biracial children share their parents' sense of humor and frankness about race.

Kyle said most people assume he and Spencer are black, which doesn't bother them. He attributed the few racial epithets he experienced in school to ignorance rather than racism.

Spencer said he thinks racism is more of an issue out of school than in school. He reported being watched more closely by store clerks who assume he'll try to steal something.

Sue has experience with the racial profiling retailers often employ. As a store manager of a Salem Walgreen Drugs, she told her children that even she notices young black customers more than their white counterparts. "There are not that many minorities in Salem, so the few blacks that do make trouble stand out," she said.

For Ju, the key to dodging racism is not being defensive. "If I want to have a chip on my shoulder and start looking for [racist] stuff, then I could have found something," he said. "But why? I'm not looking for it."

The Byrds explained how educating the dominant culture and forming personal relationships with white people help dispel racial misconceptions. In a city as white as Corvallis, many residents assume that all blacks are either thugs or athletic superstars, stereotypes Ju said television propagates.

Ju does his part to be a visible, active member of the community. He managed a Pizza Hut and devoted years to coaching sports (he currently helps coach his sons' Crescent Valley High School football team). In addition to coaching, Ju now works out of the family's Adair Village home, managing their air purifier business. He hopes that when people think of him, they see a great, fun guy, not a good black man.

Ju described the process of white people letting go of racial preconceptions: "You might not like me because I'm black. But then you and I interact. Then you say, ‘He's OK for a black person.' Then you get to know another black and say, ‘That person's not like I thought they were either, or the way I've been indoctrinated.' Once you get past that point, you say, ‘Maybe I've been wrong in my thinking.' "