Separate, But Not Equal

Dear Boo and Bubble,

In several previous blogs, I have talked with you about how things used to be when I was growing up and touched on the Civil Rights movement. I've also shared with you some of Great Granddaddy Schaefer's thoughts about these things and how his life's experiences led him to play an active role in Greenville's transition to a more fully integrated city in the late 60's and early 70's. (See November, 2012 – Understanding Changing Times and Now That's a Christmas Carol. Also, March 2013 – Evolution.)

This past Saturday, March 7, marked the 50^th anniversary of what has become known as Bloody Sunday, which was the first of three marches in 1965 from Selma, AL, to the state capital in Montgomery led by Martin Luther King in peaceful protest over the discrimination that African Americans faced in that state. The events of that day have become a linchpin in the timeline of the historic fight for Civil Rights in the United States. After leaving Selma, the 600 unarmed marchers were attacked at the Edmund Pettis Bridge by state troopers and a county posse with billy clubs and tear gas. Law enforcement beat Amelia Boynton, one of the main organizers of the march, until she was unconscious. The picture of her lying wounded on the bridge appeared in every significant newspaper of the time and on all major television networks. In many ways, the horror of the sight shocked the consciousness of the nation and served as part of the impetus to pass the Voting Rights Act the following August.

Even with the passage of substantial Federal statutes to address the injustices wrought by discrimination and segregation, change proved to be a long, arduous slog – with a particular resistance to the integration of the public schools. School districts, including Greenville, across the South negotiated with the Federal government to establish what became known as “separate but equal” systems. They pledged to devote equal resources to all schools in exchange for allowing blacks and whites to be separated as had historically been the case. Over time, it became apparent that under this guise, the scale tipped heavily in favor of the separate at the expense of the equal. Ultimately, the Supreme Court of the United States stepped in and ordered the Greenville County schools to integrate in January of 1970.

At the time, I was a senior at Furman University and in the middle of my practice teaching to complete my minor in Education. When the decision came down from the court, the implementation of the order was swift. My class on Friday was composed of one set of students – by Monday, a whole new set. The students were all very inquisitive about what was happening to them and, since my class was 11^th grade American History, I decided to make the experience a teachable moment. Instead of focusing on George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln, we explored the chronology of Supreme Court decisions that had led us to that moment.

My advising teacher, Mrs. Hendricks, was in her late 60's and she tolerated my deviation from the curriculum until she could no longer stand it. It became a classic generational clash of perspectives and she finally stood me down in class in front of the students. The next day, I went back to page 215 of the textbook discussing Lewis and Clark's expedition.

The following year, after my graduation, I secured a teaching job in the history department of a brand new high school called Eastover, located between Greenville and Greer. It would be the first full year of integration and Eastover became sort of an oasis in the chaos swirling around the entire school district. Because it was new, every student there had been uprooted. There were no school colors or mascots already established. The yearbook had no name. All of the athletic teams started from scratch. In other words, it was a clean slate on which the black and white students could write their joint destiny.

From my experience in practice teaching, I knew that these eleventh graders had an interest in current events, so I decided to devote every Monday to that topic. I told them that every Sunday I would scour the front page of the Greenville News and pick out five names of import in what was happening – locally, statewide and nationally. First thing Monday morning, I would write these five names on the board. All they had to do for extra credit was to list them on a sheet of paper and identify who they were.

Unfortunately, I made two false assumptions in this process. First – that everyone had access to the newspaper; and second – that everyone could read.

Included in my very first quiz was Ralph Abernathy, a prominent black civil rights leader who, at the time, was head of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. I wrote his name on the board with four others and told the students to start.

As I strolled around the classroom, I came to one of my black student's desks. She had written the numbers 1 – 5 on her notebook paper, but nothing else. I leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Do you not know any of these names?”

“No, Miss Kendrick, I don't,” she replied.

“Do you not know who Ralph Abernathy is?”

“Oh, yes, Ma'am. He's the head of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference,” she answered confidently.

“Well, don't you see his name up there?”

Her head sunk into her chest. She made a deep sigh.

“Miss Kendrick, I can't read.”

I was totally stunned. How could it be that someone in the eleventh grade did not know how to read?

She was not the only one. On that first Monday with my current event quiz, I came face-to-face with the absolute fallacy of the “separate but equal” approach to education. These students were not dumb – they were just illiterate. In order to be fair to them, for the remainder of the year, I conducted a dual testing system – written and oral. I figured if someone knew the answer to a question, that was the important thing, not the method of expression.

We have come a long way since then, but I hope the two of you will always appreciate the opportunities you have to be in good schools with supportive parents who insist you have a strong educational foundation. I often wonder what happened to those kids and I hope that, in some small way, I helped make life a little better for them.