The Nature of Prejudice

Dear Boo and Bubble,

So many times I think I just might have run out of stories to tell you, and then something crops up to trigger another memory – like this quote a friend shared with me the other day.

“You can sway a thousand men by appealing to their prejudices quicker than you can convince one man with logic.”    Robert A. Heinlein

When I first read it, my inclination was to say “amen” and project its meaning onto others and the current situations they create.  But, my own conscience nagged me ….quite persistently nagged me……to the point of needing to confess to you that I, too, have fallen victim from my own prejudice and had a rather rude awakening when confronted with the facts.

The year was 1970, my first year out of college and teaching 11^th grade American History at Eastside High School in Greenville County.  I explained to you in my post of March 9, 2015, entitled “Separate, But Not Equal,” it had been a tumultuous time for the educational system.  The January court-ordered integration of the schools in the district had uprooted faculty and students, creating uncertainty and confusion all over the county as they reconvened for the new academic year beginning in the fall.  As I wrote in that post:

“It would be the first full year of integration and Eastside 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.”

Likewise, the faculty gelled into a cohesive unit.  Young, old, black white – all sought to establish a strong foundation on which Eastside could build. This isn’t to say that there were never any lively discussions in the teachers’ lounge about the circumstances that affected us.  To the contrary, many a day found us expounding on our own personal perspectives, bearing our feelings quite openly.  But, let me get back to my story, although this fact plays a part in it.

My classroom was in the middle of a three-class grouping.  It had portable walls on either side, provided for the purpose of occasional team teaching.  Ben Knighton, the head of the History Department, held his class next to mine.  This was most unfortunate for him because on Monday’s, my running assignment allowed students to bring their records which we would play - provided the lyrics had some social relevance to current events. Much of the music reflected the times – the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights Movement, the assassinations of American leaders. After listening to a song, we discussed the meaning of the words.  A great teaching tool for me, but quite an annoyance for Mr. Knighton because the portable walls provided no insulation from the sound. (They were flimsy and ill- constructed and by the end of the year had come unhinged.  Perhaps a great concept gone awry!)

I will never forget that Monday morning when, right in the middle of a bellicose chorus of “WAR!” by Edwin Starr, someone knocked on my door.  Leaving the record playing, I went to open it and there stood a very pleasant, yet plain looking young lady who introduced herself as Mr. Knighton’s student teacher……..from Bob Jones University!

Boys, you would have no reason to know this, but in the genealogical tree of right-wing fundamentalism, Bob Jones, Senior, is the tap root.  Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson pale in comparison in their impact on ultra-conservative influences today.  Had the original Jones had access to 24-hour cable, FaceBook, Twitter and other social media available today, I’d hate to think how far-reaching his shadow might be over our cultural landscape.

As a moderately liberal citizen of Greenville who loathed the unsolicited, bold approaches of Jonesers on Main Street asking me if “I’d been saved,” my perspective of anyone associated with the institution of Bob Jones University was that of narrow-mindedness and bigotry.  This was true particularly at this time with the upheaval of forced integration.  Daily diatribes emanated from behind the rifle-guarded gates of the university’s campus on Wade Hampton Boulevard, quoting verse after verse from the Bible as to how God intended us to be separate and that blacks were inferior and the whole Civil Rights Movement was a communist inspired plot spawn straight from Satan himself……not to mention the moral decay of our society as indicated by the lyrics of modern day music.

The meek, unthreatening presence of this young lady at my classroom door immediately sent shudders down my spine and raised the hackles on the back of my neck.  Within a nano-second, I had her sized up, catalogued and categorized - not to mention that I nearly broke my neck getting back to the record player to screech Edwin Watts to a halt.  Actually, she wasn’t there to convert me, or to complain about the music.  Mr. Knighton had sent her over to get me to sign a form notifying me of a History Department meeting later in the week.

I didn’t have much occasion to be around her.  Part of that was my instinctive avoidance of anything Bob Jones.  Every now and then, she would show up in the faculty lounge while I was there.  She never said anything, perhaps out of respect for her place as a student teacher, but she listened intently as regular faculty discussed and debated the issues of the day. 

On one occasion, after some comment I had made (which totally escapes me now), she spoke up.   “Have you ever read the book The Nature of Prejudice by Gordon Allport?”

“No, I haven’t,” I replied, a shroud of suspicion overtaking me.

“Well, I have it and will bring it to you tomorrow.  I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

“I bet I will,” I thought to myself, assuming that it must be some ideological dogma promoted by Bob Jones.  “Sure, that would be fine.  I’ll look forward to reading it,” I lied.

She brought the book to me the next day and I began reading it during my study hall.  In preparation of our discussion, I even prepped a pen and paper to make notes on the points with which I disagreed.  Allport began with the premise that prejudice is a natural by-product of life and used fried chicken as an example – one would naturally be prejudiced towards a mother’s fried chicken rather than someone else’s because that is what he knows.  As humans, we favor those things that we know.  It would be unnatural otherwise.  The more I read, the more I agreed with what he said.  But, how could that be?  How could I possibly be in agreement when this book…….this epistle of evil….came to me by way of a student at Bob Jones University?

Over the duration of her tenure, we engaged in very deep discussions and I came to know her for who she was, not my pre-conceived notion.  She was an extremely bright woman whose father was on the faculty of Bob Jones University, thus she could attend there for free.  As she explained to me, this was the only way she could afford to go to college.  She further told me that she could hardly wait to graduate and leave.  Acknowledging that she could never intellectually accept the official doctrines of her father and the Bob Jones community, she confessed her intention to get as far away as possible from the oppression under which she lived.  Until then, though, she must lay low and walk the prescribed path to her degree. 

I asked her if her father knew she had Allport’s book.  He did not.

The last time I saw her was late in the spring of that year.  Mr. Knighton called a planning meeting of the History Department faculty to determine the future curriculum.  He graciously invited us to his home for a more social affair, rather than have the meeting at school.  As a student teacher, she was included and I suggested that she could ride with me since I lived close to the campus of Bob Jones.  She agreed and gave me instructions to come to the main gate where she would meet me….that it would be impossible for me to actually come on campus to her home.

When I pulled up, she raced to the car and opened the passenger door quickly.  Unfettered tears rolled down her face and she buried her head in her hands.  I reached over to console her.

“Go!  Please just go!” she urged; and I wheeled the car around and drove onto Wade Hampton Blvd.

“What in the world is wrong?” I asked.

“I can’t wait to get out of there,” she sobbed. 

“What happened?”

“My father accused me of going to a Communist meeting to set up a program of Satanic studies that will ruin the minds of our children.”

There was nothing I could say in response to that.  We drove along in silence. 

In recollecting all of this, I am reminded that we were only a year apart in age…..she, being a Senior and I in my first year out of college.  With the truth of her being, she personally pierced through my shield of stereotypical prejudice and taught me a very valuable lesson.  I would give anything to remember her name and find out where she is today.  I sincerely hope she realized every ounce of her dreams for freedom of expression and thought.

(Originally written in 1954, The Nature of Prejudice has had several editions since then.  If I remember correctly, Allport purports that prejudices occur from familiarity, but can become a negative force when logic is denied.  I think I need to read it again…..just for old times sake.)