On Being an African American in the Fifties, Part II

 If you want to understand today, you have to search yesterday.  ~ Pearl Buck

One of the reasons I wanted to do this blog.

The Fifties

The end of World War II brought thousands of young servicemen back to America to pick up their lives and start new families in new homes with new jobs. With an energy never before experienced, American industry expanded to meet peacetime needs. Americans began buying goods not available during the war, which created corporate expansion and jobs.  Growth was everywhere and the baby boom was underway.

Compliance and attempts at social perfection were hallmarks of the 1950s domestic scene, where the two-parent families in which the father worked in industry and the mother remained home as a homemaker were idealized in television programs such as Leave it to Beaver, but it was also the time of Amos and Andy.  Fear of the bomb, McCarthyism, and desegregation attempts heightened tensions. Unnecessarily, race created a circumscribed context for our lives.

On May 17, 1954, the landmark decision, Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, overturned the 1896 Plessy v. Ferguson ruling, which legalized segregation.  The Supreme Court Ruling stated that "separate educational facilities are inherently unequal." As a result, de jure racial segregation was ruled a violation of the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution. This victory paved the way for integration and the civil rights movement.  There was massive resistance to the ruling and it was many years before some institutions were desegregated.

We were married March 5, 1955, in Chicago, Illinois, in my mother's living room.  I was 17 and he was 22.  When we returned to campus after a week-end honeymoon, I was suspended for a month because married women could not live in the dorms.  Before we left campus, two professors gave us gifts, the only gifts we received.  We still use those gifts today.

The question was where would we go until Moody left for Panama?  My mother was upset about the marriage so we couldn’t go back to Chicago.  Moody suggested that we go to Baton Rouge with the few dollars we had, so I could get to know his family better.  I packed my clothes, Moody got his duffel bag, and off we went on a bus to catch a train in Covington, KY.  In 1955, because of segregation, we couldn't board in Cincinnati because they couldn't legally separate the races. So they sent Black people across the river to Covington to board the train. In Kentucky there was a white section and a colored section on the train so the new Lt. and Mrs. Moody had to take their place in the colored coach section.  We played cards, while traveling, and talked about our future.  


As the train ambled into Montgomery, AL we noticed a lot of stirring among the train staff.  After being in the station for an inordinate amount of time passengers began to get nervous.  Finally, we were told what was happening. 

Train strike.  The train was not moving another mile.  Everyone had to get off the train and find another mode of transportation  The airplanes were reserved for white people but Greyhound allowed us to board a bus to finish our trip. 

This was my first ride at the back of a segregated bus.  I was unprepared mentally and physically for the strain of the ride the rest of the way, after all, I was a suspended college student on her honeymoon.  The colored restrooms at stops along the way were incredibly nasty and the food we were allowed to purchase was substandard.  

Us in Louisiana on our honeymoon

The bus rolled slowly toward Louisiana, making stops at every town along the way.  When the bus reached Baton Rouge, Moody remarked that he lived not too far from where the bus was stopped, waiting for a traffic light to change. I could take it no more.  I yelled to the driver to stop.  We got our bags, jumped off the bus, and began to walk toward Moody’s parents’ home.  In winter clothes, we were overdressed for the Louisiana sun.  By the time we reached the house, we collapsed.

Moody’s family made sure we had a good, relaxing stay.  Too soon, it was time for me to return to school and Moody left for Panama.  We would be apart in April, May, and most of June.

Love puts the fun in together, the sad in apart, 

and the joy in a heart.  ~Author Unknown

On Being an African American in the Fifties - Part 1

I am working for the time when unqualified blacks, browns, and women

 join the unqualified men in running our government. 

 ~Cissy Farenthold

It's complicated, race in America. While I have plans to do blog posts on memories of each decade, I feel it is necessary to also do a separate posting on my memories of race for that decade.  I thought about it because of Rep. Wilson shameful heckling of President Obama with, "You lie," on September 9, 2009, while the President was giving his stirring speech on health care at a Joint Session of Congress.  Without the background on race, the rest of the story might not make sense.  And that's the purpose of the blog, to help me make sense of my life and experiences.

Real life has a way of making us change our focus as memories of past incidents creep forward in our mind.  His comments, the rowdy town hall meetings, and the frenzied actions of the birthers and teabaggers remind us that we've seen this before.  "It's deja vu all over again," as Yogi Berra remarked.  It also reminded me how much of our lives has been defined by race.

Segregation in the 50s' was legal (de jure segregation) in the South.  In the North it was called "de facto segregation" "in practice but not necessarily ordained by law" or "in practice or actuality, but without being officially established".  (Wikipedia)  That meant that we went to segregated schools, even though we had neighborhood schools, because we lived, not by choice, in Black neighborhoods .   In practice, landlords would not even show Blacks an apartment in a white neighborhood and banks would not give you loans to buy a home in a white neighborhood. There were some white areas of the city and suburbs where African Americans did not even think about visiting, (think Cicero, Illinois) unless they were working, and then they got out before dark.


In the North we could go into department stores try on clothes and buy what we wanted.  We could eat in restaurants and stay in most hotels.  The South was different.  Everything was separate, but definitely not equal.

I remember my first visit to Georgia in 1951 at the age of 14.  I was born in Chicago but all of the older family members were born in Georgia and came to Chicago during the Great Migration.  They thought it important that those of us born in Chicago take a trip South to see what it was all about.

An aunt took me on my trip because she was making her annual trek back to Georgia.  I was excited, not knowing what to expect.  Even though we left from Chicago, we traveled in segregated trains cars; they told us they had to do this because we were going South and the races didn't mix.  We couldn't eat in the dining car because that was reserved for whites.  We had to pack enough food to last almost 20 hours.

I loved standing on the gangway connection between the cars, relishing the country smells of cut grass and animal life, listening to the clickety-clack of the train wheels, observing the dilapidated housing the further South we went, and wondering about the shoeless people in the shabby clothes who waved to us on the train.   The further South we went, the worse the housing became.  The ramshackle houses were occupied by whites and Blacks and I noticed that most of the houses had another small shack out back.

In Social Circle, Georgia I had my first experience in a segregated movie theater.  We sat in the balcony and I still can feel the hard, wooden bench we had for "seats."  The whites had comfortable, separate seats on the first floor.  I cannot remember the movie that was on the screen because I kept trying to process the separation of the races and couldn't understand why we had to sit on hard benches.

And then we went to a restaurant to eat and had to enter though the back where we had segregated seating.  I scratched my head trying to figure why we ate in one area and whites ate in another area, even though the food that was served to both groups came from the same kitchen.  It didn't make sense to me.

I stared and stared at the colored and white drinking fountains.  By then I thought the South was crazy.  How could people live like this?  Don't get me started on the nasty, nasty, places they called colored restrooms.

The relative we stayed with had an outhouse and I made the mistake of looking into the hole we sat on. I was always curious about how things work and was never the same after that.  I developed the strongest bladder after that incident.  There was a gas station down the road and I walked there twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening after dinner, because they had real toilets.  I was only 14 years old but I convinced the owner that he had to let me use his toilet.  I think he felt sorry for this northern "fool" and never turned me away, even though he didn't have a colored restroom.

The best part of the trip was the food.  Each morning we went out to the fields to "get dinner."  Whatever we wanted to eat was in the yard:  corn, peas, greens, and the best watermelon I've ever had.  Then we had to kill a couple of chickens.  I'll never forget how fresh and tasty everything was.

After that trip, I understood why members of my family who were born in the North had to make the trip down South.  We needed to know why our relatives left the deep South and how "lucky" we were to live in the North.  We needed to experience what legal segregation was and why we shouldn't accept it.  We needed to know that our ancestors had suffered much worse.  We needed to know that we should never forget.

I swear to the Lord

I still can't see

Why Democracy means

Everybody but me.

~Langston Hughes, The Black Man Speaks

Sunrise to Sunset -Grow Old With Me

Grow old with me!  The best is yet to be.  ~Robert Browning

Sunrise in Las Vegas - 2001

I took this picture a week after September 11.  The sky was so fiery I thought we were being attacked.  I'm not known for getting up early so many will refuse to believe that I took this picture.

When my husband and I moved to Las Vegas eight years ago, we were 64 and 69.  We were still young enough and vibrant, or so we thought.  We had worked hard and were always active in charitable and educational organizations.  We had raised three sons and mentored many others.  After working over 45 years it was time to celebrate and let our hair down.

Us in Ann Arbor - Before Las Vegas

How different Las Vegas was from the intellectual and cultural energy in Ann Arbor, Michigan, our previous home.  In Ann Arbor, we were dignified college administrators.  We attended dinners, seminars, conferences, football parties, (Go Blue) the Big Boule Christmas Party, many college functions and traveled extensively.  (There will be more about Ann Arbor in future posts.)

Us after moving to Las Vegas for the Pimp/Ho Party

Our lifestyle changed completely.  No make up.  Have you ever tried to keep make up on when it is 110 degrees?  No more designer duds.  Shorts, tank tops, sweats, and jogging suits became our everyday dress.  Pantyhose was a thing of the past.  Heels and dress shoes were discarded; sandals and flip flops now.  We even gave our group a name, The Wild Bunch.  Several friends, after visiting, sold their homes in the Midwest and bought homes in Las Vegas.

In Las Vegas it was party in the house, party on the strip, party, party, party.  Don't be late for the party as it will start on time.  Party with this group, party with that group.  Many weeks at least two parties and often several parties in a night.  The Links, the Boule, the sororities, the fraternities, the Bridge Club, the Urban League, the Carrousels....

We dress for formal affairs several times a year but mostly we have casual parties such as, the Pimp and Ho Party, the Roaring Twenties, Po Ass People, patio parties, swimming parties, birthday parties, picnics, election parties, quick potlucks, anniversary parties, lunch just because, card parties, out-of-town visitors, any excuse work for a party.  Even our children, who are in their late 40s and early 50s, came to our parties because we were jammin' and dancing as fast as we could.

Remember we are seniors.

The Wild Bunch at the Pimp-Ho Party

The Wild Bunch Wives dressed for the Roaring Twenties

Winners at the 70s' party

How glad I am that we lived vigorously when we were younger.  Life changes so swiftly.  The seventies are different.  Old age manifests like itself with a slap in the face and warns you that there is no going back;  old age doesn't care how many days you go to the gym, or how many miles you walk.  You will never be young again.

Friends began to get sick, others passed away gently in the night.  The  infirmities of old age are upon us.  Arthur acts up (arthritis),  diabetes demands insulin, (at some of our parties diabetics are allowed to get in line first because of the insulin they just took)  blood pressure climbs, kidneys fail, knees need replacement, hearts don't pump as well, cataract surgery, chemo, radiation...the body is literally falling apart.

Our party mode has slowed but we are still hanging.  Everyone is tired.  Who wants to clean up after a party?  Now we are glad the party starts at four so we can be home by seven or eight.

What's on TV tonight?

One Summer Evening

Sunset in Las Vegas

None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.  ~Henry David Thoreau

King and Obama

Last week I told my husband that I did not want to get into politics in this blog.   After reading the following statement , I changed my mind.


In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
- Martin Luther King, Jr., "The Trumpet of Conscience", 1967

Our oldest son, David, with President Obama

Those of us who support President Obama should no longer maintain our silence.  I  have followed some of the assertions of his enemies but I don't do it often because I recoil at their disgusting, ignorant rantings.  It reminds me of the injustices that African Americans have had to endure since the first Africans came to this country in 1619 as indentured servants.  Actually, there is proof that Africans were here long before that date but that is another post.  Let's just stick with 1619, and notice that date is before the Mayflower arrived at Plymouth.

As a former educator I am saddened by the vocal minority that have a problem with President Obama speaking to school children.  I will not restate or discuss their rambling comments because they have received enough coverage owing to the fact that in America we have freedom of speech.  

People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.  ~Soren Kierkegaard


Instead, I would like to publicly support President Obama, a man who is known to be a deep thinker, and suggest that the following quote might explain why some have a hard time dealing with him.  


Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think.
 - Martin Luther King, Jr.


Godspeed, Mr. President

College Days 1953-55

Labor Day always reminds everyone of the start of school.  Back in the day no one started school in August.  Everyone waited for Labor Day...the last day of summer vacation.  Elementary, high school, college-everyone started after Labor Day.

I had just turned 16 in June 1953,  and my high school principal, Dr. Lewis, made sure that I had enough scholarship money to go to Central State College, a historically Black College, in Wilberforce, Ohio.  No one in my family had even considered going to college so my dream was not encouraged.  But somehow, Dr. Lewis knew and she made sure that I had enough money.  After all, it cost just about $700.00 a year, including out-of-state fees, tuition, room, and board, and no one in my family had ever seen that much money.  One sister, Mary, sent me my allowance:  $5.00 a week from her salary of $40.00 a week.  I could never thank her enough.

Someone in the family took me to the train station and I boarded the train with over $750 in cash stuffed in my bra.  How excited I was.  It was only about 250 miles from Chicago, but I was traveling alone and did not even think about being scared.  I just saw possibilities and was open to each and every one.

Seniors met new students at the train station and we took a bus to campus.  My guide was a student named Charles Moody.  (Who knew that in two years we would marry?)  He took me to the bursar to pay my bill and everyone was horrified when I went into my bra to get my money.  My tuition was already paid so I had just over $300.00 left.  Moody suggested that I leave it in an account in the bursar's office but he needed to borrow $40.00 for his books.  I loaned him the money but made him take me to the Campus Grill and buy me a milk shake.

Moody and Chris on campus in 1953

Some rambling thoughts on college in the 1950s....

• Central State was small, less than 1000 students and everyone knew each other.  Less than 10 students had cars so everyone walked.
• If you took less than 16 hours of classes,  people assumed you weren't very smart.  Most people took 17 or 18 hours and finished in four years.  Many classes met every day.  You were busy from 8:00 AM until 4:00 PM.
• This is before computers and calculators so we did calculations on paper or in our heads.  We would borrow a typewriter for our papers.
• We could visit our professors in their homes and they would feed us while we discussed class assignments.
• The sunken gardens, in the middle of campus, was a favorite spot for fraternity and sorority members to meet and sing.
• Sometimes fraternities, carrying burning torches, would serenade the women in the female dorms after midnight.  We would be asleep and all of a sudden we could hear a frat chant and the stomping of feet.  We would hurry downstairs in our pjs to listen and swoon.
• Our athletic teams were very competitive.  We played other Black Colleges and since I was a cheerleader I got to travel with the team.  Homecoming was big.  The graduates would return in stylish clothes and we had a big parade and dance.  The game was incidental.

Homecoming 1954

• Central State also had a farm and we had fresh food.  Our food, which was delicious, was actually cooked on location, not shipped in by a catering company.
• However, a big event was when a box of food from home would arrive.  Cakes, fried chicken, spam, vienna sausages, cookies--all arrived by mail.   Can you believe we ate cooked food that had been in a box for several days?  You became very popular when you got a box.
• We also had a couple of small grills in the area but seldom did anyone have any extra money.
• Females had to be in the dorm by 7:30 PM but males did not have a curfew.  Of course, there were ways to sneak out and ways to sneak back in.
• If we wanted to leave campus on the weekend, or to ride in a car,  we had to have a signed note from a parent.  Sometimes we would go home on a weekend with another girl who lived in Ohio.
• Our rooms were inspected every week and they had to be clean.  The school did our laundry.  No one had a refrigerator or stove, but they were available in the dorm.
• Each dorm had one black and white television in the lounge area and girls were not allowed to sit too close to a boy.
• Late movies were brought to campus on a regular basis which we watched in Galloway Hall.  This was one time we could stay out past 7:30.
• Clubs also met after 7:30 so I joined lots of clubs.  Oh, we could also sign out and go to the library.
• We would meet in each other's room to play cards, gossip, eat and drink.
• I joined Delta Sigma Theta Sorority.  We didn't have sorority houses but we always found a place to meet for our business.

My Sorority Picture 1954

(Notice the white gloves and hat)

• Campus parties, formal and informal, were frequent.  We also had many famous Black entertainers and speakers come visit the campus.
• If we had 15 cents we could take the bus to Xenia to shop or go to the movies.  If we didn't have the money we would hitchhike or walk.
• Our president, Dr. Charles Wesley, was the most handsome man on campus and he actually walked the campus and talked to us.
• We didn't like going home on vacations, we preferred the campus with our friends.

Moody's Graduation - June 1954

Who will cry for the little boy

by Antwone Fisher

"Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?"
The last time I went to a movie theater was in the late 70s.  Therefore, I have missed a lot of movies unless they are scheduled for TV.  I didn't see the movie Antwone Fisher (2002) until yesterday.  I actually bought the DVD several years ago but I couldn't bring myself to see it because I thought it would be painful to watch.  And I was right.
While it was painful, the joyful ending made the pain bearable.
The reciting of the poem, which Mr. Fisher wrote, was the most heartbreaking scene to me because I grew up without a father and I just inserted the gender girl for boy.  We often hear about boys needing fathers but seldom do we hear the same about girls.  

Three sisters with the same father in New York, 1951

Chris, Cozette, and Mary

As a female I can state that a father's love is just as important to a girl because she needs that unconditional love from a male.  All of my youth I yearned for my father and the only time I saw him was when I was visiting some relatives in New Jersey.  I was with an older sister who pointed to a short man standing in the yard with his family.
"That's your father," she said.
I was so startled I couldn't open my mouth.  I was paralyzed.  I was too afraid to go speak to him and wondered if he knew who I was.  I wanted to tell him that I was a good girl who did well in school, hoping one day he would find out and come to tell me how proud he was of me.  I wanted to tell him I loved him, even though I didn't know him, and to ask him if he loved me.  I did nothing.  
I had my camera with me, which I always carry, and snapped his picture from afar.   This was before digital cameras and I had to wait until I got back home to develop the film.  I took numerous pictures on that trip and they all were perfect, except the picture I took of my father.  The negative was completely black.  I was horrified.  Now I had no proof that he existed and even though this happened over fifty years ago, it is a picture that is burned in my mind.

How Will You Be Eulogized?

The death of Senator Kennedy left me thinking about how I would be eulogized.  Even though I have told family members I don't want a funeral, there will be discussions about what type of life I led.  There were some who remarked that not enough was said about the bad things in Kennedy's life and that should have also been stated.

Do we want the focus to be on the bad things, which we all have, do we want them to remember only the good things, or is this the time for balance?  The dictionary defines eulogy as a speech or piece of writing that praises someone or something very highly, especially a tribute to someone who has recently died.

The totality of our life will be judged by someone else, not the people who hear or speak the eulogy.  I only hope that when I die, people remember that I helped people more than they remember the people I hurt.  I hope they say that I was a good mother, not an absent mother.  I hope they say that she taught many children how to learn not that she failed some.   I hope they say she was a pleasant, friendly person, not a vixen.  I hope they remember that, in spite of all of my failings,  I did my best.

SUMMER'S END - 2009

As summer ends, we reflect on the exuberance of summer.  The summertime of life is bright, hot, and exhilarating.  We think it is going to last forever and the Fall time of life is distant in the future.

• We wear skimpy clothes that expose our bodies.
• We swim in the ocean with full abandon.
• We think our summer romances will last forever.
• We read the books we want to read, not the books on the required list.
• We attempt to savor every ride in Disneyland.
• We vacation to exotic places and welcome cultural exchanges.
• Tree leaves are bright and green, flowers are in full bloom, and fruits are juicy and succulent.
• We are at our peak:  vibrant, strong, healthy, and so we think, wise.

Soon, the first whispers of fall are heard.

• Night temperatures drop 
• A sense of urgency develops
• Wardrobe needs are assessed
• Final picnics are planned
• Leaves begin to change colors
• School reopens

The Fall of life begins.

THE HIGH SCHOOL YEARS 1949-1953

High school was fun.  That's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my years at Phillips High School in Chicago.  Friends, classes, athletics, parties--everything was the best.  We walked to school in a group, picking up classmates along the way. Couldn't afford bus fare.

We were not allowed to wear pants in school.  In the winter we wore pants under our dresses or skirts and had to take them off at the door.

When I went to high school in 1949 high schools were as segregated as our elementary schools, but we didn't care or notice because we had wonderful teachers and stimulating classes.  It goes without saying that our athletic teams were at the top.  Some of the famous alumni from Phillips include:  Nat King Cole, Gwendolyn Brooks, first African American to win the Pulitzer Prize; Archibald Carey, Jr., lawyer, judge, politician, diplomat and clergyman; Sam Cooke, Pop and gospel recording star; Paul Des Jardien, Member of College Football Hall of Fame; George E. Johnson, Sr., Founder, Johnson Products, the first African-American owned company listed on American Stock Exchange; Buddy Young, football legend; Alonzo S. Parham, the second African-American to attend West Point;  Al Pullins: Original member, Harlem Globetrotters; and Dinah Washington, legendary recording artist.

Our principal in 1949 was Maudelle Brown Bousfield, the first Black principal in Chicago.  She retired in 1950 and was replaced by Dr. Virginia F. Lewis who at the age of 100 remained involved in her career, making frequent visits to Eckerd College engaging students as a lecturer.  Her teaching and administrative career experience included the roles of teacher, principal, district superintendent and assistant superintendent with Chicago Public Schools.  She died in 2008 at the age of 101.

Dr. Lewis is the person who saved my life.  Okay, I'll admit it.  Even though I was a good student I was pretty bad.  I liked to fight and caused trouble.  When Dr. Lewis "adopted" me instead of suspending me, (which surely would happen today) my entire present and future changed.  She got me out of gangs and put me in academic and athletic activities.  The only thing she could not change in me was my habit of cutting classes.  When I was in my 50s she told me that she used to follow me in the halls and could not understand how I cut so many classes.  I told her my secret.  I had a permanent hallway pass.

• Before Dr. Lewis (BAL) I was an excellent student but after Dr. Lewis (ADL) I became ambitious.  I wanted to do something with my life.
• BDL I didn't know much about college.  ADL I wanted to go to college.
• BDL I took regular classes.  ADL I took honors classes.
• BDL I thought of myself as ugly and unworthy.  ADL I thought I had possibilities.
• BDL I was a gang leader.  ADL I was a school leader.
• We had a college preparatory class where we learned social graces, how to study, how to take a test, and other things that weren't taught in regular classes.  The class was taught by Miss Hogan, a petite, white haired, white woman who terrified everyone in the school.  Best foundation I could have had for college. 
• Dr. Lewis took me to restaurants so I could learn how to eat in a restaurant.

Our school was a nine period day. We had major regular subjects and minors, such as art, music, and physical education.  Our teachers were the cream of the crop because at that time it was hard for African Americans and women to get jobs in many fields.  The students reaped this benefit.

Our biggest rival in athletics, was DuSable High School.  We were the two premier Black high schools and we competed on and off the field.  

We had many clubs at Phillips, even a trigonometry club, service clubs, a school newspaper that everyone read for the latest gossip, and honor societies.  We had clubs and activities at the YMCA and the Lincoln Center.  We were as busy as students are today.  We also competed with other schools in debates and other intellectual pursuits.

Pictures tell a better story than words.

Elaine, Toots, Chris, and Elaine

Cheerleading Team

The Football Team - A Legend in its own time.

Phillips High School Students in Springfield, IL when students took over the government.

Chris as Director of Revenue in Springfield

Chris at Red Cross Camp in Lake Forest, IL

Prom in 1952 - Chris and Carl

Prom 1953 - Chris and Danny

FULLER ELEMENTARY SCHOOL 1942-1949

No school buses in the city for us.  We walked to school.  My school was all Black, with a few exceptions.  The term that is now used is de facto segregation, that is in practice, not necessarily by law.  Chicago was called the most segregated city in the country and we went to school in our neighborhood, which was a Black neighborhood.  In the South, schools were segregated by law and public Black schools were very underfunded and underequipped.

Since many African Americans were migrating from the South our schools were crowded.  Unfortunately and wrongly, school officials thought that students from the South were not prepared for schools in the North and most of them were put back several grades.  It was not unusual to find a 16 year-old student in an eighth grade class.  This was another type of prejudice.

We had over 40 students in each class and 48 desks and seats were fixed to the floor.  Notice how each student is seated with hands folded.  You were expected to sit like this whenever you were not working on something.  We had an inkwell in each desk where we dipped our ink pens.  Most of the time we wrote with pencils.  Good students, and the students teachers wanted to keep an eye on were seated in the front.

We didn't dare talk back to a teacher because discipline problems were handled differently.  We were whipped in school or at least we were smacked on the hand.  If we were disciplined in the schools, our parents didn't want to sue the school, they brought the teacher a cake and thanks.

Rote learning was the rule: a focus on memorization and repetition.  Every morning, after The Pledge to the Flag, we would repeat (in rhythm) our multiplication tables in unison.   We didn't have to understand it, as students do today, we just repeated:  6X6 is 36,  8X3 is 24, etc.  It worked.  Have you ever been to McDonald's and the cash register was broken?  You have to tell them how much you owe them and how much change to give you because without a calculator or computer they don't know what to do.  Whatever you tell them they believe.

Spelling tests every Friday... naming the Great Lakes...listing the continents...knowing the capital of each state(48 states then)...diagramming a sentence...singing the Negro National Anthem at assemblies, Lift Every Voice and Sing...memorizing poems and still knowing them today,  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary...knowing the Latin Names of plants, this and more.  We read, read, read.  Book reports were due every week.  We didn't buy many books but we all had library cards and we used them.

We were very patriotic. We learned a lot about World War II and the places where our soldiers were fighting.  We recycled at school and, even though we didn't have much money, we bought savings bond stamps.  Whens we completed a book with ten cents stamps, we received a $25.00 savings bond. Air raid drills were common.

During recess we played ball games and had swings, slides and a pole with a rope hanging off of it for kids to swing around. We also played hopscotch, jump rope, or marbles.


We wore gym uniforms:  ugly green short jumpsuits and you had better polish your white gym shoes, even though girls only played half-court basketball.

Graduation from 8th grade was a big event because many students didn't finish high school.  Notice the graduation ribbon.  We received those about a month before graduation and you wore it everywhere you went.  Everyone needed to know that you were graduating to high school.  There was a party and flowers celebrating this achievement.

GROWING UP IN CHICAGO - The Early '40s

GROWING UP IN CHICAGO - The Early '40s

When I was growing up most of my life was spent outdoors.  We didn’t have computers or television, but we did have radio.  Our home was small and crowded, over 10 people in a one bedroom apartment, but outside we had lots of space.  We were poor, but didn’t know it.  Everyone we knew was poor, after all it was the late 30s and early 40s.

Our entire neighborhood in Chicago was our playground.  We knew everyone and they knew us.  If we did something bad, any neighbor who saw us felt comfortable enough to confront us and insist that we change our behavior.  Our favorite place was the vacant lot across the street from our home.  We could play baseball in the spring and football in the fall.  Boys and girls played together; we didn’t care.  In the winter the lot became a skating rink or a place to build a snowman.  Sometimes we would go to the playground at Fuller Elementary School.  It had real swings and a jungle gym.

There were so many games to play:  Red Rover, Little Sally Walker, Jacks, Come and Get It, etc., and we even had cussing contests.  If we had cliques, I don’t remember them.  We played with whoever was outside and it was safe.  We had to be home “when the street lights” came on but we didn’t have to go into the house.   We could stay outside after the lights came on as long as we were on our block.  We would sit on the porch and tell stories, especially ghost stories.

During WWII, the lot became a victory garden.  Anyone could plant fruits or vegetables without permission.  I don’t know who owned that lot, but it was a common practice.  We also had rations during this time.  With the ration stamps we received our allotment of necessities like sugar and shoes.   Since you couldn’t buy shoes as needed, you bought sensible shoes that you knew would last.  Women wore make-up on their legs to simulate stockings and with an eyebrow pencil someone would draw a line up the back of their leg to mimic the seam.  Everyone knew it was fake but looks mattered.  Sugar was at a premium along with stockings and elastic waist panties.  (Our panties were tied together with a string and sometimes that string broke!  Yes, your panties fell down.)

Nothing was wasted.  We saved grease from cooking, flattened every can we opened, had meatless Tuesday, and took our hangers to the cleaners if we wanted our clothes returned on hangers.  We listened to President Roosevelt on the radio and took part in air raid drills.  When the sirens blew you didn’t take chances. Chicago was a big railroad stop and most soldiers traveled by train.  There would be a knock on the door and an African American soldier would appear, asking for a place to stay overnight.  There was always room for another person and of course,this added income to our home.  It was especially exciting when a soldier came by that we knew.  He would jingle his pockets, like he had a lot of money, and allow us children to put our hands in to see how much we could grab.  Sometimes they had souvenirs from faraway places and stories of exotic locations.  Homes had banners with stars, announcing their sons’ participation in the war.

My favorite time was the first snow.  No matter what time it was, all of the children in the neighborhood would run outside to throw snowballs or ride their sleds.  Our parents would bundle us up in snowsuits.  Do children still wear snowsuits? It was exhilarating, letting the snow touch your tongue, or building your first snowman.  It was cold–we called the wind, The Hawk.

Another favorite time was after a rainfall and the street would flood.  Then the street became our swimming pool.  We didn’t know or care about dirty water because we weren’t that clean to begin with.  We were lucky if we got a bath on Saturday night.  We did have to be clean for Church and if you had any morals your family went to Church.
The two most important things in our lives were Family and Church.  Almost everyone in our family, extended and otherwise, went to West Point Baptist Church for Sunday service and during the week for meetings and choir rehearsal.  


We would walk to 36th and Cottage Grove and it was difficult staying clean that long.  Adults had service upstairs and we had a children’s church downstairs.  My sister and I would listen for our mother getting “happy.”  When the choir sang certain songs or the minister preached moving sermons, some of the parishioners would become moved and “feel” the Holy Spirit.  They would shout, dance, throw their hands in the air, and need the help of the ushers who would fan and try to get them quiet.

We weren’t allowed to go the movies on Sunday.  This was the Lord’s Day and after dinner we would visit and talk.  We always made extra food because somebody would drop by.  If they did, you had to have something to offer.  I never remember anyone turning down my mother’s food.  My mother was 41 when I was born and already a grandmother.  She was known for her good cooking.

My mother was a terrible disciplinarian.  In those days, everyone whipped children if they did something wrong.  My mother couldn’t bring herself to hit us and would cry if we did something wrong because she knew it meant a whipping and she just wasn’t up to it.  Sometimes she would ask Uncle William to come and whip us but he was as bad as my Mother was.  He would look at us and tell us to be good and then say to my mother that he couldn’t whip those children.  We were amazed at their utter dislike for whipping children. 

My nemesis was another student named Margaret.  For some reason, she got a big kick out of taunting and teasing me.  It meant many fights and many punishments.  No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get her to leave me alone. I never did discover why she had it in for me.  One day, when I was in seventh grade, she disappeared.  I didn’t know what had happened to her and frankly, I didn’t care.  Soon we were told that she was dead.  I felt so much relief.  At last I could walk to school and get home safely.  But I thought I had better check.  I went to the neighborhood funeral home when her body was ready for viewing.  I looked into the casket, and thought to myself that it was true, she was dead.  


My older sisters and their husbands lived a totally different life.  They went to real parties and clubs like the Club De Lisa.  They would put on their best clothes and men would look fine in their double-breasted suits and highly polished shoes.  They would tell us about the famous people they saw and heard.  Billy Eckstine, Lena Horne, Cab Calloway, Louis Armstrong, etc.

A big night in the neighborhood was a Joe Louis fight.  We would gather around the radio, listen to the announcer, and “see” the fight in our heads.   People left their windows open so people who didn’t own a radio could hear the commentary. He was the biggest hero in our world—Joe Louis, Heavyweight Champion of the World.  There was no one we admired more.  If he won a fight, we all won.  After a victory, everyone would run out of his or her home and we would literally dance in the street.  An even bigger thrill was hearing when he was in town and trying to get a glimpse of him and his beautiful wife. 
My mother did daywork; in other words she cleaned homes.  During the summers and on Saturday, I would accompany her and help.  My sister, Ruby,  cleaned houses sometimes, while Susie, another sister,  and Lee, my brother-in-law, worked in a laundry.  After the war, Delawerence, Ruby's husband,  was hired as a mailman.  A number of family members had jobs in the stockyards and made what we thought was real money.  No one had a professional job but everyone worked.  

MOMENTS OF CLARITY

MOMENTS OF CLARITY

In all of our lives, certain events provide an electric moment of clarity. They are unexpected, yet the power they contain keep us grounded and wondering what does it all mean. While I have had several, one moment that never leaves me is the first one I remember in my married life. I had always been a spiritual person so I was not surprised when it happened.

In 1955, we were living in the Panama Canal Zone on the post at Ft. Davis. We had only been married a few months.  I was 18, an officer's wife, and ready for whatever the world offered.  It was an extraordinary life for a welfare child to all of a sudden be living in a large home with a maid in a foreign country. My husband was in the army and since he was training to be a jungle expert, it meant I was alone a lot. That was not a problem for me for you feel very safe on an army base and officers wives stick together. (It's funny I should say that because I was stalked during our time there by a soldier I didn't know.)

Everything was new and there was an adventure everyday. I had to learn to cook, after my husband complained about the maid's cooking, but at least I didn't have to clean the house or do laundry. The women had bridge clubs, trips to close countries, bowling leagues, sewing clubs, teas, and parties. I even took classes at a branch of Louisiana State University as I had only finished two years of college and had promised my mother that I would finish college as no one in our family had a college degree.  I was to be the first.

Anyway, this was before a/c and our home on the base had screens that allowed a cool breeze to circulate throughout the space. It was late evening, I had finished dinner, and went to look out before going to bed.  I was standing by the screen, looking at the bright stars against a deep black night, thinking how peaceful I felt. I heard music from the NCO club and I could "see" people dancing to the music. I still remember the song I heard just before my moment.

Isn't it romantic?

Music in the night, a dream that can be heard.

Isn't it romantic?

Moving shadows write the oldest magic word.

I hear the breezes playing in the trees above

While all the world is saying you were meant for love.

Isn't it romantic?

Every note that's sung is like a lovers' kiss.

Sweet symbols in the moonlight,

Do you mean that I will fall in lover perchance?

Isn't it romantic?

I rocked to the music feeling serene, thinking how beautiful it all was, when all of a sudden a presence came to me and "told" me I was going to have a great life. It startled me but it didn't frighten me. It could only have happened if I were alone, yet I felt as if someone had wrapped his arms around me and held me close.   Whenever I hear that song, and I hear it in my mind everyday, I feel grateful that someone is watching over me.