Women, yes. Women schoolteachers from the black school there in
Hattiesburg. And we had about a hundred of the girls sitting down on the
floor in the lobby of one of the dorms. We stayed till . . . oh, well,
maybe a couple of hours. And the next day the president called us in to
his office. And he said, "Well, I called you two [UNCLEAR]
in because I just wanted to tell you something." And he said, "I want
you to know that I didn't start this college . . . " He was the founder
of the college. "I didn't start this college to train a bunch of Yankee
schoolteachers. And if you think you're going to stay on here and build up a climate for training Yankee
schoolteachers, well you just got it going wrong." He said, "Don't you
ever let another black person . . . " He called them niggers. " . . .
come on this campus to meet with the student body." Well, we walked out
of there just sick, just literally sick. And, see, in those days you
didn't rebel as much as you would today. Because we didn't know how, you
see. But what we did, we got a group that wanted to go with us, and we
went downtown then. And we had discussion groups in the local schools,
or . . . well, we didn't do it but a couple of times, but at least we
finished the program that we had set for ourselves. And we'd planned for
three discussion groups with the black teachers, and we did it. But it
did something for me. I don't know whether it . . . I suppose it did
something of the same kind of thing for my friend, but I don't know. It
made me realize how hard the whole thing was. And so my college
experience taught me a lot. I had some professors, both men and women,
who were able to see what the world was going to be like a few years
ahead. And they were very sympathetic with what I . . . with the things
that some of us were trying to do. And, in fact, some of them were so
sympathetic that they got into the same kind of trouble with the
president that we got in to. Of course, it was worse on the faculty,
because, you know, you could be kicked out without any trouble. We
couldn't have been kicked out for that, because that wouldn't have been
a shipping offense, I judge, for us. But for a faculty member, to
subvert the student body, even in the mid-twenties, was a real issue.
But, I don't know . . . And then when I went to teach, the first year out of college, I had two classes, and what
we called in those days . . . What did we call it? What you give
teachers, you help to train teachers. What would you call it? They
really don't do it any more, hopefully. (Laughter.) Anyway, the equivalent of the techniques of teaching, you see.
That's not the proper word. I don't know why I can't say the proper
word. But, anyway, that was what we did. And I had about fifteen or
twenty students in these two classes. And I decided that I would give
them some practical experience on the techniques of teaching. So . . . I
went over to the Rosenwald School, which was about, oh, half a mile or
so from the college where we were working. I lived in a dormitory. The
Rosenwald School was the black school, because black people in
Mississippi in those days had no real school buildings that were worth
anything. And the only school buildings that were decent were those that
were built with the Rosenwald fund. And so I went over and talked with
the teachers, and I said, "I've got a bunch of kids over in my class
that would like to be of any help they can to you. What would there be .
. . would you have any earthly need for them?" I said, "They need the
experience of working with young people because they hope to be
teachers. And what . . . is there anything that you can think of they
could do?" So the teachers said, "Oh, it would just be wonderful if they
could come and help on the playground." Well, so I'd take turns with the
kids, and take them over, each little group one day a week, you know,
for them to have a couple hours in the afternoon after school, or
whatever time was convenient, with kids on the playground. And they just
had a wonderful time with those kids. And while they were working with
the young people, children, on the playground, then
I worked with the teachers inside. And it was . . . whatever their
problems were, and then . . . we'd talk about it. And sometimes I could
help them get resources that they needed. It was a very poor way . . .
nothing of any significance, except it was significant at two points.
One, it gave the youngsters in my class a little understanding of the
needs of young people, black young people, on the playground. It gave
them a sense of the lack of understanding of even how to play a game,
many times. And it gave me an understanding of the problems that black
schoolteachers, in those days, faced. No training, no equipment, no
decent salaries, no nothing. Nothing to work with. Nothing. Well, the .
. . You know, it's awfully hard to say that any one thing made you do
what you did, because life is . . . life, for me, is hopeful. I mean,
it's always been hopeful. Things come at you from all directions. And
you're influenced by an awful lot of experiences, and I suppose that was
one of the good experiences that I had, that helped me know a little bit
more. And then, at the end of that year, near the end of that year, I
had a letter again. Another letter. From the Methodist Board of Missions
in Nashville, saying, "We understand that you might be interested in
working for the church. We have a scholarship waiting for you at
Scarritt College if you'll come in September. And so, I . . . you see,
this personnel worker (Oscie Sanders) that had been on the campus before
I graduated had evidently put my name on the list.