The first day, the four students sat quietly until the Woolworth’s store closed that evening. They left with a promise to return the next morning with the entire A&T College black population. Except for one lone reporter who was denied entry to the store, there was no media involved. There was no fanfare and no violence of any kind. Two police officers entered the store for a short time, but they exchanged no harsh words with the protestors. For the handful of community members who heard about the sit-in, including Mayor George Roach and local newspaper publishers, the episode was considered a minor nuisance and the general consensus was that it would all go away.
There was, however, a semblance of immediate concern on the part of Woolworth’s manager, Frank “Curly” Harris. Harris was a die-hard Woolworth’s company man; he’d started with the company in 1923 and was proud of his career achievements, and his orderly, shipshape Elm Street establishment. The lunch counter itself was responsible for a healthy share of the store’s profits, and Harris knew that trouble was amiss in his variety store paradise. That afternoon, he contacted an executive of the F. W. Woolworth Co. about the episode with the students, and was told to sit tight and wait to see what happened. The company did not want anyone arrested and wanted to avoid violence at all costs. The umbrella policy of the F. W. Woolworth Co. since the 1930s had been to cater to all Americans, regardless of race, color, and religious affiliation. Yet the unspoken policy was to abide by the wishes of local store managers (based on the particular traditions of their geographical region) when it came to serving food to minorities.
The next morning, the silent protestors were back, accompanied by other members of the A&T student body, for a total of twenty-seven men and four women. Once again, the neatly-dressed students entered civilly and placed their school books on the lunch counter. They asked the waitresses for service, were denied, and then continued to sit. This time the local citizens started gossiping, and Curly Harris realized that his busy lunch hour trade might be seriously affected.
It was soon evident that this problem was not just “going to go away.” The Four Freshman, along with their friends, returned to the Woolworth’s lunch counter like clockwork in the morning, and didn’t leave until closing time. Over the ensuing weeks, various strategies by Frank Harris and his immediate superiors were used to deter the black students’ efforts. The store’s hours were limited, the actual time the lunch counter was open was decreased, and piles of merchandise were even placed on the stools to deter them from sitting down. For most of this period, the strategy was simply to try to ignore the black students. At one point, the Woolworth’s regional manager blatantly denied the Elm Street store was discriminating at all: “We haven’t refused anybody,” he told the press. “Our girls have been busy and they couldn’t get around to everybody.” In a more aggressive move, groups of local white teenagers were strongly encouraged (some say by local Ku Klux Klan leaders) to enter the store early and take up all the seats before the black students arrived. This latter tactic backfired the moment that three white girls, college students clearly sympathetic for the cause, sat down at the lunch counter, and then gave their seats to three black students. This set a precedent followed many times by students during the course of the sit-in.
Frank “Curly” Harris was manager of the Elm Street, Greensboro, Red-Front during the sit-ins, which began February, 1960.
As the weeks stretched out into months, the usually peaceful city of Greensboro turned into a site of turmoil as everyone, from the town council down, passed the buck as to who was responsible for settling this issue. Behind the scenes, the F. W. Woolworth Co. started tentative negotiations, pressured, in part, by the media attention, which had evolved from local to county to state coverage, until it reached national proportions. In New York City, and other cities with integrated lunch counters, both black and white Woolworth’s employees, patrons, and university students staged their own nonviolent protests in support of the Greensboro pioneers. Most of these protests were small, disorganized and short-lived, but chants such as, “One, two, three, four, don’t shop at the Woolworth store,” became increasingly disconcerting to Woolworth Company executives and public relations representatives.
The Greensboro sit-in continued for almost six months. The protestors used a rotation system, allowing one group of students to rest while another took their places at the lunch counter. At one point, the F. W. Woolworth’s in Greensboro was actually closed down, but the undaunted protesters simply took their protest to the segregated Kress five-and-dime lunch counter down the street. They were back at Woolworth’s as soon as it reopened. To his credit, Woolworth’s manager, Frank “Curly” Harris, tried his best to avoid any type of aggressive ousting; he never even issued any type of formal trespass complaint. Nonetheless, tensions were escalating and everyone knew that something had to be done before things got out of hand.
A seemingly mild incident that started with four teens was now a cast of thousands. The Four Freshmen, in cooperation with local merchant, Ralph Johns, wrote a letter to the F. W. Woolworth Company President Robert Kirkwood requesting action. Ralph Johns was an interesting man, a Caucasian, rough and tumble radical who owned a clothing store near the black section of Greensboro. Years earlier, Johns had achieved notoriety as the “World’s Greatest Gate Crasher” by worming his way into every major boxing fight of the Golden Age, and then, somehow, getting into the photographs with all the winners. The salad days of sneaking in to see Joe Lewis and Jack Dempsey were long over when “Ruffles” Johns arrived in North Carolina in the mid-forties. Johns had always been sympathetic to human interest causes, and although many Greensboro whites despised him for it, he encouraged local A&T students to take a strong stand against segregation. During the sit-ins, Johns remained behind the scenes, offering advice, rallying local leaders for support, and holding onto a spare bankroll—just in case the students got arrested and needed bail.
TIME CAPSULE MEMORY
“The Lunch Counter Experience That Changed My Life”
I grew up in Columbus, South Carolina, in the 1960s. During high school break one year, my cousin and I decided to go shopping downtown. I had inherited the light skin of the family; she was born with an enviable olive complexion that tanned deeply. We stopped into the local Woolworth’s, sat down at the lunch counter, pulled menus from the napkin holders, and waited our turn. After about fifteen minutes, we realized that although others at the counter had been served, we had not even been asked what we wanted. The counter help was clearly staying at the far end of the counter, risking only furtive glances our way. We realized that the waitresses thought we were trying to break the racial barrier. Blacks were not allowed to eat at that Woolworth’s. Embarrassed, and unsure what to do (we couldn’t explain that we were white) we slunk out of the dime store, unfed and intimidated. I had inadvertently stepped into the shoes of Southern blacks and I truly emphasized, for the first time. The experience turned me into an activist, rallying for civil rights. I learned, first-hand, what discrimination and prejudice felt like—merely because I wanted a soft drink at F. W. Woolworth’s in 1961.
—Bobbie Christmas, GA.
Excerpt of the text of the letter written to the president of the F. W. Woolworth Co. in 1960:
Dear Mr. President:
We the undersigned are students at the Negro college in the city of Greensboro. Time and time again we have gone into Woolworth stores of Greensboro. We have bought thousands of items at the hundreds of counters in your stores. Our money was accepted without rancor or discrimination and with politeness toward us, when at a long counter just three feet away our money is not acceptable because of the color of our skins. This letter is not being written with resentment toward your company, but with a hope of understanding …
We are asking that your company take a firm stand to eliminate discrimination. We firmly believe that God will give courage and guidance in the solving of this problem.
Sincerely Yours,
Student Executiv
e Committee
The letter composed for Robert Kirkwood was short and to the point, asking the company to take a strong stand to eliminate discrimination. As the company muddled over the best way to respond, and the American press capitalized on the growing unrest, the Greensboro community leaders started taking polls to gauge community response. Only seven percent of the town responded, and even then with mixed feelings. Spiritual and academic black leaders were also unsure as to the best way to resolve the issue, conscious of everyone’s desire to avoid violence. It was a difficult and complex chapter in the history of Greensboro, and indeed, in the history of America in general.
While local leaders and Woolworth’s big wigs danced a two-step between concern and uncertainty, the students and their growing mass of supporters continued to hit this modest F. W. Woolworth’s store in the place it hurt most—in the pocketbook.
Manager “Curly” Harris had calculated that during the first week alone, sales in his store were down $6,000., and had increased as the sit-in continued. (By the end of the year the store would lose over $200,000.) The protest eventually spawned a public boycott, which really helped turn the tides. Too much money was being lost to continue on this way, and the reputation of the F. W. Woolworth Co. itself was in serious jeopardy.
TIME CAPSULE MEMORY
“The Civil Rights Movement in My Own Town”
In the early 1960’s, my friend Karen and I were shopping in downtown Pensacola. It was a typical Saturday outing, until we walked into the Kress store and saw a mob of angry blacks, protesting discrimination there. Being raised in the South, segregation was a way of life to us. I never understood exactly why, but there were signs posted everywhere, in restaurants, theaters, and bathrooms, marked “white only” or “black only.” Standing near the five-and-dime that day, we watched as several blacks pushed through the “whites only” dining area. In response, angry white customers shouted horrible, cruel words at the protesters. The managers screamed, “Get those niggers out of my store!” That night on the news I learned all about the civil rights movement being led by Martin Luther King. I had witnessed one of the historical sit ins, which had originated at the Woolworth’s in North Carolina. Finally, there was justice! It was an event which changed my life, and our country forever.
—Linda Olson, Florida
In the end, it was a combination of the determination of the student protestors, strong media coverage, shifting community sentiment (in the protestors’ favor), and economic pressure that led to a peaceful resolution.
On July 25, 1960 at 2:30 in the afternoon, the first three African-Americans were “officially” served food at the Elm Street Woolworth’s lunch counter. They were not the Four Freshmen, but three black Woolworth’s employees. As per a hush-hush agreement between the local media and the Woolworth’s manager, no advance publicity heralded the event. In terms of media spectacle, it was rather anti-climactic.
But it was far from anti-climactic for the students who had started it all. Ezell A. Blair, Jr., Franklin E. McCain, Joseph A. McNeil, and David L. Richmond had persevered, eventually winning enough support to achieve their goal. That week, the four students, along with 300 more African-Americans were served at the Woolworth’s Red-Front, and business was soon back to normal at Frank Harris’s store.
From July 1960 on, F. W. Woolworth’s five-and-dimes tried to enforce the equality issue in all their stores. The key word here is “tried.” In nearby Winston-Salem, North Carolina, for instance, the manager did not agree to the order for desegregation, and actually resigned rather than allow Negroes to sit at his store’s lunch counter. (The Woolworth Company quickly replaced the Winston-Salem manager with a more open-minded man.) More disturbing scenarios occurred over the ensuing months. In Woolworth’s stores in Tampa, Florida, Nashville, Tennessee and at the Hampton Institute, the initially nonviolent sit-ins got out of hand, and hundreds of people were wounded. One afternoon in Nashville, unruly whites yanked blacks off the lunch counter stools and beat them up; the police then arrested the blacks. It took several years before all the Red-Fronts were truly desegregated, in part because the company’s directors, including President Kirwood, were reluctant to take an aggressive stance. During the 1960 annual meeting in Watertown, New York, Kirkland told stockholders that, “Dealing as we are with the deep-rooted convictions of the people of the South, it is hardly realistic to suppose that any company is influential enough to suddenly change its thinking on this topic.” Even after the passing of the 1964 and 1965 Civil Rights Acts, which banned segregation in all public accommodations, there were still hold-outs among private proprietors in America. In time, of course, all public and private facilities were legally desegregated—a fact which can be traced back, in large degree, to the Woolworth’s sit-in in Greensboro, North Carolina.
There is an ironic important postscript to this story. Although an important milestone was reached in Greensboro in July 1960, the entire incident could have been resolved much faster. In May of that year, F. W. Woolworth Co. executives had told “Curly Harris” that he could desegregate when he felt it was the “right time.” The decision was left up to Harris, with the company’s full support. But Harris didn’t want to desegregate when the throngs of A&T students were still in session, and he purposely waited until school was out for the summer and the protesting crowds had slackened. It is probable that he, and several other major white community leaders, feared some type of unruly gathering of African-Americans at Woolworth’s would cause problems. However, there was no fuss and furor when desegregation in Greensboro was finally announced. As the local paper stated: “Negroes did not request service en masse. They came as individuals and they were served as individuals. The sky did not fall.”
Since July 25, 1960, there have been several anniversaries of the successful Greensboro event, the most noted occurring in 1990. “On February 1, 1990, four middle-aged men sat down at the Woolworth’s lunch counter in Greensboro and had breakfast,” wrote Miles Wolff in Lunch at the 5&10. “No reporter had been present to cover that first sit-in. In 1990 the four were surrounded by reporters and onlookers. The 7:30 A.M. meal was telecast live locally and nationally.”
The men were served by two of the waitresses who had been told to deny them service thirty years before. Food and drinks were offered at the old 1960 prices. Ralph Jones returned to the event, along with Dr. Warmoth T. Gibbs, who had been president of A&T in 1960, and a team of Woolworth corporate executives and public relations men. Joseph McNeil, Franklin McCain, Ezell Blair Jr. (by then Jibreel Khazan), and David Richmond each discussed their lives since 1960. Accepting the limelight with great humility, David Richmond said: “Heroes we are not. So many people shaped us. We pay homage to you. Do not celebrate us as heroes. You are the heroes. You know who you are. God bless you.”
As part of the ceremony, the corner of Elm and Sycamore Streets, where the Woolworth’s was located, was renamed “February First Place.”
”Sitting for Justice”: The Smithsonian’s Woolworth’s Exhibit
William Yeingst, a curator for the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C., was watching television on October 13, 1993, when he heard that that the Woolworth Corporation planned to close over 900 stores in a nationwide downsizing move. For Yeingst, like millions of other people, this announcement stirred up personal memories of the old five-and-dime, but it also reminded him of the key historical events that had taken place at Greensboro’s lunch counter some thirty-three years before.
According to an issue of Smithsonian Online, that week, he tracked down the manager of the Elm Street (Greensboro) Woolworth’s and learned that the site would be closing in just three days. Yeingst asked if the lunch counter was still intact. The manager replied that indeed it was, and that in fact it had remained virtually unchanged since the time of the sit-in. Yeingst decided he wanted to preserve that lunch counter, along with other artifacts of the sit-in, as part of the Smithsonian’s American history collection.
Yeingst join
ed forces with another Smithsonian curator, Lonnie Bunch, and together they traveled to the Woolworth Building in New York to meet with Aubrey Lewis, then vice president for corporate relations. “We stressed to Mr. Lewis the historical significance of the sit-in,” recounted Yeingst. “The counter would be held in trust for the American people, forming a lasting record of one of the most significant events in recent American history. The symbolic power of the lunch counter would help the museum interpret not only the history of the civil rights movement, but also aspects of recent Southern history, Woolworth’s role in American business history, and the process of urbanization in the South.”
After a series of lengthy discussions, the F. W. Woolworth Company tentatively agreed to the proposal. There was, however, one important catch. They would not proceed without joint approval from the Greensboro community. As soon as possible, Yeingst and Bunch flew to North Carolina and met with members of the Greensboro city council, employees of Woolworth’s, and representatives of the African-American community. The meetings went well, and the curators were becoming more optimistic. The next step was to meet with members of the Sit-In Movement Inc.
The Sit-In Movement was a local organization composed of African-American residents with a vested interest in preserving the Woolworth’s Greensboro store. They had hoped to convert the site into a national civil rights museum. The Smithsonian representatives supported the organization’s plans for a museum, and offered advice to help them secure funding and resources. But they also requested that some of the artifacts be donated to the Smithsonian, enabling the museum’s six million yearly visitors to view, and remember, that critical era. Yeingst and Bunch had already studied the Woolworth’s site and its internal structures. They were interested in acquiring four stools, a section of the lunch counter, mirrors, the soda fountain, and a section of cornice.
Remembering Woolworth’s Page 21
