—Arkansas Gazette, Tuesday, May 6, 1958
The Arkansas Gazette and its executive editor, Harry Ashmore, won two Pulitzer prizes today and became the first newspaper in the 41-year history of the journalistic awards to win the Pulitzer Gold Medal and the editorial writing prize in the same year.
As I read this article, I wondered when we would get big prizes for what we were doing. After all, this guy was just observing our troubles from afar and writing about them. Not once did I see him spend a day in hell with us. Grandma said my attitude was sour and I had to say the Twenty-Third Psalm—at least twenty-five times—to cleanse my thinking. She was right, I was not in a good mood. During those last days, school was more tedious with the kind of grinding passage of time that made me look at the clock almost every five minutes.
JUST as Link had warned, the segregationists were heating up their campaign to prevent Ernie, who was a senior, from graduating. They were already saying they were sure we wouldn’t be coming back next year because we’d never last through the semester. I could tell that Mrs. Huckaby also sensed real trouble, because she summoned us one by one to discuss our problems.
Until that time, I had been observing fewer and fewer Arkansas National Guard troops inside school each day. It was said they were mostly not on the school grounds but “on call as the situation warranted.” There had been days in late April when there were no guards visible to us in the hallways. But lately, as tension increased, we were aware of them in the building. As those days of May brought more and more physical punishment, for the first time in four months I was assigned a personal bodyguard to follow me from class to class.
However, I never really felt protected by the insolent-looking, boyish grown-up who wore the sneer of a brooding Elvis. The soldiers’ loyalties were not to us. They made that very clear in their words and deeds.
BOARD SEEKS 3-YEAR DELAY IN INTEGRATION
—Arkansas Gazette, Thursday, May 8, 1958
The Little Rock School Board has suggested its plan of gradual integration be suspended until January 1961.
In a speech to the State Junior Chamber of Commerce on that Friday, Faubus declared that racial integration was not the law of the land—only Congress could make laws.
With the publication of those two bombshells we suffered yet more increases in the number of attacks on us. Just when I thought I had endured the greatest insult or most painful physical attack, someone would come along and prove me wrong. They would go for the championship in meanness.
NAACP officials had written to the Department of the Army complaining about the “do-nothing troops,” asking for the return of the 101st. But President Eisenhower had ignored the complaint, announcing that the Arkansas Guard would remain until the end of school on May 29.
As we faced days of grueling punishment, I was also coping with the fact that despite the newspaper article, we had heard no word from the North Little Rock school administrators about Mama’s job. I was bringing sandwiches made of apple butter on bread ends to school for lunch. One of Grandmother’s friends had given us a basket of apples, so there was apple strudel, apple pie, apple butter, baked apples, and apple jelly.
Well-wishers continued phoning. It was rumored that there was a groundswell of protest from all over the country in the form of letters and phone calls to the North Little Rock school administration office. Hearing about that made us feel good, but the fact was, there was no real change, and we desperately needed the money from Mama’s loan. Mama’s bosses hadn’t budged. In fact, if anything, he had become hostile toward her, telling her that by going to the news people she had ruined everything. When more than a week had passed and there was no renewal offer, Mama was panicked.
“We haven’t exhausted all our blessings. We haven’t knocked on the Lord’s door the right way . . .” Grandma concluded. So she and Mama decided the next step would be to go to the presiding bishops of our community’s churches. One of the most powerful of our people was Bishop O. J. Sherman. He told Mother to go back to the white administrator and say one simple sentence: “Bishop Sherman asked me to tell you he would like me to have a job.”
Mother did as she was told. The administrator stared down at the papers on his desk, silent, ignoring her for an uncomfortably long moment while he picked the lint off his trousers. “Oh, he did, did he?” He looked up into my mother’s eyes, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “Mrs. Pattillo, you don’t like the idea of working in Oklahoma, do you?”
“No, sir,” she said, speaking firmly.
“I read the articles about you in the newspapers, and we’ve gotten a lot of calls. Now you’ve gone and riled up the bishops from your community.”
“Yes, sir.” Mama’s tone let him know she meant business.
“Got anything else in mind?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got to do whatever it takes to keep my job, because I’ve got to feed my family. I’m a woman alone. Besides, I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve been a very good teacher all these years. I don’t deserve to be treated like this.”
The administrator dismissed her politely without saying another word. The next day, when Mama got to school, her boss came to her classroom and congratulated her on her fine teaching abilities. “It’ll be nice having you back here next year,” he said.
“I assume your accolades will be forthcoming in writing,” Mama replied. The next afternoon she arrived home carrying her contract. She sat down at the kitchen table and handed it to Grandma, who was placing the dinner plates on the table. Tears streamed down Mama’s cheeks as she wrung her hands together to stop their shaking.
“Let’s hold hands and pray,” Grandma India said. “Praise you, Lord. I knew you wouldn’t forget us.”
PRESIDENT ORDERS MOVING OF TROOPS
FROM CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL
—Arkansas Gazette, Friday, May 9, 1958
Governor Faubus said yesterday that the National Guard troop might be needed again next fall to prevent Negroes from entering Little Rock Central High School under a federal order.
On Friday as I entered Central, I was wondering what would become of us next September. Link stood at the top of the stairs, pretending to ignore me. His being there was a signal that I should expect something out of the ordinary. It meant he had just learned that something awful was about to happen, something he didn’t know about the night before when we spoke by phone.
He winked, and I gave him a thumbs-up indicating I understood. Exploding objects that looked and sounded like firecrackers but were really more dangerous were all around us that day. They went off at my feet, flew past my head, got tossed into my locker, and even once into my book bag. By noon, I had become a nervous wreck. I was shaking, thinking that maybe I should go home, give up, withdraw.
I began praying for peace and for strength to finish the day. That’s when I remembered that I had a lot to be grateful for. Mama had her job back. I could hear Grandma India’s voice saying over and over again, “If you have to depend on yourself for strength, you will not make it. But if you depend on God’s strength, you can do anything.”
So on I went, humming “On the Battlefield for My Lord.” At the end of the day, Mama told us that she’d received the money from her loan. We started our celebration with a gigantic shopping spree at the grocery store. After restocking our shelves with basics, each of us got to pick one favorite item, and then it was off to church for a choir sing.
AS I marked the May days off my calendar, I felt as though I was caught up in a whirlwind. Ernie was rehearsing for graduation. At the same time, there was a constant shower of threats about stopping him from graduating. Using new tactics, with more frequent attacks that involved more people, the segregationists watched and followed us constantly, looking for ways to isolate us.
One frightening development was a series of accusations that Ernie had a roving eye and was flirting with a particular white girl. That mortified us because we all knew it was an explosive lie that could get him killed and mayb
e us along with him. The rumor was spreading around the school and being used to fuel the protests by the Mothers’ League and the Citizens’ Council.
It was apparent this was a desperate plan to entrap and get rid of him only days before his graduation. However, if they had known Ernie as I did, they would have thought of another way. Cool-headed and very much in command of himself, he wasn’t about to be caught in that trap. At every turn, he watched himself so that there could never be the slightest opportunity for confirming such accusations.
Even when the girl in question forced herself on him, sitting too close to him in the cafeteria and fluttering her eyelashes as she dropped her book, expecting him to retrieve it, Ernie ignored her and went about his business. I admired the way he conducted himself in the face of enormous pressure. And he did it with a casual, relaxed manner and smile, although I knew he had to be nervous about all the furor over his Central High diploma.
The barrage of flying food in the cafeteria got so bad that we could seldom eat our lunches there. One day, with people dumping water on my head, throwing nails at my back, and shouting abuse, I was forced to leave school. I saw that Gloria, Jeff, and Thelma also had to check out of school early that day to escape the harassment.
“YOU’ALL think you’re gonna have a graduation, but a funeral is what you’re really gonna have—no, more like eight funerals.” The voice was familiar. Of course, it was my persistent attacker, the ever-present Andy, who continued his threats to get me, no matter what. He had taken to chasing me from the gymnasium through the dark walkway that connected it to the main building. He suddenly began backing up his threats by waving a bone-handled switchblade knife in the air. My Arkansas National Guard protector calmly looked on as Andy chased me, getting so close with his knife blade that the book I held up to protect me got slashed through the cover.
“Hey, boy, you could get us into real trouble if you keep that up. You’ve had your fun, now you gotta move on,” the Guardsman said with a twisted smile, his cold eyes looking at me as though he would much rather have let Andy have his way with me. I stood there trembling, wishing for Danny. My heart was pounding, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that pretty soon I wouldn’t have to deal with Andy. Only a few days remained before school would be out. I decided to duck out of gym class, vowing I would never walk that way again.
ALL at once the planned events of the year were coming to life. On All Seniors Day, Central High graduates took off to go to the park. Ernie wisely chose not to participate. He was under incredible pressure as more and more graduation celebrations were taking place. Meanwhile, cards were being passed out that read: “Open Season on Coons.”
NAACP LOSES IN 2 MOTIONS TO HALT SUITS
—Arkansas Gazette, Friday, May 16, 1958
It felt as though parts of the foundation beneath us were crumbling. At the same time, Mrs. Daisy Bates’s newspaper seemed to be toppling because advertisers were boycotting it; the NAACP was being attacked on all sides.
Since the beginning of the organization’s efforts to integrate Central High, Arkansas Attorney General Bennett had harassed its officials. First he demanded they submit the names and addresses of all members and contributors. When the groups failed to do so, he arrested the organization’s leaders. He had also filed suit claiming that both the NAACP and the Legal Defense and Education Fund were New York corporations doing business in Arkansas illegally. Although it had seemed at first that the NAACP was winning the struggle, not being able to halt the suits was a setback.
One piece of good news was that the Thomas plan for our immediate withdrawal and gradual—in the distant future—integration was being rejected by all sides. Thomas had met with those people from our community who condescended to meet with him. They had rejected his plan, calling it a step backward. And the Mothers’ League and the Citizens’ Council rejected it because they didn’t want to support the idea of integration even in the far distant future.
Nevertheless, there were signs all around us at school and in the newspapers that segregationists were making headway. The later it got in the month of May, the more the pace of harassment quickened. After Terry got hit on the head by a rowdy group of boys who cornered him, Mrs. Huckaby suggested we come to school only when we had to take final exams or attend classes critical to our completing the year. We would enter school, go directly to those classes, and leave immediately after them. She instructed us to let her know when we entered the building and where we were at all times.
We were told that the school board was hiring private guards to beef up hall security in response to threats of major violence. Word also came that the FBI would be present at graduation because of the threats of bombs and Ku Klux Klan activity planned to disrupt the ceremony. Little Rock police and armed federalized Arkansas Guardsmen would also be on hand to keep the peace.
“Stay home. Promise me you won’t go to graduation,” Link pleaded on the telephone.
“I’m not gonna let them scare me away,” I protested.
“Listen, I’ve been in rooms where people are talking about harsh ways to stop that boy’s graduation. They’re saying if they let the first one of you graduate, there’ll be no end to integration. Melba, listen up good. They’re bragging about using high-powered rifles. They’re taking bets about which way you’all are gonna fall when they shoot you.”
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CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL NEGROES PASS: ONE ON HONOR ROLL.
PRINCIPAL MATTHEWS SAYS HE WILL NOT REVEAL GRADES
BUT CONFIRMS GREEN WILL GRADUATE.
—Arkansas Gazette, Wednesday, May 23, 1958
“LET’S keep the nigger from graduating.” That was the rallying cry in the halls of Central High that unleashed unimaginable terror upon us. Pressure was exerted on all eight of us; the goal was to get us out by any means possible. In case that plan failed, our antagonists worked at convincing us that even if Ernie had the grades to graduate, he should not march with the other seniors to receive his Central High diploma.
“We ain’t gonna let no nigger wear our cap and gown,” one boy shouted at me as I walked the hallway to English class. I pushed my way past him, flashed a smile and a pleasant “Thank you.”
At first, some of my late-night telephone callers pleaded with me in a civil tone to ask Ernie to receive his diploma by mail. “We don’t want his picture taken with us. My daddy says you’all ain’t getting back in our school next year, no how. So this is the only time we’ll have that ink spot in the middle of all those pictures the news people take.”
Another gruff-voiced man became angrier with each rude call. “We’re gonna hang us a nigger at the same time your nigger takes our diploma,” he said. On and on those calls came, keeping our phone ringing almost as much as it had at the beginning of the school year. At the same time, I received threatening notes sneaked into my books and in my locker.
I could see more evidence that the principal, vice-principals, and teachers had lost any hopes of corralling belligerent students. Even as school officials observed them, clusters of students threw rocks as we entered or exited the building. The hallways were like a three-ring circus, with hooligans completely ignoring commands to cease their outrageous behavior.
Because the situation was growing more explosive, Mrs. Huckaby called us into her office to double-check on our scheduled exams. While inside school, we were once again closely followed by bodyguards.
I was much more frightened than I had been in recent months because there were no longer islands of sanity within the insanity of that school. Just outside the principal’s office, people threw rotten eggs and walked on my heels, whereas before that area had been a comparatively safe place to walk.
During those last days, time seemed to drag on and on as though some divine force were slowing the hands on the clock. I had no choice but to perform one of the most hazardous duties of the day—opening my locker. That meant standing still for several minutes, with my eyes and attention focused inside while my back was exp
osed to passersby.
I had developed a habit of reaching my hand into my locker to find hidden objects before I poked my face in. On Tuesday afternoon, I was searching my locker for my eyeglass case when I reached my hand down deep inside to see whether or not it had fallen. Suddenly there was the sound of popping guns and the smell of smoke just behind me. I quickly turned to see a flaming object flying toward my face. I put my hand up to deflect it. That’s when I felt the pain on my first three fingers. I had shielded my eyes from several sparking hot firecrackers linked together by a wire. My hand hurt, but I could only be grateful it wasn’t my eyes that had been burned.
As I was issued bandages from the office to dress the wound, I consoled myself by thinking of the calendar on the kitchen wall. I had marked off almost all the days of the month of May. Ernie would attend baccalaureate services the following Sunday evening, and graduation would be the following Tuesday, one week from this day. I would be an unwelcome Central High student in that building only a few more days.
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