A Mighty Long Way

by Carlotta Walls Lanier

  Through it all, though, my family never even talked about leaving Little Rock—at least, as far as I knew. Perhaps to my parents, the idea of leaving their large, extended families and everything they had ever known was scarier than the prospect of facing another uncertain year at Central. My parents probably would have considered sending me temporarily to St. Louis, Kansas City, Chicago, or other cities where we had close relatives, but Mrs. Bates asked those of us who remained to stay in town. We might be needed in court, she said. At first, that was fine with me. While the thought of going to school in another city at times seemed enticing and adventurous, I felt a strong need to stay close to my parents and sisters. I felt guilty because I saw how much my family was struggling, and I knew it was because of my decision to attend Central. With Daddy having trouble earning a steady paycheck, Mother had gotten a job working for the city. I wanted to do my part, so I took on the responsibility of caring for Tina, who was three years old.

  Families like mine weren’t the only ones suddenly scrambling after the school closings to figure out what to do. The school board also had to act quickly to keep teachers from abandoning the system en masse. To quell the teachers’ fears, the board agreed to continue paying them. Then, when an uproar rose from the community over the prospect of a year without football, the board (with the support of the governor) made provisions for the season to continue. So even though thousands of families were scurrying to find academic alternatives for their children, teachers were reporting to empty classrooms, and the football teams practiced and played a regular schedule.

  The most galling development of all, though, occurred just five days after Faubus closed the high schools. The governor had the nerve to announce on television that the Little Rock Private School Corporation, a group of segregationists, would be allowed to lease the public schools. I was appalled. Did Faubus really think he could get away with allowing white parents to rent the public schools just for their children? Did he really believe he was slick enough to undermine a U.S. Supreme Court order in this way? Fortunately, the NAACP, supported by the Department of Justice, quickly secured an injunction and bulldozed the plan—at least, part of it. The corporation remained intact and ultimately purchased the former University of Arkansas Graduate Center for its school. The group also managed to hire teachers from outside the city after its efforts to hire public school teachers failed. With everything in place, the segregationists opened their whites-only school in late October and eventually enrolled about 900 students. However, by the beginning of 1959, at least 675 students were not enrolled in school or correspondence courses anywhere, according to a magazine article that Superintendent Blossom later wrote. Those students just dropped out of school and settled for low-paying jobs. I’m sure Faubus lost no sleep worrying about them because the majority of them—those hit hardest and hurt the most by his foolish acts—were black.

  Me at about eight years old, around the time I took my first life-changing trip to New York City. (Photo by M. A. Binns)

  At home with my parents (Cartelyou and Juanita Walls) when I was four years old. (Photo by Earl Davy)

  Mother wearing her trademark magnolia in her hair, like Billie Holiday. (Photo by Earl Davy)

  Daddy, who was my rock. (Photo by Earl Davy)

  Daddy and Mother out on the town. (Courtesy of the author)

  My great-grandfather, Aaron Holloway (Papa Holloway), the patriarch on my mother’s side of the family. (Courtesy of the author)

  Dora Holmes, Papa Holloway’s longtime girlfriend, the original owner of the house that placed me in the attendance zone for Little Rock Central High School. (Courtesy of the author)

  Med Cullins (Grandpa Cullins), my maternal grandfather, who owned a contracting business and taught my father the brick masonry trade.(Courtesy of the author)

  Porter Walls, Sr. (Big Daddy), my paternal grandfather, who owned a café/pool hall and lots of inherited land. (Photo by Earl Davy)

  Alfredo Andrade (Uncle Freddie), who made sure I experienced the New York of my dreams during my first trip there in the summer of 1951. (Courtesy of the author)

  Me, Camille (on my right) with Aunt Juanita and Renata to my left. (Courtesy of the author)

  M. E. Cullins Beard, my great-aunt, with whom I stayed in Chicago during the summer of 1959. (Courtesy of the author)

  Mother and me at the kitchen counter during my first year at Central. (Photo by Earl Davy)

  Little Rock Central High School, which the National Institute of Architects called “America’s Most Beautiful School” when it was built in 1927. (Courtesy of the author)

  Me, Gloria Ray, Jane Hill (standing behind Gloria), and Ernest Green as we face the National Guard on September 4, 1957, on our first attempt to enter Central; Jane never returned to Central after that day.(Will Counts Collection: Indiana University Archives)

  (Will Counts Collection: Indiana University Archives)

  Letters from President Eisenhower, expressing his support, were hand-delivered by a federal agent to all nine of our mothers shortly after he sent the 101st Airborne Division to escort us into Central High School. This is the letter President Eisenhower wrote to my mother. (Courtesy of the author)

  Here I am on the ferry (right) passing the Statue of Liberty during our trip to New York in the summer of 1958. (© Mildred Grossman Collection: University of Maryland Baltimore County)

  Me, Elizabeth, Melba, and Minnijean at Coney Island during our trip to New York in the summer of 1958. (© Mildred Grossman Collection: University of Maryland Baltimore County)

  The Little Rock Nine meeting with New York City mayor Robert F. Wagner at City Hall. (© Mildred Grossman Collection: University of Maryland Baltimore County)

  The Little Rock Nine and New York governor William Harriman after an AFL-CIO Hotel Employees Union awards ceremony.(© Mildred Grossman Collection: University of Maryland Baltimore County)

  The nine of us and our escorts dining at the famous Lindy’s restaurant in New York. (© Mildred Grossman Collection: University of Maryland Baltimore County)

  NAACP attorney Thurgood Marshall with me, Minnijean, and Elizabeth, on his left, and Daisy Bates, Gloria, Jefferson, and Melba, on his right, on the steps of the U.S. Supreme Court. (AP Images)

  This letter from Denmark made it to me, even though the writer only put a photo of me from a newspaper clipping and a brief note on the envelope.(Courtesy of the author)

  The Little Rock Nine with our parents at a Christmas party in our honor, sponsored by Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc., in December 1957. (Photograph by Earl Davy)

  Daddy and investigators surveying the damage from the bombing of my family’s home in February 1960. (Courtesy of the author)

  I had six of these prized admission tickets for my closest family members to attend my graduation from Central. (Courtesy of the author)

  (Courtesy of the author)

  The most relieved member of Central’s graduating class of 1960. (Courtesy of the author)

  The home of L.C. and Daisy Bates, where the nine of us met practically every day that first year, eventually became a national historical site. (Courtesy of the author)

  President Bill Clinton opening the door to Central for me during a symbolic moment in 1997 at the fortieth anniversary of the Little Rock Nine. (Courtesy Getty Images)

  The nine of us with President Bill Clinton at the fortieth anniversary of the Little Rock Nine in 1997. (Courtesy of the White House)

  Hillary Clinton presents Mother an award (with Melba in the background) during a ceremony at the fortieth anniversary—the first time our parents were officially recognized for their role. (Courtesy of the White House)

  The plaque next to the bronze depiction of me in the “Testament” memorial that stands on the north end of the Arkansas State Capitol in Little Rock. (Courtesy of the author)

  The “Testament” memorial features life-size bronze statutes of each of the Little Rock Nine. (Courtesy of the author)

  Me standing next to my
bronze image. (Courtesy of the author)

  On August 31, 2005, the United States Post Office dedicated a 37-cent postage stamp recognizing the Little Rock Nine as part of its “To Form a More Perfect Union” collection. (Courtesy of the author)

  President Clinton awarded the Little Rock Nine a Congressional Gold Medal in November 1999. (Courtesy of the author)

  My family (from left: Alan Terry, Shana Terry, Russel Terry, Whitney LaNier, Brooke LaNier, Juanita Walls, me, Ira LaNier, Tina Walls, Loujuana Terry, Jevin Terry holding Cartel Terry, and Kim Terry) with President Clinton in a replica of his White House office at his presidential library in Little Rock. (Courtesy of the Clinton Presidential Center)

  Ernie (far left), Terrence (far right), and me with then-Senator Barack Obama at a Congressional Black Caucus event in 2007. (Courtesy of Altria Client Services)

  With my husband, Ira LaNier, at the Rainbow Room in New York City. (Courtesy of the author)

  My children, Brooke and Whitney. (Courtesy of the author)

  My sisters, Loujuana, Tina (sitting), my daughter, Brooke (center), and me at an Inaugural Ball celebrating the election of President Barack Obama. (Courtesy of the author)

  Even though my parents were struggling financially, they were determined to keep me on schedule academically, so they scraped up the extra money to pay for the correspondence courses and rent the textbooks. So, too, did the families of Jefferson, Elizabeth, Thelma, and Melba, who also took the courses. The Dunbar Community Center arranged for students in the community who wanted to do our schoolwork together to meet there every day and get help from retired teachers and volunteers from the local library. Every day, Mother dropped Tina and me off at the center, as though we were going to school. For half a day, I did my correspondence work. My first two courses were U.S. History II and English II, and the assignments came in white folders from the Division of General Education at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. Each folder contained a form letter that provided basic information, such as the name and address of my instructor. Twenty-four assignments were enclosed in each packet, but I was instructed to complete no more than four per week. I quickly found that those four assignments didn’t amount to nearly enough work to keep my mind occupied. Once, I was scolded for returning too many lessons at one time. Several times, I received a bright yellow slip of paper notifying me that because of increased enrollment in the courses, I was being assigned a new teacher. The note assured me that the change would not affect my progress in the course or my grade. That happened so frequently that it was hard to keep up with who—if anyone—was seriously evaluating my work. Except for the occasional correction of a misspelled word or a brief question asking for additional information, the teacher rarely made notes on my papers. Most times, the only indication that anyone had even looked at my assignment was a grade at the top of the page, usually an A. After I had completed the required two dozen assignments, an examination was mailed to me, and my grade was based on my proficiency on the test. I’ve kept my papers from that time, and they remind me to this day how empty those days felt. I do, however, look back fondly on the fun. On a typical day, about ten to fifteen students showed up, and it was good to be engaged with other teenagers. I missed learning, but I didn’t miss the stress or isolation I’d experienced the first year at Central. At the center, most of us were done with our serious work by lunchtime, and we whiled away the afternoons at the card table. I’d hold Tina on my lap as we played bid whist, checkers, dominoes, and Scrabble. We teenagers talked a lot of noise and often spelled words we thought the little one shouldn’t hear. But Tina, ever a quick study, not only picked up a lifelong affection and talent for cards and board games, she also quickly became a master speller. You could just see that phonetic wheel twirling in her brain as she tried to figure out what she was not supposed to hear. It became almost a game to her to outsmart the big kids and then blurt out our disguised words.

  Despite the fun, I knew I was supposed to be in school, and I couldn’t help worrying about my future, about how much my chances of getting into a good college would be hurt by these long months out of school. But there were worries far beyond me. Elsewhere in Little Rock, the city’s economy was suffering. Not only was Little Rock’s population declining, but no new industry was moving in. From the fall of 1957 until the start of 1959, not a single new company decided to move to the Little Rock industrial area. Even those companies with previous plans to open plants in Little Rock canceled those arrangements once the 101st Airborne Division set up shop in the city. The city was bleeding, and others were starting to feel the pain.

  Much of white Little Rock blamed Mrs. Bates and our parents for the crisis. Faubus encouraged those sentiments with his rhetoric: “If Daisy Bates would find an honest job and go to work, and if the U.S. Supreme Court would keep its cotton-picking hands off the Little Rock School Board’s affairs, we could open the Little Rock schools,” he declared.

  A group calling itself the Save Our Schools Committee also perpetuated the notion that our parents and Mrs. Bates were at fault. In mid-September 1958, the group began running a series of newspaper ads, encouraging black ministers and other black community leaders to “appeal to Mrs. Bates and seven parents to give us time to accept this change in a Christian manner.” It never ceased to amaze me how often the bigots tried to hide their fear and hatred behind the banner of Christianity.

  Toward the end of the year, I started to see stories on television and in the newspapers about another group of white women calling themselves the Women’s Emergency Committee to Open Our Schools (WEC). Led by Adolphine Terry, Vivion Brewer, and Velma Powell (the wife of one of Central’s vice principals), they tried to become a voice of reason among whites in the community. The group’s policy statement reflected the balance the women were hoping to strike: “We stand neither for integration nor for segregation, but for education,” the statement read.

  The group outlined a fourfold purpose: to get the free public high schools reopened, to get students back in their classes, to retain the staff of good teachers, and to regain full accreditation by the North Central Association. Behind the scenes, the committee also became a political force. When the existing school board resigned in mid-November 1958, the committee was largely responsible for recruiting moderates to run for the six vacant positions. That set up a race pitting the moderates against segregationist candidates who supported the governor’s position. As fate would have it, the election resulted in a split board: three moderates and three segregationists. One of the new board’s first major actions was to fire Superintendent Blossom “without cause and without prejudice” in December 1958.

  When teachers returned again to empty classrooms the following January, rumors began circulating that the board was planning a “purge” of teachers. Faubus said publicly that he thought Central’s principal, Jess Matthews, and the two vice principals, Mrs. Huckaby and Mr. Powell, should be fired. Mr. Powell had angered segregationists when he participated as a guest panelist at a session sponsored by his wife and the Women’s Emergency Committee. Rumor had it that Mr. Powell was at the top of the list of those to go, but he instead quit and took another job in California.

  As I watched much of this unfold in the newspapers and on television, I changed my mind about staying in Little Rock. I was tired of the politics. I just wanted to be in school, even if it meant moving to another city for a while. Besides, by the beginning of the year, I had completed all of the correspondence courses I could take in one semester, and I was seriously bored. I heard that Mrs. Bates had sent out an appeal asking NAACP supporters in other cities to take in black Little Rock students interested in relocating to finish their high school education. One such offer came from a white couple in Santa Rosa, California, who were dedicated to racial justice and wanted to become a surrogate family to a displaced black student. Mrs. Bates arranged for Melba to move to the West Coast to live with the couple and their four children. I also began hearing about Horace Mann stude
nts who were being placed in other homes throughout the country. I wondered why Mrs. Bates kept passing me up for such opportunities. One day, I was bold enough to ask. Mrs. Bates reiterated that she wanted me to stay close, in case I was needed in court. Perhaps she could tell from my facial expression that I wasn’t too happy with that response because she soon had a change of heart. In late March 1959, she called to tell my parents that Dr. Nathan Christopher, an NAACP board member in Cleveland, had invited a Little Rock student to stay with his family and finish high school there. This time, Mrs. Bates was extending the invitation to me. Mother and Daddy discussed it and agreed that the time may have come for me to go away to school, but they let me decide whether I wanted to go to Cleveland. Of course, the decision for me was easy. The offer couldn’t have come at a better time, and by the beginning of April, I was off to Cleveland for a new adventure.