Authors: Karin Tanabe
Miss Franklin folded her hands in her lap.
“I’d like to add one point that supports Miss Hemmings’s argument that she never tried to conceal her race,” she said. “In December, there was an article in the
Boston Daily Globe
that stated that Vassar College’s Miss Anita Hemmings was bridesmaid in a wedding between two prominent Negroes in Massachusetts. The bride was Miss Hemmings’s roommate at Northfield. This article stated plain as day that Miss Anita Hemmings of Vassar College was the bridesmaid during a ceremony with only Negroes in attendance.”
She cleared her throat and glanced at Anita, who had never seen such an article. Had Bessie’s wedding been reported in the newspaper, she wondered? Had her family simply never mentioned it because they worried about alarming her? “But I suppose no one but me ever saw the article. Our school staff is too learned to be reading New
England society sections. Especially when they concern Negroes,” Miss Franklin added.
“I certainly do not bother myself with those pages, Miss Franklin,” said the president. “They are written for consumption by you ladies.”
“My point is simply that Miss Hemmings was not purposely misleading the school,” Miss Franklin said. “She did very little to conceal her race. It is we who simply failed to see it.”
“Very little to conceal it!” Lottie burst out. “I beg your pardon, Miss Franklin, but she did everything to conceal it, starting with the fact that she excluded the word
Negro
from her Vassar application. What could be more duplicitous than that? Furthermore, she concocted an intricate story about her father practicing law when he is nothing but a Negro laborer, a mere janitor.”
She paused, reassumed her ladylike position, and lowered her voice, which was huskier than usual from emotion. “We must think of the good of the school. Imagine how our esteemed founder, Matthew Vassar, would feel knowing a Negro was about to graduate from his institution. He would turn over like a barrel in his grave.”
“Negroes have graduated from other women’s colleges,” said Miss Franklin, moving straight to the decision that the president had to make. “Radcliffe has two now, Mount Holyoke one, and Wellesley has had several. Should Vassar not follow in the footsteps of the other women’s colleges?”
“Miss Franklin, you know as well as I do that Vassar does not follow the actions of other women’s colleges,” the president said sharply. “We lead. Our position in this is that we do not admit Negroes, which extends to graduating them as well.”
Anita’s throat closed, her eyes beginning to well up.
President Taylor selected a sheet from the papers in front of him and said, “Now, let me be the authority on this matter, Miss Franklin, if you please. There is nothing spelled out in our bylaws that forbids Negroes from attending the school, but I did find in our minutes from 1865 that the school was not authorized, nor did it feel prepared, to admit anyone but white students. That is written plainly, as you can see here.” He took the sheet of paper, covered in large cursive script, and thrust it toward the Latin instructor.
“But does Miss Hemmings’s success here not show that the founders may have been wrong in thinking that?” asked Miss Franklin.
Anita, grateful for her ally, looked at her and prayed that she would have the courage to continue arguing with the president, as she herself was certainly not in a position to do it. She had to remain quiet, deferential, like a person who would never cause a problem for the school again.
“There will never be other Negro women at Vassar, Miss Franklin,” said Lottie, her voice severe. “This school was not founded to educate women like Anita; it was founded to educate women like me.”
Miss Franklin sat back, shaking her head at Lottie’s insolence.
“There is truth in that, Miss Taylor,” said the president. He looked down at his papers and again at Miss Hemmings and her pleading, pleasing face. He inspected it carefully and Anita was sure she knew what he was thinking, what they all were thinking. It was certainly hard to tell she was a Negro. She watched him looking at her, plainly searching for Negroid features. She regretted walking so much in the sun that spring. Did she look darker than usual, she wondered. Would that be the pitiful thing that kept her from being allowed to graduate?
“
We have never graduated a Negro, and do not plan to admit any in the future,” said the president, still looking at Anita. He paused. “However, we will be making an exception this year. Our board met yesterday, Miss Hemmings. We have discussed it and have agreed that it is in the best interest of the school to allow you to graduate on June seventh. We do not need any negative press when our school is still so young.”
“Yes, so young and in need of funds, is that it?” broke in Lottie. “You wouldn’t want anyone to hear about this embarrassing scandal and stop donating so generously to our campus? Well, I can tell you which family will never give you another cent, President Taylor. The Taylor family.
My
Taylor family. I will have nothing to do with this institution when I have graduated from here.”
“Your rudeness is shocking, Miss Taylor!” Mrs. Kendrick exclaimed, breaking her silence. “You are still a student here and will cease speaking to the president like this at once.”
Lottie apologized and looked pleadingly at President Taylor.
“I hope you will change your mind in time,” the president said stiffly. “Until then, I ask all of you in this room not to mention this matter to anyone. I assume we are the only ones at school who are aware of this situation besides our board—is that correct? Miss Taylor, did you speak to anyone of this matter besides myself and Mrs. Kendrick?”
“I did not,” said Lottie. “I do not want to be known on my graduation day as the girl who roomed with the Negro.”
“Very well,” said President Taylor. “As we are the only five on campus who are aware of Miss Hemmings’s race, we will remain the only five at Vassar who ever know. No one will speak of this until after graduation. I would implore you never to speak of this matter, but I understand that my
authority extends only to current students and faculty, not graduates.”
He looked at Anita again, this time as the respected college president and not as a man scrutinizing her face for answers. “You will be graduated with the rest of your class, and you will keep your head down until then. The same applies to you, Miss Taylor. Despite what you said, I know you care about this school and are willing to make sacrifices for the good of the institution.”
“Of course,” said Lottie, her contempt audible.
“Then it is decided,” he said, pushing the pile of papers away from him. “Miss Hemmings, I hope you are pleased, but I must make one additional stipulation. Your association with this school must have its limits. Miss Franklin informed me that you have applied for several scholarships for continued study and to travel abroad this summer. I’m afraid that even if you have been found a worthy candidate, you will no longer be considered for those. If news of your race was ever revealed, it would be ill-received that the school had continued to bolster you after graduation.”
He pulled Anita’s transcript toward him again and turned the pages. “You have excelled here academically, and I have no doubt that you will continue to do the same after graduation.”
Turning to Lottie, then back to Anita, he said, “Good luck to both of you as you finish your time here with us. I trust there will be no other reason to see you again before the semester concludes, so I will see you both at commencement.”
He stood up and walked out of his office, leaving four stunned women behind. Despite the Lottie Taylors of the world, Anita Hemmings would graduate from Vassar College.
I
can’t believe this day is finally here!” said Belle, taking Anita by the hand as the two of them hurried toward Main the morning of commencement exercises, trying to stay out of the rain that fell disruptively. Anita may have been rooming alone and a magnet for gossip, but she would never lose Belle.
Belle clutched Anita’s arm, which was holding a large umbrella, but both stopped walking when Lottie passed them without a word.
“What a pity about you and Lottie,” said Belle, opening her own umbrella. It was being said on that June day, their third day of rain in a row, that ’97 had entered college with a storm, kept the college in a storm, and left the college in a storm.
“It’s just a misunderstanding,” said Anita, trying her best to smile.
“Everyone is still gossiping about it,” said Belle, pressing her friend’s hand. “They’re calling it the Hamilton scandal, and Sarah Douglas has become the official mouthpiece for it, since neither of you will say a word. Scandal presented with a southern inflection. It doesn’t sound right.”
Anita gave a little, knowing look and replied, “I have never been fond of Sarah Douglas.”
“She’s a lot like Lottie,” said Belle. “But not as cruel. I suppose Lottie is difficult to say no to, but I know Porter was in love with you. I’m sure it was just his family, pushing him to be with her. Louise Taylor, if available, will be chosen over any other woman, even one as good as you. They are just after her money. It’s been said in the papers that when she marries, she will bring with her a dowry of nearly two million dollars.”
“I just don’t want to be talked about anymore,” said Anita, folding her umbrella and handing it to a maid as the girls entered Main Building. She twisted to fix the wide ribbon running around her waist and down the back of her dress.
“It’s almost over now,” whispered Belle, helping Anita. Like the other women poised to graduate, they were wearing starched white dresses with high formal necks and lengths of ribbon nipping in their waists. Black robes were draped over their shoulders, and they wore the flat, tasseled graduate’s caps that were newly in use at the school.
When they walked up the staircase, crowded with soon-to-be graduates, and stood in front of the still-closed doors of the chapel, Belle whispered, “And wasn’t it so very gauche of Lottie to announce her engagement to Porter right before graduation? Yesterday’s Class Day was supposed to be about unity, about us being together for the last time as seniors. But Lottie Taylor found yet another way to make it about her.”
Anita looked at Belle with surprise. She had attended Class Day, but her peers had clearly succeeded in keeping the news from her. If she had known as she watched the ten carefully chosen sophomores parade into the chapel with the traditional daisy chain, carrying almost a hundred pounds of fresh flowers, that Lottie was at that very moment engaged to Porter, she would barely have seen what was taking place. Members of Vassar’s first classes, ’67 and ’68, had
been there, and one of the most prominent of them had told the girls: “Our appearance here will forever destroy the fallacy that a college education unfits a woman for matrimony. The college woman is not handicapped for life in mind, body, or estate.” Those words, thought Anita, must have caused whatever was left of Lottie’s heart to swell with pride. She was about to be one of those educated married women.
Belle looked at Anita sympathetically. “Lottie may be engaged to Porter, but we have the rest of the world, don’t we? You’ll be off to Greece, and I to study music in Italy or Austria, and all this will feel very small to us then. We’ll always love it, of course, but it will feel very small.”
“It doesn’t feel that way yet,” said Anita, looking at the large ’97 woven out of daisies hanging on the chapel door. She tried to remember that in a matter of hours, she would become a true graduated member of the class of 1897.
“Of course not,” said Belle. “But Anita, promise me that even with all that Lottie has done, you will not forget about the rest. For most of the year, life was extraordinary, wasn’t it? You, me, Lottie, and Caroline. The Gatehouse group. Who did coin that phrase?”
“Probably Lottie,” said Anita, thinking back. “It sounds like her.”
“I feel guilty saying it now, after what happened between the two of you,” said Belle, hesitating, “but it was the best year of my life. I loved every minute that we spent together, did you not, Anita?”
“I did,” said Anita honestly. “In many ways, it was the best year of my life, too.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Belle, beaming. “I know you and Lottie will work out your differences. Your time abroad will do you both a world of good, and you’ll meet someone else, someone much better than yellow-hearted Porter Hamilton.”
“I’m afraid I’m not heading to Greece after graduation,” said Anita, unable to keep her disappointment from showing on her face. “Financially, it just isn’t a possibility anymore.”
“Is it not?” said Belle. “But I was under the impression that the school had recommended you for a scholarship.”
Anita shook her head no. “They recommended me, but I did not come out the victor, I’m afraid. The Babbott Fellowship was awarded to Misses Ellery, Bishop, Clark, and Hotchkiss, and four others won the graduate scholarships. Even Sarah Douglas was awarded the Barringer Prize.”
“That’s such a pity,” said Belle. “There is no senior stronger in Greek and Latin here than you. Can there be no way—”
“I’m afraid not,” said Anita, interrupting her. “I’ll be going back to Boston and will continue my schooling on the East Coast. But I still intend to become a professor, Belle. I think I’m more committed to that goal now than I ever was before.”
“Oh, good! Good. Do not give up on education, Anita, don’t you dare. You are far too intelligent. I am sure that one day you will be teaching here. Then you’ll go to Greece. And I’ll meet you there. You have my word.”
“It’s time to march in as a class,” said Medora Higgins as she passed them. “Do line up, please.”
“Are your parents not here, Anita?” asked Belle before they moved to comply. “I didn’t keep you from them, did I?”
“No, I’m afraid they aren’t able to attend,” Anita lied. “Frederick is graduating from Cornell this very same weekend. I told them to please make the trip to see him, as we also have family in Ithaca. I’m happy to be here simply surrounded by friends.”