Read Warriors Don't Cry Online
Authors: Melba Pattillo Beals
“Looking for your little nigger friend?” one of the students said as I walked down the stairs to study hall. “She’s done got herself suspended. She can only get back in if the superintendent lets her, and you know what that means.”
“One nigger down and eight to go,” was the cry we heard as we left Central High for Christmas vacation. I could hear those declarations shouted even above the festive Christmas carols being played: “One nigger down and eight to go.”
Her suspension notice stated Minnijean could not begin the process to apply for readmission until six school days had passed. Classes would resume on January 3 of the new year. Our greatest fear was that Superintendent Blossom would use this opportunity to get segregationists off the school board members’ backs by refusing her reentry. Segregationists had long been threatening a recall of the school board. If the board denied Minnijean readmission, they might stave off that recall and save their jobs.
So instead of the peaceful, happy, safe Christmas vacation I had dreamed of for months, I was embroiled in integration meetings and worry. It was that nagging kind of problem that stays at the back of your mind, no matter what else is going on. Will they or won’t they let Minnijean back in school, and if they don’t, what will it mean to the rest of us?
LOCAL and national NAACP officials were alarmed because they saw the incident as the first sign of significant progress in the segregationists’ campaign to get us out of school. It jeopardized the progress they had worked for so many years to realize. The outcome of her case could affect not only the Little Rock case, but all integration efforts across the South. If expulsion were a way to stop integration, segregationists would make it their weapon.
As I entered the living room early one evening, Grandma was setting up the manger scene, gingerly placing each of the crudely carved wooden figures that had been handed down from her mother. She wouldn’t allow any of us to help for fear we’d drop a piece. What with all her baking and decorating and gift making, this was her favorite time of the year, next to spring planting.
“Did you see that nasty letter on the front page of the
Gazette
telling businesses to stop advertising in that paper?” Grandma asked.
“I sure hope nobody listens.”
“It’s a sign the segregationists have begun their campaign on a whole new level,” she said. “They’re gonna dig in folks’ pockets now.”
“I guess they’re pretty hopping mad at the
Gazette
,” Mother Lois said, breezing into the room. “They’re accusing that paper of breaking down segregation laws with its attitude.” She made a funny face as she continued. “I don’t know how they figure that.”
“Well, anyhow, that great lambasting in the paper ought to prepare you for what they just might plan for Minnijean. You’ve got to get ready for it,” Grandma said.
I wondered what awful thing they could possibly have in store for us. “You’ve been a bit down-spirited lately,” she went on. “When did worry ever make anything happen your way? Minnijean either is or is not going to stay in school. Worry won’t fix it.”
I took a deep breath and sank into the couch, waiting for Mother Lois to get dressed for a party we were to attend to honor the Little Rock Nine.
“Where are you going?” Conrad asked.
“Mama and I are going to a grown-up Christmas party,” I answered. I didn’t want to make too much of it because I figured he was beginning to feel left out, what with all the fuss being made over me in newspapers and magazines and now a party planned in our honor. The National Organization of Delta Sigma Theta, a professional women’s sorority, had decided to give us a Christmas party at the Dunbar Community Center. It was the first time some of my own people were saying a public thanks to us. It lightened some of the pain I felt for all those who were critical of our going to Central.
As I entered the Community Center, sorority women, showing off their high fashion and high spirits, greeted us as though we were very important. They had made us their secret project, with members of the nationwide organization mailing gifts and loving notes from across the country to be presented to us that evening.
I was bursting with pride as people said nice things about my courage and about what we nine were doing for future generations who would be able to attend integrated schools. It wasn’t the kind of party where you have teenage fun, but it was wonderful just the same, especially because I had so few opportunities to socialize.
Minnijean’s suspension was only mentioned in passing. Despite that worry, we nine enjoyed each other as friends, once outside the pressure we shared at Central High. We compared our gifts, of course. My favorite was a carved mahogany jewelry box. I’ll keep this forever and give it to my grandchildren, I thought to myself as I carefully placed it on the nightstand beside my bed later that evening. In my diary I wrote:
Tonight I feel love from my own people. Everybody tried to make us happy. There is the tiniest flicker of hope and joy inside me. Maybe things will work out. Please, God, won’t you allow Minnijean to come back to school just this once. I promise I’ll help her be stronger.
As Grandma read snippets of information from the paper and discussed it with Mother, we noted alarming and increasing examples of segregationists applying pressure to our people in new and different ways. They were systematically attacking on all sides anyone who might support us in any fashion.
However, I wasn’t going to let it bother me today. This was one of my favorite times of all—the family’s annual last-minute Christmas shopping spree in downtown Little Rock. We had avoided going there for a long time, afraid I might be attacked. But I wasn’t about to let the integration steal my Christmas shopping trip. I argued with all my might. I could wear a disguise, stores couldn’t afford to invite trouble that might interfere with sales—on and on I went.
Thank God I’d won, I whispered, as we all piled out of the car. Looking around, I was absolutely awestruck by the holiday decorations and music that surrounded us. Inside, the stores were filled with Christmas magic and all the delightful things I had seen in magazines that I so desperately wanted but seldom could afford. On this one very special day of the year, as a Christmas treat, Mother Lois gave us each twenty-five dollars to shop. She asked that we remain within shouting distance of her and Grandma while we browsed.
As always, the white clerks gave me dirty looks whenever I touched the merchandise. They had only recently allowed my people to try on clothes in a few of their stores. They behaved as though they begrudged our being there, even though we were going to hand our money over to them. Having all that shopping fun enabled me to ignore their disapproval.
“Hey, a nigger without a soldier guard.” It was the boy who had threatened to kill me ever since I kicked him in the crotch. My first thoughts were to shout for help, to run away, but I couldn’t let him think I was a coward.
“We’ve only got eight niggers in our school now.” He spoke very loud to the boy standing beside him. “We’re getting rid of the others, too. But this one here, she’s not gonna live to go anywhere.”
“Yeah, Andy, if you get her out, you get that big prize money everybody’s talking about.”
“Ain’t no money gonna make me feel as good as killing her,” Andy said, glaring at me.
Frantically I searched for a way to get us all safely out of the store. Trying to behave as though I were not alarmed, I casually examined items that lay on the counter nearest me. When I had moved a short distance away from Andy, I quickened my pace. Just then Conrad approached me. Grabbing him by the collar, I tried to signal him that something was wrong, but he didn’t understand.
“Hey, Melba, let’s put our money together and buy this new game. Look, it’s got . . .” The thud of my heart racing in my ears drowned out his words. I hoped his excited voice would attract Mother and Grandma, but it was Andy who responded to him.
“Two niggers . . . I wonder what I’ll get for both of them.” Andy moved toward us.
“Don’t you call my sister a nigger,” Conrad was yelling back at him. I hoped their voices wouldn’t cause a storewide fracas.
“This way,” Grandmother India said, shoving us ahead.
“Hurry!” Mother said.
Conrad protested in a loud voice as we quickly hustled to I didn’t know where.
“This isn’t the way to the front door,” I protested.
“Move it, girl.” Grandma whispered.
All at once I realized where she was going—the rest room. Great, I thought, we’ll be temporarily safe there, but then they’ll call the police and we’ll be trapped.
Once inside, I had to catch my breath and bring up a polite smile to greet three ladies from our church, who stood preening themselves in front of the mirror.
“Gracious, Lois, that boy is old enough to do his business with the men,” said Sister Floyd, annoyance on her face.
“My baby is just a little ill. I’ll have to tend him.”
Grandma shoved Conrad into a stall, beckoning Mother to come closer as she whispered to her. I imagined a big ugly scene where policemen arrested us as Andy and a crowd of hecklers cheered.
Mother didn’t seem as frightened as she ambled up to Mrs. Floyd and started a conversation about the Christmas social. As the ladies headed for the door, Grandma ushered Conrad and me to follow close on their heels.
Sure enough, Andy and his friend stood just outside the door looking like angry lions waiting to devour prey. Grandma glared at them as she said, “Why, my goodness, I guess you two gentleman are forced to make a pathway so’s the seven of us can squeeze past.”
The scowls on their faces melted into sour frustration as they eyeballed the church ladies and slowly backed off. Sister Floyd weighed at least 250 pounds. Sister Lanie probably weighed a tad more, and Sister Bell was no slouch, what with her sleek, athletic six-foot body. After we had traveled some distance, I looked back to see Andy and his friend following us but not up close.
“Well, young lady, from now on, you can just give me your list, and I’ll take care of it. I don’t know what we would have done without the sisters,” Mama said as we piled into the car and looked all around us, taking deep breaths.
“It was the Christmas spirit that lulled us into letting our guard down,” Grandma grumbled on the way home.
Going downtown, seeing all the people shopping and the decorations, had always been one of the best parts of my holiday celebration. The segregationists had stolen yet another important piece of my life—they had taken away my Christmas shopping fun.
THE day before Christmas the
Gazette
carried two major local stories: “WHITE CHRISTMAS” BANNED AT CHS? and 13 LAWSUITS PENDING OVER INTEGRATION. I was reading the articles as Conrad and Mother Lois prepared to go shopping without me. The first story about “White Christmas” embarrassed me. How could they assume we didn’t know the difference between white snow and white folks.
The second article said the federal courts were deluged by new filings and a backlog of cases on the racial integration issue. They would all be settled in the next months before the start of the new school year. Some of the issues to be ruled on applied to our case. If the judge ruled against integration, our surviving all the brutal punishment at Central would be in vain because they would use those rulings to kick us out of their school.
When Mother Lois and Conrad left for downtown, I told myself being left behind didn’t matter anymore. At least I was grateful that I didn’t have to go to Central that day. Besides, nothing could make me sad with Christmas so close and Grandma rattling paper and hiding gifts while I felt safe and snuggled warm, watching television as I dusted the living room.
Christmas Eve was delightful as we sat sipping hot chocolate and wrapping gifts to place under the tree. Each of us traded a personal gift. If during the year one of us coveted something that belonged to another, we might get the temporary loan of that item for January of the new year. We especially looked forward to those gift notes in our stockings. For example, I was thinking about granting Conrad the privilege of using my stereo twice a day for one month, but I wasn’t certain I could be that generous so I wrote “maybe” on my note to him.
Vince called to say he would come by on Christmas, with Mother’s permission. The thought of our being together near the tree on that special day, listening to carols, really sparked romantic daydreams. But as always my daydreams were so much better than the reality of being with him because we now had very little in common. He still spent most of his time questioning me about Central and teasing me about being a celebrity.
Of course, like lots of young people and adults, he teased me about Minnijean’s chili incident. It made me feel uneasy about continuing to like him so much. If he really understood what I was going through, he should realize that the chili incident was a big crisis in my life, one that worried me every moment of every day. I began to wonder whether I was better off just being with Vince in my daydreams.