In 1970 I was a 13 year old black teen heading to 8th grade. This was the first year of integration and I was apptehesive, The school bus picked me and the other children up and drove us across town. Previously I could walk to the elementary and junior high I had attended, but now I was forced to take the bus. This was new and exciting yet intimidating. I had no idea how this was going to turn out but soon reality kicked in.
As we pulled up to Breckinridge Junior High I could see a crowd of people. The bus stopped and let us off. We were greeted by angry white parents who were screaming, cursing and using the N word. It was frightening and also surreal. Adults, parents of the students I would sit next to in class were raging and we did not know if they were going to try to turn the bus over or not. How could grown ups with children of their own be so cruel I wondered?
Why did they hate us just because of the color of our skin? As we walked into the school it felt as though a lynch mob was closing in. These adults had sticks, bats and chains in their hands. Someone said they thought they saw a gun. There were no police to protect us so it had to be the grace of God. All the black students made it off the bus and into the school safely, but we had been traumatized and would carry the scars to our graves.
So much hate directed at mere children. between the ages of 12 and 14. These adults did not know us and we had done nothing to them. St least 50 angry white men and women did not want their children to go to school with us. We were kids, and we did not make the law, but we were punished for integration. Why, I wondered did they not give us a chance?
Why were they so hostile and why could they not at least allow a few days to find out how things would go? Today the action of those adults would probably be labeled as child abuse. Grown men and women shaking their fists at preteens and young teenagers, only that’s not what they saw. Their boys and girls were precious in their site but we were not.
We were the enemy, in their eyes, dating to integrate their lily white school. As an adult I can still see those angry faces, so filled with vitriol without a just cause. I’ve often wondered what they thought would be achieved by terrorizing teenagers. I know they would not have liked anyone to treat their offspring in such an offensive manner. Many of these irate parents probably attended church and were pillars in the community yet they were acting like barbarians.
I look back and wonder why they did not take out their grievance with the local city government who made the decision to end segregated schools? They could haven written a letter to the local newspaper, or attended the next town council meeting. If any of them are living still they would be in their 80s or 90s. A lot has changed since that time and I wonder if those cold hearts have grown a bit softer?
Do those who still live today even recall that first day of school so long ago and their reaction? Some of them probably have black in-laws and biracial grandchildren by now because things like this are more accepted today. Did any of them feel remorse or repent for their actions or do they continue to be hate filled? I also wonder about the other children who were on the bus that day. I’m sure some of them still carry these memories as I have. Fearing for your life is not something you easily forget.
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