not living up to his responsibility to all the people he represents.”
“Maybe he’ll listen,” I said.
“They say a dozen or so white ministers in Little Rock are gonna do the same.” Great, I thought to myself. Maybe now Governor Faubus will see that he has been unfair and change his ways.
Shortly after Mr. Claxton left, the church ladies arrived with baskets of food. “So’s the white people won’t catch you’all shopping and chop your heads off,” Mrs. Floyd said with an acidic smile as she brushed past me. She was Grandma’s very good friend, but she wasn’t at all in favor of the integration. “We have our place, and we do the best when we stay in it,” she said. Her words made me tense up, but I knew she meant well. She had no way of knowing about last night’s shooting and how much the things she said hurt my feelings.
The ladies included bags of store-bought things as well as homemade treats. They uncovered their bowls and heavy metal pots, releasing inviting aromas that made my mouth water.
Right away, I could tell Grandma was getting real impatient with all their talk of whether or not we ought to be stirring up the integration pot. “We’re just getting settled on the front of the bus,” one of them said.
“Why not wait a while till the white folks get used to having us around, in five years or so,” another added.
“Nonsense.” I knew I could count on Grandma’s feisty friend Mrs. Crae, who shook her finger in their faces. “White folks ain’t never given us nothing. Getting from them’s been like pulling dinosaur teeth. We gotta grab everything we can, and most times pay for it with our blood. You just move right along, girl, you hear me. You integrate, now!”
And so it went as they scurried about. Grandma was mostly silent, with the kind of expression that let me know she was about to burst from holding in what she really thought. She was polite but firm in explaining we had lots of chores to do and couldn’t tarry. They headed for the front door.
“Well,” said Mrs. Floyd indignantly, “none of this would be necessary if you’d stayed out of that white school where you’re not wanted.” I wanted to say something and then remembered what an awful sin Grandma said it was to show disrespect to an adult. I knew for certain I shouldn’t be talking back to one of the ladies in our church, whom I would have to see every Sunday for the rest of my life. I walked back into the house without saying a word, feeling as if I had been surrounded by enemies even in my own neighborhood.
“IT’S like opening day at the rodeo here,” Grandma said an hour later, breathlessly racing through the living room to answer the front door once more. I was under strict orders never to answer the door by myself. When the bell rang, I was to move to the center of the house. If the visitor was friendly, I could relax. If it were someone up to no good, I had to hide in the closet, or better still, run for the back door and escape.
“It’s your father. Brace yourself. He’s not in a great mood,” Grandma whispered, hurrying back to the kitchen.
Daddy came storming in, huffing and puffing his anger. “I’m not the kind of man that takes on over his I-told-you-so’s, but the fact is, I told you it would be this way!” He shouted loud enough to be heard as far away as Texas. Grandma came rushing back from the kitchen to stand in the doorway. He looked at her with angry eyes, pointing his finger at me and shouting in harsh tones that made my knees shake.
“Sacrificing this child’s life and endangering the lives and jobs of kinfolks ain’t got nothing to do with freedom! We ain’t free if we’re hungry, or worse yet, hanging from a tree.”
“Shut your mouth, Will Pattillo! Don’t make this child doubt her good deed,” Grandma shouted back. That was just the beginning of an awful string of mean words Papa and Grandma exchanged about me and the integration. The only good thing about
“Maybe he’ll listen,” I said.
“They say a dozen or so white ministers in Little Rock are gonna do the same.” Great, I thought to myself. Maybe now Governor Faubus will see that he has been unfair and change his ways.
Shortly after Mr. Claxton left, the church ladies arrived with baskets of food. “So’s the white people won’t catch you’all shopping and chop your heads off,” Mrs. Floyd said with an acidic smile as she brushed past me. She was Grandma’s very good friend, but she wasn’t at all in favor of the integration. “We have our place, and we do the best when we stay in it,” she said. Her words made me tense up, but I knew she meant well. She had no way of knowing about last night’s shooting and how much the things she said hurt my feelings.
The ladies included bags of store-bought things as well as homemade treats. They uncovered their bowls and heavy metal pots, releasing inviting aromas that made my mouth water.
Right away, I could tell Grandma was getting real impatient with all their talk of whether or not we ought to be stirring up the integration pot. “We’re just getting settled on the front of the bus,” one of them said.
“Why not wait a while till the white folks get used to having us around, in five years or so,” another added.
“Nonsense.” I knew I could count on Grandma’s feisty friend Mrs. Crae, who shook her finger in their faces. “White folks ain’t never given us nothing. Getting from them’s been like pulling dinosaur teeth. We gotta grab everything we can, and most times pay for it with our blood. You just move right along, girl, you hear me. You integrate, now!”
And so it went as they scurried about. Grandma was mostly silent, with the kind of expression that let me know she was about to burst from holding in what she really thought. She was polite but firm in explaining we had lots of chores to do and couldn’t tarry. They headed for the front door.
“Well,” said Mrs. Floyd indignantly, “none of this would be necessary if you’d stayed out of that white school where you’re not wanted.” I wanted to say something and then remembered what an awful sin Grandma said it was to show disrespect to an adult. I knew for certain I shouldn’t be talking back to one of the ladies in our church, whom I would have to see every Sunday for the rest of my life. I walked back into the house without saying a word, feeling as if I had been surrounded by enemies even in my own neighborhood.
“IT’S like opening day at the rodeo here,” Grandma said an hour later, breathlessly racing through the living room to answer the front door once more. I was under strict orders never to answer the door by myself. When the bell rang, I was to move to the center of the house. If the visitor was friendly, I could relax. If it were someone up to no good, I had to hide in the closet, or better still, run for the back door and escape.
“It’s your father. Brace yourself. He’s not in a great mood,” Grandma whispered, hurrying back to the kitchen.
Daddy came storming in, huffing and puffing his anger. “I’m not the kind of man that takes on over his I-told-you-so’s, but the fact is, I told you it would be this way!” He shouted loud enough to be heard as far away as Texas. Grandma came rushing back from the kitchen to stand in the doorway. He looked at her with angry eyes, pointing his finger at me and shouting in harsh tones that made my knees shake.
“Sacrificing this child’s life and endangering the lives and jobs of kinfolks ain’t got nothing to do with freedom! We ain’t free if we’re hungry, or worse yet, hanging from a tree.”
“Shut your mouth, Will Pattillo! Don’t make this child doubt her good deed,” Grandma shouted back. That was just the beginning of an awful string of mean words Papa and Grandma exchanged about me and the integration. The only good thing about
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