The Integration Crisis at Central High - continued

Occasionally some of us become a part of history against our wishes, while others willingly choose to participate in it. That may be the only way to view the integration crisis at Central High—those who chose to attend that year to secure their place in history, and those who would have preferred to finish the school year cloaked in anonymity.

I cannot know the motivation behind, or speak for the black students who chose to be part of that particular moment in history, but I do know they and their parents had a choice. Perhaps it was the guarantee of a paid college education? Or maybe it was simply the opportunity to play a role in one of this country's first and most significant civil rights struggles that prompted their participation. Whatever the motivation or reasons behind their decision to integrate Central that year, it had to happen sometime. Although we white students might not have agreed then, the time was right for black students to stand up and fight for rights that had been denied for way too long. And rather than looking back with shame that the struggle happened at all and was broadcast around the world, perhaps we should consider it as society’s shining hour that it was achieved with very little or no bloodshed. Not every civil rights struggle would go that smoothly.

I don’t know if there has ever been dialogue between the Central High black and white students since they reached adulthood and became able to view the events with the perspective of time. I moved away at 21 and have had little contact with anyone from Central since then. I do know that I would love to hear their stories—even include some of them in my blog if they were willing.

At that time and place in history, emotions ruled each of our reactions to the crisis. Fear, anxiety, anger, and the fact that we were typical self-centered teenagers probably kept us from embracing the role we white students played in the future of our nation’s race relations. But that is history now. People—especially teenagers—don’t always react to events in a dignified manner. Yet most of us were dignified enough to show up everyday, walk up those steps, and quietly go about getting our education regardless of what went on outside the building, and possibly even inside it at times.

As the year passed by, we kids continued to adjust to the changing situation. I believe that we behaved as well as could be expected of kids who had been brought up in a society where everything had been defined in terms of black and white. Most of us had never known anything but segregation. We didn’t invent it, and most of us realized it wasn’t right, but it was all we had ever known. The adjustment was traumatic, but we accepted integration because it was the law of the land.

Things finally settled down at school that year as the National Guard was nationalized and returned to the school to guard the black students. Television viewers and newspaper readers eventually became bored with the story. Troublemakers finally tired of standing on the corner waving signs and shouting after most of the media deserted them for more exciting stories. We made it through that year and more than 600 students managed to graduate in May.

The high schools in Little Rock closed in the fall of 1958 to prevent another troubling repeat of the previous year, and Central’s students became pawns in a political struggle as they scrambled to enter schools elsewhere so they could complete their education. Because government officials had a point to prove and didn’t care enough about education to provide Little Rock’s students with a public high school to attend, or to transport them out of town to another school, some dropped out. Childhood friends were separated as students sought their education wherever they could find it.

Central’s national championship football team was split up and destroyed that year, and students in line for scholarships had them snatched away. It was even more devastating to the graduating seniors than it had been to the seniors in 1957/58. No longer would they be graduating from one of the top academic schools in the country. They were truly “lost,” often graduating from out of town schools where they had few friends, or from hastily organized, small church affiliated high schools.

Schools finally reopened in the fall of 1959, so that what was left of the class of ’60 was able to regroup and graduate from Central. But it would not be the same.

Central in 1957/58 was the beginning of the civil rights movement. When the ‘60s dawned, cities around the country faced their own moral crises as they were forced by law to bus students to achieve racial equity. Citizens all over the nation were suddenly forced to reveal the dark underside of their personal prejudices when it came to race, poverty, and ensuring civil rights for everyone. Far-flung racial strife proved that racism wasn’t a “Little Rock” or “Southern” issue. Instead, racial disparity was a nationwide problem that would take years to remedy and caused divisions that have never completely healed.

Given a choice I would rather not have been a part of the 1957 crisis at Central High, but it had a positive effect on the remainder of my life. It made me realize that none of us can be complacent when it comes to ensuring that we treat all of our fellow humans as equals. The experience made me more thoughtful, more tolerant, and a more compassionate citizen than I might have been without the struggles that year.

Our being told to ignore the previous 200 years of history and embrace integration was somewhat similar to being raised on a South Pacific island and suddenly plopped down and forced to live in Iceland. They’re both islands, but the differences are profound. The sudden switch from absolute segregation to integration in 1957 was both dramatic and traumatic, and the situation required major adjustments. Most of us survived it intact. I cannot say that I regret having been a part of it.

REMEMBERING THE '50s - The Integration Crisis at Central High

Since the integration crisis at Little Rock Central High has been in the news so much recently, I decided to cover that era today. I was there that September morning 50 years ago. I was one of the 2000 or so white students who suddenly had our world turned upside down by a decision to make our school an “example” in the South. We weren’t asked our opinion, because we were just kids. But we were forced to face the grown-up horrors of racist protesters and constant bomb threats against our school, no matter that we were kids.

The decade of the ‘50s and the integration crisis is covered thoroughly in my book, Looking Back, but I’ll attempt to help blog readers understand what it was like to be the center of media attention when, as students, all we wanted to do was enjoy our high school days like every other high school kid in America.

First of all, I knew in my heart that the Brown vs. Board of Education Supreme Court Ruling was right in trying to equalize education for white and black students. And we all realized it would happen sometime, but I guess we hoped it would happen first somewhere else. Perhaps a grade school, or a school in a smaller town that would lack facilities for protestors and the media to gather. Just somewhere else besides our school. We weren’t prepared for it. And we weren’t offered a choice.

That first day, the governor decided to call in the National Guard to keep order, but instead they showed up to keep the black students from entering the school. That was the first mistake in a long list of political maneuvers that created a bully pulpit for the extremists on both sides of the argument. It only grew worse from that point on.

The media made a nuisance of itself trying to find stories that didn’t exist, and probably was most responsible for stirring up unrest among protestors, most of them adults and many of them not even from the State of Arkansas. They were mostly the same troublemakers who always stand ready to demonstrate their ignorance, shouting out their opinions in hopes of getting their 15 minutes of fame on television screens or in the newspaper. That’s what drove news coverage during those turbulent days, and still does today.

I can’t say the black students didn’t suffer discrimination when they finally were admitted into school with the backing of the 101st Airborne Division of the U.S. Army. There may have been shoves and insults hurled their way. But I can honestly say that I never saw any acts of violence, and I don’t know how they could have been threatened or harmed when they were each surrounded by guards every time I saw them. Still, I can understand deep emotional wounds from not feeling welcome.

I do admit that most of us didn’t talk with them or make them feel welcome, but it had nothing to do with intolerance or racism. It had everything to do with our being afraid of violence against ourselves if we so much as smiled at them or spoke to them. Who might see us and seek retaliation? Fear motivated most of us to simply ignore them as if they didn't exist.

And it wasn't some sort of conspiracy to ignore them. You see, we kids didn’t discuss the situation back then. We had been taught to be respectful, to obey the rules and to keep our feelings to ourselves. So we didn’t know who was racist and who wasn’t, or even if there were racists among the students. Statistics tell me that it’s likely there were, but there was no way of knowing back then. And yes, we had armed guards standing every few feet down the hall, but that didn’t make us white students feel any safer. Instead, their rifles and bayonets terrified most of us. We went about the business of getting our education, hoping we would wake up one morning and find the problems had all gone away.

I’ll continue this story in my next post here.