She sat for a while, enjoying the breeze on her face. Then, feeling guilty, she stood to help him.
“Was the trailer with the white fence for rent when you picked this?”
“The rent for that place is forty-five dollars more per month. I didn’t think we could afford it.”
“Why is it so much more?”
He turned to answer her with the expression of a boy admitting it was his ball that had broken the neighbors’ window.
“It has air-conditioning.”
Chapter 2
Colleen
Monday, July 14, 1969
Two weeks after they settled into their trailer home, Colleen got the courage to send her parents a taped message. Things weren’t going as she had hoped.
“Testing, one, two, three. Hi, Dad, Mom, you know it’s me. I was … Oops …”
She couldn’t tell them the truth, especially her father. He was already concerned that she had wanted to quit her teaching job to marry Miguel and move away to be an army wife. And the world he had promised her was in upheaval. The assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Robert F. Kennedy had shocked the country. Anti–Vietnam War protests and civil rights marches were fueled by anger. The North was no better than the South. He didn’t have to remind her how the Newark riots had police on alert and had closed the store that Colleen worked in part-time. The future was uncertain. Her father reluctantly relented when he saw that she was resolved to live her own life.
Miguel was drafted a year out of college with a 1-A classification. His advanced training assignment in Fort Polk was basically a guaranteed ticket to Da Nang Air Base. But the luck of the draw placed him in drill sergeant school and gave him eighteen months guaranteed in the United States, so they moved up the wedding date. When the school year was over, Colleen resigned from her teaching job. Wars influence lovers to live for the present.
Her parents admired Miguel’s grit and determination. His family was part of the recent surge of Cuban immigrants who had fled Cuba when Castro turned to communism. When he was thirteen, his parents and eight siblings had left a comfortable life behind them and started over from nothing. Miguel had exchanged his dreams of a major league baseball career for an after-school paper route.
Colleen couldn’t let her father down. Or herself.
She pressed the rewind button.
“The cassette player is really cool. Thanks for the gift. I’ll tape a message every day or two and mail it when I fill the reel. It’s hard not to have a phone. Use the number for our landlord in an emergency. He’ll take calls for us if we don’t overdo it. I thought you’d like to know about our trailer. I have to admit I was surprised to see it. Turquoise is a color I like to wear, not live in. We decided not to go to New Orleans for our honeymoon. Instead, we went to Sears to buy an air conditioner. The salesman asked us how big our place was. ‘Two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room,’ Miguel answered. What a joke! We should have said that the entire space was eight feet wide and forty-six feet long. Miguel installed the air conditioner last weekend in the living room window. When it’s on full blast, it could blow you right out the door. More soon. Bye for now.”
That was all she could reveal. She was worried about getting a teaching job. The previous year, she’d had four offers. Every town needed teachers. She’d had such confidence that it would be simple when she’d gone to the school board office the week before.
The low building was framed in painted cinder blocks and had a red tin roof, a metal door, and a small, square window. It looked like the VFW hall at home in New Jersey. Colleen spotted a large metal plaque that read KETTLE CREEK PARISH SCHOOL BOARD. She walked in.
The office was crowded with upset people attempting to make appointments. Behind the desk sat an equally distraught woman who kept repeating the same answer: “I’m sorry, but the superintendent is not available.”
Colleen scrutinized the room, then sat down in a chair by the doorway next to a woman who appeared a bit more patient than the rest. A tight smile from her felt like an invitation, so Colleen asked, “Are all these people applying for teaching positions?”
The smile slipped away as the woman’s mouth opened in surprise. “No, darlin’, they’re trying to keep their positions. The school board is in some kind of trouble with HEW, and rumors are flying. Didn’t you read about it in the morning paper?”
“HEW?” Colleen asked.
“Health, Education, and Welfare, or maybe it stands for ‘hate every white.’”
The woman gripped the pocketbook on her lap when two more people pushed through the doorway and bumped her chair.
“Oh my. I came here to get an application for a teaching job.”
Her source shook her head. “Maybe you should come back tomorrow, or even next week, when things settle down.”
Colleen took the advice and traded the office’s chaos for the cushioned corner booth in the luncheonette across the street.
“Hi, darlin’, you look a bit overcome. What’s happening at that school board office?”
“I’m wondering the same thing. Do you have a newspaper I could buy?”
The waitress smiled as she handed Colleen a menu. “Just made a batch of my Luzianne iced tea; it’ll cool you right down.”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
“See if you want anything else while I get that tea. And yes, we have newspapers for customers. I’ll bring you one.”
Refreshed by the cool drink, Colleen scanned the paper. Nothing about schools or teachers in the front section. Then, on page nine, after the Little League schedule, a headline popped out: “School Board Tells of Plan for Faculty.”
Her hands clenched as she read that the superintendent had presented a list of teacher assignments for approval to the school board for the fall session. The list was completed to meet the guidelines of the 1954 Supreme Court’s order on school desegregation and federal enforcement of the court’s 1964 order. Robert Finch, secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW), had scored a victory in the bitter struggle over school desegregation. The superintendent was not ready to make public announcements until he met with principals and teachers.
So that was the reason everyone was storming the parish board office. But the Brown v. Board of Education decision had happened fifteen years earlier, followed by the Civil Rights Act ten years later. And what had that teacher meant when she’d said HEW stood for “hate every white”?
Chapter 3
Colleen
Tuesday, August 19, 1969
Someone rapped on the metal door of the trailer. Colleen opened it to see Mr. Murphy, their landlord and the owner of the trailer park, standing with his hat in his hand.
“Evenin’, missus. You got a phone call today. Sounded important. It was the school board secretary looking for you. I came by, but you weren’t home, and it’s too late to call now. Come over first thing in the morning. Here’s the number.”
As he departed, he tipped his hat, leaving another smudge on the worn brim. Colleen smiled at him, every inch the southern gentleman she expected, despite his dungaree overalls and straw fedora. Colleen took the note and closed the door. It was so annoying not to have a phone. They had to use the pay phone on the base or depend on this awkward method. She needed a job. Miguel’s salary of $230 per month was hard to stretch. She sang to the radio while she finished making dinner, as she dreamed about having enough money to move to the corner trailer with the picket fence or maybe go on their honeymoon.
The next morning, Mrs. Murphy let Colleen in on the first knock. The four Murphy children giggled and let out a chorus of “Mornin’, Mrs. Rodriguez.”
Colleen’s call to the school board secretary was brief and ended with her accepting an interview appointment that afternoon. Weeks earlier, she had returned “when things calmed down” and submitted an application. This was good news; she didn’t want to work at the five-and-dime.
Inside the front door of the board office was th
e waiting room with the vinyl-cushioned chairs she had sat on a month before. This time, the room was empty, except for the same secretary, who greeted her with a smile.
As she ushered Colleen through the doorway to the superintendent’s office, the man seated at the desk stood to greet her. Through round, wire-framed glasses, two piercing eyes examined her. “Welcome to Kettle Creek, Mrs. Rodriguez. I’m Superintendent Watson. Please, sit here.”
The chair facing his desk was as uncomfortable as the one in the waiting room. She had to sit at the edge with her feet flat on the floor so that she wouldn’t slide off.
“I appreciate your punctuality. With school starting next week, I’m eager to fill a few unexpected teaching positions.”
Why unexpected? A few? Didn’t he make a list weeks ago?
“What brings you to Kettle Creek, Mrs. Rodriguez?”
“My husband is stationed at the army base until June.”
“I see. Is he an officer?”
“No, sir, he’s a drill sergeant.”
“So, would you be able to teach for the school year?”
Colleen smiled as she replied with a big yes, praying she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.
“After examining your credentials, the best match I have for you is a second-grade position at West Hill School. I can offer you $4,750. Is that acceptable?’
Colleen agreed quickly. It was several thousand less than she had earned the previous year, but it was more than the five-and-dime would pay. With that, the superintendent stood up and escorted Colleen back down the hall. He asked the secretary to prepare the paperwork, shook Colleen’s hand, and wished her a good year. The secretary handed Colleen a contract to sign, with her name, salary, and date of hire.
“Please press hard when you sign so I can give you the carbon copy for your records.”
The woman put the carbon copy and a W-2 form into an envelope.
“Where is the school?” Colleen asked, as she took the papers.
“Oh, didn’t he tell you? West Hill School is on Tulip Lane. Just go over the other side of the tracks after you pass through town.”
As Colleen walked to her car, she realized that they hadn’t asked for references and wondered if that was an oversight. But she didn’t dare return. No need to remind them or take a chance that they’d change their mind. She sang along to the radio as she drove home.
Jan, another army wife and a teacher, was outside tending her garden when Colleen parked her car between their trailers. As Jan jammed a fistful of weeds into a bag, she said, “Colleen, you look happier than a tornado in this trailer park.”
“I just had a job interview. It happened so fast. I start at West Hill School on Monday.”
“West Hill?” Jan fixed her gaze on Colleen. “The second-grade spot?”
“Yes, how do you know?”
“That’s the spot Mrs. Kirby refused to take. I told you that, right?”
“What?” Colleen heard her voice rise. “Who’s Mrs. Kirby?”
“Old friend of mine. Got reassigned from the white school she taught in for forty years and told to report to the Negro school, West Hill. Of course, she called the school board office to say she couldn’t accept the transfer.”
“Negro school?”
“Bless your heart.” Jan’s smile was cold. “Yes. West Hill’s a Negro school, sugar. The races are separate here. That’s how everyone likes it.” Jan shook her head as she bent to pull another weed. “Now they’re sending white teachers to the black school.” She added a bunch of reasons why Colleen shouldn’t expect much from the students, the staff, or the facility at West Hill.
“Where are you from, Jan?”
“Mississippi, born and bred.”
Colleen wondered what Jan thought of Miguel. This woman couldn’t be the friend she’d hoped for. She was just like Maggie and Beau, from Colleen’s first day in this town.
“What about the Brown decision?” Colleen scrambled to remember. The highest court in the land had finally said “separate but equal” wasn’t good enough. Schools had to integrate. “I read that your superintendent had to follow the guidelines, and that was what caused the fuss in the office a few weeks ago.”
“We follow the Freedom of Choice plan. Everyone can pick their school. It was working fine. Can’t help that no colored chose to go to the white school.”
Colleen drew a deep breath, thinking of news reports she’d seen about Negro children being escorted into their school by the National Guard. It had all seemed so far away until this minute. “I’m still going to take the job, Jan.”
“Are you one of those bus-riding Yankees?” Jan’s eyes narrowed. “Seems like you’re fixin’ to have some trouble.”
Colleen shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other. “How am I causing trouble?”
“Trouble for you, I mean. No decent southern white woman would take that job. Mrs. Kirby was told to accept or retire. Forty years of service meant nothing.”
“I’m not a southern woman.” Colleen started to walk toward her door.
“You see what happens,” Jan called out. “Then come talk to me.”
Chapter 4
Colleen
Monday, August 25, 1969
One week later, on a sunny Monday morning, Colleen thought of every first day of school in her lifetime. The butterflies were the same as they’d always been—but now she was the teacher.
The dusty gravel road kicked up dirt as the car rolled toward the paved highway. Remembering Jan’s warnings about the job, Colleen almost missed the turn for Tulip Lane. The school was a one-story brick building shaded by huge oak trees. She pulled into a spot in the small parking lot in front. A curved walkway invited her to the main door. Colleen entered and scanned the hallway for some directions. She spotted a sign announcing:
WELCOME BACK!
PARENTS AND VISITORS: PLEASE SEE OUR SECRETARY,
MRS.CORETTA WILSON, IN THE SCHOOL OFFICE.
A middle-aged Negro woman stood behind the counter, sorting papers into rows of mailboxes. She hummed as she worked and looked up when she noticed Colleen.
“Well! Good morning. May I help you?”
Colleen introduced herself as the new second-grade teacher and asked for the classroom keys. Mrs. Wilson chuckled and extended her hand with a huge smile.
“Aw, honey, you won’t need any keys. Our night man opens all the doors before he leaves each morning. You can just go on down to the second door on the right. You should find some paperwork on your desk. Come back to me with any questions. The children won’t arrive for over an hour.”
Every school in New Jersey that Colleen had ever been in had interior hallways. This school was designed for the sweltering days of the region. As she walked out, she was amazed to see covered walkways that created open-air corridors around a central courtyard. Each classroom doorway was decorated with hanging planters blooming with lavender morning glories and the sweet fragrance of yellow petunias.
The size of the classroom was the next surprise. A large teacher’s desk, twenty-four wooden student desks, and two long, low bookshelves filled the room. Cubbies with coat hooks and a storage closet fit comfortably opposite the bank of windows. The desks gleamed and smelled clean and fresh with the lemon scent of wax. In the back of the classroom was a smaller reading room with a half moon–shaped table. Behind it was a wall of shelves, each filled with books.
Jan had been wrong.
Colleen reached to take a book from the shelf. The binding tore away from the spine. Then she went to the desk, opened the large top drawer, and caught it before it hit the floor. Well, Jan had been partway wrong.
A breeze blew down from the hill and through the large windows. The interior walls were brick, and Colleen knew they would absorb the heat. The classroom was cooler than her car and bigger than the trailer she lived in.
As she tacked up the WELCOME TO SECOND GRADE bulletin board, she sensed someone else in the room. Colleen whirled around. In the d
oorway stood a woman with straight, smooth hair in a pageboy style. She had large brown eyes accented by tweezed, arched eyebrows. Her full lips were a rosy brown, and a white pearl necklace complemented her dark skin. She wore a long-sleeved jacket over a simple sheath dress. The heat didn’t seem to affect this woman. “Calm, cool, and collected” was written all over her.
By comparison, Colleen felt underdressed in her sleeveless blouse, belted A-line skirt, and flat shoes. She knew her hair was frizzing in the humidity. Drops of sweat ran down her back. She prayed that her underarms would stay as dry as the deodorant ad had promised.
The elegant woman walked in without an invitation or introduction and started to speak. “So, I heard that you were just hired. You look young. How long have you been teaching?”
Colleen felt her heart quicken at the curt welcome, especially after the warm greeting from Mrs. Wilson. She swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking. “One year, back home in New Jersey.”
“You must be a military wife.”
“Yes, I am. Are you?”
“No. Except for four years at Southern University, I’ve lived here all my life. Our roots are deep. My mother, grandmother, and aunts were teachers here as well.”
“My name is Colleen Rodriguez. What’s yours?”
The woman gently fingered the pearls around her neck. “Evelyn. I’m Evelyn Glover. My room is next door. How long are you going to stay?”
The question seemed odd. It was the first day of school. Was this school a place people left? Colleen threw back her shoulders and stood taller.
“Why do you ask?”
“This is an army town. People get transferred all the time.”
Colleen stopped holding her breath. That was all Evelyn had meant by her question.
“Until the end of the year. My husband is stationed here till then. He’s a drill sergeant.” A sudden involuntary image of his Smokey the Bear hat brought a smile to Colleen’s face, which Evelyn’s reply wiped away swiftly.
Freedom Lessons Page 2