Freedom Lessons

by Eileen Harrison Sanchez

  After the children left, Evelyn came to Colleen’s room. Her face was stern as she rested her hands on her hips.

  “Mrs. Rodriguez, he wants us now.”

  Colleen finished rinsing the bottle she had used for the science lesson volcano experiment. “I’m just finishing up here. Do you know what the meeting is about?”

  “No, but it must have something to do with the visits we all got from the superintendent and the parish board president.”

  Realization dawned on Colleen. So, it hadn’t been a new-teacher observation after all.

  In the auditorium, the teachers sat in small groups, chattering and speculating about the unexpected meeting.

  The three visitors and Mr. Peterson strode to the front of the room, and their unsmiling presence had the same effect on the teachers as it had on Colleen’s class. Silence filled the space.

  Colleen noticed that everyone was at the meeting: the secretaries, the custodians, and the cafeteria workers. She turned to look at Evelyn. Every muscle in her body looked tense as she sat ramrod straight, lips in a straight line. Lulu kept wiping her hands on her skirt.

  A microphone had been set up, but Mr. Peterson didn’t need it. His strong voice projected to the back of the auditorium. He welcomed the staff and introduced the superintendent, Mr. James Watson; the president of the parish school board, Mr. Ralph Morrow; and the principal of Kettle Creek schools, Mr. Cornelius Palmer.

  “Teachers and staff, as I announced, this meeting will be brief. Mr. Watson will speak to you, and then I will have a follow-up request.”

  Mr. Watson seemed shorter and older than Colleen remembered, but his voice boomed through the microphone, ensuring that not a word was missed.

  “Good afternoon. Last Friday, I met with officials from the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, who informed me, ‘Under explicit holdings of this court, the obligation of every school district is to terminate dual school systems at once and to operate, now and hereafter, only unitary schools.’ That means that the Freedom of Choice plan we have been operating under is no longer legal. We must close the doors of our Negro schools immediately.”

  He paused and raised his hand to silence the gasps that escaped from the crowd.

  “Starting tomorrow morning, all students, faculty, administrators, secretaries, cooks, and custodians from West Hill schools will be absorbed into the Kettle Creek schools. This involuntary transfer will take place tomorrow, without loss of school time and without loss of any positions.”

  Unable to contain their shock at this news, the staff let out cries of concern.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “The new wing just opened this year!”

  “You can’t close this school!”

  Mr. Peterson stepped back, as if to distance himself from the superintendent and the sudden decision.

  Mr. Watson didn’t respond to the outcry. Once the group settled down, he continued, “All students and staff from West Hill Elementary will report to Kettle Creek Elementary. The students will be transported by bus. I will release you now, and I ask you not to share this information with parents. Leave that task to us.”

  Watson handed the squealing microphone to Mr. Peterson, who turned it off.“Teachers and staff, I realize this is a shock.” Mr. Peterson spoke slowly, his eyes moving to catch the gaze of each person present. “Do not report here tomorrow. The school is closed. Right now, I would like to see each of the teachers for kindergarten through grade five. Teachers, go to your classrooms to collect your personal belongings. All other materials, including your desks and the student desks, will be moved if necessary. Please meet Mr. Palmer and me in the Kettle Creek Elementary cafeteria at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. At that time, we will have further information regarding your assignments. The rest of the staff can please take this time to collect personal belongings and go home to your families. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  Mr. Peterson walked away immediately and headed toward his office. The other men left through the side door to the parking lot. The rows of teachers started buzzing. Colleen saw tears on more than one teacher’s face.

  Colleen’s mind raced. School closed? Transfer? Where? When she finally collected herself and looked around, Evelyn was gone.

  “Lulu, where’s Evelyn?”

  “She’s gone, said she doesn’t care. Gone to tell the families in her neighborhood. Gone to spread the word.”

  How could they all just move into another school? Colleen would have to start over. She smoothed her dress with a shaking hand. She’d just begun to feel as if she belonged here.

  She walked to the office to find out what Mr. Peterson wanted.

  Mrs. Wilson stood behind the counter that separated the office from the entrance. Somehow, she managed to make the corners of her mouth turn up. “Mr. Peterson can see you next. Are you the one who asked me for keys on your first day?”

  Colleen forced a smile at the memory. “I am.”

  “Well, honey”—Mrs. Wilson shook her head—“you just might get those keys at the next place.”

  One of the third-grade teachers sidled past, her head lowered.

  “Mrs. Rodriguez,” Mr. Peterson called from his doorway. “You may come in now.”

  He gestured to the same chair she’d used when he’d confided the story about Evelyn. There were deep creases in his forehead that she had never noticed before.

  “Well, Mrs. Rodriguez, this will be the last time we can sit here and talk.” He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “You’ll be pleased to know that you will be keeping the twenty-four students who are in your class.”

  Colleen shifted in her chair, waiting for the but she could see on his face. It came right away.

  “Some of the classes needed to be shared,” Mr. Peterson continued. “You will have an additional six students from another second-grade class.”

  “Six more?”

  “Each class will have thirty. There aren’t enough classrooms.”

  The weight of this information caused Colleen to slump into her chair.

  “I’ll have a classroom?”

  “Yes, but not in the main building. Four temporary portables have been moved to the backfield. You will have one of those. Your furniture, books, and materials will be moved there by morning.”

  He stood up to escort her out of the office. “I’m sure you have many questions, but that’s all the time I have right now. You’re a fine teacher, Mrs. Rodriguez.” His face tightened. “You’re not one of the teachers who have to worry.”

  Is that because I’m white? Tears built behind Colleen’s eyes, and her temples throbbed.

  Colleen paced from one end of the trailer to the other, checking the clock in the bedroom and then in the kitchen. Miguel would be home in an hour. Her heart raced.

  Finally, she broke down and opened his carton of Marlboros. Her hands shook, and it took her several tries to light a cigarette with a flimsy cardboard match.

  By the time Miguel walked in, she had chain-smoked half the pack. The story poured out of her, from the shock of seeing four men inside her classroom to the announcement of the school closure.

  Miguel tried to get her to focus on the positive. “You have your class.”

  “And more. How am I supposed to manage thirty students?”

  She reached for another cigarette. He moved the pack out of her reach.

  “The classroom is air-conditioned,” he tried.

  “It’s a trailer with no windows!”

  “Colleen, I don’t know what else to say.” Sadness clouded his features, but he opened his arms, inviting her in.

  Chapter 14

  Frank

  Wednesday, November 5, 1969

  “Frank, Frank! You need to wake up! Time to go! I need you to take your sisters to school. Now!”

  As he got out of bed, Frank saw the worry in his mother’s eyes. The previous night, her friend Evelyn had called to tell them about the closing of the black schools. There were r
umors of protests from the white and black communities. Frank didn’t tell his mother that he’d known already. The black coaches had told the football team. He was supposed to meet the team at the back of the school. How could he take his sisters and get there on time?

  By the time he got to the kitchen, Sissy was waiting by the back door. She complained, “Mama, I don’t want to go to the white school. I’m scared. Miz Glover says that the white folks don’t want any of us to go to their school.”

  “Child, don’t you worry none about those folks. And don’t say things to upset your little sister, Rachel. Your brother will be by your side until you get to school.”

  Frank’s mother hurried to finish plaiting Rachel’s hair. As she handed them their bagged lunches, she said, “Frank, you take care of your little sister. Sissy will be fine as soon as she finds her friends. I’m glad I can always count on you.”

  Walking down the street, Frank held Rachel’s hand, but she kept pulling away. He had a hard time holding on to her. Was she going to run back home? She stopped struggling when they got to the corner and saw the usual gang of kids waiting for the bus, as they did each school morning. Frank wondered how many of them knew. Some of the boys were playing kick the can, like they always did. The group of older girls looked bored, or was it worried? Sissy, who’d fallen behind, finally caught up.

  The bus driver seemed tense and limited his usual greeting to “Hurry on, y’all.” Frank pushed Rachel along and found a seat for the three of them to share. The bus turned in the direction opposite their school.

  “Driver! You missed the turn!”

  “Wait, we’re going the wrong way!”

  The leader of the kick-the-can group ran up the aisle to tell the driver, who was doing his best to ignore the shouts. A girl stood up and said to the busload of students, “Don’t y’all know our school closed?”

  “Why?”

  “Where do we go?”

  “What teacher will I have?”

  The bus pulled over to the side, and the driver stood up. His shoulders drooped as he delivered the message. He was a kind man, and the students listened to him.

  “Sit down, now. Y’all going to the white school. It’ll be a’right.”

  “But they hate us!” came a cry from the back.

  “Your teachers will meet you there,” he said.

  The rest of the ride was quiet, sprinkled with hushed whispers from the older students, who leaned over seats to pat a shoulder or hold a hand.

  The bus stopped in front of a long, low building, and Frank watched each student hesitate as they got off. They had to walk past a lot of white folks standing along the walkway. Frank stepped into the street to get by. A few had signs that read FREEDOM OF CHOICE, and they pushed and shoved the students who tried to move around them.

  He passed Mrs. Olsen, one of the white women his mama ironed for. She didn’t have a sign, but she was talking to the people who did.

  “Sissy, hurry,” Frank said. “You go on to the high school. Find your friends, and I’ll see you later.”

  As they turned the corner, Rachel’s teacher waved at them and smiled. “Good morning, Rachel. Is this your brother?” she asked.

  It was rare that his sister didn’t answer for herself. He realized how scared she must be.

  He answered, “Yes, ma’am. I’m Frank.”

  “You can meet us here at dismissal, Frank. I hope you have a good day.”

  He touched his sister on the shoulder and felt her shaking. The teacher took Rachel’s hand and said, “Come here, sweetie. Stand with me.”

  Chapter 15

  Colleen

  Wednesday, November 5, 1969

  After she dropped Miguel off, Colleen drove toward the elementary school, the dry dirt road kicking up dust. The weather was still warm. How would they survive all day in a metal box? No classroom with huge windows to open. No redbrick walls that cooled the room naturally.

  The entrance to the school was blocked. A police officer directed her around a barricade to the parking lot beside the high school. When she parked, Colleen saw crowds of people dividing the street. Look at all those parents on the sidewalk. What do the signs say? FREEDOM OF CHOICE? Sure. Who exactly has a choice?

  Colleen missed Mrs. Wilson’s cheerful morning greeting as she passed the main office in her new school. She knew to meet in the cafeteria, but where was it? Colleen followed a line of black teachers as they walked past a few white teachers who stood in their classroom doorways, as if on guard.

  An announcement came over the loudspeaker: “All staff need to report to the cafeteria for the meeting.” The group of white teachers didn’t move. They glared at the parade of displaced teachers. She heard one complain, “Where are all these people going to fit?” Another said, “They don’t pay me enough for this.”

  In the cafeteria, the black teachers stood silently in the back while the white teachers sat at the tables. No one invited anyone to sit, so Colleen stood with her colleagues from West Hill. After a compressed, to-the-point “Welcome, we have a busy day,” Mr. Palmer briefed the audience. “New staff will be escorted to your classrooms. Room assignments, class lists, and school maps will be distributed now. Except for the four teachers in the trailer classrooms, teachers will be paired in teams. You will meet your students at your assigned spots. Parents are outside, but I advise you not to talk to them. If a reporter approaches, don’t speak to him. There are some concerns about the high school. It’s possible that police will be called in to assure a safe and orderly transition.”

  “More police?” a teacher called from one of the tables, breaking the silence.

  A bell buzzed in the hallway.

  “Teachers, there’s the eight o’clock bell. Please go meet your students,” Mr. Palmer said.

  Colleen followed the white teachers and observed their routine of standing with a class sign along the back walkway. The building hid the demonstrations from the gathering children.

  Colleen scanned the yard for familiar faces. “Lulu! There you are! Have you seen Evelyn?”

  Lulu stared ahead, gritted her teeth, and hardly moved her lips as she spoke. “Didn’t you hear, Colleen? I don’t have a class anymore. You get six of mine. I get to ‘help out.’ And maybe you shouldn’t talk to me.”

  “What?” Colleen whispered.

  A white teacher glared at her. Lulu nodded toward the back of the building. Evelyn was standing with her 3C sign. A line of brown faces stood behind her. Colleen’s heart thumped with the sudden realization that the lines behind the white teachers had white children first, with a few black faces at the ends. She searched the faces of her students and realized how quiet they were. They’re scared to death.

  A quick head count told her one was missing. Turning, she recognized one of her students approaching with a tall, broad-shouldered boy.

  “Good morning, Rachel! Is this your brother?”

  Rachel’s eyes darted from her teacher to the class behind her.

  Even she won’t speak to me.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Frank.”

  “You can meet us here at dismissal, Frank. I hope you have a good day.” Colleen took Rachel’s shaking hand. “Come here, sweetie. Stand with me.”

  As Colleen watched Rachel’s brother walk away, she wished she had spoken to him a bit more. He appeared worried. She watched him as he walked toward the high school, his pace hurried. She turned back to her line and counted thirty students.

  “Children! Everyone is here. Let’s go see our new classroom. Please follow me.”

  As Colleen walked her class toward the trailer, she threw her shoulders back and held her head high. Would she be able to stay and do this? She had never quit a job. Her throat tightened. She was having trouble breathing.

  On the periphery of her vision, a figure moved quickly. Was that Rachel’s brother, Frank, running? In the street, a policeman struggled to keep a dog from leaping toward some girls. Colleen hurried to usher the class into the trailer, lock
ing the door from the inside.

  Chapter 16

  Frank

  Wednesday, November 5, 1969

  As Frank passed the line of white folks, they were pointing to a crowd of students gathering on the side of the white high school across the street. He recognized Sissy’s friends Pearl and Kendra walking toward his sister, who was still standing where he had left her.

  Frank looked around and noticed a tall white man with a camera. He was speaking to a policeman and writing something down. Other men with notebooks and pencils stood on the sidewalk.

  Across the street, a police dog growled at Sissy, Pearl, and Kendra. The dog lunged forward, and the officer with the leash pulled back hard, lifting the animal’s front legs into the air. The dog reared up higher, barking wildly, showing its sharp teeth. Sissy and her friends stumbled away, terror on their faces.

  Sissy rushed toward him. “Frank! That dog tried to get us! We don’t know where to go.”

  Her mouth quivered, and he put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll help you find your teacher.” The three girls followed him into the school. He led them to some teachers set up at tables, handing out student schedules.

  Frank turned and plowed his way through students anxious to enter the building. He ran to the back of the school as if he had just been handed the football on his way to a touchdown. The door to the gym was open. His varsity team, the JV team, and the cheerleaders sat high up in the bleachers. As he made his way to his friends, he saw that only Negro students were at the meeting.

  He scanned the far court. “Where’s Coach?”

  “Not here yet,” the quarterback replied. “Here comes Peterson.”

  Dressed in his typical suit and tie, Mr. Peterson made an impressive entrance. He walked across the far court to join the coaches and a man Frank didn’t know.

  The students chattered nervously as they waited.