Frank’s father had taught him to drive when he was only fourteen. But this was a professional car.
“Frank? What do you think?”
He couldn’t believe it. He thought he had responded. But Mr. Fields was still waiting.
“Yes!”
“Good. You’ll need a suit if you’re driving for us. Do you have one?”
“No, sir, I don’t.” Awed at the idea of imitating the professionally dressed black man who was now his boss, Frank wondered if his father had ever owned a suit. He couldn’t recall ever having seen him in one.
“This might take us a bit of time. I would like you to take me for a drive each day you work until you can handle the hearse comfortably. In the meantime, we’ll work on finding a suit for you. The bereaved families often offer the driver additional compensation. How does that sound?”
Mr. Fields extended his hand, and Frank took it in a firm grasp.
“I won’t let you down, Mr. Fields. Thank you for the offer.”
“Good day to you, son.” Mr. Fields nodded as he walked away.
Frank turned back and continued polishing the car with feverish energy, thinking about how the extra money would help him build up his new savings account. Just the prior month, he had almost fallen for the army recruiter’s spiel at the school assembly. The man had claimed that the benefits for enlisting included college tuition.
Chapter 33
Colleen
Monday, March 30, 1970
“Ten weeks—that’s all we have left. June sixth, we’re gone.” Ten weeks?
The week off from school had given her time to plan. Miguel had ten weeks left until active-duty discharge. He had served his time and was ready to return to New Jersey and his career. But she had only nine weeks left with her students and was excited to get back to school, where they would continue their work on cursive writing. The first letters they learned were c, o, a, d, and g. They were motivated when they joined letters to write a few words, like dog and add.
Even though the Dick and Jane books were old and out-of-date, the workbooks had assessments at the end, as did the math workbooks. The assessments documented improvement in reading and math skills. Each child had a black-and-white marble composition pad filled with writing samples. All she had to do was turn the pages to see the changes. Over spring break, she had reviewed their work and felt good about their progress. May 29 was the last day of school. She wanted to make these the best nine weeks of the school year.
She loaded a cardboard box with the materials she had collected for planting bean seeds. She needed to make two trips to the car to bring in the books about plants. Jeanne, her new librarian friend, had collected more than she had space for, but Colleen took them anyway.
As she was clearing her desktop, the only spot large enough to set up the materials for the bean planting, Cynthia burst into the trailer.
“Miz Rodriguez, I’m glad to see you.” Her little frame was heaving with breathlessness. Colleen didn’t have a chance to ask why before Linkston came up the wooden steps and through the open door.
“You cain’t leave the door open. All the cold air will escape!” he shouted.
Colleen held in a laugh. It was good to see these two. Nothing had changed with them. Now she knew the reason for the heavy breathing. Cynthia and Linkston had raced from the street. Cynthia had won again.
“Did you two come on the bus today? It’s early for you to be here already.”
“No, my mama has a new job, and she brought us in the car,” Cynthia announced.
“I’m glad to see you. I can use some help. Do you want to set up the library table or the science experiment?”
“Science experiment!” they both shouted.
“First, let’s put these newspapers on the top of my desk. Okay?”
Colleen handed them each a section of newspaper and demonstrated how to take two or three sheets and layer them to cover the desk.
“Happy Easter, Miz Rodriguez. Do you like my new dress?” Cynthia asked, as she tidily set down the papers. “I wore it to church yesterday, and my mama said I could wear it today to show you. I had a hat, too, but I couldn’t wear that to school—it might get ruined.”
The skirt of her dress ballooned as she spun around.
“I love it, Cynthia, especially the bow in the back. It’s fancy—”
“I’m done. Used all the newspapers,” Linkston interrupted, clearly annoyed with all the chatter about Cynthia’s dress.
“That’s great. Now you can take out the paper cups. Please lift them up out of the box carefully so the dirt doesn’t spill out of them.”
On the desktop, Colleen placed the container of lima beans that she had soaked overnight, along with paper towels, sandwich bags, a black marker, and a spray bottle full of water. She checked her watch. “I’m glad you came early. The science project is all set up. Let’s go get the class.”
An unfamiliar emotion filled Colleen as they made their way out of the trailer: a sudden burst of joy at the challenge of the unplanned integration, the rejection by the staff at the white school, the lack of materials, and the impossibly tight quarters, in comparison with what she had accomplished despite all that. Cynthia and Linkston were two good examples. Pride nudged the happiness in her heart when she saw the lineup of smiling faces waiting for her.
The safety of the prepared science project was compromised as soon as Jarrod saw Colleen’s desktop. He picked up the spray bottle of water. “Miz Rodriguez, what’s all this stuff for?”
“Please put it down. It’s for our science lesson after lunch.” She wasn’t sure who was more amazed when he did exactly what she asked.
Everyone seemed glad to be back to the school routine, and the morning went smoothly. As promised, the science experiment was the first of the afternoon activities. Colleen stood behind her desk and explained that they were going to plant some bean seeds in soil and some in a plastic bag without soil.
“Y’all need to put them beans in dirt,” Jarrod called out.
Of course, Colleen thought. Did he use up all his goodness in the morning?
“That is the usual way, Jarrod, but this is an experiment, and we’re going to find out what plants need to grow. We’re going to observe and compare. Those are science words. Are you ready to be scientists?”
“Yes!” they yelled in a gleeful chorus. Colleen guided the children to place three beans in the cup and cover them gently with soil. They each folded a paper towel, and then Colleen sprayed it with water. She demonstrated how to put the towel in the plastic sandwich bag, lay three more beans on the towel, and fold over the top of the bag. She taped the bags to the wall behind her desk. “We’re going to take the beans we planted in the cups outside and put them next to the steps in this box. The outside beans in dirt will have light and water each day. The inside beans in the bags will have water. It’s your job to watch them grow.”
The first two days of the week after spring break felt like her days back at West Hill School. The fine-tuning of her classroom management had them all humming, literally. Colleen was her old self. She burst into song to signal the class. If she sang “A Beautiful Morning,” they knew to pick up their carpets “to go outside awhile”; when she sang “Yellow Submarine,” it was because they needed a break. She and the class would march single file through the rows of desks. Pretending the trailer was a submarine beneath the sea fed everyone’s resilience.
Chapter 34
Colleen
Wednesday, April 1, 1970
It was April Fools’ Day. Colleen wondered who would try to play a joke. Each afternoon’s routine now included checking the beans. On the way back from lunch, Colleen instructed the children to pick up their beans in the cups and observe. They observed whether the soil was damp and whether they could spot any growth. The children were disappointed that nothing had happened.
“It takes a while for the roots to pop out. You can’t see them under the dirt. Let’s check the ones in the bag
s inside.”
Colleen was glad that the fluorescent lights in the classroom provided enough light that some of the beans in the bags had started to sprout in just three days. No one had noticed in the morning.
“There isn’t enough room for all of us to observe the bags taped to the bulletin board. Row one, would you please be our first observers?”
Seven children crowded around the bulletin board in the back of their classroom.
“Miz Rodriguez, I see some squiggly white roots popping out of my bean,” Jarrod said.
“Excellent observation. Did your bean in the cup have any roots, Jarrod?”
He shook his head.
“What do you think is happening in the cup?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Take a guess, Jarrod.”
“Maybe my bean has roots?”
“That’s right. We couldn’t see the roots in the cup because they’re under the dirt, but we should see the green shoots pop out soon.”
His smile was so broad that it filled his face and Colleen’s heart. He had finally gained confidence. “I’m proud of you, Jarrod. You took a chance, and you were right.”
By the end of the day, Colleen was surprised that not one child had played an April Fools’ joke. Did they know about it? She would find out.
“Children, before we go home, I have a surprise for you, but I need you all to be seated and looking at me. Are you ready?”
She reviewed the bean-planting process and reminded them that even if you don’t have dirt, seeds can sprout. She handed out filled sandwich bags to each child.
“Take a look. What do you see in the bags?”
“It looks like cereal,” Linkston said.
“Cheerios,” Cynthia added.
“Oh, no, that’s not what these are,” Colleen said. “They’re seeds.”
“Miz Rodriguez, these are not seeds. These here are for breakfast,” Jarrod said.
“No, these are special seeds—these are donut seeds. Didn’t you ever hear about donut seeds? If you take good care of them like you did with the bean seeds, you can have a crop of donuts.”
Thirty pairs of hungry eyes popped as wide as their open mouths.
“What flavors? Chocolate?” Jarrod asked.
Excited children looked at each other and shook their filled bags.
“Strawberry frosted?” a hesitant voice called out from the back.
Cynthia held up her bag of Cheerios and said, “Y’all, these seeds are vanilla.”
Linkston shook his head in disbelief and caught Colleen’s eye.
She winked at him and said, “April Fools’!”
They laughed. “You tricked us!”
Unfazed, Jarrod asked, “Miz Rodriguez, can we eat them?”
“Yes. Enjoy the donut seeds, everyone.”
Chapter 35
Colleen
Friday, May 15, 1970
Colleen was at the back of the trailer when Jarrod called out, “Miz Rodriguez, Miz Rodriguez, someone is knocking.” The lack of windows made it impossible to see anything but the four walls of the trailer classroom. No one knocked for long, if at all. Typically, any visitor just came in and interrupted whatever they were in the middle of. Colleen opened the door outward to see a tall white boy standing below the first step. He knew to stand low so that the door wouldn’t hit him when it opened. As Colleen stepped back to let him enter the classroom, he reached up and handed her a note. He left without speaking.
The children were as curious as Colleen.
Jarrod called out again, “What does it say, Miz Rodriguez?”
Linkston looked at her with worried eyes behind his glasses. “Are you in trouble, Miz Rodriguez?”
Shifting her stance, Colleen opened the paper. “Now, why would you think that, Linkston?” But as she read the note, she wondered the same thing.
It was a request to meet the principal in his office after the children were dismissed for the day.
That afternoon, the office was bustling. A few of the PTA parents were placing pale blue envelopes, each topped with a tiny fresh-flower nosegay, inside the teachers’ mail cubbies. At the same time, some of the teachers were checking for any notices before they left for the weekend. Chatter about Friday night plans made the office a lively and deceivingly pleasant place.
Colleen watched one teacher open the envelope as she gushed, “How lovely of you ladies, treating all the teachers so kindly with a luncheon at the end of the school year. Thank you for the invitation and for the flowers.”
Several other teachers reached to retrieve theirs, crowding the passage through the office. Colleen had to excuse herself several times to move out of the path of the mutual admiration society of chattering teachers and parents.
When she finally reached the secretary’s desk, she was greeted with a curt directive. “He’s waiting for you, Mrs. Rodriguez. Go right in.”
The door to the office had a textured glass window designed to filter light and provide privacy. His name was etched into the glass.
The afternoon sun blinded her as she sat in the chair he pointed to. He barely lifted his head as he continued to examine a stack of papers on the desktop. She could see his scalp through his thinning hair. He seemed annoyed; Colleen wondered what she had done to receive such a reception.
Mr. Palmer finally looked up at her over wire-framed eyeglasses perched on the tip of his nose and said, “Mrs. Rodriguez, we have decided that all the C-level classes will not be passed on. Your students are not prepared for third grade. They are to be retained, and you need to inform the parents. I’ve prepared a letter for you to copy and sign.”
Colleen froze. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand. We cannot pass these poor Negro children to third grade unprepared and allow them to continue a life of failure.”
“Failure?” She leaned forward. “Then you don’t know my students, Mr. Palmer. They have all moved up at least two reading levels since I started teaching in August. They know all the Dolch sight words.” She pushed back her chair. “I should have brought my charts and their writing samples with me. The improvement is quite clear. I’ll get them for you.”
His response chilled her. “No, that will not be necessary.”
“But …”
He stopped her with a stern look as he removed his glasses.
“I’m only trying to explain …”
He didn’t let her speak about math, science, or social studies. “Mrs. Rodriguez, you are bordering on insubordination.”
“Sir …”
“Aren’t you planning to return to New Jersey after the school year? I expect that you will want a letter of recommendation from me. They will be retained. This is out of your hands. Have the letters ready to send home on Monday.”
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and picked up the phone. She stood up slowly, willing her tears not to flow as she went to open the office door.
Colleen composed herself, pretended nothing was wrong, and went over to sign out and get her mail. The gaggle of women who had been standing around the mailboxes had departed. As she sorted through flyers and end-of-year paperwork, she realized that she hadn’t received a pale blue envelope containing an invitation to the teacher luncheon, nor a tiny fresh-flower nosegay.
Chapter 36
Annie Mae
Saturday, May 16, 1970
Annie Mae was looking forward to the end of this school year. It had been difficult, but prayers had pulled her through. Her husband, Shelton, must be bursting with pride from his grave. Frank was finding his way to college without the football scholarship they had counted on. Frank had stayed out of the protest walkouts his friends had organized. She knew it was because of her; he didn’t want her ever to have to pick him up at the jail again. The job he had gotten at the funeral home wouldn’t be enough to pay for college, but she saw how determined he was. He’d manage somehow.
Walking through her living ro
om with her dustcloth, she picked up her wedding picture. Frank was a lot like his father. Shelton was one of a few army veterans from the Korean War who believed his town was ready for change. Fred Peterson was another. Annie Mae put the picture back when her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t have time to be sad.
Saturday mornings were hers. Today she was the only one home. Up since dawn, she had just finished cleaning the kitchen. Her daughters didn’t understand why she polished the top of the refrigerator every week, but that was how she liked it—no dust balls would ever float down into her cooking.
Annie Mae took care of several white families’ cleaning and ironing all week, and she had her own four children to look after too. The day was hot, and she promised herself a tall glass of iced tea on the porch when she was finished with her chores.
Frank had left the house early to drive the hearse for a funeral. Sissy had taken Rachel and Baby James over to the horse farm to see the newest colt. Shelton’s cousin Penelope had invited them to come early and stay for lunch.
Penelope had inherited the family farm and the horses from her grandmother and namesake. She visited regularly but lived and worked in Manhattan, where she sold real estate properties to professional Negro families. She had found her way out of their small town years ago but never forgot where she came from. Penelope employed a caretaker and his family to manage the farm.
Annie Mae heard the mail truck and the familiar slams of seven roadside mailboxes as the postman rushed through the delivery. She decided to take a break. On the way down the shady driveway to collect her mail, she plucked a few weeds from her flower bed. When she pulled open the hinged door to the box, a crisp white business-size envelope rested on the top of the pile. She took it out to read the return address of the parish school board and saw the formal, typed recipient’s name: Mrs. Annie M. Woods.
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