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In challenging times like these, it
is somewhat comforting to
recall a period when citizen action was more or less
successful. It was l960, and the sign across the back window
of our sagging station wagon carried a message which should
have ceased to be controversial a century or so earlier, but
it still packed enough of a wallop to net us several
undeserved traffic tickets, and rock throwings in the
southern part of the state. The words were simply
enough, reading "We Want Public Schools". It had been
printed
and distributed by HOPE, Inc. (Help Our Public Education).
Our beginnings were small, just seventeen people gathered in
the living room of the parents of five public school students
in Atlanta. Our group included two lawyers, three educators,
a couple of businessmen, and the rest mothers, The goal ahead
seemed impossible to achieve.
It had, of course, long been clear that segregated
public
schools were doomed. As far back as l935, the Murray versus
the University of Maryland decision had established the right
of Negroes to enter institutions of higher learning, and in
1954, the Brown versus Topeka decision had extended the right
to lower schools. Then the crisis had taken a giant step in
our direction, with five Negro parents demanding the right to
enter their children into white public schools the following
fall.
Our state legislators, in defiance of the
Supreme Court
decision, had responded by enacting a set of laws designed to
close every school in the state before admitting a single
black student. Georgia seemed determined to embrace ignorance
rather than submit even to token integration, The group which
met that wintry evening did not debate the moral issue at
all, for there were reactions among us which ranged from one
who commented that "Halitosis is better than no breath at
all" to those who believed, as I did, that the Supreme Court
decision was the only one compatible with our democratic form
of government. However, we all had one thing in common, the
possession of genuine bawn-and-bred southern drawls. This was
a virtual necessity, since any questioning of the governor
statement that not one transfer student would be admitted
during his administration was invariably questioned in turn,
"Where do you come from anyway? You just don't understand
the
situation!"
Since I had a foresighted grandmother who
had been born
during the Battle of Atlanta, and moreover, born in the
basement since the Yankees were occupying the rest of the
house, I was the natural choice to head the speakers' bureau,
and she was exhumed whenever I addressed civic assocations.
To the west, Little Rock served as a grim
warning of what
could happen to us, but it also offered an inspiring example
of what citizen action could accomplish. We were guided in
the organization of our group by the "Women's Emergency
Committee to Open Our Schools", the only group in Arkansas'
embattled city to fight for public education. They opened an
office, ran advertisements, organized television programs,
made weekly mailings to as many as 5000 people, and
interviewed group leaders and political officials. Informed
sources credited the Women's Committee with the eventual
reopening of the four closed high schools to their 3500
students.
We were certain that the people of Georgia
did not want their
schools closed. However, they had been told in positive
tones by their elected officials that some form of private
education could be devised which would provide segregated
education. One by one, the foundations for such a program had
been chipped away by the federal courts, who denied the use
of public school buildings, and finally declared
unconstitutional any law which sought to evade the Supreme
Court ruling.
HOPE's task, then was to acquaint the parents
of the state
with the stark confrontation they faced - integrated schools
or no schools at all. We were sure that parents were
unwilling to pay such a price for what was euphemistically
called our "southern heritage", for education meant
much to
Georgia, which spent a larger portion of its tax dollars for
schools than any other state. In spite of this, our state
office-holders seemed determined to stake their future
political careers on the chance that voters would prefer
continued prejudice to continued public education.
It was of tremendous help that we were aided
in our task by
the clear and forceful writing of Pulitzer Prize-winning
editor of The Atlanta Constitution, Ralph McGill, who
courageously agreed to be the principal speaker at our first
public meeting.
That occasion was frightening, for only a
short while before,
The Temple of the Reform Jewish congregation was bombed. The
attack came at about three in the morning, so that no one was
in the building, which was grievously injured. However, it
was clear that anti-Semitism was not the cause. It was the
fact that the Rabbi, Jacob Rothschild, had taken a leading
part in our efforts to keep the schools open. It was a
tremendous relief that our meeting was well attended, and
that here were no vocal objections to the words of the
speakers.
In fact, increasing numbers of folks began
to speak out,
first the ministers, then scientists and professional
groups. More than four hundred of the city's leading doctors
signed a petition asking for continuation of public schools.
HOPE did not, of course, claim credit for the awakening of
all these groups, but we were the first to speak out on an
issue which was being doggedly ignored. From the original
seventeen voices crying in the wilderness, there were now
50,000 supporters in ninety of Georgia's counties, and when
the state Legislature met in January, 1960, a petition was
presented to them. Although they did not repeal any of the
laws which would prevent the enforcement of a pupil
placement law, they did create a commission to hold public
hearings in every congressional district to hear public
opinions on the subject, and report their findings to the
governor, who was authorized to call a special session of the
lawmaking body before the schools would be finally closed,
When the commission came to Atlanta, my oldest
son, John, who
had recently been named the STAR Student of the district,
spoke, pleading that the schools would stay open to enable
his five younger siblings to enjoy the privilege which he,
now a high school senior, had been granted. As I beamed with
pride, a surprising blow was dealt me. I had noted with
pleasure that, among the listeners, was my favorite teacher,
who had made my fifth grade year a delight. As I ran to greet
her, she accosted me, asking how I could possibly allow my
son to express such heretical opinions. She went on to tell
me that she would abandon the profession of teaching if the
schools were integrated.
In spite of others who shared her opinion,
the commission
heard from far more who wanted their children to learn, so
that, before the fateful September opening day of school
arrived, the Legislature had agreed to accept a plan for very
gradual integration. It left much to be desired, for it
admitted to formerly white schools a very small number of
senior applicants. There were journalists from around the
world on hand to observe the historic event, and there was no
violence at all,
At one school, Northside High, the transfer
students were
greeted by friends, for encouraged by Allison Williams,
pastor of nearby Trinity Presbyterian Church, several of the
Northside High seniors, members of a youth group at the
Church, had arranged for the transfer students to come to
social gatherings during the preceding summer. President of
the Northside High Student body, Jim Martin, was especially
active in making the transfer students feel welcome.
Over the years, Jim Martin has continued to
be a good citizen
who has helped his city grow in compassion. He served as
Commissioner of the Human Resources Department of the state,
and he is now a candidate for Lieutenant Governor. For
information on Jim's superlative record and his abilities,
contact www.jimforgeorgia.com.
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