A Bi-Generational Narrative in the Brown v. Board Decision

Part I - Life as a Brown Baby Part II - Brown vs. Board of Education: A Contemporary Analysis It would be a slight exaggeration to say that I clearly remember the Brown vs. Board of Education decision, since I was only six years old at the time this landmark legal edict was handed down. But precocious child that I was, I was about to complete second grade, and like every other little colored child in the state of North Carolina, I was in a racially segregated school at the time. What made school a special place for me was that it was across the road from the campus of Elizabeth City State Teachers College, which was the alma mater of my second grade teacher, and most of the other teachers in my town, including my father. We didn't actually go on the college campus very often - sometimes there was a special field trip to see a play, or listen to a debate. But most of the time, we just stared in awe and admiration at those cool college kids who dashed here and there, back and forth, in a world that we could only imagine. Just seeing those earnest young men and women inspired some of us to reach for similar heights. A college education was a rarity in North Carolina at the time, even for white people. So being in such close proximity to an institution of higher learning - one that I could legitimately aspire to attend - provided me with a sense of the possible that shaped my life at a very early point. Even at six though, I was keenly aware of segregation and what it meant. Our world, though nurturing and supportive, was also very tightly defined. Having attended kindergarten and first grade in a Catholic school that was two blocks from our house, I had been taught by white nuns. I remember them as being nice to me, encouraging and supportive, which is pretty important when you are the smallest person in your class. I also remember though, that in the parent-teacher meetings, when my mother went to check on the progress of my sister and I, that the interaction pattern was just a little different with the nuns than it was with the other people in my neighborhood. It was the same interaction pattern that I noticed when, with my mother, or father, or even my grandmother, we ventured out of our neighborhood to go downtown or to the supermarket - circumstances when we would encounter white people, whom I noticed were always in charge. Southern children, especially colored children, were brought up to be polite and always respectful of their elders. When we addressed them, we said sir and ma'am as an acknowledgement of their age and experience. It confused me then, when on a trip to the five-and-ten with my grandmother, she endeavored to get the attention of the white girl behind the counter by raising her hand and saying to her, "Please ma'am, could you give me some help." Of course I didn't say anything at the time-it wouldn't have been proper-but on the walk home, I asked Grandma why she said ma'am to someone so much younger than she, someone who according to the rules of respect that I had been taught, should have been saying ma'am to her. In her own inimitable way, my grandmother explained that was just the way it was between white people and colored people, but she declared that it wouldn't always be that way-of that she was absolutely certain. Her assurances notwithstanding, it sure looked and felt like it was always going to always be that way. The next school year came and went, and so did the next one and the next one and the one after that, and there were no noticeable changes in school attendance patterns, or in the world that I knew. In fact, the existing state of affairs was vividly confirmed when I was in the sixth grade. My uncle had built a new house in a different part of town, and he lived immediately adjacent to a white neighborhood. This certainly wasn't unusual in the South, and not too long afterwards, Moses, a friend of mine from school moved into the same neighborhood. …