THE GREAT DEBATERS

            Last night Mari and I watched a film on TV called “The Great Debaters” which we strongly recommend to everyone. It is about some Black students at a Southern (Texas) college in the 1930s. Great actors too – Denzel Washington, etc. Lots of pre-Civil Rights issues and events – as well as a fine story. True story, too.

The film put me in mind of my own initial experiences with Black colleges in the late 1960s in Memphis. I was teaching full-time at a white college, Southwestern, now Rhodes, and part-time at the local Black college, LeMoyne.

            The year before Memphis State University sought to integrate allowing Black students to enroll. The local Sheriff orchestrated opening day registration, surrounded by hundreds of white folks jeering and threatening on the sidewalks. He said to them on a bull-horn: “Y’all get back now and let these folks through or you’ll will be arrested. It’s the law now and I am here to enforce it.” Quite the opposite from the infamous “Bull Connor” in the Alabama school riots. The Black students walked in without any real incidents. But the integration of the city was still far from accomplished.

            One semester in Memphis I taught a philosophy course at the University and because of the issues of the times I offered “African Philosophy” using a history of Africa book and another titled “Bantu Philosophy”. These books summarize the thought  patterns of several different African peoples, quoting many solid sources. I had about twenty students, mostly Black and we all, myself included learned a great deal. It was the philosophy department’s effort at connecting with Black students. In those years I managed to teach that course several times in other schools as well.

            In the sixties Memphis, like almost all Southern cities, was essentially segregated, with black folks getting the short-end on a regular basis. Dr. King was killed there in those days, and after several days of lock-down, there were many marches and rallies. A few of us faculty at Southwestern, were able, with the help of the newly formed Government Civil Rights Office, to shut down a nearbye “Whites Only” restaurant by marching in front of it for a week at some risk to our lives. After Dr. King’s visit the City of Memphis was forced to grant basic union rights to the garbage collectors union.

            In a city where Black folk would not look white folks in the eye or speak to them before being spoken to, these were exciting and volatile times. The backdrop of the times was supplied by the many Black artists who played their music for free in the parks most any day of the week. Booker T and the MGs were the most popular, along with Carla Thomas the daughter of Rufus Thomas. These folks were no relations of Danny Thomas and his daughter Marlo, the founders of St. Jude’s Cancer Research Hospital, also located in Memphis.

            My most first-hand inter-racial experience during those times was centered in my volunteer teaching position at LeMoyne College, which was very much like the college in the film mentioned above. Although there were several other white professors on the faculty there, it was my first real encounter with a group of Black students. I taught the History of Western Thought, which included over two semesters a survey of both the Bible and Western Philosophical history. I had about thirty students and the class only met twice a week. I tried to keep it simple, and I talked fast. 

            I did have some trouble adjusting to certain “Black folk” classroom customs, which often were very different from those of white students, such as walking out to the bathroom or sharpening a pencil during my lectures. When I finally stopped the class and asked what was going on, the students seemed puzzled and explained that this was normal procedure at LeMoyne. Also, I had some difficulty adjusting to the students’ names, which often were quite different from those of white students. I only remember one woman’s name which I had difficulty spelling. It was Thurkle.  It turned out that I had two other women students who lived only a couple of miles from me, so I offered to give them a ride to and from school on the days of our class together. They were Joanne Johnson and Ethylene Harris.

            It is difficult for me to describe their homes. They stood a couple of feet off the ground and were largely unpainted. There were outhouses behind them, and no grass in their yards. As we drove to and from school I was able to glean a good feel about their homelife and their hopes for the future. They were different from the young Black woman who served as my typist at the predominantly white college, Paula Briggs. She, too, was struggling to find her way academically, but was on a scholarship at the prestigious white college. I eventually got to see them all graduate, and I felt privileged to have been a part of their lives.

            I hosted a dance party at my home in the white suburbs for my LeMoyne students and they taught us how to do “The Boogaloo” and other dance steps. I also got to take them for a day at the “Playland” amusement park right after Blacks were allowed to go on days other than Monday. I even came up with the idea that Joanne’s and Ethylene’s neighbor kids could perhaps swim in our neighborhood swimming pool on Monday mornings before the pool was cleaned. Unfortunately, those in charge of the pool would have nothing to do with that idea. I shall not repeat the racial slurs and epitaphs hurled at me for that idea.

            A couple of days after Dr. King was murdered these young women called me up and asked if I would like to accompany them to the LeMoyne College memorial service for Dr. King. Of course, I was greatly honored by their request, and we went together the next day. I think of these young folks often as I remember and ponder their lives then and now. They would perhaps be in their seventies, and I have no way to know how to thank them for the role they played in my life.