Colleen stood under a tree on the grassy rise behind the school that was used for recess. It was her week for playground duty, and she was the only white person in the yard. Moments like this reminded her that she was the one who was different, who needed acceptance.
For the past four months, Colleen had lived in two different worlds. She and Miguel lived in a whites-only trailer park, even though there wasn’t a sign. They went dancing on weekends at the integrated NCO club, but that didn’t generate any new friendships.
Two months earlier, her students’ parents had agreed to sign permission slips for library visits and cards. Mrs. Annie Mae Woods was instrumental in helping with that. Adults’ cautious nods countered the gleeful greetings from children at her Saturday morning pickups. She always drove away carefully so that the tires of her car wouldn’t kick up the gravel of the unpaved roads. She wanted to build these families’ trust.
Colleen had grown up in an all-white community, gone to all-white schools, and attended Mass at an all-white church. Until college, the only Negro she had ever known was Beulah, the woman her parents had employed for a few years when her mother was sick. She had had a black baby doll, if that counted for anything. When her family had moved, Beulah had stopped working for them. The doll had been a present from her mother, who knew how much Colleen missed Beulah after she left.
“Beulah!” she said aloud. Cynthia ran to her. “Miz Rodriguez, who y’all want?” Cynthia’s delicate features contrasted with her tomboy ways. Today, her fine, curly hair was plaited in the usual braids, with yellow, blue, green, and red barrettes clipped to the ends of each one. So far, none had unraveled.
Colleen covered the gasp that escaped from her mouth. “Sorry, I was thinking of an old friend. Guess I said her name.”
Jarrod ran by, shouting, “You cain’t catch me!” and Cynthia was gone.
As the children raced away, Beulah was still on her mind and Colleen remembered an incident on a bus when she was twelve. When a weary Negro woman struggled down the aisle at the end of her workday, there were no seats left. Everyone looked away, either out the windows or into a newspaper. Colleen noticed that one of the bags the woman was carrying had cleaning supplies in it, and she remembered Beulah, so she stood up and gave the woman her seat. Heads turned, eyes blamed, and stern, silent faces denounced Colleen’s offer. She lost her balance and reached for the strap above her head so that she wouldn’t fall as the bus turned the corner. Her father’s words came back to her: Colleen, always treat people the way you would want to be treated. It was right of you to give up your seat.
The recess bell rang, and the children lined up along the brick wall of the school. Colleen led them past the row of crepe myrtle trees and the trellis of morning glory vines near her classroom’s door. She thought she should get a trellis for her trailer home. She felt a grin spread across her face at the idea of lavender flowers against a turquoise metal background.
Colleen held the classroom door open for the children, but they halted suddenly, and Linkston shot her a concerned look. Three white men stood inside the classroom with Mr. Peterson. Each one held a clipboard. Their dark suits, white shirts, and narrow ties set off their serious, unsmiling presence.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rodriguez.” Mr. Peterson nodded at her. “Please go about your usual routine. We won’t be in your way.”
The children filed to their seats in silence, even Jarrod. Linkston, the self-appointed enforcer, didn’t have to remind anyone of the rules. He looked at Colleen pleadingly and whispered, “Who are they?”
Colleen wondered the same thing, but she couldn’t show her concern. Were they here to observe her because she was new? They’d never taken her references. Could something be wrong? She recognized the superintendent who had hired her.
Standing at the front of the classroom, she said, “Children, I need the Red Robins to meet me at the reading table. The rest of you can finish your math and writing practice. Is everyone ready to work?”
Wide-eyed children glanced at the white men and silently started writing. Colleen walked to the back wall and sat at the reading table so she could see the rows of students. The suits jotted something on their clipboards. Linkston sat next to her, his glasses magnifying the fear in his eyes.
Suddenly, she thought of the Negro teachers who’d been escorted out of the white school and the hostile parents shouting threats at them. Even in her serene little classroom, the presence of these white men sent a charge through the air.
As she reached over to pick up a stack of vocabulary cards, her hand trembled. Usually the children were excited to read the cards aloud, but this time, no one spoke.
“Hmm.” Colleen forced an encouraging smile. “Let’s see who knows this word.”
Her little professor Linkston finally answered. She rewarded him by letting him hold the card. Slowly, each child read so they could hold a card.
The lesson took half the time she had planned since everyone was so timid about speaking up. The students who were completing seat work put their papers away when they were finished and sat quietly with their hands folded. Under any other circumstances, Colleen would have laughed aloud at this uncharacteristically angelic behavior.
Colleen glanced at the men, who were still furrowing their brows and scribbling on their clipboards. Would they think the children were well behaved or that she didn’t give them enough to do?
“Good work, children.” She felt a pulse below her eye. “I see that everyone is finished. Do you remember that today is Science Experiment Day?”
This announcement usually brought gleeful cheers. But the students sat in silence, and none of them scrambled to help her as they normally would have. While she rummaged in the side closet for her science materials, she heard whispers from the children. She swiveled to see whether the men were still taking notes.
The suits were gone as mysteriously as they had appeared.
Jarrod spoke first, still a bit hesitant. His hand went up, “Miz Rodriguez! Was that your husband?”
Cynthia shot him a quick retort. “Jarrod, her husband is an army man!”
“Are they principals like Mr. Peterson?” asked Linkston.
“Maybe, but we have work to do,” Colleen answered. “Okay, where are my scientists?”
Hands shot up, and the children’s faces broke into relieved smiles.
Just then, the intercom crackled. “Good afternoon, teachers and students, pardon the interruption. Teachers, please stop in the auditorium after dismissal today for a brief meeting.”
Mr. Peterson rarely used the intercom system, always preferring to come personally into each classroom to make announcements. His voice sounded strained to Colleen, but it could just be that she wasn’t used to hearing it broadcast from the box on the wall.
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.
“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.