As Frank passed the line of white folks, they were pointing to a crowd of students gathering on the side of the white high school across the street. He recognized Sissy’s friends Pearl and Kendra walking toward his sister, who was still standing where he had left her.
Frank looked around and noticed a tall white man with a camera. He was speaking to a policeman and writing something down. Other men with notebooks and pencils stood on the sidewalk.
Across the street, a police dog growled at Sissy, Pearl, and Kendra. The dog lunged forward, and the officer with the leash pulled back hard, lifting the animal’s front legs into the air. The dog reared up higher, barking wildly, showing its sharp teeth. Sissy and her friends stumbled away, terror on their faces.
Sissy rushed toward him. “Frank! That dog tried to get us! We don’t know where to go.”
Her mouth quivered, and he put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll help you find your teacher.” The three girls followed him into the school. He led them to some teachers set up at tables, handing out student schedules.
Frank turned and plowed his way through students anxious to enter the building. He ran to the back of the school as if he had just been handed the football on his way to a touchdown. The door to the gym was open. His varsity team, the JV team, and the cheerleaders sat high up in the bleachers. As he made his way to his friends, he saw that only Negro students were at the meeting.
He scanned the far court. “Where’s Coach?”
“Not here yet,” the quarterback replied. “Here comes Peterson.”
Dressed in his typical suit and tie, Mr. Peterson made an impressive entrance. He walked across the far court to join the coaches and a man Frank didn’t know.
The students chattered nervously as they waited.
“Have you ever seen a gym like this one?”
“Is that a double basketball court?”
Five coaches stood in a line facing the students. Each had a whistle attached to a lanyard around his neck, a blue-collared knit shirt, khaki shorts, white socks, and gym shoes. Hands clasped behind their backs, they looked like they were posing for a photograph.
Seeing Mr. Peterson, one of the white coaches blew his whistle to get the students’ attention. He grew impatient and blew it again. Frank realized that the meeting was starting without their head football coach.
The white coach told them his name was Coach Welborn. “Good morning. Welcome to Kettle Creek High School.” Then he introduced the other two white coaches as his assistants and asked them to pass out the rosters.
“Next to your name, you will see that you have all kept your positions and will remain on the varsity team, but as second string to Kettle Creek High School’s team.”
Frank sat in stunned silence as his teammates gasped and shouted.
“Second string?”
“Where’s our coach?”
“Why can’t we play?”
One of the seniors called out, “We can’t go to our own school, and now we can’t play here?”
Coach Welborn blew his whistle. “You still have these coaches.” He pointed at the black coaches. “Y’all get scrimmages.”
The quarterback stood up and walked down to the gym floor. That was the signal.
Sixty students stood.
“Hey! Where y’all going?”
“Stop! Sit back down!”
The students ignored the coaches’ whistles and walked out of the gym.
As he passed the line of men, Frank heard Coach Welborn say, “Hey, Peterson! What just happened?”
Another white coach said, “You need to discipline those colored kids.”
Fred Peterson stood strong, his shoulders back, his fisted hands at his sides. “Did you really expect that they would just go along with it?”
Mr. Peterson and Mr. Armstrong, the other assistant principal, walked outside. The students were seated on the grass. As they approached the group, Dedra, West Hill School’s student council president, stood to speak.
“Mr. Peterson, we want representation on the football team, the cheerleading squad, and the student council.”
Mr. Peterson’s eyes scanned the group and then returned to Dedra. “Young lady, I understand that, but this isn’t the way it will happen. Classes have started, and you need to go into the building or leave the school property.”
Mr. Peterson pulled at the knot of his tie as Dedra nodded at her fellow students. They rose on her cue.
Frank felt the energy of the crowd of black students as they walked off the field in defiance. Their voices might have been silenced, but their feet spoke volumes. The pounding of shoes on the pavement caught the attention of the people holding the FREEDOM OF CHOICE signs, who watched in astonishment.
Freedom of choice, Frank wanted to call out. Guess that’s what we’re doing now.
Mouths tight, eyes focused straight ahead, Frank and his friends walked down the middle of the street—past the police, the reporters, the elementary school. Arms and legs swung in time to an internal drumbeat, filling him with energy while they moved along as one.
At first the police seemed stunned, but they pulled out their bullhorns and shouted for the students to halt. Dogs barked nearby. A girl screamed.
As they reached the second intersection about half a mile down the street, the persistent barking of the dogs and the police bullhorns’ blaring shouts to halt created even more confusion. Frank was no longer in the center of the crowd. The students behind Frank broke into a run. Patrol cars blocked the road behind them. Police flooded the street before them. Dogs snarled. They were surrounded.
Someone tackled Frank from behind. He struggled to rise, but the weight of a boot held him in place. Stones from the street pressed into his cheek. His arms were yanked back, and handcuffs clicked around his wrists. He thought of his mother.
The person grabbed Frank’s shirt to pull him up and looked him in the eye—an officer, his face purple with anger. “Don’t want no trouble from you, boy! Don’t you be like your daddy, now!”
Frank felt boneless with shock at the unexpected mention of his father and the hate he saw in those eyes. He tried to jerk free as the officer shoved him into another handcuffed classmate. Other students shouted while dogs chased them. The police slung billy clubs along with muttered curses and racial slurs. Frank tasted his own fear as bile rose into his mouth. Flashes of color raced past him in the confusion of the moment, and his mind raced to another time.
That was when Frank recognized the officer. Years ago, this man had ticketed cars and trucks that came to the repair shop Frank’s father owned. His father had tried talking to the officer, but the conversation had turned heated. Frank’s father paid the tickets himself so he didn’t lose his customers.
The handcuffs’ cold metal bit into Frank’s wrists.