The parish school board meeting was scheduled in the elementary school instead of the office building. The board was seated at the front of the room at cafeteria tables. Rows of chairs were set up for the public. A podium with a microphone had been placed to face the board. Evelyn had attended enough board meetings to recognize the typical arrangement, which allowed the public to speak or ask questions after the board president and other members gave their reports.
Looking around the room, she saw that all the seats were taken. Her stop to talk to Sissy—and probably her initial hesitation to attend the meeting—meant she would have to stand. Annie Mae was up front, flanked by Reverend Wilford and by Shelton’s cousin Penelope Woods. The majority of the people at the meeting were black. The only white faces belonged to eight of the nine school board members; the police officers at the doors; white administrators from the high school; Mr. Palmer, the principal of the white high school; and his assistant principal, Mr. Armstrong. Besides the faithful board secretary, Bessie Sanders, Mr. Peterson was the only Negro seated at the parish school board table.
As Evelyn looked at the crowd spilling into the hallway, she noticed Lulu Moberly, Annie Mae’s friend Mavis, and Mrs. Wilson, the black school’s secretary, standing together. Most of the people were still dressed for work.
The chatter in the room stopped as the board president, James Watson, started the meeting with a bang of his gavel. After the opening formalities, he stated that the purpose of this meeting was to explain the decision to delay the graduation of the students who had recently transferred to Kettle Creek High School.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our esteemed superintendent has suggested that I remind you of last October’s communication from the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, which accepted the desegregation plans of the Kettle Creek Schools as proposed by this school board:
“‘Under explicit holdings of this court, the obligation of every school district is to terminate dual school systems at once and operate only unitary schools now and hereafter. It is our understanding that you closed West Hill High School and West Hill Elementary School, which previously operated under the Freedom of Choice plan and were predominately Negro schools.’”
Evelyn listened to the speaker review the events of the year, which had “resulted in total and complete desegregation, without any court battles.” He touted the decision to move from “school choice” to “mandated closures” as having saved $1 million in federal funds.
The board president then introduced Cornelius Palmer to speak to the group. Palmer announced that the formally all-Negro West Hill High School would be converted to a vocational-technical school, and that there would be so many white pupils and teachers there that “we cannot even call it a Negro school anymore. More federal funds have been obtained, and now each school will be air-conditioned, so that teachers and students can take pride in their modern facilities.”
Evelyn winced as she tried to see over several parents taller than she. Someone shouted from the back of the room. Heads turned.
“That’s our school!”
Evelyn heard curses muttered through closed lips from people near her. Did the board really think this was satisfactory? Would no one acknowledge the community’s pride and connection to that building? True, they had all kept their jobs, but most of the Negro teachers had become teachers’ aides and lost their own classrooms. Maybe Evelyn had kept her class, but she didn’t consider her air-conditioned portable classroom to fit the principal’s view of “every penny in federal funds put to good use.”
Lordy, those children had to wear sweaters all year long. They don’t have air-conditioning at home. I’d rather have some new textbooks!
The restless stance of the parents around Evelyn worried her. How long would they all be able to listen to Palmer’s smooth words?
Palmer continued by explaining his “generous offer” of a fifth year to the Negro high school seniors, to assure that they received a full curriculum before graduation. Evelyn held back a groan. He was so condescending. Would any attempt to question these decisions cut through the good old boys seated at the board table?
One hand went up at the front of the room. Evelyn recognized Penelope’s manicured fingers and elegant wristwatch through the forest of parents in front of her. As Penelope rose, her towering height commanded the attention of the room. She was dressed in a white tailored pantsuit, and even though her Afro hairstyle was subdued with a white headband, it was not the smooth matron or pageboy style most of the black women of Kettle Creek sported. She waited to be recognized as the board members turned and whispered to one another. Finally, the board president explained that the question-and-answer period would begin when Mr. Palmer was finished with his remarks. He looked at Mr. Palmer.
“I’m finished,” said the principal, surprising everyone.
The board president then announced that anyone wishing to speak could approach the microphone at the podium and needed to prove their residency in Kettle Creek by stating their name and address.
Penelope stepped up. The microphone only added to her command of the room.
The expression on some board members’ faces gave them away.
Ha! You don’t know who she is, do you? Evelyn thought.
“Good evening, and thank you for this opportunity to speak to you. My name is Penelope Woods. I’m a cousin of the late Shelton Woods and the granddaughter and namesake of the late Penelope Woods, from whom I inherited the farm on Woods Road, Kettle Creek, off Route 179. I own the farm and the horses that I raise there.”
Evelyn saw the surprised looks. She knew that some of the board members recognized and remembered that the elder Penelope Woods had raised thirteen children and some grandchildren on that farm and that she had acquired that land from her ancestors who had been slaves there.
A police officer burst into the room then. His boots hit the floor with loud slaps as he rushed to the officers standing at the side doors near the board. One of them gestured to the board president, who then signaled the officer to come to the table.
Evelyn sensed that the interruption was about the students she had passed earlier. Sure enough, the board president told the assembly, “I’ve just been informed that a large group of students is seated on the lawn of the Negro high school and that they’re planning to stay there until we let the seniors graduate.”
The room was buzzing. The muttering became louder and clearer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Kids at the high school?”
“Keep the police out of this!”
It took several minutes for the gavel to quiet the room.
Evelyn’s courage returned when she saw that Penelope was still standing, waiting to speak.
The board president addressed the group with a second message. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation that needs the immediate attention of our administrators. I believe we will need to postpone the remaining agenda items for another day.”
He stood, ready to leave, but Penelope spoke up. “With all due respect, Mr. President, the majority of the people in this audience represent the students who are apparently sitting on the lawn. Why would this require the administrators’ attention right now? Since I was invited to speak, I would like to do so. I will be brief.”
The room started buzzing again. Shouts from the back of the room fueled the tension. “Let her speak!”
“We want to be heard tonight!”
“We’ve had enough!”
The two police officers at the doors moved forward toward the board members and the administrators still seated at the table, hands on their billy clubs. One appeared ready to grab his pistol. Visibly shaken, the white men at the front ducked their heads together, eyes lowered, as if they were afraid to look at the angry, shouting crowd.
The board president walked back to his place and sat down. Holding his hands above his head, he demanded quiet. He faced Penelope, but neither gave ground to the other. Evelyn wished she could catch Fred Peterson’s eye at the front of the room. She knew he was smiling inside. Did it show? She could hear the collective thought as it hung over the community: Who is this woman who won’t back down? Evelyn saw what the crowd saw: a fierce challenger, her mahogany black skin contrasting with her white clothing, her hair untamed.
The board president leaned over to talk to the superintendent of the parish schools. Shuffling through some paperwork, he pulled out a sheet and read, “I want to remind us all that because of the actions required to unify our schools, we did not lose millions of dollars of federal funds. We cannot restore the West Hill schools. We are mandated to integrate or lose that funding.”
It was as if he were speaking only to Penelope. She responded directly to him. “Mr. President, we are here for only one reason tonight. The parents have asked me to speak for them. The parents of the seniors from West Hill High School do not accept the offer of the additional school year. Not one of those students was told that they were in danger of not graduating—not until they received a letter last week. Each of the seniors has completed the required courses from both the West Hill and Kettle Creek High Schools. Some of the seniors have already been accepted to colleges and plan to begin their higher education in September. By ‘offering’ a fifth year to assure a full curriculum, you appear to be admitting that the Kettle Creek School Board did not operate a ‘separate but equal’ educational facility for the schools that Negro students attended. We believe that we have the basis for a civil rights lawsuit, and our attorney is ready to file it tomorrow if the board does not reconsider its decision. However, if we can arrive at an agreement tonight, the administrators won’t have to leave to decide what to do about the students sitting on the lawn of the only high school they knew until they were uprooted so abruptly this November.”
The audience broke into loud applause. Shouts and whistles filled the room. Stunned, the board president sat down to speak to the board members closest to him at the table. After a few minutes of huddled whispers and nodding heads, he replied, “Miz Woods, are you threatening us? Are you certain you are speaking for all the seniors and their parents?”
Penelope drew herself up even more. Evelyn thought she would burst with pride at the woman’s courage. “Sir,” she said calmly, “I am not threatening you. I am speaking for all the seniors and their parents. I am stating the facts and offering a solution.”