IT’S BEEN A WEEK NOW SINCE THE DEMONSTRATIONS ceased. But I do not want to write about that. I didn’t participate.
I’m thinking about change more generally.
My challenge is shyness. My mother says she used to be shy, still is, but it gets better in time. She said she chose an occupation where she didn’t have to meet the public; she chose to be an accountant. We’re both short and full-breasted. I’m probably shy like her, too.
But when I play the cello, I’m never shy. It’s like a great big voice for me. And it’s like a shield for me, between me and the audience. The bow is my magic wand, and the fingers of my left hand are like the four legs of a pony let out to pasture, running along the fence.
I want a teacher who is worthy of me!
My hand is trembling. I cannot believe my boldness. On the typewriter I can’t let my thoughts out, only in handwriting, and I wrote that sentence boldly, but now the writing is quavering. I will pretend this pen is my wand. It lets my feelings out.
Last year, 1962, James Meredith became a student at the University of Mississippi. What I would like is to become a student at the University of Alabama, and to study cello with Margaret Christy. She was a student of Pablo Casals. Then I would be a grandchild of Pablo Casals. Or go north to study cello. Two people were killed when James Meredith integrated Ole Miss.
Once I heard Miss Christy play with the Alabama String Quartet in the auditorium of the Liberty National Life Insurance Building. I have never seen such a pretty auditorium; it had oak wooden paneling, and the lights were against the walls and shone upward along the grain of the wood. I was disguised as a maid. My Aunt Lil’ Bit lent me her uniform. My mother went with me in Clarise’s maid clothes. We took a long-handled dustpan and a broom and messed around in the lobby with a dust cloth.
That broom was my magic wand. Open sesame! Just after the lights went out, I slipped in and stood at the back of the auditorium. I got a program. Nobody noticed.
They opened with the addition of a pianist and played the Schubert “Trout” Quintet. I had never heard such joyful, playful music. When the cello is the trout, the music is droll. Floppy and leaping, perfectly fishlike. Standing there in the back, I started to cry. Mama took my hand and squeezed. It was so beautiful I wanted to shriek for joy and beautifulness. Like at country church. I knew I could play that music.
I love chamber music so much more than orchestral music. Every part stands out; every part is important. The weaving of the four voices! It’s like my aunts singing quartet gospel music but infinitely more complex. It’s what I need.
When the time is ripe, my parents will help me go where I need to go. I don’t feel the time is ripe yet. I owe something here. I owe Christine and her student Charles Powers something because they stood up to the blast of the fire hoses till they were knocked down. I owe them for lying on the pavement, wet and hurt. I owe Lionel Parrish some work in the night school. I owe Rosa Parks and Jo Ann Robinson. Professor Robinson organized and helped run off 35,000 handbills: she launched the Montgomery bus boycott. At least I could turn the crank on a mimeograph machine. There’s a seed in me, and it’s starting to grow. Make a contribution, it says. Here in my own town.
That phrase “the time is ripe” is very important to me and my family. When I was a little girl and we still lived in the country, my daddy used to drink a lot. We lived with my grandparents, and he helped work the farm, but he never had any money. He couldn’t buy anything. When he did get money, he’d go to the shack they called the tavern and buy shots of moonshine. One night he came home and hit my mother. I don’t remember it. They’ve told me the story. Both of them. Then he passed out. The next morning when he woke up, he said, “The time is ripe.” He apologized to my mother, and she forgave him. “Just once,” she said. “Just this once I’ll accept your apology.” Then they decided they would both work, take correspondence courses, save everything, and move to Birmingham.
When he said “the time is ripe,” he meant the time was ripe for him to change and take charge of his life. I want to be an independent woman doing work that she loves.
“Education is the key to the future.” I wonder if they’ve told me that a million times.