There was a brand new high school that was built to accommodate the children in the area. It was initially built for the white students, but due to white flight, the school was now predominately black. White flight occurred when white people moved out of urban areas that were more racially diverse to suburban areas. Some white people were afraid to live around black people and didn’t want their children to attend school with us. The school was one of the grandest buildings I had ever seen. Area students in the tenth through twelfth grade were assigned to this school. I was entering the tenth grade, and Rom was entering the twelfth grade. We were both excited for the opportunities this new school would bring.
After moving back to Memphis, we settled in a house across from the Memphis Area Vocational and Technical School. We lived within walking distance of downtown Memphis and major hospitals. The house was in need of repair, but it had electricity and indoor plumbing. In its dilapidated state, it was better than the shacks we survived in. Dad bought a small black and white television and we had a telephone. The small local grocery store was a block down the street, and the supermarket was located on a busy street behind our house. The owner of the supermarket was an Italian man with a big heart. When we first moved I went to the supermarket with Dad, and he and the grocer struck up a conversation. The conversation drifted from English to an unfamiliar language. Dad said he learned some Italian while living in Chicago and wanted to practice his skills. Dad had a knack for meeting and engaging with people, and this grocer was no different.
During the 1968 Olympics, two black medalists stood on the podium and raised their black gloved fists as a sign of protest while the national anthem was playing. I remember reading about this protest in one of the many magazines I read. The Australian medalist on the podium joined them in solidarity. They all wore human rights badges. The black medalists used their national spotlight to protest against injustices for black people. The USA had remained silent as black people were lynched, bombed, assassinated, and hung. They wore black to represent black pride. Most black people were still in poverty, lived in substandard housing, and still struggled to achieve the same rights as white people. The athletes were criticized for their actions. It was interesting and sad to know that raised black fists caused fear among some white people. The same group of people thought nothing of the fear, physical acts, and injustices they imposed upon black people.
There were students of different races and ages attending the trade and vocational school across the street. I watched them come and go. Some rode buses and others drove cars. They disappeared into the building and remained for hours. My curiosity got the best of me so one day; I walked across the street to the school. The students were older than me, and as they passed by, they probably wondered what I was doing there. I wandered into the office not knowing what to expect. The white lady behind the desk smiled at me and inquired why I was there. I told her I lived across the street and wondered what type of school this was. Because I showed an interest, she stopped what she was doing and showed me around. She told me the school provided hands on training for people interested in auto mechanics, skilled trades, and healthcare. As we peeked into classrooms filled with students, I saw people who seemed interested in learning. I asked her what kind of healthcare and she told me they trained students to be licensed vocational nurses.
This was a turning point for me. I saw and heard the progress black people were finally making. There was a sense of pride in the black community. More people were in a position to bring awareness to the plight of black people. There were good people in all races, and I learned to recognize the difference. I was no longer going to let the negative behaviors of some affect me. I made up my mind that I would study to become a nurse, just like Julia and the students in the vocational school. This career would be another pathway out of poverty. All roads I took would lead to possibilities.
Read more in my memoir. It’s available for purchase in the book section of this blog.
Reference
Cosgove, Ben. “The Black Power Salute That Rocked the 1968 Olympics,” Wikipedia, September 27, 2014. Accessed December 27, 2019.