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6. June 8 Promise to stand with me to the very end, then—and only then—I’ll be your leader. J. A. De Laine The children called and the people came. More than three hundred people heeded the call. Sharecroppers, renters, and landowners came; and maids, farmhands and housewives. Journeymen and handymen came, as well as seven schoolteachers and five ministers. St. Mark’s plain, unvarnished pews were full. As many as could crowded inside the little church, standing along the walls after all the seats were taken. Those forced to remain outside peered in through the open windows and front door. They were all ages and shapes and sizes. A few with straight—almost blond—hair and whitish skin, ruddy from years in the sun, moved familiarly among the surrounding sea of light brown, medium brown, dark brown, and almost black faces. The white faces belonged to Edward “Bubba” Ragin and other members of the black community. Neither the color of a person’s skin nor the texture of one’s hair determined one’s race. No matter how many white men there were in one’s lineage, one ancestor from Africa—a single great-grandmother —was all it took to make a person black and, thus, relegated to secondclass citizenship. Despite the large crowd, there was no cause for optimism. The officials responsible for the welfare of the school and the education of the area’s schoolage population had not even acknowledged the students’ letter. Their complete absence was a slap in the face to the young people and their parents. Wearing a tie and his Sunday suit, Reverdy stood in the altar area and opened the meeting. Watching him in eager anticipation, the audience was ready to believe anything the tall youth with the authoritative bearing said. After thanking the people for coming, Reverdy called for selected graduates to detail their complaints against Mr. Benson. Their itemized complaints consisted of the following : 1. We paid for equipment to work in Algebra and Geometry and did not get the equipment, neither was the money returned. Quest for Equality, 1947–1951 54 2. Our class which should have been taught by Mr. I. S. Benson, the Principal, was neglected 9/10 of the time. 3. He is holding some of the Senior Class’ Certificates, trying to collect $27.00 for tuition. 4. We have had two school rallies and raised over $800.00 to help the school and no results have been seen or mentioned. 5. There were about eight programs in May, with an admission fee at each program. He has put it in his pocket but made no mention of how much has been raised or what will be done with it. 6. Last but not least, he charged us $2.50 for state certificates and, when we questioned him, he threatened [to withhold] our transcripts. Which means to us that he will pretend that they were not made out right before he came here or he means to give us some kind of trouble before our credits are sent to another school. We were willing to work for our credits and transcripts but we will not be silent if any of our transcripts are maliciously confused. The litany of Mr. Benson’s offenses enraged the throng. As each point was read, a wave of comments rippled around the sanctuary and the reader had to pause before continuing. Reverdy told the crowd they had tried to talk to Mr. Benson, and they had sent a written petition to the trustees, the district superintendent , and the county superintendent. “Everybody ignored us,” he stated. “We wanted to discuss our grievances face-to-face with the school officials so we asked them to come tonight. But they didn’t.” In a tone of defeat, he finished, “We did all we can. Now we got to leave it in your hands.” Walking away from the pulpit and its threadbare velvet covering, he returned to his seat, surrendering responsibility to the adults, a group with no spokesperson and no plan. Perhaps failing to understand that their children were asking them to find a solution, both farmers and teachers sat motionless. Journeymen and laborers waited for someone to tell them what to do. Even the normally loquacious preachers were mute, everyone waiting for something to happen. Before the audience noticed, a man was speaking—his voice so soft he had to repeat himself to get their attention. Slowly...

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