| Biographical Non-Fiction posted April 2, 2023 |
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One young man's experience.
Integration
by Terry Broxson
With a nod to Charles Dickens...it was the worst of times. I watched the chaos unfold on television. It wasn't pretty.
This story happened in 1967. It was my junior year at college in Abilene, Texas.
There was much civil unrest in the mid-1960s and early 1970s in the United States. The root causes were driven by a push to end racial discrimination, opposition to the Vietnam War, and the contentious lead-up to the presidential election of 1968.
With a war in Vietnam abroad, America also found itself in a war at home.
There was no justice. There was no peace. Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated only two months apart in 1968. In 1970, four college students were killed by the National Guard at Kent State University.
The long hot summer of '67 saw over one hundred fifty race riots.
In cities where riots occurred, businesses were destroyed, and neighborhoods were burned. Demonstrations and marches often ended in conflicts with the police. People were injured. Some lost their lives.
Men and women of college age generated the energy for civil disobedience and violence. Many were idealistic students, and others were just there for the fight.
The times were characterized as the silent majority versus the vocal minority and a rebellion of a younger generation against the generation of their parents and grandparents.
Not all college students, or young people, agreed with the protesters. Some thought the war was justified as a fight for democracy. Many white folks thought the civil rights movement was going too quickly and needed to slow down, and others thought Richard Nixon would be a great President.
There were no riots or demonstrations in Abilene, Texas. The college I attended had about fifteen hundred students. I think ten were African Americans; seven played on the basketball team. The team was talented and fun to watch.
We had two men's dormitories. One had air conditioning; one didn't. The one without A/C was cheaper. So, I lived there with about a hundred guys, including the members of our basketball team.
In those days, we did not have TVs in our rooms. We had a community TV in the lobby where couches and chairs could be gathered around the TV to accommodate fifty or so, with standing room for others. The area was rarely filled except for Dallas Cowboys football games.
Our star basketball player was a fellow named Clarence. He played forward and stood 6' 5''. Of course, nobody called him Clarence. We all called him Pee Wee.
I didn't play basketball; I was on the debate team. We were pretty good too. But just for the record, I was 6' 3" and weighed 195. I spent my summers working in the oil fields. I was not the guy anyone would bully or pick on.
One day in the fall. I was alone watching TV in the lobby sitting on one end of a couch that would seat three people. Pee Wee entered the lobby, looked around, came and sat on the couch shoulder to shoulder with me, and declared, "I just came in here to integrate this couch."
I replied, "That's okay with me. But if you want to change channels, you gonna have to get up to do it 'cause I'm not."
TVs didn't have remote controls in those days.
Pee Wee said, "No, I like the Hollywood Squares."
The following day I was on my way to a classroom, but I stopped in the men's room first and saw Pee Wee standing at one end of the line of urinals.
Passing all the empty urinals, I took the one next to Pee Wee and said, "I just came in here to integrate these urinals."
Pee Wee responded, "Good idea. But I ain't shaking your hand."
I guess one might say, "Our hands were otherwise occupied." I didn't think we would ever stop laughing.
Old wars ended, new wars started, and no lasting peace has ever been achieved. Presidents have come and gone, some good, some not so much. The struggle for civil rights and equality did not end.
But in the fall of 1967, at least for two twenty-one-year-old men in Abilene, Texas, personal integration had been achieved as well as friendship.
With a nod to Charles Dickens...it was the worst of times. I watched the chaos unfold on television. It wasn't pretty.
This story happened in 1967. It was my junior year at college in Abilene, Texas.
There was much civil unrest in the mid-1960s and early 1970s in the United States. The root causes were driven by a push to end racial discrimination, opposition to the Vietnam War, and the contentious lead-up to the presidential election of 1968.
With a war in Vietnam abroad, America also found itself in a war at home.
There was no justice. There was no peace. Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated only two months apart in 1968. In 1970, four college students were killed by the National Guard at Kent State University.
The long hot summer of '67 saw over one hundred fifty race riots.
In cities where riots occurred, businesses were destroyed, and neighborhoods were burned. Demonstrations and marches often ended in conflicts with the police. People were injured. Some lost their lives.
Men and women of college age generated the energy for civil disobedience and violence. Many were idealistic students, and others were just there for the fight.
The times were characterized as the silent majority versus the vocal minority and a rebellion of a younger generation against the generation of their parents and grandparents.
Not all college students, or young people, agreed with the protesters. Some thought the war was justified as a fight for democracy. Many white folks thought the civil rights movement was going too quickly and needed to slow down, and others thought Richard Nixon would be a great President.
There were no riots or demonstrations in Abilene, Texas. The college I attended had about fifteen hundred students. I think ten were African Americans; seven played on the basketball team. The team was talented and fun to watch.
We had two men's dormitories. One had air conditioning; one didn't. The one without A/C was cheaper. So, I lived there with about a hundred guys, including the members of our basketball team.
In those days, we did not have TVs in our rooms. We had a community TV in the lobby where couches and chairs could be gathered around the TV to accommodate fifty or so, with standing room for others. The area was rarely filled except for Dallas Cowboys football games.
Our star basketball player was a fellow named Clarence. He played forward and stood 6' 5''. Of course, nobody called him Clarence. We all called him Pee Wee.
I didn't play basketball; I was on the debate team. We were pretty good too. But just for the record, I was 6' 3" and weighed 195. I spent my summers working in the oil fields. I was not the guy anyone would bully or pick on.
One day in the fall. I was alone watching TV in the lobby sitting on one end of a couch that would seat three people. Pee Wee entered the lobby, looked around, came and sat on the couch shoulder to shoulder with me, and declared, "I just came in here to integrate this couch."
I replied, "That's okay with me. But if you want to change channels, you gonna have to get up to do it 'cause I'm not."
TVs didn't have remote controls in those days.
Pee Wee said, "No, I like the Hollywood Squares."
The following day I was on my way to a classroom, but I stopped in the men's room first and saw Pee Wee standing at one end of the line of urinals.
Passing all the empty urinals, I took the one next to Pee Wee and said, "I just came in here to integrate these urinals."
Pee Wee responded, "Good idea. But I ain't shaking your hand."
I guess one might say, "Our hands were otherwise occupied." I didn't think we would ever stop laughing.
Old wars ended, new wars started, and no lasting peace has ever been achieved. Presidents have come and gone, some good, some not so much. The struggle for civil rights and equality did not end.
But in the fall of 1967, at least for two twenty-one-year-old men in Abilene, Texas, personal integration had been achieved as well as friendship.
 Recognized |
Artwork by VMarguarite at FanArtReview.com
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