Sybil Jordan Hampton - Being a Foot Soldier

 

In 1982, I lived and worked in New Rochelle, New York. One day, I got a letter from the Little Rock Central High School class of 1962, inviting me to participate in the 20th reunion. To put it mildly, I was shocked, because over those 20 years I had never heard anything about a reunion, had heard nothing from my classmates. And to be perfectly frank, I had no desire [audience laughter] to go into that school again or to be with those people. But this letter presented me with a challenge and an opportunity as I thought about going back to the scene of the crime. 

 

During 1957-1958, the Little Rock Nine encountered many trials and tribulations. I was aware of what they encountered, because I saw things on ABC, NBC, CBS. Read articles in national magazines and in our local newspaper. I was aware of the harassment, the bullying, the physical violence. And at the end of all of this, Governor Orval Faubus declared that the 1958-1959 school year would not be, and he closed all three high schools in Little Rock. 

 

The NAACP Legal Defense Fund was very active in pursuing this matter in federal courts. There was finally a decision that the schools would reopen in fall 1959. And I, along with four other students, were selected to begin the school desegregation yet again. 

 

As a frolicking junior high school student, I walked every day with my friends to our all-black junior high school, laughing and talking. And we went right in front of Central High School most days. But on that first day that I began high school, my father stayed home from work. And after breakfast, he prayed. And he prayed for me to be calm, to be brave and to remember that the Lord was my Shepherd and would take care of me. And then, I waited for Reverend J.F. Henderson and his son Frank and Sandra Johnson to come and pick me up, so that we could drive the six blocks from my house to Little Rock Central High School. 

 

As we drove, there was just no talking in the car. And I wondered, what's going to happen? I also wondered how it was going to be for me, because I was going to be alone and there was not another black student in the 10th grade, and I was 15 years old. When we got to the school, we looked out and there were no crowds. And the press was not visible. And so, I thought, we're not going to at least have to fight our way into the school today. 

 

And as we went along this really lovely winding sidewalk to the steep, stately stairs to the school, it became clear that from top to bottom, there were Arkansas National Guardsmen standing. And I thought, are they here, because they're going to have to come into the school to rescue us? I was very, very frazzled as I walked up those steps, past all those Arkansas National Guardsmen, wondering if they really would be willing to protect us. 

 

At the front door, we were met by the principal, Mr. Matthews, and by the assistant principal, Mrs. Elizabeth Huckabee. She and only she greeted us very warmly. We went to her office, she explained our schedules, gave us instructions on how to move around the building and would be taking us to our homerooms. There was no one in the halls, because we did not come to the school until after the school day had begun. We went to my homeroom on the first floor in the northeast corner of the building. And as we got near the door, I noted there was a door to the outside, and I thought, okay. It was really second nature for me to look for an escape route. 

 

My homeroom teacher was at the door. She pointed me to my seat in the middle row. We were all seated alphabetically. I knew that she wasn't going to be my ally. When the bell rang for the first-class period to begin, I was more than apprehensive, because I was going to be in the hallway with all these students for the first time. I was alone and I was 15 years old. My parents had reminded me that as I went out into the hallway, that I needed to hold my head up, that I needed to be very aware of everything that was going on around me, but that I always needed to look straight ahead and I should never cry. 

 

As I went down the hall, I could hear this echo. And the echo was, “A nigger is coming. There's a nigger coming.” And then, the students moved to the sides, toward the wall and they cleared a path, so that no one was near me as I walked alone. This only went on for a week or two, and then it stopped. But what happened is that no one looked at me, no one smiled at me and no one regarded me positively. In my homeroom, the same homeroom for three years, the only time any student in that room ever heard my voice was when it was my turn to read the Bible after the pledge of allegiance to the flag. I always read Psalm 121, as a witness, “I will lift my eyes to the hills from whence cometh my strength. My strength comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.” 

 

It was striking to discover that over three years, nothing changed, that I was actually shunned, we were shunned and I felt that I was treated like a ghost. But most of all treated as if I didn't matter. So, when May 1962 came around, I was really ready to dance a jig. [audience laughter] I was so happy, because the goal we had was to be successful as students and to be successful in staying the course, and to also to demonstrate that as foot soldiers that we were very proudly standing on the shoulders of the warrior Little Rock Nine. 

 

There were 544 people in my graduating class, and I was the only black student. Graduation took place in Quigley Stadium, which is the football stadium. I had never been in Quigley Stadium, because by law, we were not, as black students, permitted to attend any activities, sports. We were not allowed to be on any sports teams and could not be in any clubs or organizations. That evening, only our parents could come, no family or friends, because they felt there might be violence. It was just me. [audience laughter] But there were police ringed around the outside and inside. 

 

I walked across the stage, and as usual, there was just silence around me. And then, some wiseacre guy yelled out, “There goes black beauty.” I thought from first to last, only insults. As I sat down, the students around me were talking about graduating and they were talking about whom they were going to miss. And I thought, not a damn soul. [audience laughter] I'm not going to miss anybody and I certainly don't plan to ever be here in this space ever again in my life. 

 

And then, I am in 1982 with this letter inviting me to the 20th anniversary. I talked to my parents about it and I said, “I really think that I need to go back to see what has happened. What is it like?” I told my parents, “I want you to come and go with me.” Because they could never come into the school. They were not permitted to come into the school. And so, I said, “I want you to see this cast of characters [audience laughter] who are around me, but also, I just want to have this moment that you can be in that building with me.”

 

And so, I flew from New York, and I said, “We'll just go to the banquet.” There were some other activities and the banquet was in the school, in the cafeteria. We arrived, and we were met at the door by a guy from my homeroom who had never spoken to me before, as was true everybody else in the homeroom. And he said, “Hi, I'm so glad you're here and I'm responsible for you being invited. I wanted you to come.” He said, “But everybody else in the class is uncomfortable, and so they will not sit with you and your parents.” [audience laughter] 

 

There was a part of me that was really quite, I was going, “What the hell?” [audience laughter] And my parents gave me the eye. [audience laughter] And so, we proceeded to go in and to sit with Ron. But during the course of the dinner, students came over. Some students said that they really regretted never reaching out to me, and other students congratulated me on being very brave to come to a place where people had treated me as if I didn't matter and they didn't want me. And I thought, that's an understatement. Okay. [audience laughter] I did get an award that evening for being the most educated. [audience applause] 

 

But I had failed to note that there was going to be a sock hop. [audience laughter] And some of the people who had been friendly to me were very insistent that I needed to stay for the sock hop, because during the course of our time at Central, we had never had the opportunity together. [audience laughter] And I'm thinking. But my parents gave me another eye. [audience laughter] And so, I stayed for some of the sock hop. Actually, it was okay, but I was very fatigued. And so, we went home early. 

 

On the way home, I was talking to my parents and I said, “When we first arrived, what I was reminded of is that you can pass laws, but you can't legislate things of the heart.” And that which matters to me and that which makes me matter as a person has everything with things of the heart. And that rather than getting stuck there, I also learned this wonderful lesson about the power of one, and that was that Ron was with us and he gave others an opportunity to be less cowardly. But I also thought, okay, as a result of all of this, I have learned that roses do grow in concrete and that I have to have the strength to keep looking.