Barbara Bowie - The Freedom Riders and Me

 

My brother and I were born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi, during Jim Crow. In 1961, my brother got involved with Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights movement. He became a freedom rider. Well, I love my brother and I always wanted to do everything he did, but I did not know what a freedom rider was. But my brother was 19 and I was only 13. So, this actually became a very serious movement for him, because the Freedom Riders were challenging segregation interstate transportation across the South. And so, they were the colored only, white only signs, and the separation, and bathrooms, and restaurants, and water fountains and all of that. 

 

This was very dangerous for them as well, because the Ku Klux Klan did not want this to happen. So, they were getting beat up and arrested and all of that. Well, my young friends and I heard about the protest and the sit ins. So, we thought, oh, okay, we can do this and could have fun doing it. Because it wasn't that we didn't understand what was going on, but we would be able to go into restaurants and shops that said “Whites only.” So, for instance, there was a restaurant in our neighborhood that we used to go to almost every day after school, but one side it said colored only. On the other side, it said whites only. 

 

Well, the colored side was small. It had a couple of booths, a jukebox. We could put a nickel in there, hear our music. And a counter. If we wanted to get something to eat, there was a window there with a doorbell. So, we go up to that window. We could order hot dogs, French fries and sodas on paper plates and cups. But as you stand in there at that window, you could see the other side. And the other side was big with lots of tables, white tablecloths and settings, and white people were seated and being served dinner. So, this was wrong. This was how we were treated and we understood that. 

 

Because when my mother would take us shopping for school clothes, the first thing she'd say to me is, “Barbara, go use the bathroom.” And I'm like, “Mama, I already used--” “Go use the bathroom again.” I didn't understand that. Until we were downtown one day in the store and she had picked out a few items and I had to use the bathroom, and she got very upset with me, because she had to put those things back. We had to leave that store and go to a feeder street where there were colored businesses, use the bathroom, go back to the store and start over again. 

 

While we were in the store, she had to know my sizes, because they would not allow us to try on clothes or shoes. If you bought something that was too small or too big, they would not allow us to bring it back. So, when we would leave the store, Mama would grab my hand. I said, “Mama, I'm a big girl. You don't have to--” “Shut up, gal.” When a white person would approach us, we had to get off the sidewalk and let them by. Well, Mama had to pull me [chuckles] off the sidewalk. And so, I did understand what was going on, how we were being treated and that it was wrong. I just didn't understand what the Civil Rights Movement or what the Freedom Riders could do about it, because this was our lives. This was how we were raised. This was how it was. This was what we accepted. 

 

I didn't think that there was anything that could be done about it, until several years later, one day I was coming home from downtown with my friends. I was going up my street. My house was on the corner. So, as I was walking up, everybody was saying, “Bobby, Bobby, you need to get home. Your mom got sick and she was taken to the hospital.” And so, first of all, I'm like, “Hospital? We never went to the hospital. Mama always had home remedies.” [chuckles] So, I ran home and I tried to find someone to take me and I couldn't. And so, I ran up to the hospital.

 

When I got there, Mama was sitting in the waiting room, the emergency room, with a friend who had brought her there. She was very distraught. She looked like she was going to pass out. She was sweaty, clammy, and she had a cold paper towel on her head and she said, “I'm trying to keep from vomiting again.” And her friend told me, “She had vomited a wash pan full of blood.” And I'm like, “I didn't believe that. This is a wash pan.” So, I said, “Well, how long have you guys been here?” And he said, “We've been here since about 2 o'clock.” I looked and it was about 05:30. So, I went up to the desk and I said, “My Mama's been here since 02:00. She needs to see the doctor. She needs to lie down.” 

 

And the young lady said, very rudely, “We don't have a bed for your mother, and there are other people here who need to see the doctor before your mother.” So, all I could do was go and sit down and wait with them. As I'm sitting there, I'm seeing people being called up to see the doctor. Now, some of them might have been there [chuckles] before me, but most of them were coming in after and they were being called. They were all white. So, about 09:30 or so, they called Mama. And I said, “Wow.” I was glad. I said, “She can lie down. She'll see the doctor taken in the treatment room.” So, we're waiting for the doctor. 

 

The nurse came in with the wheelchair, and she said, “I'm sorry, we're going to have to put your mother outside the door for a while, because we have someone else who needs to see the doctor.” And I was like, “No, my Mama's been here since 2 o'clock. She needs to see the doctor.” Well, I'm a teenager, so they ignored me. So, when they went to get her up, she vomited and she almost filled that room with blood. So, now, nurses and doctors are coming from everywhere. She needs blood transfusions and all of that. They took her up to the fifth floor. 

 

So, my brother came. We went up to the fifth floor looking for Mama. As I was passing by this treatment room, I heard a burst of laughter coming out. I looked through the little crack and doctors and nurses, and I said, “That's where Mama is.” Because no matter what was going on or whether she was sick or whatever, Mama always had something funny to say or do to make you laugh. And so, they took her to 501. We're waiting outside the room to go in to see her. I wanted to hug Mama. I wanted to say I love you. The doctor came out and he said, “It's very late. We're trying to get her admitted. Why don't y'all go home and come back the next day?” 

 

I don't want to leave. I want to see Mama. I want to say I love you, because we were a family who never said that to one another. I never remembered saying that to my Mama. But he wouldn't let us in, so we left. And the very next morning, we came back. She was critical. So, we were waiting outside her room again, and waiting to go in and see her, wanted to say I love you. And the doctor came out and he said, “Preparing your mother for surgery.” And so, we couldn't go in again. And so, when they were rolling her out on the stretcher, I could see just a glimpse of her face between their bodies. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she had tears. I just got this big, hard ball right in the middle of my chest. 

 

We went down to the second floor, waiting for her to come out of surgery. We waited and waited and waited. And finally, the doctor came out and he said, “I'm sorry, your mother didn't make it.” I just burst into tears. I cried and I cried. I cried for days. But it was at that moment that I realized what that Civil Rights Movement was all about. I realized why those Freedom Riders were challenging the colored only white only signs and going to restaurants. I even realized why we went in to do sit ins and protest. This movement was about our lives. This movement was about equality. This movement was about our life and death.