You know you’re old if when Black History month rolls around, in addition to celebrating the remarkable accomplishments of your race, you find yourself remembering past events in your life which could now, themselves, be classified as historical. Being born during the Great Depression in 1933, the year Prohibition ended, and President Franklin D. Roosevelt was elected for the first of his 4 terms, I was told that my mother rolled me around in one of the baby strollers provided for visitors to Chicago’s Great World’s Fair, an exposition being held on this city’s famous lake front, and whose theme was “a century of progress“, and where she toured one of the exhibits showcasing the progress of the American Negro. This was when my journey through one of the most compelling eras in the American spectrum began, providing the back drop for events that became chapters in the history book of my life.
So much of my history centered around my college days because this was when I ventured out into the world and was on my own for the first time and the campus of the University of Illinois was my testing grounds. In the pre-civil rights year of 1951, during my freshman days there, Alpha Kappa Alpha with whom I was affiliated, decided to break precedence and run one of its sorors for Homecoming Queen, something no “negro” girl had ever done. Our candidate was an attractive 19-year-old named Clarice Davis, a good choice who was poised and personable.
The panHellenic council which represented all the sororities and Fraternities was one of the organization who oversaw the the voting for this prestigious honor. apparently all the black soririties and fraternities had formed a voting bloc and And damned if it didn’t pay off. When the campaigning was over and the votes were tallied Clarice had won! A fluke? Maybe. But nothing could dampen the joy that filled the ranks of black Illini! We had made history! We had broken the color bar.
The rest of the campus was either too miffed or stunned to do anything but accept the result. On homecoming day our regal winner rode in the parade on a float, surrounded by the court of white runners-up. During the half-time ceremonies, however, the tradition of having the captain of the football team crown the queen and plant a kiss on her before presenting her to the crowd, deferred to racial taboos. This honor was instead delegated to Don Stevens, the football team’s star half-back, who because he, too, was black, made him acceptable. Which also made the memorable moment twice as nice!
And the following semester when I relocated from the AKA sorority house and again participated in history by being among the first blacks to integrate the womens' dormitories. I always found it ironic how, while Rosa Parks was growing tired of sitting in the back of Montgomery, Alabama’s buses, and Emmett Till was yet to travel down south to meet his doom, and the idea of sit-ins to protest Woolworth’s Jim Crow policy of “whites only” lunch counters, was not yet formulated, I and the rest of my black dorm mates were living in a residence hall with white maid service, eating in a dining room where white waitresses and waiters served us, and having late night hen parties which pesky white coeds wanted to be included in.
This quiet before the storm soon erupted. Time marched on and during the turbulent '60s, as part of the mourners that included an honor guard from one of Chicago's most notorious street gangs, The Blackstone Rangers, I found myself staring down into the coffin of Fred Hampton, my lived in my hometown and who'd become Chairman of the Illinois Chapter of the Black Panther Party, a martyred young man murdered in his sleep, shot to death by “pigs” in blue uniforms. This tragedy from the past has never lost its relevance in light of Chicago’s ongoing record of police misconduct. In my position as the first black female columnist of the Chicago daily newspaper where my articles appeared, I wrote about such things from a black perspective.
Although certain events are just foot notes, I like to think I participated in history by being among the millions to vote for JFK, the first Catholic president, and later for the first black president whose hand I had shaken and grin I’d returned when Barack Obama was still the junior state senator from Illinois.
,I'd seen my brother become our town's first black Chief Electrician, and shared his pride when he was invited to Washington, DC where President Bill Clinton and The Secretary of the Navy belatedly awarded special medals to him and other members of the first all black-manned ship whose outstanding crew performed bravely under combat in the North Atlantic during World War 2.
Now, I make history by just waking up in the morning. Hurry, November! Before I croak, I'm curious to see if I will participate in history one last time, perhaps by being a member of a black voting bloc that elects the first woman president.
Meanwhile, pardon me Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, Ida B. Wells,George Washington Carver, Hattie McDaniel , Paul Robeson, Martin Luther King , Julian Bond, Condoleeza Rice, Toni Morrison, Richard Wright, Jackie Robinson, Serena Williams, and alllll the rest! I’m just trying to squeeze past y’all so I can find a little seat in the back row.