The Lions of Little Rock (21 page)

42

MOTHER'S SPEECH

The Forest Park auditorium was filled to overflowing when we got there—and it held over four hundred people. Mother put her name on the list of speakers, while Daddy and I went to find seats. There was a police car out front and an officer in the lobby.

There were a lot of people who wanted to speak. I tried to listen, but I had a hard time, because next to me Mother was getting more and more nervous. Most people start to fidget when they're anxious, but Mother gets stiller and stiller, until pretty soon, it's like sitting next to a statue. I had to do something.

“Mother?” I said.

“What?”

“Do you remember
Dumbo
?” I knew she did. When I was little, she'd taken me to the film at least three times herself.

“Yes.”

I pulled the black feather out of my purse. “This is a magic feather,” I said. “When you get up there and feel nervous, rub your fingers across the feather, and you'll know what to say.”

Mother gave me a look.

“I know. It sounds silly, but—”

There was clapping and then a man on the stage said, “Former PTA president Maurine Nisbett will speak next.”

Mother held out her hand. “Give me the feather.”

Mother made her way up to the podium and adjusted the microphone. Daddy leaned forward. He seemed as nervous as Mother. I held my breath. But when Mother began to speak, her voice was calm.

“When the schools were closed last September, I wanted to believe our elected officials were doing what was best for our community. Maybe, like me, you sent a child away to go to school, thinking it would be temporary, a few weeks at most. I didn't want to get involved.

“Months later, maybe, like me, you've become more and more frustrated as this crisis has dragged on and on. Maybe you've begun to question our officials' disregard for court rulings, their prying into our personal activities.

“Now, with the firings of seven principals, three secretaries and thirty-four teachers, including my own husband, I realize it is no longer enough for me to think these things. I need to say them.”

Mother looked at me, and I suddenly remembered the WEC flyer we had folded together:
Saying what you think is as important as thinking it! Speak out for public schools!

“Maybe, like me, you're afraid. I know I was when my husband first started to take a stand on these issues. I was worried, not that he was wrong, but about what others might think. I was afraid the neighbors might call me names. Me, a grown woman, concerned about appearances.

“Or maybe you're a businessman, and saying to yourself, ‘But if I speak out on this issue, there will be real consequences for me. Not just words, people will boycott my store. I might lose business.' I'm not going to pretend that isn't a risk, because it is. But it's time. Time to take a stand. The risks—to our students, to our schools, to our town's reputation—are too great if we stand aside and say nothing.

“It was my younger daughter, who is rather quiet herself, who convinced me of the need to speak out. She left this in my purse.” Mother pulled out a piece of pink stationery and held it up. “This is from 1 Peter 3:14.
But even if you do suffer for righteousness' sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled.

“For months now, I've carried around this quotation. But no matter which way I look at it, I can come to only one conclusion. If my own daughter realizes that we must speak out, how can I do any less?

“Now, I don't know what Principal Wood's views are on integration. I don't much care. When my daughter wouldn't talk in school, Mrs. Wood was the one who reassured me that Marlee would be okay. She saw that Marlee was brave and perceptive and smart, and she made me see it too. Mrs. Wood is the best educator I've ever known, and the idea that she should be fired for anything she believes or does on her own time is absolutely ridiculous.”

Mother stopped talking then. One man started clapping and then another and another, until the whole room was applauding. I glanced over at my father, and he was grinning too. And Mother, behind the podium, was holding up a tiny black feather.

43

AFTER THE SPEECH

Brave and perceptive and smart. My mother thought I was brave and perceptive and smart. That's all I could think of. It was a funny feeling. I didn't remember hearing her say that before, but it was really nice. We were almost home by the time I realized that no one had said anything about Pine Bluff since Miss Winthrop had shown up at our door. Suddenly, the nice feelings evaporated, and I couldn't stop wondering if I was going to have to pack my bags when I got home.

“Daddy?” I asked.

“Yes, Marlee?”

“Are you still going to send me away?”

He didn't answer.

“Because I'd really like to stay. I know I've been disobedient and you can punish me, but—”

“But Red . . .”

“There have been threats before. Those notes you got in our newspaper, remember? And the phone calls. You didn't send me away then.”

Daddy was silent.

“Marlee has a point,” said Mother. “You didn't even quit that group when I asked you to. You said it was important to take a stand.”

“And I've been thinking,” I went on. “Those Negro students who went to Central last year with Judy and David. The Little Rock Nine. They were in danger. But they didn't run away. They were brave. They kept going to school, even though it was scary. Even though their parents must have been worried about them. They kept going, because they believed in something. Believed they had a responsibility to make things better. Believed they could make things better, even though they were still just kids. I think I'd like to be like them.”

I held my breath.

“If you stay . . . ,” Daddy said.

Then I knew I'd won.

“I said, if you stay, I don't want you seeing that girl anymore.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Marlee.”

In the past, I would have accepted what he said. At least I wouldn't have said anything. But things were different now. I was taking a stand. “I won't meet her in public anymore,” I promised, “but she is a really good friend. I'd still like to talk to her on the phone.”

Daddy didn't say anything.

“Her parents would have to agree,” said Mother finally. “I'll give them a call in the morning.”

“All right,” agreed Daddy.

“Sounds fair to me.” I didn't say a word the rest of the way home, too scared he'd change his mind.

That night, I was just about to turn out the light when I realized there was something I needed to do. Daddy was still in the kitchen, talking on the phone. I went to Mother and Daddy's bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said Mother.

She was sitting in bed, cold cream on her face, in an old flannel nightgown, reading a book. I'd had a fancy speech rehearsed in my head, but when I saw her there, all normal and ordinary, it suddenly seemed like too much and all I said was “Thank you.”

“I figured,” said Mother, “if you could work up the courage to tell me the truth about JT, you were brave enough to stay home.”

Mother held out her arms then, and if I ran into them and both our eyes filled with tears, I'm not admitting it, because it sounds too darn corny, and it wasn't corny at all. It was nice. For a moment, I got to be four again, and my mother was the one who could make everything okay.

44

STOP THIS OUTRAGEOUS PURGE

The next morning, as I gulped down my oatmeal, Mother kept her promise and called Liz's house. Her mother answered. “Mrs. Fullerton,” said Mother. “This is Mrs. Nisbett, Marlee's mother.”

Liz's mother talked for a long time. The oatmeal sat like a lump in my stomach as I waited to see what she would say.

“I know, I know,” Mother said finally. “We've forbidden Marlee from meeting Liz in person too. But to deny them all contact seems to be inviting rebellion, don't you think?”

Mrs. Fullerton talked for a moment longer, then finally Mother handed me the phone. “You have five minutes.”

“Hi,” said Liz when I put the phone to my ear.

“Hi,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Daddy and Pastor George sat up all night on the porch. But nothing happened. They got a schedule all worked out for the rest of the month.”

“Sounds scary,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Liz. “How are you doing?”

“Daddy was going to send me to Pine Bluff to live with Judy, but Mother and I convinced him not to. I can't see you anymore, though.”

“Yeah, me either. Mama made me swear. And if I disobey, I have to go live with Aunt Ida and her fifteen cats in Atlanta.”

Fifteen. A three-by-three magic square adds up to fifteen no matter which way you look—up, down or diagonal. And no matter which way I looked at our situation, I could come to only one conclusion. “Are we going to be able to stay friends?” I asked. “I mean, if we never get to see each other.”

“We can talk on the phone,” Liz said. “We didn't see each other much anyway.”

And I remembered that while a traditional magic square always adds up to fifteen, if you use a number twice, or leave one out, you can make a square that adds up to something else. You can even make a multiplication square or a square with letters. It might not look like a regular friendship, but maybe we could find some way to be friends.

“It won't be forever,” said Liz. “Maybe someday things will change and we'll be able to meet at the zoo again.”

“Sure,” I said. “Someday I'll see you by the lions.”

Things had been awkward at school since Sally's party. I'd thought Little Jimmy had been on the verge of asking me to the movies (not that I could go, since I was grounded), but he hadn't said a word about it. I'd thought Sally was going to open up, start really talking to me, but she didn't either.

After the crazy night the day before, I was ready for a nice quiet lunch, full of numbers, variables, quadratic equations and not much else. But Mr. Harding was out sick, and on my way to the cafeteria, JT cornered me in the hall.

“Why'd you call the police?” he demanded, holding up an arm, blocking my way.

I ducked under his arm and continued walking.

“Marlee!” If he'd sounded angry, I'd have just kept going. But he sounded kind of scared. “Red thinks I did it.”

“Why?”

“I didn't want to take the . . . stuff. We got in a big argument about it after you left.”

“Not my problem,” I said. “Besides, I didn't call the police. That was my father. And I'm glad he did. Now it's over.”

I started to walk off again, but JT gripped my arm. “But that's just the problem,” said JT. “It isn't over. My father let the police search the whole house. But they didn't find anything. Red had stashed it in the shed, but I guess he moved it, because when the police looked there, it was gone.”

My fingers and toes suddenly went cold. Daddy had been on the phone with Sergeant Pike the night before, and he didn't say anything when he hung up. I'd assumed that meant everything was okay. “Red still has the dynamite?”

JT nodded. “At Sally's party . . . the things you said . . . I did like Liz, before I knew. And while I don't want to go to school with nig . . . Negroes, I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

I didn't want that either.

“I shouldn't have followed you into the woods,” JT said. “But it was Red's idea.”

“JT,” I said gently, “you're thirteen. Your brother is not an excuse. It's time you started thinking for yourself.”

I strolled off then. I think I looked all confident, like I was sure it would work out, like I didn't care. But that wasn't true. It was my fault. If I had stayed away from Liz . . . I didn't go to lunch. I might have looked like I thought everything was okay, but I really went to the bathroom and cried.

When I got home from school that afternoon, both of my parents were sitting in the living room with Dr. Agar and Miss Winthrop. Mother was still reporting to her empty classroom when she wasn't subbing, and Daddy had been let go for next year, but he still had to finish out this one. I glanced at my watch. “What's going on?” I asked. It was only three thirty
P.M.

“We came home early,” Daddy said. “Dr. Agar is organizing a group called STOP.”

“Stop This Outrageous Purge,” Mother explained.

“We're going to circulate a petition asking for a special election to recall the board members who voted for the teacher purge,” Dr. Agar explained.

I must have given him a look like I didn't understand (which I didn't), because Daddy said, “We're going to try to get the three school board members who fired the teachers removed.”

“Why?” I asked.

“If we can get three more moderate school board members elected, they can join forces with the three who walked out. Then instead of everything being deadlocked, we can move forward on reopening the schools.”

“I thought the governor closed the schools,” I said.

“The governor got the legislature to pass laws closing the schools. But a new school board,” Mother said, “might make a difference. They're the ones who set the start dates for the schools and . . .”

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen my parents like this. Working together on a project. Enthusiastic like Judy about Pine Bluff before Robert Laurence dumped her. It was kind of nice. In any case, this sounded like the best chance we'd had in ages.

“So what can I do?” I asked.

“STOP will be working with the WEC,” Miss Winthrop explained.

“We need to gather six thousand three hundred names,” Dr. Agar said. “That's fifteen percent of the registered voters. If we get all the names, we'll get our special election.”

“Six thousand three hundred names,” I said. “That's kind of a lot. How are we going to . . . ?”

“We're organizing a petition drive at War Memorial Stadium this Sunday. People will be able to just drive up, sign the petition and go on their way.”

“The thing is, I'm sure the segregationists are doing the same thing,” said Miss Winthrop, “trying to remove the school board members we want to keep.”

This was so confusing. I was trying to remember everything I'd learned in history about elections and voting. If we could do this, Judy could come home. Someday Liz and I might go to the same school.

Betty Jean came in then, serving cake and coffee. Seeing her gave me an idea. I followed her back into the kitchen. “Betty Jean,” I asked, “are you registered to vote?”

“Course I am,” she said.

I grabbed her wrist and dragged her back into the living room, where I made Dr. Agar explain everything again. Betty Jean listened quietly as he talked, till finally she said, “I think I might know a couple of people who might be willing to sign a petition like that. If you don't mind accepting help from some colored folks, that is.”

“Right now,” said Dr. Agar, “we're going to need every name we can get.”

I called Liz again that evening. She'd already heard about the petition drive and how Betty Jean and Pastor George were organizing the colored folks. “Our youth group is helping too. On Sunday we're going door-to-door.”

“Great,” I said. “Now I have something else to tell you.” I quickly repeated what JT had told me.

“Call the police again,” said Liz.

“And tell them what?
Red has dynamite
. I already told them that.”

Liz said nothing.

“Who's on the schedule for tonight?” I asked.

“Pastor George,” she said.

“Are you scared?” I asked.

“Yes,” whispered Liz. “I am.”