Now this is my favorite part of the story. Mayor West was considered a progressive, generally in favor of integration but a bit hamstrung by prevailing custom and local politics. At first things didn't go so well there on the steps of City Hall. One of the black ministers read a denouncement of the mayor for allowing things to get to such a point and both he and the mayor got a bit piqued. It was then Diane Nash, one of the student leaders, stepped in to calm the situation and bring matters to the point. She asked the mayor to speak as a man and not as a politician: did he feel it was wrong to discriminate against a person solely on the basis of his race? Mayor West had to admit that it was.

She pressed on. So was he saying the lunch counters should be desegregated? Well yes, he guessed he was. That was it. The mayor had spoken and he was on their side.

Now here's the best part: there was no spin. None of the mayor's spokespersons came out to tell everybody what the mayor meant to say. In fact, Mayor West said, now that he'd thought about it, that was exactly what he meant to say, and by golly, he'd say it again.

Nashville had one of the smoother desegregation experiences. The student leaders went on to become major forces in the Civil Rights movement. Some became doctors and ministers. John Lewis is a Congressman and recipient of the 2001 Profile in Courage Award. Marion Barry was mayor of Washington D.C. The children did right well for themselves and I’m grateful to them for what they did.

The summer before I started college and about twelve years after Nashville desegregated, I took a job as a waitress in The Iris Room at Cain-Sloan Department Store. I was told that whenever I was in uniform I was not to enter through the front door of the store but to come in through the parking garage. I was not to wear the white apron of my uniform outside the dining room and my hair was always to be two inches above my collar. Under no circumstances was I to use the customer's restroom but rather the employees' restroom on another floor. It seemed a bit much, but I needed the job.

One day, on break, I went to the designated restroom and I happened to notice that the word "Women" on the restroom door looked a bit cattywampus. I looked closer and discovered that someone had taken a paintbrush and swiped over the word "Colored."

Somehow, it seemed fitting.

kplnelda@aztec.lib.utk.edu

Nelda Hill lives in Knoxville, Tennessee. Besides writing she occasionally plays a mean mountain dulcimer in a bluegrass band.

©Copyright 2002 David Ray Skinner/SouthernReader. All rights reserved.