As I Remember It

As I Remember Itin an apartment on the property. Not that it matters, but Ithink the Regets were either Caucasian or extremely light-skinned blacks, as was Mr. Record. When we reached the church we entered through the backdoors and gave ourselves over to the church—the deacons,the Mothers board, the ministers, the congregation—and itsrituals for the day. The only break we got was just beforechurch started,when we ran to one of the two stores to buycandy or potato chips or something else not good for us. Iwas too intimidated to be late coming back to church, butsome of my contemporaries had the nerve to either comeback late or actually skip church service altogether. I'm not sure how it began, whether it was a Southerntradition or what, but the ladies of the church would cook fulldinners and serve them to the congregation in the back of thechurch after service. This practice made it possible forpeople to easily go back into the sanctuary and move into thenext phase of worship. Sometimes there would be anafternoon program or tea. A common practice at the timewas to hold a wedding directly after church service so thatthe entire congregation could witness the ceremony. Thatway, the wedding meal could be served by the same churchworkers who prepared the Sunday feasts each week. I reallyenjoyed the after-church weddings that I attended. Lookingback, I am not aware of one such union that did not last. Our family never stayed for the meals, though. We alwayswent home for dinner and came back in the evenings. Ifthere was an afternoon program or tea, however, this was avery tight squeeze. On days when nothing was happening atthe church in the afternoon, my father liked to take us to visitby Georgia A. Dorsey 147

As I Remember Itother churches in Chicago. Two of his favorites wereGreater Harvest Missionary Baptist Church, whose founderand pastor was the Rev. Louis Boddy, and FellowshipMissionary Baptist Church, where Rev. Clay Evans presided. These ministers led prestigious and well-respectedcongregations and had a lot of influence in the city. If therewas such a thing as a golden age of gospel, then this timeperiod was it. The ministers could hold you in thrall with theword and the choirs could send shivers down your spine.When you left one of these services you knew that you hadwitnessed something special. We also went to concerts. In those days, the 1950s andespecially the 1960s, singing groups like the Caravans,Highway Q Cs, The Soul Stirrers, and many more wouldtravel from venue to venue to put on a concert. Some ofthese concerts were staged at churches in Robbins, thoughour church was not one of them. The only time I recall agroup singing in conjunction with our church was the StapleSingers singing at one of our teas, which was held at thehigh school and not at the church. We attended a couple ofthe local ones, but my father preferred to go to Chicago tohear these groups. I don't know why. What I do know is thatI am glad I got to witness these wonderful groups performlive, when they were at their peaks.by Georgia A. Dorsey 148

As I Remember ItBaptist Young Peoples Union or Baptist Training Union wasby Georgia A. Dorsey 149

As I Remember Itthe evening session for young people that commenced atabout 6 in the evening. The purpose of this organization wasand is to train the church youth in the Baptist doctrine. Wesang songs, played games, had Bible drills and listened to thegroup leaders talk. But, to be honest, I don't think I learnedan awful lot about doctrine, unless it was to sing, play gamesand have Bible drills, where the leader called out the name ofa book of the Bible along with a chapter and verse number.The first person to find the passage and read the verse aloud“won”. Because my father insisted that we learn the books ofthe Bible, I was good at this activity. After BYPU, eveningservice began at around 7 p.m. Only once each month did the youth, or junior, choir sing atthe evening service. The senior choir did the honors most ofthe time. I was a member of the junior choir from juniorhigh through high school and I never remember us getting awhole lot of love from the congregation. Junior Sunday was adesignated Sunday of the month. That meant that the juniorushers and choir members were on deck that day. But,because everybody knew which Sunday we were to sing,there were decidedly fewer members at church on our days.I actually thought we were the better of the two. Ourdirector, Rev. Herman Davis, worked very hard to teach ussongs and present them to the church, but some membersstill preferred the old hymns and had no use for the moreupbeat songs that we were singing. The experience taughtme a lesson that I have applied lavishly in my life. That is:don't isolate the young people. They are the ones who willinhabit the world to come. If you isolate them, you will losethem.by Georgia A. Dorsey 150

As I Remember It For the many years of my youth that Great Hope was myhome, I can truthfully say that it felt like home, even thoughthings changed and people came and went. My father gaveup his position as assistant pastor but remained as amember. Our beloved pianist moved away and took her son,on whom I had a giant crush. The senior choir director wasasked to leave because of a bias in the church and thechildren's church leader got married and moved away. Inother words, life moved on. But, even today, I still considerit to be my home church, no matter where I may find myself.In fact, I have never been a member of any other church.by Georgia A. Dorsey 151

As I Remember Iti AWAKENINGSMORE AND MORE OF THE world's harshness was enteringmy cozy sphere of being. During the summer between mysixth and seventh grade year, noted civil rights workerMedgar Evers had been murdered. His brother, Charles, wasone of the teachers in the school district, and was very wellknown in the community. He left soon after to take up hisbrother's work. My parents could no longer keep such thingsfrom us because it was now splashed across the televisionscreens for all to see. During most of the period of violentconflict in the South, my parents barely spoke of it, at leastnot to me. Perhaps doing so would have revived oldmemories of the lives that they had left behind. Or maybe itwas, as I believe, their effort to keep the ugliness fromby Georgia A. Dorsey 152

As I Remember Itgetting to us. But, if that was their reasoning, it was nolonger valid. My younger siblings and I were growing up andwe were doing so in a world that was far different than it hadbeen for my older two siblings. We would be in the thick of it. On the whole, my family didn't take a lot of trips back tothe South like other families did. For some of myacquaintances this was a yearly trip. I only recall making 3or 4 trips in my first 18 years of life. These trips usuallyinvolved going to bed early and rising at midnight to load thecar and be on the road by 2 a.m. Before expressways, this tripwas made on local roads that went through some prettyhostile territory for black people. My father always made apoint of mentioning Effingham Illinois as a marker of somesort. Whether it was of time or distance, I cannot say. Itcertainly wasn't attitude, because beyond it was the realhostile environment, even though none of this was known tous as children. Of the trips that we made, the one that standsout most in my mind is the one we took during the summerof 1963, when my mother was pregnant with her last child, agirl. My father drove us to a house located deep in theMississippi woods to live with my mother's mother for twowhole weeks. During that time I fed chickens, saw elaboratemeals prepared on a wooden stove, refused to use anouthouse, learned about chamber pots under the bed andgenerally got a first hand understanding of what life musthave been like for my parents. One day a lady rode up on amagnificent chestnut-colored horse, bringing some fabricthat she wanted my grandmother to sew into a dress for her.When she left, my grandmother was indifferent aboutby Georgia A. Dorsey 153

As I Remember Itmaking it because she thought the woman was going to wearit to a juke joint and not to church. She did make it, however,using a foot-peddle sewing machine and no pattern. Thefinished garment was gorgeous. At the end of the two weeksmy father returned to pick us up and brought us back home. Inever understood why we had made this trip or what wewere supposed to learn from it. Never one to question myparents, I later felt that the timing was very strange givenwhat was continuing to happen in that part of the country.by Georgia A. Dorsey 154

As I Remember Iti BETWIXT AND BETWEENI ENTERED SEVENTH GRADE WITH a lot more confidencethan when I'd entered sixth. I was now cushionedcomfortably on both ends by the rising eighth grade class andthe incoming sixth grade class. I was not at the bottom ofthe heap anymore, nor was I in the dreaded senior position,either. I had few expectations about what the school yearwould mean for me academically. I had continued to do a lotof reading and studying away from the classroom, so I wasusually ahead of what my classmates were studying. By now,I was accustomed to the recycling of teachers through thedistrict and the other games that were being played by theadministration. More parents who could afford it wereby Georgia A. Dorsey 155

As I Remember Itsending their children to schools outside of the district and,in recognition of the situation, one of the teachers at Kellarwas in the process of starting her own private school intown. Her doing so would produce one of the biggestpolitical imbroglios of that period. The episode would be oneof the most unfortunate ones that I would witness in thevillage. I was finally being noticed by boys for reasons other thanthe answers to the tests. More than viewing me as a potentialgirlfriend, though, I think they were more interested in mybudding womanhood. Most of the girls in my class hadbegun to develop more mature bodies and were wearing brasby then. This phenomena caused us or rather, certain parts ofus, to be the focus of much curiosity and scrutiny by the boys.This new interest, however, would lead to naught in my case.I was far too young to “receive company” and certainly therewould be no fraternizing with the opposite sex like I sawsome of the other girls doing. Maybe that is one of thereasons that the sixth graders had their own, separateentrance from the two upper grades; the adults in chargedidn't want them to be influenced by the actions of the olderstudents. Though most of my classmates were still “well-behaved”, clearly there had been a change in a number ofthem over the summer. In more ways than one, this yearwould be a turning point for me. A curious dichotomy existed among my teachers that year.Half were very religious and the other half were clearly,well...not. Since there was no injunction against talkingabout religion in school at that time, we could go from oneteacher advising us not to listen to E. Rodney Jones, a popularby Georgia A. Dorsey 156

As I Remember Itdeejay of the era who she apparently thought was sinful, toanother teacher all but swearing to the class. In my case, theadvice about Jones was unnecessary. The radio in our housewas tuned to WBEE for Brother Bob's gospel music in themornings, WCFL for my father's labor news, or WLS for DonMcNeil's Breakfast Club (“Live from the College InnPorterhouse”) and the National Barn Dance radio show. Once in a while we heard a pop tune if my parents didn't getto the dial in time to change it. I knew more words of Beatles'songs than of Motown artists. When I heard that Sam Cookehad died that winter, I barely knew that he had become asecular singer and was no longer with the Soul Stirrers. One of my male teachers, Mr. Easterling, who taughtgovernment/social studies, was one of the coolest people onthe planet in my book. Unlike in 2016 when I am writing this,teachers back then dressed up for work. The men wore suitsand the women all wore three piece knit suits or dresses.Among the men, Mr. Easterling was the best dresser. He wasaverage in height and slight of build but his clothes fit himwell. Chocolate brown and balding, he possessed a strut thatdared anyone to get in his way. His clothes were only part ofit, though. He had a command of the classroom that otherteachers did not, even the other male teachers. When hegave an assignment, he intended for it to be completed. If theclass assignment was to remember parts of the constitution,for example, you darn sure had better do so, because theconsequences could be brutal. It's not unusual for students to take a few minutes to settledown when passing between classes, but this respite did notexist in his class. As soon as you heard the door close youby Georgia A. Dorsey 157

As I Remember Itknew class was in session. If he called your name whilestrutting to his desk—“Miss Dorsey, who were the first tenpresidents and vice-presidents of the United States?”—youstood and gave the answer—“The first ten presidents andvice-presidents of the United States were...”. Fumblingthrough an answer was an invitation for ridicule but notknowing the answer at all was grounds for paddling.Corporal punishment was still administered by teachers inthose days, and he was not shy about using it as a motivator.Boys were paddled on the buttocks while girls were giventheir punishment in their hands. While some may questionshis methods today, they were effective. And, even though Iam more enlightened today, I still think he was the coolestteacher at the school. Early on in the school year something happened to disruptthings for me. My homeroom teacher was the wife of thepastor of one of the village churches. Curiously enough, theydid not send their children to school in the district. Anyway,she had apparently attended the burial of a parishioner and,while there, fell into an open grave. This unfortunateaccident meant that the momentum that she had establishedin the classroom was lost. We had a very nice substitute, Mrs.Stewart, for the many weeks of her recovery, but we allknew that she was a substitute so no real relationship couldbe established. When our regular teacher finally did return, itseemed to me that something fundamental about her hadchanged. Not physically, necessarily, but something wasdifferent.Thanksgiving had always been a favored holiday in myby Georgia A. Dorsey 158

As I Remember Itfamily. There was always a big turkey with cornbreaddressing and all the traditional trimmings that go with aSouthern celebration, including chitterlings for my parents.However, I feel the less said about hog innards, the better.On the day itself, all of the food would be brought out andblessed by my father. Then he would recite a poem aboutThanksgiving from McGuffy's Reader that he'd learned as aboy: THAT’S THANKSGIVING Pies of pumpkin, apples, mints. Jams and jellies, peaches, quince. Purple grapes and apples red. Cakes and nuts and gingerbread. That’s Thanksgiving. Turkey, oh a great big fellow. Fruits all rich and ripe and mellow. Everything that’s good to eat More than I can now repeat. That’s Thanksgiving. It was always a warm and cozy time for our family. Thatyear, however, there was a different feeling in the air. Ataround lunchtime on November 22 we students began tohear rumors that the President had been shot. Teacherswere standing in the halls talking and students who hadgone home for lunch brought back whatever news they had.We students were sent back to our homerooms with littleadditional information. I suppose to keep us busy, ourteacher began a lesson. Before long, one of the otherteachers came to the door to let her know that the Presidentby Georgia A. Dorsey 159

As I Remember Ithad died and the decision had been made to dismiss classesfor the day. For some reason, my teacher resisted thisdecision and continued to teach, prompting the otherteacher to say “For God's sake, the man is dead. Send themhome!” I don't know why I remember this but I do. Perhapsit was because I had never seen teachers have an openconfrontation before.For the next week all attention was on Dallas andWashington, from the swearing in of Lyndon Johnson to thebroadcasted assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald and thefuneral of the slain President. I couldn't identify it but Iknew that, fundamentally, something significant hadchanged. Another layer of the protective shield that myparents had so carefully constructed was gone.by Georgia A. Dorsey 160

As I Remember Iti SAYONARAI BECAME A WOMAN IN the seventh grade. That is to say,my body developed to the point that I could reproducemyself. This came about as a very awkward surprise. Idiscovered the evidence of the change when I went to thebathroom at school one day. Shocked into silence, I wentback to class and told no one. I suppose it could have beenworse, like the girl in my class who was strutting down thehall totally unaware of the large stain on the back of herskirt. Even without so blatant an indicator, I still thoughteverybody around me could tell what had happened. When Igot home and told my mother, she gave me a look thattelegraphed a combination of sadness and resignation. Fromwhat she later told me, this passage meant more work forby Georgia A. Dorsey 161

As I Remember Ither, shooing away boys and monitoring my behavior. Oddlyenough, I never got “the talk” about moving into this phase oflife. Most of what I knew came from what I learned in healthclass at school and what I picked up from my peers at school.Needless to say, I got a lot of misinformation. My father did his part, which still surprises me. I don'tknow how it came about, but he was able to secure a supplyof feminine products used to stock the machines in the ladiesroom on the trains for me. I was no longer a little girl in theeyes of my parents and, to be honest, it hurt. Though myfather had long ago stopped giving me rides on the runningboards and placing me in trees, I still felt more like a childthan a potential adult. Nevertheless, it was time to say solong to a lot of childhood things and move into this new,uncharted territory.The summer of 1964 was hot in more ways than one. Wewatched on television as people were beaten, hosed,attacked by dogs and ultimately killed for the simple rightto be treated equally. This “Freedom Summer” had beenplanned and executed in order to help move disenfranchisedblack people into the mainstream. Believers in equalitycame from around the country to volunteer and to registervoters. The images being televised were my first look atpure hate. The faces of the police officers and the jeeringcrowd must have been terrible reminders to my parents ofwhat they had left, what they had escaped. Since I hadvirtually no contact with this brand of white person, it wasall alien to me. I had not been raised with a sense of racialby Georgia A. Dorsey 162

As I Remember Itinferiority or superiority. That was the genius of my littletown. It incubated us from the larger society and allowedus to be judged strictly on character and ability. Thisproduced strong, independent people with an understandingof themselves as individuals. I was not looking forward to eighth grade. It would meanthat, again, there was no one in front of us to lead the wayand that my class would have to be the example, the leaders.To me, it always felt like we were being asked to fill theshoes of someone who had much larger feet. Eighth gradealso meant the approaching end of school as I had known it;in high school everything would be different. The teachers that year were the returning group that hadtaught eighth grade year before, with one exception. For thefirst time in my academic life I would have a Caucasianteacher whose name was, ironically, Mr. White. He was thesocial studies teacher and I recall that he was a good one. Idon't remember any discipline problems other than that ofthe usual group of suspects that had remained together sincethe days of terror at Lincoln. Mr. White prepared us well totake the Illinois Constitution Test and, to this day, I canrecite the preamble to the U.S. constitution flawlesslybecause of him. Two of my new teachers had also taught oneor both of my older sisters. One of them was Mrs. Brock, themath instructor. The other was Mrs. Fannie R. Roberson, whowould be the most significant and influential teacher for methat year. My family had a relationship with Mrs. Roberson that wentback a long time. In fact, she was one of the women in theby Georgia A. Dorsey 163

As I Remember Itphoto of my mother at the tea that I loved so much, though Ithink her name was Mrs. Parham then. She was quitereligious, a fact I'm sure served her well with my father. Asthe assistant principal of the school, she was second incommand to what I perceived as a less-than-adequateprincipal. Rumor had it that he also was a denizen of FannieOrr's. With the double duties of teaching eighth gradeEnglish and being assistant principal, her responsibilitiesmust have been daunting. However, I never witnessed her beanything but an outstanding teacher and advocate foreducation. She was actually Dr. Roberson, a PhD in Englishand probably one of the smartest women I've ever met. She had an approach to education in which there was nogray, only black or white. In her class you sat either in the“A” row or the “F” row, a position that was determined byyour ability to, among other things, answer a pop questionfrom the lesson or display the proper decorum in class. Somestudents dwelt habitually in “F” row land, while others, likemyself, did everything possible to remain on the other side oftown. A typical day in her class not only involvedunderstanding the various parts of speech, but alsounderstanding the influences of the Normans and how thelanguage came to be. We tackled gerunds, infinitives, verbalpairs, intricate sentence diagramming and other topics that Iwould not see presented again until college. She was the driving force behind the initial administrationof IQ tests for our class. When the results came back it wasconfirmed: I was very intelligent. Unfortunately, she madethis known to the class and used me as an example. This isnever a good thing for the student being lauded. But sheby Georgia A. Dorsey 164

As I Remember Itwent further. I don't know what made her say it but she toldthe class that if I, who came from a large family that didn'thave much, could achieve, then they had no excuse. I couldhave crawled under the desk. We never saw ourselves asdeprived, but I suppose from her perspective it looked thatway. She lived in a large brick home on spacious groundsthat was beautifully appointed. I know this because my firstjob ever was to work for her—cleaning it. That's right, I wasa cleaning lady at fourteen. Thankfully, it didn't last longbecause I didn't meet her standards. I can now confirm thatthat was intentional on my part. I still don't know why myparents let me do it, and it was not one of the more pleasantexperiences of my life, but it is part of my story. Around this time Mrs. Roberson had also begun plans toopen her own academy on land she owned next to her house.I learned later that she had become frustrated with theschool district and wanted to start a private school where shecould set the elevated standards and curriculum. Thisproposal was not popular in the village and those in powerdid everything they could to block it, which made no sense tome. If people were already sending their children to privateschools outside of the district, then why not send them to aprivate school that was in their town? It was my firstexperience with people who, as the saying goes, “cut off theirnoses to spite their faces”. After years of trying she finallygave up and opened the Fannie R. Roberson Academy inChicago, where it thrived under her leadership. After herdeath, it became the Park Vernon Academy. Death and violence were still very much part of the fabricof life during that time. In February of 1965 two famousby Georgia A. Dorsey 165

As I Remember ItAfrican-Americans died, one violently and suspiciously, theother succumbing to a long-term condition. In the blackcommunity it was always big news when a black person wasgoing to be on television. Those who received the TV Guidemade sure to inform everybody within earshot or walkingdistance that the event was imminent. Jet magazine alsocontained a list of who was going to be on TV and when. Welooked forward to seeing Pearl Bailey, Sammy Davis Jr., TheMills Brothers or Nat King Cole, to name a few. But, onFebruary 15 Nat died from cancer, a condition brought onfrom smoking and probably exacerbated by the stress ofbeing a black entertainer at that time. Though he was more my parents' generation than mine,they weren't big fans of his music. They allowed us to watchhim because of the rarity of seeing someone who looked likeus on television. As a result, I developed an admiration forthe man and his music. Less than a week later, on February 21, Malcolm X wasassassinated as he spoke in Harlem. It was planned, it wasbrutal, it was executed by members of his faith and it wasdone in front of his little children and wife. Theoriesabounded regarding the who and why of it all. I overheardsomeone say that he had been killed because, after PresidentKennedy had been shot, Malcolm had made the remark thatit was “just the chickens coming home to roost”. But that theory didn't make sense to me. He had been killedby another member of his tribe, which did not support thetheory. As I made preparations for my final months at Kellarand my eighth grade graduation, more about the outsideworld was being revealed to me and it raised someby Georgia A. Dorsey 166

As I Remember Itsignificant questions about the future. That school year, in addition to trying out for cheer leading,attending intramural sports games and participating in otherschool activities, I learned to square dance as part of themusic curriculum. I believe square dancing was chosenbecause it required less body contact between students thanother forms of dancing. Miraculously though, the teachers didlet us have “sock-hops” after school, where everybody tookoff their shoes and danced in the gymnasium. If a couple hadthe nerve to try a slow dance, the teachers were right thereto make sure that a proper distance was maintained betweenthe two. This was usually facilitated by Mrs. Brockapproaching the two offenders, gesturing with her hands anddemanding “Daylight! Daylight!” For the record, only the“fast”girls danced with boys in this manner. Years later, Ifound out that one of these girls had allegedly been involvedwith a teacher at the school. There are no words...by Georgia A. Dorsey 167

As I Remember Iti A NEW WAY OF LOOKING AT THINGSI WAS NOT COMPLETELY UNINTERESTED in boys. I didhave a crush on a boy at church and an interest in a boywho'd graduated from Kellar the year before. Of the two, theboy from church was the most accessible because of theamount of time that I spent there. However, I quickly foundout that his hormones were raging and that is where hisinterests lay. The one time he came to my house we stayedon the porch and he made his moves. My mother, who didn'tmiss much, quickly turned on the porch light and made herpresence known. That was the end of that. Before muchlonger he and his mother, the church pianist, relocated to adifferent state. I only saw him once more after that. The other young man and I had a more tangledby Georgia A. Dorsey 168

As I Remember Itinvolvement. I don't think either set of parents wanted therelationship to progress, though for different reasons. Eventhough they knew his family somewhat, my parents did notwant any boys around me, no matter who they were. Theytook steps to discourage it at every turn. For instance, if aboy wanted to take me to a school function—like a dance—hehad to come to the house and ask my father. My fatherwould then ask him about his family, where he lived, whathis goals were, etc. If the young man passed that step, thenmy father would tell him to have me home by someridiculously early hour. It is no surprise then that very fewyoung men put themselves through this ordeal. However,this particular young man did. He was a nice, clean cut andstudious guy with thick glasses, and he ran the gauntlet justto be able to sit on the porch and talk to me. He didn't evenseem to mind that my mother would spy out the door or setall of my younger siblings loose on us when she thought itwas time for him to scram. Quite frankly, I don't think eitherof us knew enough to get into any trouble. We just liked eachother. But, alas, it was not to be. Our brief flirtation wentnowhere and I experienced the disappointment that only sucha loss can bring. It would be a while before I found out thetruth of what really happened. Back at Kellar, we girls were preparing to move on as, Iassume, were the boys. Our gym and hygiene teacher was astickler for grooming and she worked with us to get ready forgraduation. These events are always fraught with anxietyand anticipation for a lot of reasons. Hair, nail polish—“putit all on or take it all off” was our hygiene teacher's mantra—dress, shoes, tea dance, post-graduation celebration...it wasby Georgia A. Dorsey 169

As I Remember Itall happening in a few weeks. Finally, the day arrived and,believe it or not, I do not remember anything but the post-graduation activity. I have retained absolutely no memory ofthe actual day and ceremony. And, until I sat down to writethis memoir, I had not even thought about it . Funny whatyou remember, huh? After the ceremony a bunch of us piled into the car of aclassmate's uncle (the Wilsons on Clifton Park) and theunderage classmate illegally drove us to a movie in Harvey, atown nearby. It was the first movie I had ever been to and itbecame clear that the reason we were there was so that someof the kids could pair off in the dark. I was not interested inany of it and dutifully watched the movie, which wasSpencer's Mountain. For years I didn't know what happenedto the classmate who drove the car. It seemed that hedisappeared after graduation. When I learned some yearslater of his early death, the first thing I thought of was ourexcursion to the movies all those years ago. By now there were federal anti-poverty programs being established across the country and money was flowing into communities like Robbins. Though I benefited from these programs through summer jobs, I also saw the waste and dishonesty that went on at the administrative levels. It would be my second lesson regarding noses and faces. But I did work that summer and was able to purchase my own clothes and school books, which had never been a concern before since books were supplied by the district. This was just one of many things that I would have to get used to in my new environment.by Georgia A. Dorsey 170

As I Remember It I don't know who was more nervous about me enteringhigh school, my father or myself. When my schedule arrivedthat summer it showed that I had been placed into advancedsections of some classes. Not wanting me to make a mistakeand purchase the wrong books, my father drove me to thebookstore and double-checked that I had gotten it right. Fromhis demeanor I gathered that he had certain expectations ofme though, characteristically, he never said what they were.I was aware of one, however. For my graduation he hadgifted me with a top-of-the-line sewing machine fromGoldblatt's, his store of choice. And, of course, one of theclasses on my schedule was home economics. In today'sworld that probably raises some eyebrows, but in 1965 awoman, even a professional woman, had to also possessdomestic skills in order to be thought of as well-rounded.Overall attitudes about this seeming disconnect would be thefuel that fed the burgeoning women's movement. I still did not have a lot of girls who I considered friends.One, E.F., who had transferred into my fifth grade class, wasaround more than anyone else. I sensed that she liked ourfamily life and the way we interacted with one another.Another girl who had been around me since grammar schoolwas G.F. My father and hers had worked together at one ofthe plants before my father signed on at Electro-Motive. Ofcourse, there was E.C. Though we saw each other at school,her life was centered around the friends that she'd madewhen she'd moved away and we didn't spend a lot of timetogether. Finally, there was Josie. Josie and I had beentogether since first grade, and our older sisters had beenfriends. It would have been logical for us to be better friendsby Georgia A. Dorsey 171

As I Remember Itthan we were, but I think part of our disconnect was ourdifferent religious entanglements. Though I am not dogmaticabout doctrine, some groups insist that their members be so,which greatly limits their interaction outside of their faith. Because of some arbitrary cut-off, I was not allowed to ridethe bus to school. Apparently Claire Boulevard was thedividing line for riding and I didn't make the cut. This meantthat I had to walk to school, a distance that, but for a longblock, I could have traveled by bus. The nearest bus stop tome for those who lived on the other side of Claire Blvd. wasFanny Orr's which, after entering eleventh grade, I was ableto make use of. But the first day of school would be a day ofwalking for me, a day when new clothes could becomesweaty and new shoes could wind up muddy. There was nochance of me getting a ride that day because my father had towork. I was on my own It is hard to explain how much anxiety I felt as Iapproached Southeast. Because it was only a frosh-sophbuilding that fed into the main school, only the students whohad been one year ahead of me at Kellar would be there. Atleast I could avoid the humiliation of looking like a greenhornin front of three upper grades. Though I was back in mypreferred position of not being in the tenured role at aschool, that fact was little compensation for the amount ofanxiety I felt as I tiptoed into the role of freshman.Thankfully for me, freshman were scheduled to start a dayearlier than the sophomore class, most likely in recognitionof the newness they would face. There was another anxiety-producing aspect to this day aswell. Students would be amalgamating at Southeast fromby Georgia A. Dorsey 172

As I Remember Itfour different junior high schools. There would be thosefrom Kellar, who were Robbins residents. There would alsobe students from the town of Crestwood and the far northernsection of Robbins who had gone to another school district.There would be those students who lived “across the tracks”,who had been in my school district but had attended anotherelementary school and junior high. Among the latter groupwould be my old classmate Sherrye N. Finally, there wouldbe the students whose parents had put them into privateschool but were allowing them to attend the public highschool. My friend Tony C., the artist, would be in this group.Though I was curious about seeing my old friends again, Ican't say that I was necessarily looking forward to it. Aftermy experience trying to reestablish my relationship withE.C., I was aware that people change, as do priorities andalliances, especially over six years. That day I followed the path that I normally would if I wasgoing to our church, which marked the approximate halfwaypoint between the school and home. But, instead of turningonto Lawndale, I kept straight, moving west on 137th street toCrawford. As amazing as it may seem, I was not veryfamiliar with this part of town. My route to church had beenso programmed that it had never occurred to me to venturepast the street where the church was located. Our familymust have driven down there with my father at some point,but my actual feet had never before touched this real estate.Over time, I would learn shortcuts and vary my route to thepoint that I rarely if ever came close to the church. But thatwas in the future.by Georgia A. Dorsey 173

As I Remember It FRESH MEATEVEN THOUGH THE DAY WAS supposed to be freshmenattendees only, there were also some sophomores there. I'mnot sure what their exact roles were called, but they wereassisting the teachers. There were also some older boysstanding near the school, but not on school property, whosepurpose seemed to be checking out the incoming girls. Theywere part of a group that considered themselves advanced inthe ways of life, so to speak. Not surprisingly, most of themwere behind in their studies and a few would lose interest inacademics altogether. More on that later. A generous, semi-circular driveway carried visitors from137th street to the main entrance of Southeast. Theby Georgia A. Dorsey 174

As I Remember Itprincipal's office looked out over the drive and beyond toCrawford Avenue, taking in the westernmost sweep of theschool's property. Just west of Crawford stood the 137thstreet overpass for I-294, another object of political intriguefor the village that I would find out about later. Mostclassrooms were on the east-west axis at the front of theschool, with specialty rooms for teaching music and shop,along with the cafeteria and gymnasium, located in the rear.A beautiful glass hallway connected the front of the school tothe back. If one stood on Crawford Avenue when the bell rangat the end of classes, the passing students in the hallwayconjured up a vision of busy ants as they rushed to their nextdestinations. At the back of the school was the Latting houseand stables, which I hadn't even known existed before.Physically, the school appeared to me to be a larger versionof Kellar, with a few obvious exceptions. Nothing could havebeen further from the truth. Southeast was a bright and cheery building, with largewindows that let in a lot of light. Thanks to an excellentoperating staff, the floors were polished to a high gloss andthe facility was kept spotless. Multiple times during the daythe janitorial crew could be seen sweeping or polishing thefloors to erase the effects of crowds of teenagers scuffing thefloors as they ran from class to class. The style in those days for girls was to wear very whitetennis shoes with long, thick woolen socks that werescrunched down to just below the large calf muscle. Theintent, obviously, was to highlight the shapeliness of thegirl's legs. The socks had to be a certain type, which wereavailable at a local store in town. When the socks wereby Georgia A. Dorsey 175

As I Remember Itpurchased, they were usually colored white to off-white.However, these pristine, new socks would then be washed inbleach until they reached a shade somewhere between butterand and the color of the sun at sunrise. Getting the rightshade was tricky and I don't think I was ever reallysuccessful in getting it just right. Some girls, I learned later,wore another, thinner pair of socks beneath the woolen onesin order to heighten the effect. None of this would work,however, if the tennis shoes were not crisp and white toprovide contrast. This aspect of the look was helped along bythe fact that every Monday was inspection day for physicaleducation. Gym suits had to be washed and ironed. Sockshad to be clean and fresh. And tennis shoes had to be washedand polished to perfection. Any telltale signs of dirt or of asloppy polishing job earned a girl demerits. I don't thinkthere was a preferred brand of shoes for the girls, since Kedswas virtually the sole manufacturer of women's athleticshoes. But when it came to tennis shoes for boys, the hotbrand was Converse and the top model was All Stars. Theywere as big a status symbol back then as Michael Jordan'sshoes would become some 30 years later. Another cultural touchstone during this period was to get your ears pierced. This was long before the majority culture picked up the trend decades later and multiple piercing became the norm. During this time period, ear piercing was a practice undertaken solely by females in this culture. But, regardless, my mother would not give me permission to do it. Defiantly, I let E.F. talk me into letting her do it at her house. Trying to hide this fact from my mother, Iby Georgia A. Dorsey 176

As I Remember It curled my hair around my ears to hide the straw that was keeping the newly-acquired hole open. Predictably, the ear became infected and I had to run to my older sister's house to have the infection drained and get proper care. Since my sister kept very little from my mother, I was only saved from punishment when she informed my mother, not quite truthfully, that I was in a bad way and had learned my lesson. With sympathy clearly in hand, I ventured forth with my fashionable, if slightly sore new earlobes. I was in first grade again. I was alone. I was looking forMrs. Ratliff's class but there was no one there to ask me myname and put me in the correct line. For the first time ever, Ihad to figure it out by myself. I had managed to learn theidentity of a few people who would also be in my first class,but I didn't see them anywhere as we all sat around in thecafeteria that morning, waiting to be welcomed by theadministration. As I scanned the room, my eyes fell upon aface that looked familiar. It had been a long time, but shehadn't really changed that much. She was still pretty and herclothes were still pitch-perfect. She was sitting with a groupof strangers, at least strange to me, and I had not the courageto approach their table. But my friend Sherrye N. wasindeed back, and that made me smile. I kept looking for the other classmates I knew to haveclasses with me but to no avail. Giving up, I took a seat at atable where some of my Kellar alum had gathered. Iremember us talking about which classes we all had andthinking that they were in classes that I had never heard ofbefore. Later, I would learn that these students had beenby Georgia A. Dorsey 177

As I Remember It“tracked”, or put into a tier of classes for average to slowlearners. Naively, it had never occurred to me that, unlikegrade school and junior high, where students of varying skillsmay be all in one classroom, high school separated peopleout. I suppose I should have gotten a clue when I was putinto advanced sections of some classes, but it did take mesome time to grasp what was happening: for the next fouryears I would be part of a cohort of students that had beenidentified as potential leaders. It was a repeat of sorting testbooklets, of personalized pencils, of learning haiku, of takingIQ tests. Though I had recognized many faces from my grade schoolyears, one person was still missing. When I finally saw himlater that day, he had not changed from the last time we'dmet. Well, maybe he had gotten a little taller. But Anthony C.was still the cute, boyish person that had abandoned me inthird grade. To my delight, he and Sherrye N. had also beenidentified as leaders and we had several classes together. Tome, he possessed an otherworldly quality that is hard todefine. Sometimes he seemed fragile, while at other times hewas in complete control of himself and the situation aroundhim. I was glad he was back in my life, at least in my schoollife. By now I could pick out a crappy teacher even without himopening his mouth. There was something in the way theseindividuals carried themselves, how they kept their desksand how they either met my eyes or not. I was on the lookoutearly for signs now. Signs that I would have to do the heavylifting myself. Signs that this or that teacher was not goingto be there for me. Signs that my high school experienceby Georgia A. Dorsey 178

As I Remember Itwould be a repeat of a lot of the previous eight years. AtSoutheast, there would only be one teacher that I had doubtsabout, and I encountered him later, as a sophomore. For themost part, the teachers in this new school district were adedicated bunch of mostly African-Americans whose job itwas to prepare us well for moving on to the potentiallyhostile environment of our last two years of high school. One of my favorite and most colorful teachers of this periodwas, hands down, Mr. Stokes. He was my algebra teacherand, I suspect, was also brilliant. He wore hush puppieswhen nobody else did, at least no one I knew. His pantsalways appeared to hang on his slight frame, allowing hisdress shirt to ride up almost to exposing his shirt tails. Mostlikely in a nod to the conventions of the day, he casuallylooped an unknotted necktie around the open collar of hisshirt. He pulled it all together with well-worn, professorial-looking cardigan sweaters with patches on the sleeves. Histhickly-mustachioed upper lip couldn't camouflage his sneerwhen he felt we were missing a concept or wasting time inhis class. It was not unusual on the day after an exam forhim to slam the classroom door, throw our test papers ontohis desk in disgust, walk over to the trash can, kick it andswear. This meant that we had not met his expectations andhad probably blown the test. Over time, I realized that hisfrustration was that he thought we were not taking oureducation seriously enough. In a conversation that I hadwith him after I became an adult, he told me that heregretted his outbursts. I didn't know how to tell him that westudents had enjoyed the entertainment. He was such afavored teacher that many of his prior students would returnby Georgia A. Dorsey 179

As I Remember Itto get advice and assistance from him as they pursuedcareers in medicine or science. Everybody loved Mr. Stokes. My French instructor, Madame Carnes, was a dream.Outwardly, she had very little in common with the studentsthat she taught. She was a young, hip, Caucasian womanfrom Hyde Park, a progressive neighborhood in Chicago. Shehad lived in France after college and I can only guess why shechose to teach at our school. She could have taughtanywhere and been paid more than I suspect she was beingpaid by our school district. That could not be said about alot of the other excellent teachers at our school because mostof them were African-American, and the prevailing attitudesof the general population made it difficult to impossible forthem to teach students other than those of their own race. Mme. Carnes was more than a teacher for me, she was amentor. Because of her, I went on to take two more years ofFrench, eventually becoming a French tutor myself. My firstplane trip was an excursion trip to France and England paidfor by the parents of the first student that I tutored. I kept intouch with Mme. Carnes for years after I left school but,unfortunately, she and her husband divorced and sherelocated to Oregon, where she secured a position at the stateuniversity. She had started a new life and I didn't want tointrude.by Georgia A. Dorsey 180

As I Remember Iti SETTLING INI WAS REUNITED WITH THE boy who'd run the gauntlet ofmy father's inquiries. But things had changed and whateverinterest he had in me was no longer evident. Besides, I hadother things to distract me. Not since my accident in 1956 had anyone talked to meabout it. After my father had nursed me back to health, thematter was closed. There was considerable scarring on mybuttocks and rear thighs but the only acknowledgment of thiswas the prohibition of me wearing shorts that came above acertain level. As a co-conspirator in all of this, I never putup a fight or disagreed with the decision, even though I nowbelieve that it was done to protect others, not me. As aconsequence, I learned to not talk about it, either. But that allby Georgia A. Dorsey 181

As I Remember Itchanged once I entered high school. Whereas I had a choiceof what to wear for gym class before, the high school districthad strict uniform requirements. These one-piece redjumpers were cut well above my usual stopping point forshort pants. To be honest, I dreaded this more than anyother aspect of entering high school. Yet, there was no one to whom I could turn for advice or to confide in about my anxiety. So, when faced with the impossible, I made it possible. That first day of gym class I took a deep breath, changed into my gym clothes and went outwith the rest of the girls for general inspection. I didn'tknow what to expect. I'm sure my accident as a child had been the subject ofdiscussion around the village probably since the time itoccurred. It just may have been the reason that I receivedsuch indulgence from authority figures. I can only guessbecause, again, no one ever discussed it with me, even to thisday. If my accident did indeed play a role in my beingallowed to explore and learn and develop at my own pace,then I can truly say that it was worth it. With all honesty I can also say that I was never made tofeel self-conscious by any teacher or student. In the lockerroom, totally disrobed and vulnerable, I could have been thevictim of a lot of vicious girls. But I wasn't. Not even once.As a result, I forgot about my physical difference and becamea functioning part of my class and my school. I have alwaysbeen grateful for that.by Georgia A. Dorsey 182

As I Remember It Though this change had turned out to be a positive experience, there were other changes going on around me that weren't so positive. By now, the close neighborhood of my youth was mostly gone. Mother Allen had died, and the Faulkner's had moved on. Mrs. Bryant had died and her son lived alone in their house. The Bradley family had moved and their house was being rented out, as was the Bledsoe house. The last member of the Williams family had left and that house sat empty. Then the arsons began. Someone was setting fires to houses and no one knew who it was. At least, no one was saying it aloud. There was a new, harder edge that was settling in to my town, courtesy, in part, of what was going on in the country as a whole, and of new people who were moving into town who had no affection for or ties to the community. A few of them were enrolled at Southeast, and they made it abundantly clear that they had no use for a town that they considered a backwater. Every night we sat nervously waiting to see which house would be next. Finally, the fires stopped, but the charred remains of what use to be houses of people we knew remained. Mother Allen's house had to be torn down as, eventually, did the Faulkner and Bryant houses. In their place was erected one large house occupied by the daughter of a former mayor, whose brother lived two doors east of us. Not all changes were of the destructive sort, however. NewFriendship had, for years, been planning to erect a newchurch next to where the old church stood. The first step inthis process, the excavation of the site and the pouring of theby Georgia A. Dorsey 183

As I Remember Itfoundation, had been occurring over time and progress,though slow, was being made. In retrospect, though, Iwonder if they would be allowed to have an open excavationsite with no protective barrier around it today as they didback then. I distinctly remember walking to the edge of thesite and looking into it many times. There but for the graceof God... Also changing were the attitudes regarding the busing ofwhite students past Southeast so that they could attend theother district frosh-soph feeder school in Blue Island, whichwas mostly attended by white students. If the rule statingthat a student should attend the school that is closest to hisor her house were to be adhered to, these students by rightsshould have attended Southeast. But, as with thegerrymandering that resulted in some of the changes duringmy grade school years, the prevailing segregationist attitudewas at play. Now some national civil rights groups werelooking at it and applying pressure for changes. While Iunderstand the sentiment and idealism behind this thinking,I want to go on record as saying that I sincerely believe thatthe future changes that would be put into place did not serveRobbins or its students well. I do not fault the people whowere the catalysts for these decisions personally. Rather, Iam chagrined that they failed to realize the value of whatthey had—the value of what the community would neverrecover. Though most of them are deceased now, I do believethat they regretted what they had done in the end. I was making new friends, even among the ones I had goneto school with back at Kellar. Because my classes were nowcomposed of people who had been in different home rooms inby Georgia A. Dorsey 184

As I Remember Itjunior high, I was now getting an opportunity to mix withsome really cool folks. Some of these people would becomemy friends and confidants right up until the present. Some,unfortunately, I have lost contact with due to relocation andlife in general. Karen H. is one of those people. Our friendship was very unlikely. She was not a newly-discovered Kellar alum: she had attended a private schoolbefore entering Southeast. If an acknowledged caste systemexisted in the USA, she would have belonged to one of thehighest in it. Her family were among the movers, shakersand decision makers of the town. She resided in one of the“new homes”, as did most of her extended family. This alonecould have been enough to prevent our friendship. But,somehow, we bridged the gulf and became buddies. On somelevel I knew that she was somehow related to the sophomoreboy who was no longer interested in me, but I avoidedpursuing it basically because I didn't know how. I wascontent with her friendship. Then, one day while having ourlunch, she said something half to me and half to herself. I don't remember her exact words, but the gist of it was“they should have left you guys alone”. Left who alone?Whether it was her plan to tell me or not, she did. Karen'sfamily was very light complected with hazel eyes and straighthair. And though the boy who had seemingly lost interest inme was not as fair as she, “they”—presumably his family—had determined that I was “too dark” and thereforeunsuitable. It was the first but it would not be the last timethat I would learn that my coloring had been taken intoconsideration regarding a relationship. This revelation didn'tshake my self confidence and I just went on about my life andby Georgia A. Dorsey 185

As I Remember Itbusiness as before. My ignorant arrogance protected me fromany intended slights. On the first day of school—the day I'd noticed the phalanxof boys ogling the incoming girls—I had assumed they werethere a day early to get a good look at the incoming crop. Ihad no way of knowing that some of them were actuallythere because they were indeed still freshmen. I think theterm used back then was “special freshman”, which was thedesignation given to a person who had not passed enoughclasses to move to the next level. These students usually hadthe option of attending summer school to make up the failedwork but few, if any, did. They usually returned to school thenext year and repeated the failing behavior. Having this status at Southeast could be finessed becauseonly the teachers and administration had to be informed of astudent's status. But failing to earn enough credits necessaryto advance to the senior level school would be obvious andmore embarrassing. I am aware of at least one student whoretained his freshman status for three years before finallydropping out. Unfortunately, this is the path that too manytook, including a number of the cabal that used to chase mehome from school After a year or two at Southeast andfailing to earn enough credits, they simply left school andwent to work or, if they were old enough, they were draftedinto the military, and sent straight to Viet Nam. Boys were not the only ones who fell into this behavior.Some girls just wanted to get married and be mothers. In the1960s this was not unusual at all, though the freshman andsophomore years of school were a little early to be thinkingabout it. Nevertheless, some girls paid more attention toby Georgia A. Dorsey 186

As I Remember Ittheir domestic ambitions than to their academics. These girlswere forming serious relationships while I was still jumpingdouble dutch. Later, a few would tell me that they wishedthey had furthered their education like I did. I always toldthem that it is never too late as long as they are still alive. When I ran for freshman council my friend Anthony did theartwork for my campaign poster I told him I wanted a take-off on the typical “wanted” posters that we saw on thetelevision shows about the old West. It should read “wanted:votes”, with the word “votes” appearing twice, mimicking theprofile pictures of a criminal. I also wanted a smoking gun toappear somewhere. He got the concept and produced just theright thing that helped me win a place on the council, eventhough he wasn't too keen on my design. To the surprise ofalmost no one the make-up of the council was pretty muchpeople from the leadership cohort. My father could neither play a musical instrument norcarry a tune, but he wanted his children to have some sort ofmusical training. Informally, he tried to coax us into it bypurchasing toy musical instruments at Christmas, like thewonderful toy organ he brought one year or the cutexylophone. Ever obedient and seeking to please, I tookbeginning band and chose the flute as my instrument. Theband instructor, Mr. Holmes, must have had the patience of asaint. He was tasked with teaching dozens of students whohad never so much as laid eyes on an instrument to learn toread music, learn the fingerings for the notes, learn the songsand then play as a cohesive group. Usually music lessons are begun in grade school but, forsome reason, I never pursued it. Those who had begun inby Georgia A. Dorsey 187

As I Remember Itgrade school were vastly superior to us beginners and prettymuch carried us along for a good long while. The cacophonyof sound coming from the band room was not encouraging atall, but we played at every assembly, whether they wanted tohear us or not. Later, in my sophomore year, we wouldmarch around the village to practice our parade maneuvers.Several times we marched all the way back to my house,where my parents stood in the door and waved to us. Ofcourse, I was teased about it later. This was mostlyembarrassing because there was an attractive boy in theband that year on whom I had a serious crush. Looking backon it, I think the attraction was surely one-way, but he wasadded incentive to be on time for band practice. Marching past my house on another day, I saw a “For Sale”sign affixed to the front door. Naturally my band mates werecurious but I had no answers. The sign had not been therewhen I'd left for school. I didn't know what had transpiredbetween my parents, but my father had made a decision. Isubsequently learned that he wanted to move our family toMississippi, but the supplications of his children made himchange his mind. He removed the sign and we stayed. As I stated, our band played at school assemblies. I don't remember how it came about but I was asked to craft a contemporary version of “'Twas the Night Before Christmas” to deliver at one of these gatherings. The result was a very bawdy rendition that I am still surprised they let me get away with. Though fairly common now, I'd never before heard of anyone who'd dared to touch the sacrosanct words before I did. To me, it was no more than aby Georgia A. Dorsey 188

As I Remember It throwaway and a way to get some laughs at an assembly. But I guess it had more impact than I realized. When I was a freshman in college, somehow the word got out about my version and I was hit with many requests for a copy. Unfortunately, by then I no longer had the original copy and couldn't remember what I had written. I only recall the last two lines which were: “And I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight 'Tell yo' mama I'll see her next Saturday night'.” You know—a nice little church girl rendition. Our home economics lab was a thing of beauty, at least tome. Whatever my achievements in my business orprofessional life, I have always had a fondness for thedomestic arts. Psychologists would probably have a field dayanalyzing this, but I think the answer is a simple one: I wasraised in a homey atmosphere and I'm good at establishingcomfortable surroundings. The teacher, Ms. D., was youngand probably a little bit overwhelmed by the task. I don'tbelieve she was there the next year. The home economicscurriculum consisted of the usual coursework of the period:clothing and textiles, foods and nutrition and homemanagement and family economics. The latter category wasemphasized more in the upper-grade classes, which I did nottake. After one year of instruction on domesticity I turned myattention more toward my college preparatory courses, butthe skills I learned there have served me well over the years,especially my sewing skills. I have used them to not only sewevery kind of garment imaginable, but I have also used themto decorate every place that I have lived in since.by Georgia A. Dorsey 189

As I Remember It High school is quite a social whirl and there were dancesand after-school activities practically every night of theweek. I was not yet the social butterfly that I would becomein the latter years of high school but I was on my way. Someschool dances were restricted to the class you were part of,and I was highly embarrassed when I, a freshman, let asophomore boy talk me into trying to sneak into thesophomore-only dance. That one was hard to live down.Spring finally came as did the realization that I had survivedmy first year in high school. When fall next rolled around, Iwould again be in the senior-most position at school, but forsome reason it didn't bother me as much as it had previously.Perhaps I was actually growing up. My newly-acquired sewing skills were put to good use thatsummer. With the new anti-poverty programs and fundsavailable, teens in the village were put to work throughoutthe community. My summer job was to teach sewing toyoungsters who participated in the summer day campprogram being held at my old school, Kellar. Since itcombined two of the things that I liked doing—teaching andsewing—it was a natural for me. At the end of the summerone of the mothers, who had known me as a child, visited theschool. She told me that she had been skeptical about herdaughter being able to learn sewing over the summer but,when she'd seen her daughter's progress, she was quitepleased. Quite frankly, I think her skepticism had more to dowith me than with her daughter, but I accepted hercompliment with what I hope was grace.by Georgia A. Dorsey 190

As I Remember Iti FRESHMAN PLUS ONEAFTER THE USUAL HUB-BUB OF freshmen entering andfinding their way, my sophomore year commenced withbarely a stumble; things were humming along. I was back onthe student council and involved with some other affinityclubs as well. Outside of school, however, such was not thecase. Things that had been taken for granted just a shorttime earlier were now being called into question. Hair wasgetting longer and skirts were getting shorter. Authority wasbeing challenged at every level and now I was hearing aboutsubstances like LSD and pills. For sure, alcohol was not new in our community, eventhough my parents did not drink. In a nod to the outsideby Georgia A. Dorsey 191

As I Remember Itworld and to reality, though, when we reached a certain agemy father would give us what was then called an “orangeTommy”, which was a drink that contained a small amount ofalcohol. He would let us drink it so that we could understandwhat drinking felt like. Additionally, there were alwaysmembers and ex-members of my family who enjoyed acocktail or two, though never in front of us or my parents. Intruth, several of my father's relatives were stone alcoholics.Plus, with all the bars and drinking establishments in town,alcohol was almost a fact of life. But these new substanceswere different and carried a more sinister reputation. Theywere also illegal. Though I had no evidence that any students at my schoolwere taking drugs, sadly, we did have a couple of alcoholics.Per the stereotype, they came from less-than-ideal homeenvironments which, in my experience, does not necessarilylead to this kind of behavior. Nevertheless, neither of themmade it past the second year of high school. I believe theyboth died at young ages. There was a tradition of “picking up” people on the way toschool. I don't know if boys did it or not, but I and other girlsdid. It involved one or more girls walking past another girl'shouse on the way, not only to school but to other places andfunctions as well. The girl in the house, who had beenwatching out the window, would exit as the group neared herhouse and join them. The girls already walking did not go tothe door, as this would have impeded progress. This ritual ofaddition would continue until everyone deemed to be part ofthe group was accounted for. They would then proceed totheir destination. Sometimes the group was only two orby Georgia A. Dorsey 192

As I Remember Itthree people. Such was the case with me and G.F. Myfriendship with her was another unlikely one. Other than thefacts that our fathers had worked together and that she hadgone to school with me since my days at Lincoln, we hadlittle in common. She was a little more mature than I, andher household was a bit more permissive. That is how Istarted smoking. She managed to get cigarettes and, one day on our way toschool, she lit one up. Given how the town was back then, Ifeel fairly sure that it was community news before we evenarrived at Southeast. Before much longer I, too, had acquireda pack of cigarettes and lit up when I thought I was farenough away from my house. This, too, probably did notescape notice. But it all came to a crashing halt when, left by my parents tolook after my siblings one Saturday, I went into the bathroomand smoked a cigarette. When my parents returned andasked about the strong tobacco smell, I did something that Ihad been afraid to do all of my life: I lied. Nothing came of itthat day and the following Monday G.F picked me up and westarted on our way to school. But when I reached into mypurse to get a cigarette, the pack was gone. All day at school I fretted and when I got back home mymother wanted to have a talk. She started by asking me if Iwas missing anything. Playing dumb, I started patting myselfdown and said no, I have everything. Then she reached intoher apron and pulled out my missing pack of Kents. “Howabout these?”, she asked. I was caught. I was dead. My lifewas at an end. But, to my surprise, my mother pulled acigarette from the pack, lit it and smoked it with the skill ofby Georgia A. Dorsey 193

As I Remember ItBette Davis. When she was done, she handed the pack to mewith words that still resonate with me. Realizing that my acthad probably been a reaction to what I perceived as “square”parents, she said, “there is nothing that you can do that Ihaven't already done and probably done better. Now, herethey are. If you want to smoke, smoke.” She returned mypack and they immediately had no more appeal. It would beyears before I would ever even look at another cigarette. In spite of that incident, my parents were loosening someof their restrictions and I was finally able to listen to thepopular black music station WVON. Although I'd beenhearing the popular music of the day at friend's houses or atschool, it was nice to be able listen to at home, even if Icouldn't do it when my father was around. It was on WVONthat I heard that Otis Redding's plane had crashed and thathe and most of the Bar-Kay's were dead. Also around this time I, like a lot of teenagers, fell victim tothe Columbia Record Club. This “club” membership involvedthem sending you an album of their choosing that you couldostensibly return if you did not like it. But few peoplereturned them and that is how, in addition to my initial orderof Motown Records, I also acquired recordings by the RayConniff singers and some second tier cover artists. I didn'tpay for the unwanted records and Columbia sent a letter tomy parents, which I intercepted. To this day I still havethose wonderful old albums by the Temptations, Martha andthe Vandellas and Smokey Robinson but I have no idea whereRay Conniff went.Nineteen sixty-seven was the year of a very bad snowby Georgia A. Dorsey 194

As I Remember It storm. It would go down as one of the largest snowstorms in Chicago's history. Even so, some of us made it to school that day, only to be met at the door and told that the school was closed. This was before the ubiquitous storm warnings and school closings that are broadcast today. Somehow we walked back through the storm without being lost in a drift. It snowed all night and all day. When morning came, we couldn't see through our windows. Snow had piled up to the eaves of our house. My father, who had worked the second shift, walked home from his plant because his car was buried under multiple feet of snow. He walked all night and did not reach home until that morning. Looking back, I wonder why he didn't just stay at the plant, unless they had closed it down, too. At that time, I had an after school job at the Community discount store on 119th street at Halsted in Chicago. One of my father's friends was the security guard there and I hitched a ride with him the day after the storm. I only did that once. When the spring came and Father's Day rolled around I used some of my earnings to buy a fancy fountain pen for my father. As with most of his gifts, he packed it away for “later”. After he died, my mother gave it to me, still in the unopened box. I still have it. Though I still didn't have a boyfriend, I did attractattention, which really caused my mother anxiety. After aband concert one evening, I let a fellow band mate walk mehome, then accompanied him over to Lincoln school for aby Georgia A. Dorsey 195

As I Remember Itkissing session. Nothing much happened between us and hewent home. But my little make-out session had caused me toget home after my curfew, which was a serious infraction ofthe house rules. When my father, who had been workingsecond shift, came home my mother gave him her version ofevents and insisted that I be physically punished. Wearily,my father acquiesced and administered the final spanking ofmy life. When I met his eyes the sentiment there wassomewhere between “I really don't want to do this” and“Why don't you straighten up and fly right?”. It hurt becausethe only thing I ever wanted to see in my father's eyes washis love for me. Although most of my teachers that year were four-square,my sophomore English teacher was a bit of a dandy. Hisinnuendos with the girls in class were, looking back, veryinappropriate. Or maybe he just didn't see any reason forartificiality or dishonesty. I recall that we were discussingthe book, The Citadel in class. After listening to a studentattempt to explain the plot and moral, he advised her toaccept the fact that she was a “C” student and be happy. Thisparticular student had been in competition with me andothers since grade school, though I never competed withanyone. I think his advice only served to intensify hercompetitive spirit, but her refusal to accept the limits of hercapabilities eventually led to some misfortunes in her life,including drug addiction. At the end of my sophomore year I did something that Iwould not repeat: I ditched a class. True, it was the next-to-last day of school and not much was going on, but it was apotentially huge mistake. My old smoking buddy G.F. talkedby Georgia A. Dorsey 196