As I Remember It

As I Remember Itthe community. They were big, beautiful amalgams ofglass, steel, chrome and rubber that were put together insuch a beautiful way they looked good enough to eat. Eachyear produced a new color combination to drool over: redtop, white body; white top, green body; yellow top, blackbody; white rag top, red body, etc. The color combinationsseemed endless, and the sportier the owner was, the morethis was reflected in their color choices. So when theyventured past our house, for at least a few seconds we, too,could lay claim to one of these beauties.by Georgia A. Dorsey 47

As I Remember Itby Georgia A. Dorsey 48

As I Remember It At some point this game evolved into a competition toidentify the make, model and year of each car that passedus. It didn't matter whether it was one of the new shinymodels or something less glamorous. The challenge and funwas in acquiring and then using one's vast knowledge of theautomobile world to face down a sibling. Because of this“game” I acquired a tremendous knowledge of automobilesthat probably scared off more than one potential suitor.Funnily enough, after all the exposure to and idolization ofthe Magnificent Motown Machines, the one that lingersmost in my mind is the lowly Nash. By the way-my fathernever owned a new car in his life, let alone a flashy one. Itjust wasn't who he was. One day while playing out back I became aware that therewere new tenants in the Rufus building. A family with twogirls around my age, perhaps a little older, had moved in andthe girls were playing near the old tree that served as thecenter of a somewhat circular driveway. I didn't hold outmuch hope that we would be allowed to mingle with themby Georgia A. Dorsey 49

As I Remember Itbecause no precedent for such interactions had been set. Butthis time things would be different, and Debra and Brendawould be part of a very poignant and unsettling episode inmy life.by Georgia A. Dorsey 50

As I Remember Iti FROM HERE ON OUTTHE DAY IS A BLUR, REALLY and has been since itoccurred. The fact that no one else seems to rememberexactly what happened or, for reasons of their own will notdiscuss it with me, leaves me to reconstruct the events to thebest of my abilities. Debra and her sister Brenda had begun coming to the edgeof our property to say hello, though I don't think theirmother wanted them to. My impression now is that shedidn't want her fair-skinned children playing with this darkchild who had to climb over a pile of garbage cinders to greetthem. Never mind that the pile of garbage was on propertythat her father owned and the house she lived in was the oneby Georgia A. Dorsey 51

As I Remember Ithe had built. These two-room-apartment- renters' childrenwere obviously superior. Of course, at the time I understoodnone of this. I just wanted to play and these two girlsseemed to share that desire. Why their mother kept callingthem back inside was a mystery to me. Finally, my ownmother cautioned me to stay away from them and Iobeyed...to a point. When she was not looking I did try tosneak over and see if they were anywhere outside so that Icould get their attention. But, as much as I loved my siblings,they were awful tattletales which usually resulted in megetting punished and them getting rewarded. Such an uglytrait. I was in trouble again. I had committed some infraction andwas relegated to sitting on the back porch looking ateverybody play. It was the summer of 1956 and I was 5 yearsold. Though many things are blurry from this time in my life,I can still envision myself sitting there looking out towardthe backyard, viewing the cross ties and the garbage pile. Ieven remember that I was cleaned up for the day and waswearing a severely starched printed skirt and blouse. Myfamily should have had stock in the Corn Products company—the company that made Argo starch—because we certainlykept their profits up. My mother believed that anything thatshould be ironed should also be starched into board stiffness;so there I sat, starched and bored. From the porch, I saw Debra and Brenda out near our pileand, disregarding my status as a child on punishment, ran tomeet them. I honestly do not know what happened next. Thenext thing I knew, my clothes were on fire and I was runningand screaming. The reason that I can state with certaintyby Georgia A. Dorsey 52

As I Remember Itthat the Smiths had moved into the house next door by 1956is because a man who was visiting them at that time is theone who grabbed me and rolled me to put out the fire. Hisactions surely stopped me from being burned any worse thanI was, and I am forever grateful to him. But I don't know hisname. By then, others had gathered and I was vaguely aware of thepresence of my mother and older sister. However, because ofthe kind of family we were and the rules of our household, Iwas not taken to the hospital then. We had to wait until myfather came home from work so that he could authorize thenecessary actions. I don't know what difference the timeelement made in the severity of my condition, but it couldn'thave been a good thing. To add insult to my injuries, myfather was stopped for speeding by the Blue Island police ashe pushed Nelly Bell to her limits to take me to the hospital.I don't know if he got a ticket, but I do know that when wegot to St. Francis Hospital in Blue Island, they directed him toCook County hospital in Chicago. More time wasted. I wasfinally admitted to Cook County hospital and there began amonths-long odyssey of pain shared by my father and me thatbecame a bond that would never be broken. As I lay in a fixed position on my stomach at Cook Countyhospital, events were unfolding at home. I'm sure there wasa discussion between my parents about how the whole thingcame to happen in the first place. But I never heard it. Theymust have talked to the man who extinguished the fire. But Inever heard about it. They must have discussed thehumiliating treatment that my father endured trying to getmedical treatment for me. But I never heard it. What I didby Georgia A. Dorsey 53

As I Remember Ithear about was the claim that I had been set alight with astick by either Brenda or Debra, one of whom had lit the stickfrom smoldering embers in our garbage pile and stuck itonto the edge of my well-starched skirt. Thus claimed mymother. My infraction of leaving the porch while onpunishment seemed the lesser of the two events, and I wasgiven a pass, as well I should have been. Because, whateverthe origins of my misfortune, I would be the one with thepermanent reminders. In all honesty, I have no idea how my skirt caught fire. Idon't remember there being a fire on the pile at the time,though there could have been. If so, the flames could havecaught my skirt if I bent down. I simply don't remember.But, because of my mother's accusations and the ensuinganimosity between my mother and theirs, Brenda andDebra's family soon moved. I overheard a conversation oncewherein it was said that they had relocated to Morgan Park, aneighborhood in Chicago which was devoid of garbage pilesand dark-skinned little girls. Ironically, when I was about 17 years old, I had extensivedental work done by a dentist with an office in Morgan Park.One day while awaiting my turn, in walked a stillrecognizable Brenda (or Debra, they looked so much alike).She looked at me, then dropped her head and did not meetmy eyes. I don't know if my father, who had driven me to theappointment, recognized her. If he did, he said nothing. Itwas in the past. For months I was confined to the burn ward of the hospital.It was not a pleasant time. Funny how I can still smell theether they used to put me under. In those days, as isby Georgia A. Dorsey 54

As I Remember Itprobably still the case, the patients there were low-incomeand more than likely used as guinea pigs for interns andstudent nurses who would go on to work in upscale hospitals,using the knowledge they had gathered from watching theless important denizens of society suffer. My opinion ofthese people and this hospital are based on my experience asa child and nothing more. I recall seeing groups of doctorscome by to inspect and discuss my condition, but I do notremember one of them even speaking to me oracknowledging that I was even a human being. They weregetting a look at my third-degree burns, which covered mybuttocks and rear thighs. They were getting a look at theskin grafts taken from my legs and applied to the parts of mythighs that could accept new tissue. They were getting a lookat the time it takes for a skin graft to heal and blend in withthe existing tissue to form a cohesive mass of skin. With allthis looking, I don't know how they missed the maggots. I had felt something moving on my buttocks and thighs fora while now, but I didn't know what it was. It felt almostlike a tickle. But what in the world could be tickling me backthere? From my position on my stomach, I could not turn tosee what was causing this sensation. Surely if it was a badthing, someone would have said or done something about it.Surely. Well, someone did. I only saw my father truly angrya few times in his life, and when he visited me and saw thatthey had let flies and maggots get to my still-unhealedwounds, he let his anger out. He had been my sole visitor forthe length of my hospitalization, but he was not able to bethere as much as he wanted to. The visiting situation wasremedied that day, because he checked me out of the hospitalby Georgia A. Dorsey 55

As I Remember Itright then and brought me home. In anticipation of myeventual return and recuperation, he had already purchaseda new Sealy Posturepedic bed for me, so that I no longer hadto share my sleeping arrangements. From that day until my wounds had finally healed, myfather came home from work every day and tended to me.He changed my bandages, applied the medications andointments and taught me to walk again. He established abond with me that I don't think his other children have everunderstood. From then on I became his special projectbecause he understood that from that day in 1956 forward,my life would forever be different. It would not be differentbecause of anything that he would say or do, but he knewthat my injuries, though mostly hidden, would never be asecret in a small town. A small town where appearanceswere so important. This section of my memoirs was the one I dreaded writing.I understood that I would have to tell this story and relive thediscomfort that I have always had about this episode in mylife. Perhaps it would have been different if someone—anyone—in my family had taken the time to discuss it withme as I was growing up. Luckily for me, even though henever spoke to me directly about it, my father instilled in mea sense of self worth and confidence that overruled anyobjections that society could have toward me. Because ofthis, he will forever be the love of my life.by Georgia A. Dorsey 56

As I Remember It My beloved fatherby Georgia A. Dorsey 57

As I Remember Iti THE WAY FORWARDBECAUSE OF THE EVENTS OF the summer of 1956, I did notbegin school until 1957. So, for twelve years I was always amember of the class that followed the one that I should havebeen part of. It didn't bother me, and very few of my fellowstudents knew it. Indeed, I would have been five years oldentering first grade had I started on time, because mybirthday is in November. Back then being age six bySeptember 1 was not a hard and fast requirement forbeginning school. As it turned out, my age was more in linewith the students who entered first grade when I did. Iremember being excited. I had stared at the big brickby Georgia A. Dorsey 58

As I Remember Itbuilding down the street for years and now I was going towalk through its doors, though I had no idea of what toexpect. Lincoln Memorial school loomed large in our neighborhood,as you might imagine, so anticipation of entering the schoolwas high. I had no idea what to expect once inside becauseno one had prepared me for the eventuality of going toschool. For six years of my life my entire universe had beenmy family, as was no doubt the case with most childrenentering a formal educational setting. However, I have tobelieve that they at least were given a few pointers on whatit would be like to be surrounded by strangers in a strangeplace. I was given no such advance preparation. When theappointed day came, I was sent—alone—to make my waythrough this new experience. My mother stood in the front yard and watched as I walkedthe few yards to the school, following the other children asthey crossed the street and made their way to the school'sfront door. Someone undoubtedly had registered me at somepoint, but I do not recall where or when this happened. WhatI do recall is fear. Abject terror would be more correct. Istood, lost, among a sea of brand new faces, terrified to openmy mouth. This was new territory for me, this being afraidto open my mouth. It had never happened before and was aunique and very uncomfortable feeling. So uncomfortable infact that I burst into tears. I suppose the sight of a cryingchild on the first day of school is common to those teachersand administrators whose job it is to become surrogateparents for these youngsters for a portion of the day. Butbeing that crying child is a very different experience, for yourby Georgia A. Dorsey 59

As I Remember Ittears telegraph to your peers a level of weakness that paintsyou as vulnerable, easy prey. They may also send a signal toyour teacher that you are a potential problem child who willrequire more attention than the others. A lot is establishedon one's first day of school, and I set events in motion thatday that followed me for years to come. Someone finally asked me what my name was and Imanaged to sniff it out between convulsive sobs and tears.From my soggy information it was determined that I was toget into the line going to Mrs. Ratliff's class. I was shovedinto place behind some other child and, when the appropriatetime came, followed the rest of the newly-semi-orphaned intomy new home away from home. The lady who had asked my name and led the line I foundout was my teacher, Mrs. Ratliff. She lived on the west sideof the village—I never knew where—and was a jovial yetsimultaneously staid woman. At least that is what it seemedlike to a six-year-old child. I don't remember much else about that first day of school.I obviously made it through, and there must have been milkand crackers at some point because those things were derigeur for all of the first five years of my elementary schoollife. When the bell rang for dismissal, I probably followed theline out the door to Clifton Park Avenue and obeyed thepatrol boy when crossing 139th street. As was her habit forall six of us who lived in the 139th street house, my motherwas probably waiting in the front yard or in the street for thereturn of her charge, and we could put a check in the“completed” column for my first day of school. Or, moreaccurately, my first half day.by Georgia A. Dorsey 60

As I Remember ItRobbins was growing and growing fast. For its first 30 or40 years it had been a relatively sleepy little townpopulated by people who purchased land and built theirown houses. The quality of these structures varied andprobably had more to do with the laissez-faire, “let's raise abarn” attitude of the original inhabitants than the inabilityto set and adhere to standards. Rather than encumberpossible residents with troublesome building codes andrestrictions, anyone who would come, make the village theirhome and contribute to the community's growth and healthwas welcomed and allowed to pitch a tent by those incharge. Well, not really. But close. Another contributingfactor to this situation was that banks refused to lendmoney to village residents. Unless, of course, you wantedto buy a big, shiny new car. If Chicago was the establishedeast coast, then Robbins was the wild west. It wasn't untilthe mid '50s that evidence of a change in this attitude andapproach surfaced and proper subdivisions were platted.Among those residing in the existing section of Robbins,these new neighborhoods became known collectively as “thenew homes”, which did little to distinguish the threeseparate developments. And they never would. Residents ofthe new developments differentiated themselves, but a linewould always exist between the older village families andthose that arrived in the '50s and '60s. These families camepouring in, bringing with them more children than could beaccommodated at Lincoln School. Clearly, changes had tobe made. The first plan was to build another school. Thesecond plan was to cut all classes to half-day sessions toby Georgia A. Dorsey 61

As I Remember It accommodate the increased school population until the new school could be built. That is how I wound up in the morning half-day session of Mrs. Ratliff's first grade class. Today, I wonder if this poor woman and all of her colleagues were teaching twice the number of students for the same amount of pay. True, their day was no longer or, of it was, not by much. But, looking back, it couldn't have been easy. In those days I had clothes that I wore to school and clothesthat I changed into when I got back home. Per her standards,my mother made sure that my school clothes were starched,ironed and standing at attention. Not so much care wastaken with the clothes I donned to play in. I remember themas being rather ratty-tatty and, in some cases, downrightraggedy. When I asked her why I had to wear these less-than-stellar outfits, my mother's reply was that I was “roughon clothes”. I was offended. Though I had no evidence to support my hypothesis, itdidn't appear to me that my peers had to wear the kinds ofclothes that I did when they came home from school. Ofcourse, I only saw one or two of my classmates after schoollet out and then only briefly. But the time or two I did catcha glimpse of someone playing down the street they certainlylooked more put together than I did. At least I think they did. My parents' well-crafted plan to keep the world at bay hadrecently hit a snag. They had purchased a television set frommy father's friend Kenneth and his wife Mary, who owned aradio and television shop that was located under the “L”tracks on 63rd street in Chicago. I recall visiting this shopby Georgia A. Dorsey 62

As I Remember Itwith my parents and being frightened by the train as itscreeched around the turn in the tracks overhead. In thosedays, Englewood was a vibrant neighborhood. Now that we had a television, it became a source ofdiversion and entertainment for my mother as well us formy siblings and myself. We enjoyed the shows that all 1950schildren did: Romper Room School, Treetop House, RayRayner, Lunchtime Little Theater, etc. My mother liked theafternoon shows like Queen for a Day and certain soapoperas. In the evening, after the news, we watched showslike Ozzie and Harriet, Leave It to Beaver and Father KnowsBest. This is where I think my confusion set in. By watching the fictionalized lives of the families ontelevision, I had begun to absorb the subtle messages beingtransmitted about what a family should be, how they shouldwalk, talk and, yes, dress. Of course, I didn't know it at thetime but these images on the screen were beginning to createa dissatisfaction with my surroundings, which is no doubtwhat was intended. Though their scheme was working, a six-year-old girl in Robbins was arguably not their intendedtarget for these messages. They more than likely wereaiming for a middle class suburban family with disposableincome and social aspirations. We were technically asuburban family but that is where any similarities ceased. In reality, my dissatisfaction with my after-school clotheshad little or nothing to do with what my peers were wearing.They probably wore the same kinds of clothes after schoolthat I did. Rather, it had to do with the introduction of anelement into our home that was meant to broaden ourhorizons but was doing more harm than good. Eitherby Georgia A. Dorsey 63

As I Remember Itindividually or in tandem my parents recognized the changein us children since they'd bought the television andinstituted some new guidelines. We children were to go backto spending time outside playing and less time in front of theTV. We were encouraged to watch the news and educationalprograms, and we were allowed to watch the children'sprograms so long as we did not ask for things we saw incommercials. I believe my father tried to get my mother tocurtail her television watching too, but that was like herdingcats, so he gave up. Chastened, I went back out to play andmet another occupant of the Rufus boarding house. Things were moving quickly it seemed to me. I wasadjusting to my new routine at school and crying less, thoughI would never be a completely dry-eyed student. There wasan old upright piano in the classroom and Mrs. Ratliff playedand taught us songs. At the appointed time, milk and crackerswere delivered to the classroom, usually by one of the patrolboys who had been deputized to do so, and were immediatelyset upon by an enthusiastic and hungry bunch of six-year-olds. When we weren't slurping milk and crumbling crackersall over the floor, we occupied ourselves with learning tospell our names, coloring and learning the alphabet. I hadmade two new friends, Tony and Sherrye N., and wasbeginning to feel comfortable in the new environment. But itdidn't last long. Sometime in the middle of my first grade year areorganization of the school district took place. A new schoolhad been completed and the attendance boundary linesshifted so that some of the children who had attended myschool were moved to the new school closer to where theyby Georgia A. Dorsey 64

As I Remember Itlived. It wasn't very traumatic for me because, luckily, Ihadn't had time to form any real bond with any of the oneswho went to the new school. In fact, it wasn't until we werereunited at the middle school in sixth grade that I even knewthat some of the friends I would make in junior high hadactually been part of my first grade class. Though I hadescaped this particular trauma, I would not be so lucky on allfronts. The reorganization did not relieve all of the overcrowdingand half-day sessions continued. Later, when I was an adult,I learned about some maneuverings and political decisionsthat were occurring during this time which resulted indisallowing most of the school children in Robbins fromattending schools in surrounding communities that wereactually closer to where they lived. But that is another storyand not one for me to tell. One day, I guess it was part of thisgrand reorganization scheme, someone came into Mrs.Ratliff's classroom and read off a list of names. Mine wasone of them. We were instructed to line up and follow her toa classroom down the hall—to Mrs. Osborne's classroom. Wewere now students of Mrs. Osborne. That was it. No goodbye, no farewell party, no nothing.There was seemingly no regard for the emotional bond that achild, especially a young child, has begun to make with thisauthority figure, this surrogate mother. Although I was onlyshifted to a classroom down the hall and not to an entirelynew school, the sudden change still had an impact on me. Tothis day I would like to know how they decided who would goand who would stay, because I now know that these kinds ofdecisions are always subjective no matter what they try toby Georgia A. Dorsey 65

As I Remember Ittell you. And I still don't understand why these changes hadto be made in the middle of the school year. Then, amid all ofthis chaos, in comes E.C. I really don't remember which of my first grade classes shewas part of, Ratliff or Osborne, because my memories of herduring that period are of a bouncy, happy child with longbraids and a high-pitched voice who resided with her motherand father in one of Mr. Rufus' apartments behind our house.Unlike the Debra/Brenda family, her family was more down-home, with roots somewhere in Mississippi. Mrs. C. stayedhome with E. while Mr. C. worked in the construction trades.Over time, my parents would come to be acquaintances ofthis newly-arrived family, especially my mother and Mrs. C.It should be noted here that we never called any adult by hisor her first name. Of course we knew what those nameswere, not so much because we heard our parents use thembut because we heard others do so. When referring to anyadult in our presence, my parents always said “Mr.” or“Mrs.” whoever when we were growing up. Moreover, myparents referred to each other as “Mama” and “Daddy”, andvery rarely called each other by their first names—Jesse andGeorgia Mae—unless they were having a disagreement. Inthose cases, the use of the first name was a demonstration ofthe seriousness of the discussion at hand. The only exceptionto their requirement that we refer to adults properly was ournext door neighbor. Mrs. Smith. Her children called her byher first name, so we were allowed to refer to her as “MissFritz”. He, however, was still called Mr. Smith. E.C. and I would walk the short distance home from schooltogether, parting after we reached my front yard and myby Georgia A. Dorsey 66

As I Remember Itever-watchful mother. Our family had yet to develop thewestern most part of the property and people had begun tocreate a shortcut from Central Park to 139th street through it.This irritated my mother to no end and would eventuallyresult in all of our property being fenced off. But that hadn'thappened yet, and E. would take this path for the last leg ofher trip home, skipping through the tall grass until shereached her mother, who was waiting for her at the otherend of the path. One day when we were parting company sheyelled out “Have a nice time at the funeral!” When I turned toface my mother I knew that I was in for it. In obviousviolation of family rules, I had told a stranger aboutsomething that was going on in our household. The look onmy mother's face caused sheer terror within me, and the onlyreason I think I escaped a spanking was that my father wasdue home soon in order to take my brother and myself to singat the funeral of one of the church members. In those days, almost all funerals and wakes were heldduring the day, so people had to take time off work to attendthem. The newly-departed had been a leader in the churchand a friend of my father's who oversaw the BYPU, or BaptistYoung Peoples Union, which was the youth arm of ourchurch. A decision was made on some level to have some ofhis charges sing at his funeral as a tribute to the work that hehad done for so many years. Because there were only a few ofus in the singing group and two of us belonged to Daddy, Ithink I can guess whose idea it was. The idea sounded nobleand, I'm sure, looked good on paper. Looking back, I don't think preparing their children for newexperiences was my parents' strong suit. For just as no oneby Georgia A. Dorsey 67

As I Remember Ithad told me what to expect during my first day of school,neither did anybody tell me what to expect at a funeral. Ihad never been to one and attending this one in the mannerthat I did impacted me psychologically in ways that wouldnot be identified until I was a middle-aged woman. While my mother's ghost stories always aimed to tie thespiritual world to the physical world and thereby show ushow they were connected, my father's ghost stories alwaysmade death seem sinister, personified by the dreaded Mr.Marlowe and that startling knock at the end of the stories.With these two influences battling it out within my psyche, Iheard the name of our little group called to come to the frontof the church. There, in an open casket, lay the remains of a man that, onlya Sunday or two before, had been instructing us on how to begood Baptists. I had never seen a dead body before, and Icertainly had not seen one laid out to look as if he wasmerely taking a nap. Could we talk to him? Would he hearour song? There were so many questions that I neededanswers to but could not and did not ask. Our little groupsang our song and received polite “Amen”s from thecongregation. I don't remember what happened after that. Ifwe followed the procession to the cemetery, I don'tremember it. If anybody complimented us on our singing, Idon't remember that either. I only remember that for manynights afterward I could still see him lying there in his coffin.After all the times that I saw the man standing erect and fullof life, the last image I would have of him is of a personseemingly much smaller than he had been who was dressedin a suit that didn't fit.by Georgia A. Dorsey 68

As I Remember It When I got in line for school the next day E.C. began to askquestions about the funeral again. I liked this girl andwanted to be friends with her, even if it meant incurring thewrath of my mother. So I told her about the singing and thecoffin. I probably used words like “scary” or “spooky”because I had not yet learned the word “traumatic”. Shelistened attentively then dismissed my account as if she hadalready experienced lots of these things. And, as I got toknow her, I could believe that she had indeed. She was much more mature than I was, probably duesomewhat to being an only child who primarily found herselfaround adults. But there was something else there.Something that I could not quite put my finger on. In thebeginning of our friendship I thought the difference betweenus stemmed from the difference in our family sizes. As anonly child, it seemed to me that she got everything that shewanted. In fact, the entire presentation of the family was oneof “Laissez les bon temps rollez”. But, if I hadn't learned theword “traumatic” yet, I also had not learned the word“patina”. Back in Mrs. Osborne's classroom, I and another studentwere called on to help the teacher with some work she wasdoing. It was a common practice then as I assume it is nowfor a teacher to give a student a special task as a reward fordoing something well or simply not misbehaving. I don'tknow what her rationale was, but the results got a lot ofattention.by Georgia A. Dorsey 69

As I Remember Iti UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCESI DIDN'T KNOW WHY HE and I had been singled out.Perhaps we had finished our assignments early and weresitting around fidgeting. Or maybe it was some sort of testby Mrs. Osborne. We approached her desk with unease and,on my part, no small amount of fear. I don't know about him,but I could feel the eyes of the other students following us.Usually the only reason a teacher called you to the front ofthe class was to scold you or in some other way embarrassyou in front of your peers for displaying some untowardbehavior. In the worse case scenario, you were summonedforward for her to administer a sharp rap to the palm of yourby Georgia A. Dorsey 70

As I Remember Ithand, which usually resulted in the rapped child crying andthe rest of the class either laughing or cowering so as not tobe the next victim. I had witnessed others have thisexperience and did not want to be the next floor show.Already I could feel the tears beginning to well up. We stood there waiting as she opened her drawer. Here itcomes, I thought; I was certain that was where she kept thedreaded ruler. Mrs. Osborne, who was a very pretty andkind-faced woman, then removed a stack of papers and shutthe drawer. The stack was divided between the two of uswith what I recall as these instructions: “Please put all of thegirls' papers into one stack and all of the boys' papers intoanother. Their names are in the top left hand corner. Youmay work over by the windows.” That was it. We were notbeing punished for some unknown infraction, we were beingrewarded for a reason that was also unknown. I surely didn't question this new freedom and recognitionbestowed upon me by the teacher—the authority figure—andneither did my compadré. Instead of being humiliated wewere being given something to do that, heretofore, we hadonly seen adults do: handle the student papers. Themagnitude of the challenge had not yet sunk in. When we got to the windows and began to examine thepapers, I realized that, instead of being written in the near-perfect penmanship of our teacher, the writing was the workof our classmates. I then recognized the stack as a set of testbooklets from a test that had been administered to the classsome time in the past. Who in their right mind would givetwo first graders who are just learning to read the job ofreading the shaky handwriting of a child just learning how toby Georgia A. Dorsey 71

As I Remember Itwrite and spell? What if they hadn't gotten the hang of it yet?I do recall that there was a boy in my third grade class whoconsistently misspelled his own name, among other things.True, his learning disability was discovered later, but whowas to say there weren't others so afflicted among thiscurrent group? Further, how were we to know if the namewas that of a boy or a girl? Thankfully, this presented less ofa problem since names in those days were usually derivedfrom the Bible or from the baby name book that was providedby the hospitals. There were no exotic or made up namesback then. So if we could just read the names, that wouldclear up most of the challenge. I was back near tears. It never occurred to me to tell theteacher that I couldn't do it. I have no idea how the otherstudent felt about it but, to me, not completing the taskwould mean that I had failed. I, who was a consummatepleaser, thought that not being able to do what Mrs. Osborneasked would mean a loss of favor in her eyes. I could not,would not, let that happen. Looking back some six decades later, I recognize that thiswas the starting point of a behavior that I would exhibit formany years to come. When faced with the seeminglyimpossible, just turn it into the possible. When given achallenge by an authority figure, meet or exceed thechallenge and never give them a reason to lose faith in you,no matter the toll it takes. While looking at the names and realizing how impossiblethe whole thing was, I saw the answer. Primary grades havea set of words that are standard for the initial grades, at leastthey did in those days. Primers like Fun With Dick and Janeby Georgia A. Dorsey 72

As I Remember Itand others provided the short stories and the words thatwould comprise our vocabulary list for that week. Eachreading group, according to teacher-determined proficiency,would be called to stand around her desk and read. Eachchild in the group was allotted a certain amount to read,depending upon the group's size and the length of the story.A reading group's number signified the reading ability of itsmembers, with Group 1 being the best readers, having beenidentified as such by criteria that may or may not have beenobjective. You really didn't want to be in the highestnumbered reading group, usually 3 or 4, because thattelegraphed to everyone that you were dumb. I use theundiplomatic word “dumb” because as children that is whatwe said. No euphemisms existed back then and nothing wasdone to spare a child's feelings. Instead, words like theaforementioned “dumb” were used to motivate one to dobetter. If you wanted to be in Group 1 or 2, you had to tryharder.Anyway, at the end of the week we would be given a spellingtest to see how well we had memorized the order of theletters of our vocabulary words. The teacher would tear a fullsheet of writing paper in half vertically to share with twochildren. Your name went on the first line, and the next linewas skipped. Numbers representing the count of words inthe test were entered on each subsequent line near the leftside of the paper, always followed by a decimal point, orperiod. She would then call out each spelling word and youwrote it down on the paper without, ideally, looking at yourneighbor's work. When there were no more words, shecollected your work and your fate for that test was sealed.by Georgia A. Dorsey 73

As I Remember ItVocabulary words were usually easy ones in the first grade:look, see, play, dog, cat, jump, funny, boy, girl. On the other side of each test booklet, way over to theright, were two check boxes. Next to them were two wordsthat I had learned to spell correctly: “boy” and “girl”. I don'tremember having checked this box or even seeing it when Itook the test, but there it was now. I suppose someone,probably Mrs. Osborne, had done this after the fact becausenow each box contained a check mark by one of the words.We were saved! I remember nudging the other student andtelling him my new-found secret. I don't know if he felt therelief that I did because I don't know if he was as determinedas I to not fail. Probably not. From then on it was a simplematter to sort the booklets and give them back to the teacher. When we approached her desk she looked up, probablyexpecting us to throw in the towel and admit defeat. Whenwe gave her the two stacks of booklets, she still didn't seemto understand that we were presenting her with une faitaccompli. Still having not said a word to us, she picked upone of the stacks and began to look through it. Then she didthe same with the other stack. He and I just stood there.When she had finished her inspection she look at us both andasked “How did you do this?” Not waiting for my silentpartner, I reached forward and pointed to the check boxes. Iwill never forget the look on her face nor the swiftness withwhich she pushed back her chair, rose from her desk andheaded for the door, with her high heels clicking on the tilefloor and the jacket to her three piece suit flapping behindher. I wondered whether we had broken some unknown lawor rule. Were we in trouble?by Georgia A. Dorsey 74

As I Remember It As I mentally flipped through the possible punishments Icould receive as a result of this yet-unknown infraction, Mrs.Osborne returned with Mrs. Childs, the assistant principal. My goodness, we had really messed up! Mrs. Childs, whoknew my parents, walked over to us and asked us the samequestion that Mrs. Osborne had “How did you do this?”Again, I pointed to the checked boxes. She smiled and toldMrs. Osborne that she had two very bright pupils in her class,then left. And that was the end of it. We took our seats andmy breathing returned to normal. But it didn't end there.From then on we were fast-tracked as gifted students, alwaysgiven the most challenging work and more often than notheld up as examples for our peers.While I am sure they meant well, being singled out from yourpeers at such a young age and given a different status makesyou a target. I don't know if the other student felt trapped in all of thisjust because he'd been the one working with me that daywhen I'd figured out the puzzle. We never talked about it allthe way through eleven more years of school and at this pointI think that I'd really like to know. But, even more than that,I would like to know what Mrs. Osborne was trying toaccomplish in the first place. Did she forget about the boxesand just assume we would stand there and waste time tryingto figure it out? Was she curious to see if we'd find the boxesand use them to complete the task? Or was she just trying tofind something to occupy two students in her class?Whatever it was, the outcome would affect me for a long timeto come.by Georgia A. Dorsey 75

As I Remember Iti LET THEM EAT CAKEI REALLY DON'T HAVE ANY recollection of my oldest sisterMinnie living with us, though she must have at some pointsince she was only 10 years old when we moved into thehouse on 139th street . My first real memory of her is of hergetting married and us visiting her and her new husbandMarshall in their cute apartment on 139th Place. We children had received a lecture on how to behave beforewe left home. Even though this was our sister's house, wewere to be on our best behavior and not embarrass her or ourparents in front of her new husband. Remember, we wereprimarily outside children who ran freely and loudly aboutour yard, climbing trees, looking for snakes, building fortsand generally doing whatever we liked. My sister wouldby Georgia A. Dorsey 76

As I Remember Ithave been used to this but probably not her husband. I don'twant to give the impression that we didn't know how tobehave, for nothing could be further from the truth. Insurroundings other than our home we were quiet and almostmouse-like. At church and at school we were constantly beingcoaxed to get involved by our teachers because we were soshy. No, our boisterousness was triggered by our familydynamic. We knew that, among family members and on ourown turf, we could let loose and be ourselves. This was theenvironment that our parents had established for us.Instead, I recall that the lecture that day had more to do withfood. It was the first time I remember being told by myfather to refuse, politely, any offering of food from our hosts.After that day, it would be a standard rule on the rareoccasion that we visited anyone in the future. Minnie and MarshallMy sister's apartment was on the second floor of a two-by Georgia A. Dorsey 77

As I Remember Itfamily apartment building owned by a long-time Robbinsfamily. The owners lived downstairs and I recall them asbeing a rather dour, conservative couple. But the buildingwas attractive and well-kept and I always remember it asbeing a little jewel. After my sister had moved from theapartment to another home, I had little reason to be in thatneighborhood. But the image of it with its cute little awningsremained with me for a good while. Once we'd climbed the stairs and settled in, the adultsbegan to talk. That left little for me and my brother to do.Probably acknowledging our restlessness, my brother-in-lawoffered us some cookies, which we dutifully turned down. Heinsisted. We refused again. Finally, realizing that this couldgive an impression that he had not intended, my father gaveus permission to accept, with directions to my brother-in-lawto give us just one cookie each. Newlyweds are an interesting breed. Perhaps thatdescription extends to any child who has recently left thenest and is hosting his or her parents for the first time.Firstly, they want to show that they are mature and canhandle the responsibilities of taking care of themselves.Secondly, they want to make a good presentation, whetherthat be a house that is neat and clean or a meal that is well-prepared and served. My sister was no different. Leaving her husband to talk to my parents, she took us intoher kitchen to have our cookie. Her two little siblings weregoing to be treated like a king and queen, or at least a princeand princess. From somewhere she produced two glassdessert plates and put them before us. I had never seendishes like these. They were so delicate, so otherworldly. Atby Georgia A. Dorsey 78

As I Remember Ithome dessert was usually a homemade tea cake that Igrabbed as I ran out the door. Rarely if ever was it served ona dish and never on a dish such as the one before me. Whatwere we supposed to do with these plates? Next, she produced a large mound of chocolate that sheplaced delicately onto each of our plates. I was a littleconfused. I thought we had been offered a cookie, not thisthing. A cookie was a vanilla wafer, not this oddity thatlooked like a steroidal version of one of those chocolatecovered cherries my father brought home for my mother. Ifinally picked mine up and bit into a combination ofchocolate, marshmallow and cookie. The marshmallow tookme by surprise, but I got used to it and decided that I likedthis thing, whatever it was. I held it in my hand and tookbite after bite of this new delight. Before long, the delight inmy mouth began to move to other parts of my body. It firstwent to my shoulders, which I moved up and down to arhythm heard only by me. Then it moved to my buttocks,which twisted and turned in the chair. Finally, it reached myfeet, which I kicked with utter delight, promptly upsettingthe table and sending my sister's beautiful new glass dishcrashing to the floor. My father was horrified. It seemed as though everything happened at once, thoughI'm sure that is not the case. First, my sister began to cleanup the mess and to put the table back in order. Then I heardmy father telling Marshall that he would pay for the dish andasking how much he should pay. Like some weird ping-pongmatch, my father kept offering to pay while my brother-in-law volleyed back with his refusal to accept anycompensation for the lost plate. While all of this wasby Georgia A. Dorsey 79

As I Remember Ithappening, I sat in terror, wondering what my fate would beonce we reached home. This was no doubt the scenario, or one like it, that myfather had envisioned when he gave us our instructionsbefore leaving home. Even though he was away from us a lotwhile our mother stayed at home, he understood his children.We returned home soon after that and I never knew whethermy father paid for the dish or not. I also don't recall anypunishment that I received, though I am fairly certain I didnot get away cleanly. And even though I proved myself to bequite the bull in the china shop that day, it did not precludeme from visiting my sister and being welcomed into hersubsequent homes. Minnie's children, my niece and nephews, were born inrather rapid succession. This no doubt was one of thereasons they moved from their apartment into a townhousecomplex that had recently been completed. These townhomes were part of the new construction that was going onin the village and living in one was thought to be quite thecoup. Downstairs was a living room, eat-in kitchen and autility room. Upstairs were 2-3 bedrooms and a bath. It wasactually quite nice and comfortable and would be their homeuntil the breakup of their marriage. But I don't remembermuch about that. What I remember is visiting them thereand babysitting for their children. They had a very niceradio/stereo combo that they would let me listen to while Ibabysat. It was through them that I was introduced to mostof the black artists of the 1950s and early '60s, since music ofthat sort was not played in our home. I loved one record somuch, I Had A Talk With My Man by Mitty Collier, that Iby Georgia A. Dorsey 80

As I Remember Itappropriated it for myself. Years later, when I confessed tomy sister what I had done, she said she never missed itbecause it had belonged to her ex-husband. I still have therecord. Stylishly appointed, I remember that my sister's livingroom contained a ceramic stalking black panther that was so popular in those days. I don't know what happened to it but I think it would be quite desirable to have today. As I have stated,they had a very nice stereo system that my brother-in-lawloved to play when he was “relaxing”. This usually involvedan adult beverage if I recall correctly. Sometime in my junior high school years their marriagebroke apart. I don't know any of the details because thosethings were not talked about in front of us minors. One day,only Minnie and her three children, Chanthini, Marshall Jr.and Von, lived in the home. Marshall Sr. was gone. His sisterAlma and her husband John D., who used to stop by our houseand visit, ceased to do so. After that, my father stepped in tobe a contributing father figure to his grandchildren and, fromwhat two of them have told me, he was their example of howto be a good father.by Georgia A. Dorsey 81

As I Remember Iti THE BUNNY HOPALTHOUGH I HAVE NO MEMORIES of my sister Minnieliving at our family home, I do recall my sister Bernadine'spresence there. My sister Minnie was very pretty. Bernadine,who my father called “Bunch” or “Bunny” was gorgeous.Petite and with a complexion like Lena Horne's, she had jetblack curly hair that fell across her face into soft waves.Needless to say, she attracted attention and probably nosmall amount of jealousy, though there is only one episodethat I remember that would indicate that. Most of my memories of my sister are of her being mymother's helper around the house. As the family grew, mymother depended on the older children to help with theby Georgia A. Dorsey 82

As I Remember Ityounger ones, which I think is the norm in large families.But Bernadine did much more. Because my father had noolder sons, she was called upon to do things that perhaps herfriends were not, like mowing the grass-with a push mower.I cannot speak for my sister and it is her story to tell, but Iknow how I felt lugging the fuel oil home and I can't imagineshe felt much different about her chores. Since she was so far ahead of me in school, she would teachme things that were far ahead of what other students in myclass were learning. One day in 1958—I know the yearprecisely because that is the year my brother Lawrence wasborn—I wanted to learn how to spell the new baby's name onthe typewriter. Because she was taking typing and businessin high school, she took me aside and taught me how to touchtype his name. I was not allowed to “hunt and peck”. Shetaught me which keys should be typed with which fingers andonly left me alone when she was satisfied that I could typemy brother's name without looking at the keyboard. In time, however, her advanced tutelage of me would leadher to tell me she thought I was becoming a little arrogantand boastful when showing off my knowledge. But, by thattime, my quest for information had become unstoppable and Ihad reached a point of confidence and independence thatpropelled me to find things out for myself. I suppose my sister had the same concerns and cares thatevery teenager does. With our age difference, this area ofher life was never something that she discussed with me. Iwas peripherally aware that she had some close girlfriendswho stopped by the house on occasion or whom she visited,but that was all. I don't remember a single boyfriend untilby Georgia A. Dorsey 83

As I Remember Itshe was almost ready to go out on her own. Our lives,regimented so tightly between home, school and church, hadvery little wiggle room for extended social activities. Ofcourse, home was our base and we weren't going to liveanywhere else. And we weren't going to go to any schoolsother than the ones in our district. And we were going toattend the church and belong to the faith that our parents didbecause that was the way it was. Only my sister Minniebelonged to a different church and that was because her newhusband's family belonged there. While growing up I don't recall ever being denied the opportunity to visit a friend's church, if invited. The only caveat was that all my responsibilities at home had to be completed. The conversation usually began with me asking one of my parents, usually my mother, for permission. She would then say it was okay with her if it was okay with my father, who would inquire what my mother had said. Once it had been determined that both parents had signed off, the visit could go forward. I imagine this is the kind of exchange that occurred whenmy sister Bernadine asked to visit the Rice sisters'—sometimes called Sister Burl's—church. Before I knew it, myBaptist sister was saved, sanctified and filled with the HolyGhost. I remember her walking around the house speaking intongues and shouting. I do not recall how long my parentsallowed this to go on, but it became a permanent, thoughdormant, part of my sisters persona from then until now. Once, the Lucy Rodgers Singers, a prominent gospel group,by Georgia A. Dorsey 84

As I Remember Itwas in town. I remember that my sister was somewhatenamored of Ms. Rodgers' brother, whose name I believe wasClarence. At this point she was probably already out of highschool or close to it, so her comings and goings were lesssubject to my parents' approval. I always got a kick out oflooking at her graduation ring because the year on it was thesame no matter which way she wore it. She graduated in1961. She had secured a job through the “Help Wanted: Colored”advertisements in the newspapers and was now putting herskills to use at a place called Bee Bindery. Before long sheleft the nest, effectively leaving me to pick up her role asoldest sibling with everything that that entailed. On one of her visits home—maybe a year or so later—shewas accompanied by the man who would be her partner forthe rest of her life. His name was Charles Evans and he mether gorgeousness cell for cell, molecule for molecule. Hedrove a lollipop-red, white-topped, white-interiored Cadillacconvertible that would draw the attention of just abouteverybody on the street whenever they drove past. He worehis hair in the “processed” style and attired himself in theskinny-pant-legged “continental” suits that were so popularat the time. I had never seen anyone like him before. Thisalien being transplant from Mississippi with the wry smileand easy demeanor would come to be an integral part of ourworld and our family.by Georgia A. Dorsey 85

As I Remember It They moved into an apartment in a beautiful graystonebuilding across the street from Garfield Park on the west sideof Chicago. Before too long, they became one name to heryounger siblings: BernadineandCharles. Just as we shouted“Daddy's home!” when our father drove into the driveway,we shouted “BernadineandCharles! BernadineandCharles!”when we spotted their car approaching the house. If wedidn't spot their car, then we heard the roar of theirmotorcycle. I don't remember which make or models theywere, but over the years Charles had several “bikes”. Mysister and he would be attired in enough leather to open theirown tannery. I'm not sure whose idea it was, but all of their outfitsmatched. They were something to see, especially in a smalltown like ours. And coming from a conservative home likeours, I'm not sure how it was received by my father. In frontof me, he was always gracious and welcoming to them. Mymother, who was less conservative, may have been a littlemore open-minded about it. I just don't know. But after thenewness of it wore off and the permanence of theirrelationship was established, things settled down in myworld and it seemed to me that Charles had always been partof our lives. Over the years certain things would come to exemplifyby Georgia A. Dorsey 86

As I Remember Itthem in my eyes. Along with the luxury cars, which seemedto change every couple of years, the motorcycles, thematching outfits and their sophisticated air was another sortof air—their cologne. They both wore the same cologne:Tabu. If this fragrance was sold as unisex in those days I wasnot aware of it. In fact, I was not aware of any fragrancesother than the Evening in Paris that my mother wore and theRadio Girl that I picked up at the five and dime store. Thesewere hardly considered top of the line, though I believeEvening in Paris has become a hot nostalgia item for somereason. But Tabu was something different. It signified aworld that I had yet to experience. And, if a man and awoman could both wear it, well...there was even more to theoutside world than I thought. I don't know if the Tabu soldtoday retains the original scent structure, but I don't think ithas the same caché. At some point my sister and brother-in-law went their separate ways fragrance-wise, but for manyyears they were the sweetest smelling pair on earth as far asI was concerned. They eventually abandoned their lovely apartment acrossfrom the park and purchased their first house, which I recallas a shingled Cape Cod on a tree-lined Erie Street. Later,they would purchase the large house near Oak Park that hasbeen their home for decades. Maybe because of our earlierbond as tutor and student, or maybe out of some loyalty tome as a younger sister, Bernadine has always made herhomes a welcome place for me to come to, visit in and, whennecessary, to heal. Perhaps it was because they had nochildren of their own. I really don't know. What I do knowis that I will forever be grateful that both of these peopleby Georgia A. Dorsey 87

As I Remember Itwere part of my life.Writing about the perfumes from that era brings backmemories of other personal products and habits that werestandard in my formative years. For instance, since nomanufacturer of women's hosiery made it a priority todevelop a palette for African-Americans, we had to choosefrom the colors that were available for Caucasian women.When these manufacturers put out a color called “FleshTone”, it was not our flesh that they had in mind. Lighter-skinned blacks could usually find something that didn'tlook too awful on their legs, but darker-skinned womenwere not so fortunate. They had the choice of wearingstockings that were far too light in color for their flesh, orwearing the dreaded “Red Fox” or “Cinnamon” shades. RedFox was a reddish-brown concoction that still didn't matchanyone's skin tone but, instead, gave a sort of exotic look toone's legs. It certainly did not provide the illusion ofinvisible smoothness that was one of the main purposes ofhosiery in the first place. Almost every store in our towncarried stockings in the Red Fox tone.by Georgia A. Dorsey 88

As I Remember ItCosmetics were another area where black women had to beinventive. The available assortment of powders andlipsticks were not created with African-Americans in mind.Though there would later be lines of cosmetics developed tobridge this gap, such as Fashion Fair and Flori Roberts, inthe 1950s black-owned Overton Cosmetics of Chicago didwhat it could to fill the void. My older sisters wore theOverton shade of “Nut Brown”, which was fine if you werethe color of a walnut. If, however, you were the color of aBrazil nut, you were in trouble. Many is the time I sat inchurch behind some darker-skinned parishioner and totallymissed what was being said from the pulpit because I hadby Georgia A. Dorsey 89

As I Remember Itbecome fascinated by the line of demarcation between herskin and her nut brown facial powder. Luckily for me, bythe time I reached the age where face powder wasconsidered appropriate, new companies had brought apalette to the market that was broader and more inclusive.I remember my father's cousin Charlie Bernard and his wifeMay visiting from Detroit one day . Charlie called my father“Bones” because, as a child, my father supposedly had afondness for ham bones, which also sprouted his othernickname “Hammy”. I wouldn't call Charlie and his wifeflashy, but they were more in the world than my parentswere. Charlie worked in the automotive industry and theyalways arrived at our house with the biggest, shiniest andnewest thing Detroit had to offer. On this particular day,May excused herself and went outside and smoked acigarette. When she came back in she took out her lipstickand blended a little of the burnt match head into a bit of thelipstick. When I asked her why she had done this, sheexplained that doing so allowed her to buy any lipstick sheliked, then tone it down so that the shade was moreappropriate for her skin color. I never forgot this lesson.by Georgia A. Dorsey 90

As I Remember Iti MOVING ONTHE ANXIETIES THAT I EXPERIENCED in first grade werefinally over and I and most of my class had been promoted.One unfortunate child had to repeat the grade. Though I don'tremember his name, I do remember that he went on to be abit of a bully and a misfit. Whether this stemmed from himbeing flunked in first grade or not is unknown to me, but Iguess it is a slap in one's face as well as a blow to the ego tosee your peer group move on while you remain behind.Unlike policies that were to come in the future, whereby astudent is given a “social promotion” even though saidstudent has not successfully mastered the skills required foradvancement, when I attended school you were not allowedto advance until you had shown at least the very minimumby Georgia A. Dorsey 91

As I Remember Itproficiency. Underlying this requirement was the desire bythe administration and the community to produce the bestpossible future citizens of the next generation. During thisperiod in history, the black community was keenly aware ofoutside perceptions and strove to do whatever it could to riseabove them. Other than the birth of my brother Lawrence that summer, I can't recall anything else that stood out. His birth had usurped the “baby of the family” spot from my sister Josephine, who had been born in 1955. When my parents brought my brother home, he was the cutest and fattest little bundle of pink. I don't know who said it first, but somebody said he looked like one of the little pink piggy banks that were so popular then. From then on he was known as the “pink pig”. Through the years, my affectionate nickname for him was “Pig”, which I don't think he appreciated at all, but he never told me. I only figured this out within the last few years. One of the things that probably occurred that summer was a visit to the annual carnival that set itself up in the distant field behind our property. From the time I was a little girl, and probably before that, a week-long celebration known as “Robbins Week” was held around Labor Day to celebrate the founding of the village. There were all types of events like rodeos and picnics during this time, but my familyby Georgia A. Dorsey 92

As I Remember Itdidn't participate in them. Our parents' one concession wasto allow us to attend the carnival on one of its final days. Iguess they felt that all the “undesirables” had donewhatever damage they were going to do by then and hadmoved on. Still, we had to complete our outing before it gottotally dark outside. My sister would chaperon us as wemade our way onto rides such as the Ferris wheel, theOctopus, the Tilt-a-Whirl and the Wild Mouse. We wouldthen be primed for the culminating event of the celebration,which was the big parade. The parade always passed infront of our house, with fire trucks and other emergencyvehicles from the surrounding towns leading off. Theythrew candy and we had no shame in scrambling for it.Since it was in front of our house, we kind of had first dibson what landed there. It was almost an unspoken rule thatnobody who was not part of our family should gather infront of our house for this parade. After the fire truckspassed by, marching units and businesses from Robbins,Chicago, and other south suburbs put on quite the show.And when it was all over and the last streamer had floatedaway into the trees, it was time to go back to school. I had the hang of it now. I knew the intricacies of this thingcalled “school”. I knew where to line up and how to marchin. I knew the names of my fellow students. I knew how andwhen to cross the street, and when to run and when to walk.I knew where the principal's office was, but only because Iwas allowed to take the attendance slip there from time totime. I knew who the principal and assistant principal wereby Georgia A. Dorsey 93

As I Remember Itand rated a smile from each of them when they saw me. Iknew where the bathrooms were, both the boys' and thegirls'. I even knew where the janitor kept the milk andcrackers before they were brought to our classrooms. I was aveteran. I was a pro. Whereas my first grade classrooms had been in the newwing of the school, my second grade class would meet in aroom in the older part of the school. This meant that wewould line up in the rear of the building instead of the front.It also meant that I would not be under the protective gaze ofmy mother, who had been able to watch me from our frontyard until I entered the building. I could feel my confidencebeginning to slip a little. No one was allowed to enter the school until all lines werestraight and all students were completely silent. This usuallytook a few minutes to achieve because of a few unruly boyswho were mostly in the upper grades. The boys in my classwere still too afraid of the teachers to step out of line. Whenwhoever was conducting the lines that day was satisfied, wewere allowed to proceed to meet the lady that would be oursurrogate mother for the next 9 months. My second grade teacher's name was Mercer Billheimer. Shewasn't a resident of the village; she drove in every day fromChicago. Coming that far to work as a teacher before therewere expressways was not so unusual. A lot of my teachersthroughout elementary and into high school came to Robbinsto work. Some came out of desire and others came out ofnecessity. She was a pleasant woman who continued the practice thathad begun with Mrs. Osborne of holding me up as an exampleby Georgia A. Dorsey 94

As I Remember Itto the other students and thereby endangering my well being.By now, however, other students besides my first gradeclassmate and myself had been identified as “gifted”, so theycould help shoulder the burden. As I look back on it, I alsothink my father may have contributed to this, thoughunintentionally. At some point during the second or thirdgrade, he gifted me with a set of #2 pencils engraved withmy name. I don't recall what color they were, but I doremember that my name was engraved with a sort of metallictint. I also don't know what his motivation for this was.Perhaps he just wanted to be sure that nobody took mypencils, or maybe it was to boost my confidence. Whateverhis reasoning, the damage was done. I was the prissy littlegirl who'd come to school with monogrammed pencils. Mrs. Billheimer, like Mrs. Osborne, would allow me to helpher once I had completed my classwork. Back then, copymachines didn't exist and any duplicating of classroommaterials was done by mimeograph, which was potentiallyvery messy. Though I don't remember now exactly how itworked, I do recall that it involved a gelatinous, inkysubstance that made a mess on your hands and ruined yourclothes if some of it got on them. One day Mrs. Billheimer told me to use the mimeographmachine to make some copies and, of course, I was happy todo it. When I returned home that afternoon my mother askedme what I had done that day in school and I told her. Shebecame livid and proceeded to do something that I had neverseen her do before. She dragged me out of the house, up tothe school and back to my classroom. By now, Mrs.Billheimer was teaching the afternoon section. When sheby Georgia A. Dorsey 95

As I Remember Itsaw my mother and the look on her face, she immediately gotup from her chair, grabbed her purse and met us at the door.I have always wondered why she grabbed her purse. Mymother's exact words have been lost to time but thesentiment has remained with me: do not ask my child to doyour work for you. If you want my child to work for you, payher. Mrs. Billheimer apologized and I don't know if moneychanged hands or not. The incident didn't seem to alter hertreatment of me, except perhaps to not give me extra work todo. And my mother never again came to any of myclassrooms after that. Second grade was also the time that we were taken as aclass to see the dentist. The Cook County Board of Healthhad an office in part of the school and a dentist visited thereon a rotating schedule. My father had beautiful, strong, whiteteeth that he kept that way with the simple use of bakingsoda. My mother had very weak teeth that were susceptibleto decay. I did not have the good fortune to inherit the genefor my father's good teeth. This, combined with my absolutemania for all things sweet meant that I had tooth problemsalmost from the time that I cut my first one. As a matter offact, one of my teachers told me after I became an adult thatshe'd used a picture of my snagged-toothed self to get thesuperintendent of schools to provide more funds. I suppose Ishould have been offended but I wasn't. By that time, lifehad taught me to rise above such things. I had never been to a dentist before the school took me. Itjust wasn't something that my parents did. By the time Ifinally saw one, a lot of damage had been done. In order to bemade reasonably whole, I had to endure many hours ofby Georgia A. Dorsey 96