* * * * *
Within two days of my talk at the First Methodist African Church, I met
simultaneously in front of the library, two women, each going in
opposite directions....
"Good afternoon, Mr. Gregory!"
It was Matty Smith. She was hesitating for a cue from me. She wished to
stop and thank me again for my speaking.
But from the other side Vanna Andrews was passing.
I ignored Matty with a face like a stone wall.
"Good afternoon!" I bowed to Vanna ... who ignored me ... perhaps not
seeing me.
The fearful, hurt look in the negro girl's eyes made me so ashamed of
myself that I wanted to run away and hide forever somewhere.
That night I was so covered with shame over what I had done to another
human soul, a soul perhaps as proud and fine as any in Laurel, that it
was not till dawn that sleep visited me....
So I was just as rotten, just as snobbish, just as fearful of the herd,
as were these other human beings whom I made fun of as the bourgeoisie.
* * * * *
Speaking with Riley, one of the English professors, about the mixture of
colours on the hill....
"I must confess," he admitted sincerely, "that I feel awkward indeed
when a negro student walks by my side ... even for a few steps...."
Coach Shaughnessy declared himself boldly--
"I'll admit frankly to you, Gregory, but don't, of course, repeat what
I say--that I'll never let a nigger play on the football team .
Pages:
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427