by Harold McMillan

My dad used to tell me those stories -- you know, the ones from the olden days -- about how he valued education so much that he didn't mind walking miles to get to school. Yes, that story about walking through the snow to get to the little three - classroom - country - shack - of - a - schoolhouse in rural Emory, Rains County, Texas.

"You see, we kids," he'd say, "had to take advantage of being able to go to school when we could. We didn't have it like the white kids. We got plenty of time off during the school year. But that just meant the school would close down so we could chop cotton. Then we'd go back to school for a while, then have a little vacation time, then go back to school for a while -- then we'd get out again to go pick cotton. That was what was normal for black folks."

My father grew up on my Granddad's farm/ranch. So, in addition to having to stay out of school to pick cotton for white folks, my dad also had work at home -- that often kept him out of school. And, that's not even mentioning the regular, normal, everyday kinda stuff that country kids did, in addition to school, all the time -- chopping wood, milking cows, feeding cows and horses and chickens, planting and harvesting food crops. Compared to how I came up, compared to how city kids have it, compared to any generation since, that had to be some hard stuff for kids to deal with.

During that time -- circa 1930 and beyond -- my dad's cohorts could choose to just stay out of school and work (didn't really help a black man's qualifications for work on somebody's farm as a laborer to have a degree from UT. Black folks couldn't go to UT then anyway). But it didn't work the other way around. The kids who wanted to go to school, get educated, get some book-learnin', still had to work. Education was optional, a healthy work ethic wasn't. Working toward success in one's personal pursuit to support themself and a family was the expected norm, honorable. To put it mildly, failure at this basic credo was frowned upon in my family (and by everyone else in the community, as far as I know).

When I say "in the community," I'm talking about in the African American community of Rains County, Texas. That would be Sand Flat and Wolf (my neighborhoods), Jacksonville, and Richland. As far as I know, no black folks lived within the city limits of Emory in those days. In my dad's day we had our communities -- rural, poor and working-poor, land-owning, close-knit, Baptist and COGIC -- and within them the expectation was of God-fearing, honest, family-values-centered, hard work and success (relative to the conditions for black folks in poverty-stricken Jim Crow Northeast Texas).

My granddad didn't even finish grade school. Even if he had wanted to, there was no school in Emory for him to do so. But in his eyes, and by his reputation in the community, he was a successful man. He took care of his family, owned a good deal of land, produced crops and cattle, had a thriving bootlegging enterprise, served as a lending bank for folks in the community, and vouched for folks who needed a good word with the white folks downtown. He also instilled in his kids the value of hard work, respectability and integrity, community service and personal responsibility. For the time, that list of virtues could -- but did not have to -- include pursuit of formal education. Those of his kids who showed potential and interest in education, however, were given every conceivable encouragement to pursue as much school learning as possible. And that was still very limited for black folks in Emory, Texas.

My granddad's point of view was that the community needed more folks with school learning. There were so many folks who had no formal education, so many folks who had to deal with the harsh reality of just trying to live, whoever was lucky enough to get a degree had a responsibility to the community. Education was to be used in the service of the community.That was the point. That was made clear. Going to school with only a goal of making one's own situation improved was a sign of flawed character. So, in turn, those kids who pursued school learning were supposed to be self-selecting community leaders, community servants, teachers, role models.

My dad was one of the kids who really wanted to go to school. He, along with one of his sisters, were book smart. And I guess, even at a very early age, they assumed they would have heightened responsibility to and status in the family and community. There were a couple of other early McMillan/Jackson/Dean teacher role models in the family line and I get the impression their sacrifice influenced my dad's sense of dedication to education and learning. So, as a kid, he decided that his mission in life would be to learn as much as he could to prepare himself to be a community leader, a teacher. At the time that was not the easy way out. It wasn't as if the kids who wanted to go to school got out of the farm work, the cotton picking, the chores. Everybody worked to help support the family. Regardless of ambition for the future, there was cotton to be picked in the present.

Now, I realize that I am talking to you about my personal family history. But the thing I also know is there are very similar stories in most every African American (perhaps others, as well) community in the rural South. That much is obvious to most of you. What may not be obvious to you is that the "education" of which I am speaking is a 10th GRADE -- at best -- EDUCATION. As kids, my dad and many others, fantasized, dreamed about, hoped to complete the highest grade possible for them at the COLORED - three - classroom - country - shack - schools in their communities. My father, a book smart young man -- in America, in Texas, in this century -- had to DREAM about having the opportunity to complete the 10TH GRADE at a school in his home town. My dad had a dream of being a school teacher in his community. And he couldn't even complete a high school degree -- in order to go to college and get the credentials to teach school -- in the same town in which he lived.

So, my dad went as far as he could as a student at Sand Flat School (A Rosenwald School, for those of you who know the history) -- the 10th grade. He was a good student. He made good grades and showed promise as a leader. He was pretty good at chopping and picking white folks' cotton. He did the chores on granddad's farm, too. Sand Flat School, the only school in town for black folks, that big wooden-frame, whitewashed building with three classroooms, no schoolbus, and no indoor plumbing was the COLORED school. And that is where my dad studied for, dreamed about, his future career as teacher, principal, superintendent, bus driver, head cook, and janitor of that three - classroom - with - no - indoor - plumbing - country - shack - of - a - schoolhouse. To work more on his leadership skills, and to earn some money to send back home, he then joined the Civilian Conservation Corps. And while he was working, studying and dreaming about his future as a community leader, the U.S. of A. got itself into a war and needed him. What did he do? He married my mother and joined up (just like any other red-blooded American boy) and got sent to Europe to make the world safe for DEMOCRACY.

He was a bright young man, a natural leader, and that was quickly acknowledged in the Army. His tour of duty in Europe reflected his leadership ability, his ambition to serve, his above-average book learning. He studied, worked hard and achieved the rank of Master Sergeant. In the infinite wisdom of U.S. Army standard operating procedure of the time, he was awarded the job of Chief Mess Sergeant (head cook). Then he was promoted to an even more prestigious job. He had the honor of being the personal chauffeur of a ranking white general. As granddad had instilled in him, he continued to work for success in whatever job he happened to find himself in.

Was he bitter about how he was treated in the Army? No, I don't think so. The irony here is that although he suffered the degradation of having the ignoble responsibility of being a driver and cook in the service of his nation and white Army officers, Jim Crow did not live in Europe (in this case, France). Jim Crow, however, was alive and well back home. Ain't that America? I am using my father as an example I know of personally. But, you know, I'd bet this story is not very unique. And yes friends, I am telling an American story here. One that happened in this century, about 50 years ago.

I digressed a little just to keep the time-frame and chronology straight. This piece is really still about valuing education and striving for success. So...after dad got back from the Great War, he got back to working on that dream of helping to educate his community. After cooking and driving for Army brass (but, unlike back home, not having to go into the back doors of French cafes), he returned to our American democracy -- separate, but equal -- to find that a black child still could not complete a high school education in a school in Rains County, Texas. There was a high school, just like before he fought in Europe, within walking distance of his house. But the Emory school didn't have enough chairs for black kids, and the Sand Flat three - classroom - county - shack - of - a - schoolhouse - for - COLORED - kids still only had classes through the 10th grade -- no high school diploma. That was considered, legally, separate but equal in late 1940s Texas.

Once again I am writing too much for my space...gotta move ahead quickly. Still with me?? Undeterred, my old man got his GED, enrolled in Tyler's Texas College, and quickly got his Bachelor of Education Degree.

With college degree in tow, my old man, A.C. McMillan, returned to Sand Flat School, the same little country school he had attended as a child, to become its "junior high school" (7th and 8th grade) teacher. Oh yeah, he was also -- literally -- the superintendent, principal, basketball coach, track coach, head janitor, and head cook. About the same time as I was born, he also got a cool Chevy pickup that became the school bus (got a real bus a couple of years after that). So, that also added school bus driver to his job.

Second-hand, very much in disrepair, dirty and used leftover text books from the "white school." Potbellied, wood-burning stoves for heat. Still no indoor plumbing. The colored school.

Now I need to put some more of this history into perspective for you -- especially if you are not from the South and/or are under 40 years old. We are not talking about the 1920s, or '30s here. I am not talking about something that happened in South Africa. I am talking about real life in a small town in Texas, four and one half hours from Austin, an hour's drive from Dallas, my home town, Emory, Texas. The kicker here is that I am not just talking about the value of a public education for black kids in my dad's day. I am not talking about a culture that does not value the role of broad and fair access to opportunities for success in public (or higher) education. I am talking about an African American community in North East Texas. I am talking about the world my dad was born into. He was born in 1921. I am also talking about the world I was born into, here in Texas, America, USA.

I was born in 1957. I am now 40. And even to you 20-somethings, I should not be considered an old man. Know what school I enrolled in in 1963? That same three - classroom - country - shack - of - a - schoolhouse where my dad was superintendent, principal et al. And you know what? That same clear and sunny November day in 1963 that JFK was killed, I still had to go to an outhouse to take a piss. And the workbooks I had for my first grade studies were recycled ones from the white school. And if I had continued to study there until I graduated from the 8th grade, I still would not have had a school in Rains County that would have accepted me for high school classes.

Separate-but-equal? Oh yeah, the Supreme Court killed that (on paper) in 1954, before I was born.

Busing? Oh yeah, that was a terrible thing that was proposed in the 1970s to desegregate the schools. I've got (two) older brothers and a sister. While I was attending my dad's country shack of a school in Emory, Rains County Texas, my older siblings, who were in high school, were going to high school in the next county. The next county -- as in catching a bus at 5 a.m. every morning for the 50 mile trip to an even bigger country shack that acted as a regional high school for about five towns.

100 miles round-trip a day, from the time you are 14 to 18, just to get a high school diploma, in America, in the 1960s, in Texas. While your parents pay property taxes at home, you pass, en route to school each day, four high schools that will not allow you to step in the front door and take a seat to learn how to be a responsible citizen in the world's greatest democratic republic? Black kids in recent memory went through this, and now in Austin at the Law School of the University of the First Class of Texas a professor questions African Americans' "dedication to education and value of academic success?"

In 1964, 10 years after Brown vs. Topeka, my dad went before the Rains County School Board, Superintendent and Commissioners Court and explained that they had to follow the mandate of the Supreme Court of the land, they had to allow black kids an opportunity to get a high school diploma in the old home town. The Superintendent explained to him that her concern was for the colored kids -- "they would be so smelly, and dirty, and ill-prepared to work alongside the white kids that they would be too embarassed to attend the schools in Emory. Perhaps a better plan would be to see if the colored schools in yet another county might have room to take the kids, by bus." It would only be a 40 mile - one - way - trip.

My dad told her he had already inquired, and Van Zandt County had "decided to just desegregate their schools. The busing plan wouldn't work with them. It was time to deal with Brown vs. Topeka."

"Oh, but the kids will be so far behind, will drag the classes down so much. The colored kids just don't have the seriousness, the will to succeed, like our kids do." In 1966, Emory allowed, for the first time in history, my sister and other black kids to attend and graduate from Rains High School. In 1967 I was part of a pilot program that put Rains county's black and White elementary students together in the classroom for the first time. By 1968 the new county-wide, all-levels comprehensive school was finished and everyone went to the same school. It was desegregated - but - unequal in how it treated its black and White kids.

When I left Sand Flat Elementary School (which I loved dearly) in 1967, it had running water in the lunchroom, but no inside toilets. It had four classrooms instead of three. I had learned more about African American cultural history than had any of my teachers since. The will to be successful in my choice of pursuits, and be proud of it, had been driven into me in a way that is as natural as breathing. And I was a damn good basketball player, trained by my dad on that outdoor clay court. My dad still held all of those jobs in 1967.

Where I am today is the result of my upbringing and the influence it had on all I've done since. I am rich. I contribute to my community and I am wealthy for the effort. I do the work I love. And my upbringing has put in place a sense to survive and succeed that will not easily be put down. I am just one of many who has had the benefit of the challenge. Challenge it is.

So, tell me. Why is it that one University of Texas Law professor, who obviously doesn't understand just how hard it is to sometimes be a good American, has the power to capture the attention of the world when he says that black folks don't come from a culture that understands the value of success in this society?

I don't get it. Ain't this America? If I'm only 40 and still feel that our recent past has some pretty nasty racial images still to be corrected, aren't there, too likely ,some of those folks (or their kids) who are still around who think opportunity in America should be reserved for the good ol' white boys, mostly?

It's not so much about the law. It was against the law in 1966 for the Emory School Board to suggest that Rains County's black kids be bused to the next county to attend high school.

Laws are on paper and can change immediately. Ideas have individual motivation and can spread. But tradition, folkways, and social consciousness sometimes takes generations to catch up to what the law of the land intends.

I'm only 40. I attended Sand Flat Elementary School (which I loved) in Emory, Texas: You know, that little three - classroom - country - shack - of - a - schoolhouse - with - no - indoor - plumbing - where - my - father - was - the - superintendent - principal - teacher - coach - cook - janitor - and - bus - driver - in - 1967 - when - I - was - 10 - years - old - before - I - was - worthy - enough - to - sit - beside - a - white - child - to - attend - school in Emory, Rains County, Northeast Texas, America, USA.

And now some folks are ready to believe that these few years since have been enough to "level the playing field"? Tell me more about the lack of need (or the need) for intelligent affirmative action at the University of Texas in 1997. Please...