Separate But Equal In The Jim Crow Era

By Dr. Thomas Whittle

Segregation in America seemed to be the catalyst for some black people, but the Achilles heal for others. Why were many blacks given little or no chance to succeed in the face of Jim Crow laws and social norms? Yet, many had successful careers as doctors, lawyers, educators, and political leaders. The twentieth century was a time of challenge an

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: May 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885900454

Dr. Thomas Whittle

Dr. Thomas L. Whittle was born in Mecklenburg County, Virginia, on January 24, 1948. He graduated from East End High School in South Hill, Virginia, in 1966, and graduated from the University of Maryland University College at College Park with a Bachelor of Science in business and management in June 1992. He received his Master of Education degree from Virginia State University in Petersburg, Virginia, in December 1996; he received his Master of Divinity from Samuel DeWitt Proctor School of Theology from Virginia Union University in May 2002; and he received his doctor of education degree in May 2011, also from Virginia State University. Dr. Whittle's dissertation topic is "The Impact of Student Participation in Extra Curricular Activities on Academic Achievement."

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Family Background

T

HE ROAD WAS MUDDY, AND THE RUTS WERE DEEP, BUT IT HAD just finished raining for an hour, and we had to walk about a mile and a half to get to the house. The home place was situated in south central Virginia, Mecklenburg County. The red clay soil along highway 635, just before entering Lunenburg County, Virginia, was known as the homestead for the eight children and two adults. We put so much sweat and tears into this land, which borders the Meherrin River north, flowing west to east. The banks where our land contacted the river were steep and tricky to navigate. On Saturdays, when we were not fully engaged with work, my brothers and I would walk the banks and fish for bass and perch. None of us could swim, and my mother would make us pay with a good whipping when she found out what we were doing.

The farm bordered the Warren farm on the west, the Snead farm on the south, and the Manning farm on the east. The farm had four tobacco barns, one stable for the mules, one large fenced-in pasture for mules and cows, and one chicken house. The house was a small place situated on a hill, overlooking a small creek with four bedrooms—two for the girls, one for the boys, and one for my parents. There was no running water or inside plumbing. Those features would come later in 1954, when the family replaced the old house with a new structure after the original building burned. The new home had electricity and a party-line telephone where you had to spin the handle to get the operator to make your call.

I explored the rocks, wildlife, grasses, trees, and other life unique to living on the farm. There were days when my brothers and I would hunt arrowheads. On other occasions, we searched for different birds that had nested along the edge of the fields. The farm was a habitat for so many kinds of wildlife—deer, raccoons, groundhogs, rabbits, squirrels, frogs, etc. I always wondered where these animals came from and where we as a species came from.

In the early fifties and sixties, tobacco was the king cash crop in south central Virginia, and Negro families were large and made up most of the workforce. The family size was upward of eight to twelve children. The primary way of living was sharecropping, but we were lucky; my dad was a carpenter and worked in construction away from home, but we grew twelve acres of tobacco along with wheat, corn, and five acres of garden. We lived on our homestead of 110 acres. Negroes had a tough time trying to own anything during the time of Jim Crow in Mecklenburg County; you had to work from sunup to sundown seven days a week and sharecrop where you could.

I was the youngest boy of four and wanted to learn as much as possible about farming and work in general; I was fascinated by work. I learned early in my farm experience that if you are going to earn money, you must work hard. During the summer, we worked for ourselves on the farm from Monday to Friday and a half day on Saturday, saving tobacco for fifty cents an hour for local farmers who would hire us. I worked from 6:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. for $3.50, driving slides with a mule. Work was not for the faint of heart; the summer sun and the winter cold made everyone live with preparation for the next season in mind.

My mother was a tall, large woman, and she took discipline seriously; she did not believe in telling children to do things two or three times. My mother's first name was Nancy, but she liked to be called by her middle name of Louise. When my mother spoke, you moved. Mom always cooked breakfast for us daily; she ensured we did not leave home for school or go to the field to work hungry. We did not have many clothes, but they were clean; she used the hand washboard and pig lard soap to wash the clothes and an outdoor clothesline for drying. Mom also had a home remedy for all childhood illnesses; she used three sixes, castor oil, and other home remedies. She had a saying for everything: If you show up at the time announced, you are late, Never have the last word, listen before you speak, and make sure you understand the question before you answer, Do not laugh when there is nothing funny, and Always respect yourself by showing respect for others. If not, people will think you have no home training. My mother finished the eleventh grade, which was as high as Negroes could go in the thirties and forties in Mecklenburg. My dad had a third-grade education, but the army took him even though he could not read.

This part of the state was rural, full of back roads, and ruled by white county boards of supervisors voted in by those who had the power of the ballot box. The signs of embedded social structure from Jim Crow laws were everywhere. Greyhound and Trailways all had sections saying Colored and sections saying White, all in bold letters. The libraries, movies, schools, churches, lakes, doctors’ offices, and restaurants in all the local towns were sectioned off to enforce the social structure. As a young lad, there was no place I could go that would not remind me of my socially perceived inferiority.

The social norms of the day placed expectations on all young Negro men and women of the era as lazy, drunkards, loud, and disrespectful. If you spoke up for yourself, you were called uppity and needed to be put in your place by the law. My mother told us never to be out past the dark because only terrible things happen when no one sees and tells the truth.

There were restrictions everywhere, and there was no shortage of Negroes and whites enforcing them. There were several Negroes who said, Stay in your place, and you will live a long time. Mr. Wittman is ok; he has been weighing his finger for years by overcharging us for a pound of cheese, but keep your mouth closed. As a ten-year-old lad, I knew that the only way to address the wrong way was to be honest and speak to it. My mother always said, Tell the truth, even if it hurts. So daily, the men who worked in the tobacco fields around Mr. Wittman's country store would get a block of cheese, crackers, pork-n-beans, and a Nehi grape soda for lunch. The working Negroes in the fields paid more for their food than those who owned land; all the people in the community knew Mr. Wittman placed his thumb on the scales when charging Negroes. My dad raised five acres of the garden each year and allowed others living in the community to come and pick what they wanted to eat. There were always fresh vegetables such as cabbage, broccoli, potatoes, corn, watermelons, cantaloupes, peas, butterbeans, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and squash. Each Saturday, the boys were responsible for cultivating the garden to ensure that the grass and weeds would not overtake the vegetables.

The world of Jim Crow was a restrictive world for all people of color but especially for the Negro because there were so many. There were few, if any, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Asians, and other minorities. Mecklenburg County, Virginia, seemed to have all the Negroes in the world because that was all I could comprehend at that time. On highway 635, there were only four white families, and all the rest were Negro. The world in which I lived only consisted of about a ten-mile radius, and there were no other communities to compare with my community. The twisting dirt roads that connected small communities to other small communities were poorly maintained in the winter; they were impassable for weeks after snow. Some trails went through the woods from neighbor to neighbor, and we all used these trails frequently to communicate the latest news or borrow food items. In the quest to live everyday life as expected, neighbors borrowed from each other, and they used the barter system of economics to ensure they met their daily needs. Neighbors exchanged services for needed items of food or other services.

When there was a need in the community to build a barn or add on to a house, we used the barter economy system. There were skilled people in the community who could lay out a barn geometrically and ensure that each board or log was level when building the structure. The community was always self-sufficient; people worked in teams cutting logs, notching logs, and making mud to place between the logs to seal the structure. The virtue of the community was never outweighed by the detractors, and one of the leading detractors was Jim Crow laws, which set expectations for Negro people for everything from homeownership, where you lived, to where people of color could participate in any form of recreation or work.

My parents worked yearly from sunup to sundown to own 110 acres of land but could never pay it off at the bank. The banknote came in the fall, and they had to send kids to school and produce $1,100 to pay the banknote plus interest. The bill came for the fertilizer used under the tobacco and soda for the siding of $2,500; $800 for seed, corn, and wheat; and gas for other farm equipment. The bills were always a nightmare and caused great consternation for the entire family. The idea that we worked all summer and could only expect new clothes for school seemed a bit appalling for young kids; we wanted cap pistols and Western clothes like the rest of the kids in our community. Little did we know that they did not have to pay for where they lived, for the food they ate, fertilizer, and winter heating; they were sharecroppers. Being a sharecropper meant that the white landowner could ask you to leave at any time if they found someone who would live in the run-down house for a cheaper deal than the current family. We did not know that the kids next door had no security; our parents provided stability and security. They made us realize that owning your own home provided a sense of belonging and acted