the day I integrated a Woolworth’s lunch counter
February 2, 1959, my parents and I moved from Butler, Missouri, to Shreveport,
Louisiana. It was the day before “the day the music died”. We awoke to news that
poor weather and an error by pilot Roger Peterson brought down his Beechcraft
in an Iowa cornfield — killing him, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. “The Big
Bopper” Richardson.
It was a rough start to my life as a Southerner, but in no way did it help prepare me
for what I’d soon see. Louisiana, like the other Deep South states, was on the verge
of the main conflicts of the Civil Rights Movement.
The schools in the Midwestern town we’d moved from were integrated. I had black
classmates and friends. My first days in Shreveport stunned me. Water fountains
were marked “White” and “Colored”. Gas stations had three washrooms: “White
Men”, “White Women” and “Colored”. The two races had separate box offices at
movie houses, and separate music events. I discovered that I couldn’t attend
any of the concerts of the great R&B artists like James Brown and Jimmy Reed.
Shortly after we moved there, my new friend Purgie and I went downtown. At
lunchtime we decided to eat at Woolworth’s, the retailing pioneer that was a
forerunner to Wal-Mart and Target. Woolworth’s was known as a “five and dime”
store because of its low prices. That included its meals, too.
So into the store Purgie and I ventured, seeking a ten-cent burger. The lunch
counter just inside the main entrance was packed, but I noticed another counter
in the back with some seats open. Before Purgie could stop me, I hurried back
and sat down.
Then I noticed that I was the only white person there. The black patrons ignored
me, but I wonder if they were thinking “What indignity is Whitey subjecting me to
now? Lord, deliver me from this scrawny honky.”
I don’t know if I would have been served there. Purgie came back and yanked my
scrawny honky ass away. I’ll never know if I could have been part of history. It’s
probably just as well.
