”Suburban Segregation: How Fairfax County Integrated Its Public Schools"
http://www.yetmo.com/DESEG.htm
Spring, 1954, was a wondrous time and full of promise. The Supreme Court finally struck down the dreaded Plessy v. Ferguson separate but equal doctrine. I was graduating from college and was anxiously looking forward to a career in education as a teacher and, maybe someday, an athletic director.
With today's racial tension and turmoil, I began reminiscing about the days leading up to integration in Fairfax County, Virginia, public schools. Those were different times, new ground was being charted every day. Those days were many things: exhausting but exhilarating; tense yet titillating; fearful and fulfilling. What a great change occurred right under our noses. It is only when I look back can I see more clearly how such a significant social change happened. On one hand, it seemed so sudden and dramatic, yet it is was quite gradual and incremental, for complete integration did not arrive in Fairfax County schools until the 1965-1966 school year.
Allow me to tell you my story.
It was December 9, 1952, when I was a junior at Morehouse College in Atlanta, Georgia, that the case of Brown v. Board of Education was argued before the Supreme Court of the United States. The hopes and fears of my people hung in the balance. Blacks had suffered terribly in this country, the land of opportunity, ever since the first black, William, son of Anthony and Isabella, was born here in Jamestown, Virginia, in 1624. Our aspirations had been toyed with during the Civil War, reconstruction, and Plessy v. Ferguson. Our struggle was a continuous stream of up's and down's -- one day feeling that our salvation had come (emancipation), only to find failure and false starts were the results (Jim Crow laws). But this time it promised to be different. Blacks, excuse me, Negroes, had been integrated into the armed forces by now, and while many whites still couldn't accept us as equals, it appeared as though we were turning the corner. It was just that the corner was a lot bigger than I had expected.
So I waited. Waited for the Supreme Court to decide. After a year, I became skeptical, fearing that the Brown case had been swept under the rug, had disappeared. But when May 17, 1954, came and the Court ruled unanimously that separate was inherently unequal, I was ecstatic. Salvation had come at last for my people. And as for me, well, I had an interview scheduled with the Fairfax County Public School system, in Fairfax, Virginia, just outside Washington, D.C., right in the backyard of where that historic decision was made. I was thrilled and could barely contain my enthusiasm and excitement. Tomorrow was going to be a beautiful day.
Two months later I was hired as a teacher at the new Luther Jackson High School in Merrifield, Virginia. It was named after a famous Negro Virginian who distinguished himself in the navy and as a historian. I was both impressed and perplexed, for Luther Jackson was to be an all-black high school. How bizarre! Didn't the U.S. Supreme Court only a few weeks earlier say that separate was no longer equal? How could the County pursue such a strangely contradictory course? As best as I could figured it, this new facility was constructed because, before then, all Negroes attended high school either in Washington, D.C., or in Manassas, Virginia, at the Manassas Industrial School. In either case, tuition and a long-distance commute was necessary, unless you stayed with a friend or relative who lived near those schools or your parent/guardian was a federal government employee, in which case the Washington, D.C., school system allowed tuition-free attendance.
In any event, I was young, enthusiastic, and embarking on a new and exciting career. I was going to make the best of it, enjoy myself, and be the best teacher I could. I got to thinking that perhaps teaching at an all-Negro school was best. I could give something back to the community and help ready these students for the life challenges that awaited them. Those students planning on college could benefit from my instruction and with the promise of desegregated schools, who knows how many opportunities awaited them in the ever-improving future.
It didn't take long for my spirits to fall. It would be a gross understatement to say that the State of Virginia was not as favorably disposed toward the concept of desegregation as I had hoped. Senator Harry Byrd led the charge, and in a speech coined the phrase "massive resistance" that was to become the rallying cry throughout the state for years to come. Nearly all the air came out of my balloon. How could this happen? Hadn't the highest court in the land ruled? Hadn't it said that all American students had to receive education together, receive an equal opportunity to succeed and achieve the American Dream? Surely this anomaly would pass.
"Massive Resistance" did pass, but it took many years and many court battles. Prohibition taught that you can't legislate morality; I guess Brown v. Board of Education reinforced that. You couldn't legislate how others would feel towards their fellow man and woman. And while you could legislate how others would "act," it was not easy to enforce. Desegregation, therefore, was another form of morality and this provided another hard lesson learned.
But the courts didn't let us down. The battle was long and difficult but, by and large, forward progress continued, albeit slowly. It took so long, as a matter of fact, that it wasn't until September, 1960, as a result of Federal District Court Judge Bryan's decision, that the County first admitted Negroes to formerly all-white high schools. As a result, three Negroes were admitted to two schools, one to Groveton High School and two to James Madison. Prior to this, in July, 1960, the Fairfax County School Board, acting on 30 so-called "transfer" applications from Negroes for admission to all-white schools, ruled that only three first- and second-graders would be approved. The School Board planned to gradually implement desegregation by beginning in the lower grades and working up, one grade per school year, until all grades and schools would be integrated by the 1970-1971 school year. This process would take 11 years! I was crestfallen. Surely, the Supreme Court has hoped for implementation of their 1954 ruling in less than 16 years.
Of course, placing Negroes into all-white schools had to be considered and implemented in a deliberate fashion. Therefore, any Negro wishing to attend such a school had to complete an application that had to be submitted, reviewed, and approved by the School Board. Transfers among schools for white students, of course, required no such high-level review or control.
The die was cast. This was going to be a long and laborious process. Incrementalism would become the theology of school integration. But Judge Bryan's decision got the ball rolling. In addition to the School Board allowing three Negroes into all-white high schools six years after the historical Brown decision, 16 more were admitted to eight previously all-white schools by September 28, 1960, less than one week after Bryan's ruling. Further, by October 12, 1960, the School Board had allowed a total of 27 Negroes to integrate a total of nine schools. In addition to the two high schools, three intermediate and four elementary schools were effected. Of course, I followed these cases with keen interest and kept a dairy as best I could.
It appeared as though the integration inertia had been overcome. In the relatively short period of a week, two dozen Negroes were attending nearly a dozen schools. Of course, this was tokenism in its purest sense, to be sure, given that integration by definition could be accomplished with the mere presence of but one Negro, but symbolically it was extremely significant and encouraging. Unfortunately, I didn't realize what was about to happen.
In November, 1960, by the closest of votes, 4-3, the County School Board, voted to prohibit integrated interscholastic athletics. I was puzzled. How could the County have moved in the way it did less than two months earlier only to act in a manner which appeared to deny the reality of that decision? If schools were integrated, wouldn't athletics naturally become integrated, as would any other associated school activity? Where was the logic? Again, I found my spirits sinking, as I became increasingly frustrated and angry with the lack of progress.
My frustration was short-lived. Community reaction was swift and inspiring. Within three months, the School Board reversed itself due to student and PTA reaction, and an NAACP law suit. Some 2,000 students had signed a petition demanding that the athletic ban be overturned and the County PTA, by a vote of 30-5, not only wanted the athletic issue resolved, but also urged faster integration. Thus, not only the courts, but also parts of the community were coming to accept the reality and value of school integration. In February, 1961, in addition to striking down their earlier ban on integrated interscholastic athletics, the Board directed the Commonwealth's Attorney to prepare an ordinance allowing the county to withdraw from the jurisdiction of the state's pupil placement board so that desegregation efforts could proceed quicker. The State Placement Board grew out of the massive resistance movement and was a mechanism to hinder desegregation. Thus, the County had decided to step closer towards integration.
A few months later, in April, 1961, another 76 (of 86) transfer applications were approved by the School Board. This resulted in integrating another 10 previously all-white schools, bringing to 19 the total number of integrated schools. By now, Fairfax County was one of only three state jurisdictions (Arlington and Falls Church City were the others) that had asked to assume local pupil assignment authority.
Another year rolled around and more Negroes were transferred into all-white schools. In April, 1962, 108 applications were approved and another 11 schools were integrated, increasing the number of integrated schools to 30.
For the next 18 months to two years, nothing of significance or drama occurred. Gradual integration proceeded deliberately. In September, 1963, the NAACP filed suit accusing the School Board of foot-dragging, but Federal District Court judge Oren R. Lewis was not particularly sympathetic. He praised the County's movement to date and noted that a similar case had been brought earlier by the NAACP and was dismissed. When he learned of the previous case, Lewis was so angry with the NAACP attorneys for failing to share this information that he threatened to dismiss the case forthwith. However, the judge relented and heard the case due to the urging of five of the School Board's seven members who were present at the hearing. As a result of the hearing, the School Board agreed to develop a plan for complete desegregation, including a local pupil assignment policy.
By March, 1964, the NAACP appealed a ruling by Judge Lewis that upheld the County's desegregation plan. Interestingly, Oren Lewis felt that "Fairfax County schools were not being discriminatory despite the existence of 7 schools for Negroes." The all-Negro schools at the time were Luther Jackson High School and Carey, Drew-Smith, Oak Grove, Eleven Oaks, James Lee and Louise Archer elementary schools.
At the end of March, 1964, the Board met to propose the pupil assignment plan that judge Lewis ordered. Among the policy's features were that initial student assignments would be made without regard to race; 6th and 8th grade students would go to the next higher grade with fellow classmates; children would attend schools near their residences; and requests to attend more distant schools would go to the School Board for approval. Of course, the last feature frequently applied to Negroes, as they were not, as a group, generally living close to predominantly white schools. At the April 9, 1964, School Board meeting, Chairman William Hoofnagle announced that the new pupil assignment plan would be effective at the start of the 1964-65 school year. He also announced the closing of the all-Negro Oak Grove elementary school (bringing to six the number of all-Negro schools remaining in the County), stating that children would attend one of three nearby schools the following year. My "high" school, Luther Jackson, which actually taught students in grades 7-12, was to become a true "high school" (grades 9-12) in two years. Seventh grade students would attend neighborhood schools in the 1964-65 school year, making Luther Jackson serve grades 8-12 that year, but leaving it with only grades 9-12 beginning in 1965-66. In fact, the Board was also considering closing Luther Jackson altogether due to dwindling enrollment. That move did not succeed because of community reaction, but that's a different story for a different time.
It was very important to me when it was announced at that April School Board meeting that teacher transfers would also be made without regard to race. I was most interested, of course, as I felt that my career opportunities would remain intolerably limited had integration not come to pass. After all, my school was the only all-Negro high school and there were but so many opportunities for advancement in just one school. I realized that my motives were selfish, but I was an education professional who wanted to contribute to my field. The best way to do that was to have opportunity at a maximum number of locations throughout the school system.
I almost forgot. The School Board also announced in April that it "unanimously adopted a 'phasing-out' program" to desegregate schools. I suppose I forgot because it all seemed so anticlimactic, especially given the incremental approach that had been taken thus far. Perhaps the white community was comfortable with this approach, for it must be said that relatively little backlash and rancor occurred in County schools during integration. School Board officials from both Boards that were in place from 1960 through 1965 supported integration and had "no problem" with it. Maybe they felt that way because they had so much time to adjust to the idea. Of course, there were problems, but not nearly as bad as in other places, certainly not in other areas within Virginia (Prince Edward County) and other Southern states. Progress certainly could have occurred quicker but, all things considered, you take what you can and do your best.
Again the Courts entered the picture. The 4th Circuit Court of Appeals permanently enjoined Fairfax County from continuing segregation and had observed that sufficient and timely progress towards an integrated system had not occurred. The County had assigned only 800 of the County's 2,500 Negro students to formerly all-white schools. County school officials said that it would be impossible to redistribute, in an orderly manner, the system's 80,000 students within the three short months before the next school year began. But the School Board's attorney said that the County officials "were not interested in massive resistance" and would not appeal the decision.
At this point I can only imagine the behind-the-scenes scurrying that was necessary to bring full integration to reality. At last, it was apparent that nothing less than complete desegregation would do. The time had come. In November, the Board announced something of significance to me. Luther Jackson would not close, but would serve as an integrated intermediate school starting with the next school year (1965-66). All County seventh and eight grade students would be assigned to Luther Jackson without regard to race based on the recently approved pupil assignment plan.
The process was nearly complete. At the January 28, 1965, School Board meeting, a proposal was presented for complete integration effective at the start of the 1965-66 school year. Disposition of the five remaining all-Negro elementary schools was discussed. Only Louise Archer would function as an integrated general education school; the others would either be used as storage facilities or special education centers. At a meeting one night, I remember several white parents vehemently reacting to keeping Louise Archer. They wanted it to go the way of the other all-Negro buildings, away from the mainstream of general education.
B. Oswald Robinson was the long-time principal at Louise Archer after Ms. Archer passed away in 1948. He was also at that meeting and said he had never been so frightened in his entire life. And he had served in the Navy during World War II, too. He was principal at Louise Archer from 1948 until his retirement from the school system in 1970. Those were challenging times for everyone. Although we Negroes felt that progress was far too slow, clearly there were still many whites who believed things were moving either too quickly or in the wrong direction altogether.
But Mr. Robinson had an idea to deal with the tension that was remarkably direct and effective. He went to the Post Office one day and bought post cards for every student who would be entering Archer that September. He had all the teachers write a welcoming note to each of their students identifying the class to which they had been assigned and where their rooms were located. On opening day, "things went smoothly," Mr. Robinson said. The sound of the children's shoes clicking furiously as they excitedly searched for their homerooms was music to his ears. He had almost forgotten the three security guards who were quietly dispatched to Archer for his protection in the event of any untoward negative community reaction. There was none and the guards left before day's end noting to Mr. Robinson that everything was peaceful and that he didn't need them anymore. So, one potentially volatile problem was defused and full integration was well on its way.
There were complaints and disagreements, to be sure, among many people and not only whites. One Negro couple in Vienna, the Marions, asked the NAACP to file suit to prevent three of their four children from being sent to Flint Hill school as opposed to staying at Louise Archer, which was only four blocks from their house. Mr. Marion said that integration was "a terrible thing" and felt it was detrimental to the Negro children. "It's the kids that suffer," he said, adding that they were not welcomed in these schools and that whites "don't know how to teach black kids." In the end, Mr. Marion, too, dropped his suit and, with some reluctance, became another member of the citizenry that was going to have to adjust and accept the social reality of integration.
In March, Superintendent Funderburk talked more about plans for integration and announced that 10 Negro teachers had already been assigned to teach last year in all-white schools. What a surprise that news must have been to some folks. Funderburk also announced that teacher seminars would be conducted Countywide to deal with the challenges faced by teachers of one race teaching students of another. Federal money ($53,500) was even awarded to the County for this purpose. The money was to pay teachers who would be taking this instruction. Of course, what was not noted was that in the prior year, Negro teachers had to attend such classes two nights each week, but without pay or professional credit for the training.
When the decision was officially and finally announced at the June 8, 1965, School Board meeting that all Fairfax County schools would be integrated that Fall, I realized the history in my midst. I thought back to that original School Board proposal in July, 1960, that would have integrated schools in 11 years. Well, the County beat that schedule, but not by much -- only five years. In the scheme of slavery, emancipation, reconstruction, and Jim Crow, five years didn't amount to much. But I was grateful and pleased, nevertheless. Nothing worth having is easy and this certainly illustrated that maxim.
Things worked out well for me. The promise of a decade earlier was fulfilled. I was asked to transfer to W.T. Woodson High School the first year of full integration (1965-66). I thrived there and was fortunate to have sponsors who promoted my interests and career. I became principal at two County high schools and retired from the school system as such. But reminders of slow progress remained. In August, 1967, 13 years after Brown, 75% of Virginia's Negroes -- I guess I should be saying "black" now -- still attended segregated schools.
It looked as though we still had a few challenges left ahead of us.
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Fred W. Apelquist, III, M.Ed.