*featured art by Elisa Peterson
“You’re aaalways defending the underdog,” our Social Studies teacher said to me in a heavy, sliding voice that older women often used in those days. The tone conveyed righteousness and authority. “First it was Communists and now it’s Negroes. What will happen when the underdog is on top?”
Three black boys were sitting in the back of the room. One said quietly but clearly,
“An underdog will defend her.”
It was 1952. My school, PS 138, was in an ethnically mixed, Brooklyn, New York neighborhood. We had been discussing civil rights efforts taking place at the time. Though we didn’t know it, they would soon lead up to the Brown v. Board of Education lawsuit that ultimately desegregated southern schools. Our teacher had said she thought the Negroes were going too far. I had raised my hand and disagreed.
“Too far from what?” I had asked.
I think there may have been a teacher shortage because more than one abusive teacher showed up at times – usually for only a semester. This teacher had her own problems.
“Did I hear the underbelly of a dog say it would defend her?” she asked the air, looking in the direction of the boy in the back.
I had just reached puberty, and I’ve since heard that girls could be quite explosive at that time of life.
I burst out, “How dare you say that to him?!”
She turned to me. “How dare you say that to me?! Do you want to go to the principal’s office?”
Puberty took over. “Send me to the principal’s office!” I said. “I’ll tell him how you slapped that other boy in the hall. You wouldn’t have done it if he had been white!”
A hush followed.
‘Put your head down!” At that time teachers used to make us put our heads down on the desks if they thought we were misbehaving.
“I’ll be glad to put my head down!” I said. “Because this is making me nauseous!”
I was surprised when another girl said, “I’m nauseous too,” and put her head down as well. Although I often took part in class discussions, I was shy with other children. I hadn’t expected the support. Others followed suit. I don’t recall whether any of them were black.
The teacher was saved by the bell. It rang to tell us to change periods while we were resting.
Later that day we were in Library class. The children often got to classes ahead of the teachers, who had only the intervals between them to take quick breaks. The three boys who’d been at the back of the room were seated at a table, drumming on it as they often did. A couple of other girls and I sat down at the same table. The boy who had spoken up touched another with his elbow, and they stopped drumming.
“Would you like to go out?” he asked me.
For a moment I thought he was talking about leaving class; then he said,
“On a date.” A fleeting image of a sweet date came to mind.
“For a coke?” I asked.
He said, putting out his chest, “Maybe to start with.”
I hadn’t even been out for a coke with a boy. Something didn’t seem right. I said I didn’t think I could.
He turned away sharply.
“They’re all the same,” he said.
His friend leaned toward him. “Just because a girl stands up for you, it doesn’t mean she has to lie down with you to prove she’s sincere.”
It was a moment worth remembering.
