Post by MacBeth on Jan 26, 2009 19:14:45 GMT -5
‘We accept your apology’
By ANDREW DYS - The (Rock Hill) Herald
ROCK HILL — Next to a lunch counter that was segregated for so long sat a table of two white people and five black people Friday afternoon. Conversation quickly took them back to Jan. 31, 1961.
Elwin Wilson, one of those white men, had come that day to that very lunch counter four steps away from where he was now, wanting to pull one of those black men off the stool. He wanted to give a beating.
The other white man, Steve Coleman, had been just outside, among so many, wanting to scream racial epithets.
They have been apologized to by politicians.
Their names are etched on stools at that lunch counter. But never before had any of the white men from that day in 1961 asked to meet any of them, and to sit with them where it all started, and apologize for hating them.
So David Williamson and Willie McCleod, Phyllis Hyatt and Elsie Springs, and for sure Patricia Sims, didn’t skip a beat to forgive.
Williamson said words he and the other protesters have said for decades.
“We accept your apology. We forgave everybody a long time ago.”
FIGHTING SEGREGATION
Williamson spoke with authority in this place that had changed his life and this nation because his name is on the stool behind him. Etched in chrome, forever.
He and the other black people at that table, long ago students at Friendship Junior College, fought segregation at that lunch counter and other places in Rock Hill in 1960 and 1961.
The black men, who with seven others came to be known as the Friendship Nine, sat on the stools 48 years ago, Jan. 31, 1961, then spent 30 days on the chain gang for being black and wanting service where whites ate.
These black women at the table, called the City Girls, marched for equality outside in 1960 and 1961, alongside the men after the publicity of the arrest and “jail, no bail” strategy.
The action helped spark a civil rights movement across the South that didn’t end until segregation was dead.
The Friendship Nine are, along with Williamson and McCleod, John Gaines, Thomas Gaither, Clarence Graham, W.T. Massey, James Wells, Mack Workman and the late Robert McCullough.
The known City Girls are, with Hyatt, Springs and Sims, Olivette McClurkin and Lucilla Wallace Reese.
‘I’M NOT PROUD OF THIS’
Wilson started with: “I was once the meanest man that ever was in Rock Hill.”
He was there Friday to tell people he had hated for so much of his life that he had changed. He was not going to be denied what he came to say.
Wilson spoke of how he was one of the men who beat up Freedom Riders at the Rock Hill bus station in May 1961. He told of trying to pull a protester from a stool Jan. 31, 1961 — the day that changed Rock Hill and that, 48 years later, brought these seven together.
“I’m not proud of this,” Wilson said, to which Williamson, fighting back tears, replied immediately, “We are not here to judge you.”
They didn’t blink when Wilson said he did so much “bad” to black people in his life, but that today he was there “with kindness in my heart.”
Wilson said he wanted to apologize because, “God led me to do it.”
“He will do that,” said Phyllis Hyatt, who knows what faith will do in life when marching as a black person in the segregated South could have meant injury or death.
“Sure sounds like you turned into a Christian,” said the other black man at the table, Willie McCleod.
“We all get a second chance, and this is it,” Williamson said. “It’s a blessing.”
‘I’VE CHANGED’
Coleman, a decorated and retired Rock Hill police officer, then spoke quietly but clearly.
He was a teenager that day in 1961. He went to school — a segregated school, but he didn’t have to say that because Rock Hill public schools were all segregated in 1961 — then skipped out after lunch so he could go and taunt those black demonstrators and use every foul word he knew.
“Being raised in the South, you know how I was,” Coleman told the group. “But I’ve changed.”
Coleman asked for forgiveness for taunting those black people that day. He started to cry.
“Take your time,” Williamson said. “We are not going anywhere.”
“I was in that crowd,” Coleman said of Jan. 31, 1961. “I hollered along with the rest. I can remember the look of determination. Not on our faces. But yours. You know, I am sorry.”
Segregation died because of what those determined black people did in Rock Hill. And probably because of what those racist white people did, too.
Wilson knows that.
In a famous picture published in The Herald in 1960, passed around that table Friday, a black man is seen wiping egg off his hat, a cheering white crowd in the background.
“I threw that egg,” Wilson said. He pointed to himself in the picture, tall, smiling, happy to hate.
And on Friday, these black people forgave him.
Eventually, the conversation shifted to small talk. Coleman showed pictures of his grandchildren. His black grandchildren. His daughter married a black man.
“The most beautiful grandbabies in the world,” Coleman said, and all agreed.
‘MOB MENTALITY’
Coleman said out loud at this lunch counter where hate used to live, “I can’t believe now, all the fuss, for you just wanting to sit down for service.”
Hyatt, a teacher all her life, said, “It was the mob mentality, peer pressure, the way people were raised back then.”
Sims and Springs and McCleod agreed.
“There you go — the way people was raised,” McCleod said.
Hyatt then spoke to Wilson, loud in words that came out like a hymn in church, words so strong that people sat up to hear better: “If you ask God to forgive you, he will. I thank you for coming forward. You are here. It makes a difference.”
Williamson said Barack Obama’s election and inauguration as president showed, “if everyone will do what’s in their heart, it will come out.”
“This is a step that will heal old wounds,” Hyatt said.
A HUG AND FORGIVENESS
Then it was time to go. What was to be said had been said, and accepted.
Elwin Wilson smiled when he shook hands with the men. He got a hug from Sims, this black lady with so much courage years ago — and forgiveness on this Friday afternoon.
“If this changes just one person, ... we done something here today,” Wilson said.
And all at that table said Elwin Wilson — who had punched and thrown and tugged his way into history, who had hurt so many — was finally right.
www.thestate.com/local/story/661906.html
By ANDREW DYS - The (Rock Hill) Herald
ROCK HILL — Next to a lunch counter that was segregated for so long sat a table of two white people and five black people Friday afternoon. Conversation quickly took them back to Jan. 31, 1961.
Elwin Wilson, one of those white men, had come that day to that very lunch counter four steps away from where he was now, wanting to pull one of those black men off the stool. He wanted to give a beating.
The other white man, Steve Coleman, had been just outside, among so many, wanting to scream racial epithets.
They have been apologized to by politicians.
Their names are etched on stools at that lunch counter. But never before had any of the white men from that day in 1961 asked to meet any of them, and to sit with them where it all started, and apologize for hating them.
So David Williamson and Willie McCleod, Phyllis Hyatt and Elsie Springs, and for sure Patricia Sims, didn’t skip a beat to forgive.
Williamson said words he and the other protesters have said for decades.
“We accept your apology. We forgave everybody a long time ago.”
FIGHTING SEGREGATION
Williamson spoke with authority in this place that had changed his life and this nation because his name is on the stool behind him. Etched in chrome, forever.
He and the other black people at that table, long ago students at Friendship Junior College, fought segregation at that lunch counter and other places in Rock Hill in 1960 and 1961.
The black men, who with seven others came to be known as the Friendship Nine, sat on the stools 48 years ago, Jan. 31, 1961, then spent 30 days on the chain gang for being black and wanting service where whites ate.
These black women at the table, called the City Girls, marched for equality outside in 1960 and 1961, alongside the men after the publicity of the arrest and “jail, no bail” strategy.
The action helped spark a civil rights movement across the South that didn’t end until segregation was dead.
The Friendship Nine are, along with Williamson and McCleod, John Gaines, Thomas Gaither, Clarence Graham, W.T. Massey, James Wells, Mack Workman and the late Robert McCullough.
The known City Girls are, with Hyatt, Springs and Sims, Olivette McClurkin and Lucilla Wallace Reese.
‘I’M NOT PROUD OF THIS’
Wilson started with: “I was once the meanest man that ever was in Rock Hill.”
He was there Friday to tell people he had hated for so much of his life that he had changed. He was not going to be denied what he came to say.
Wilson spoke of how he was one of the men who beat up Freedom Riders at the Rock Hill bus station in May 1961. He told of trying to pull a protester from a stool Jan. 31, 1961 — the day that changed Rock Hill and that, 48 years later, brought these seven together.
“I’m not proud of this,” Wilson said, to which Williamson, fighting back tears, replied immediately, “We are not here to judge you.”
They didn’t blink when Wilson said he did so much “bad” to black people in his life, but that today he was there “with kindness in my heart.”
Wilson said he wanted to apologize because, “God led me to do it.”
“He will do that,” said Phyllis Hyatt, who knows what faith will do in life when marching as a black person in the segregated South could have meant injury or death.
“Sure sounds like you turned into a Christian,” said the other black man at the table, Willie McCleod.
“We all get a second chance, and this is it,” Williamson said. “It’s a blessing.”
‘I’VE CHANGED’
Coleman, a decorated and retired Rock Hill police officer, then spoke quietly but clearly.
He was a teenager that day in 1961. He went to school — a segregated school, but he didn’t have to say that because Rock Hill public schools were all segregated in 1961 — then skipped out after lunch so he could go and taunt those black demonstrators and use every foul word he knew.
“Being raised in the South, you know how I was,” Coleman told the group. “But I’ve changed.”
Coleman asked for forgiveness for taunting those black people that day. He started to cry.
“Take your time,” Williamson said. “We are not going anywhere.”
“I was in that crowd,” Coleman said of Jan. 31, 1961. “I hollered along with the rest. I can remember the look of determination. Not on our faces. But yours. You know, I am sorry.”
Segregation died because of what those determined black people did in Rock Hill. And probably because of what those racist white people did, too.
Wilson knows that.
In a famous picture published in The Herald in 1960, passed around that table Friday, a black man is seen wiping egg off his hat, a cheering white crowd in the background.
“I threw that egg,” Wilson said. He pointed to himself in the picture, tall, smiling, happy to hate.
And on Friday, these black people forgave him.
Eventually, the conversation shifted to small talk. Coleman showed pictures of his grandchildren. His black grandchildren. His daughter married a black man.
“The most beautiful grandbabies in the world,” Coleman said, and all agreed.
‘MOB MENTALITY’
Coleman said out loud at this lunch counter where hate used to live, “I can’t believe now, all the fuss, for you just wanting to sit down for service.”
Hyatt, a teacher all her life, said, “It was the mob mentality, peer pressure, the way people were raised back then.”
Sims and Springs and McCleod agreed.
“There you go — the way people was raised,” McCleod said.
Hyatt then spoke to Wilson, loud in words that came out like a hymn in church, words so strong that people sat up to hear better: “If you ask God to forgive you, he will. I thank you for coming forward. You are here. It makes a difference.”
Williamson said Barack Obama’s election and inauguration as president showed, “if everyone will do what’s in their heart, it will come out.”
“This is a step that will heal old wounds,” Hyatt said.
A HUG AND FORGIVENESS
Then it was time to go. What was to be said had been said, and accepted.
Elwin Wilson smiled when he shook hands with the men. He got a hug from Sims, this black lady with so much courage years ago — and forgiveness on this Friday afternoon.
“If this changes just one person, ... we done something here today,” Wilson said.
And all at that table said Elwin Wilson — who had punched and thrown and tugged his way into history, who had hurt so many — was finally right.
www.thestate.com/local/story/661906.html