‘50s/’60s Black Teachers
The first time my name appeared in the newspaper was in 1965. The #NewOrleansTimesPicayune posted the results of high school entrance exams by local elementary schools.
#1 Claudia McGhee – Holy Ghost #2 Debra Davis – #HolyGhost
Then, girls’ names from prominent white schools were listed - like #LouiseMcGehee and #AcademyoftheSacredHeart.
Claudia and I were in the same class, in the same small school, with teachers who were parents of our peers. These strong Black mothers were barely being paid, yet their dedication propelled us into the changing future. Mrs. Roane, our second grade teacher, was terrifying to me as a seven year old. Yet, she was a wife and mother. Her daughter #AndreaRoane became a local TV celebrity shortly after graduating university.
When we were given writing assignments, she and the third grade teacher, #IrmaPenny, chatted at the door between classrooms. I was afraid of Mrs. Penny, also and was fortunate enough to move into the other third grade class with Mrs. White, the mother of another classmate. Mrs. Penny’s unfortunate claim to fame was her son #GeraldPenny, who drowned in #PrattPool as a student at #Amherst University.
I remember the names of our New Orleans teachers from kindergarten up – Mrs. LeBeau married during the school year and became Mrs. LaSalle. Mrs. Morris was a fashionista, the first teacher to arrive at school sporting the new beehive hairdo. Mrs. Schexnayder, Mrs. Branche, Mrs. Fairman – all these women should have books written about them, but it will probably never happen, so I mention them here. Our sixth grade teacher was a foreigner. Her husband, #AdolphLReed of #AtlantaGeorgia, was attending #XavierUniversity in a post doctorate program. Mrs. Reed didn’t like us. One day, she closed and locked all the doors and told us what she thought of us ignorant southern young women and men in New Orleans. We were slow, dirty, and New Orleans women didn’t wear girdles or teach their daughters how to dress. We heard the keys rattle in one of the doors and our principal, a nun by the name of Mother Florence Marie escorted her out of the classroom. We never saw here again. I heard that her husband became a prominent figure in the southern city of Atlanta. I don’t know what became of our errant temporary teacher.