I am blessed by the people in my life, not all of them, of course, not even most of them, but some of them. Jean Wiley was one. I hadn’t seen her since 1970. She died a bit more than a year ago, so I will never see her again, yet I feel her presence, so vibrant and alive, because that presence remains a part of me. I can still hear her voice. We were students together at Morgan. I may not recognize this at the time but, at some point, a kind of osmosis takes place sensing cues from another and making them your own. Jean was ferociously intelligent but quiet and unassuming, traits which camouflaged her will of steel. You didn’t know how tough she was until the situation demanded it. She was quiet but did not budge, anything but a coward, so unlike the bombastic crap artists in today’s congress. I remember we met in a class on the English novel taught by Dr. Lee, Dr. Ulysses Grant Lee, Jr., a dedicated teacher with a dazzling mind as Jean Wiley had as well, only Dr. Lee was out there and Jean was reserved. She wore white gloves, a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat, and carried a purse, yet she was not to be underestimated. She would not let you get away with obfuscation, dissembling, or outright bullshit. In her quiet manner, Jean would skewer you if you deserved it. We became close friends with another student, George Barrett. George was among the first contingent of Black students who integrated my high school. I remember a skinny kid with khakis and a green sweater. We were inseparable until graduation sent us on our worldly ways. George was drafted and, fortunately, spent his enlistment guarding a warehouse in Georgia or Alabama, one of those outhouse states. Jean won a Woodrow Wilson fellowship to the University of Michigan to study American lit. She was American to the core, and because she was American to the core, she refused to tolerate injustice. A vital American trait, right? The irony of this fight for justice? Black activists were the American citizens fighting to preserve the democracy white nationalist American citizens were fighting to take away. Those people had contempt for a democracy that included all of us, not just them. That mob we just saw invading the capitol was nothing but a lynch mob. I’d seen photographs of lynch mobs smiling at the camera while Black bodies swung from trees in the background. I saw no difference, souvenirs of fingers and toes, the mob seeking death and souvenirs of their own. White people wonder why the “colored” hate us? “They are prejudiced, too,” was caucasian America’s prevailing “wisdom”. Imagine being smart, attractive, qualified, and capable but having every door slammed in your face, every single one, relegated perpetually to the back of the bus. You may be useful for medical experiments but nothing else. Live this for generations, for lifetimes, and ask yourself if you’d sit back and say, “I don’t care if my kids don’t get the benefits your kids do. There are plenty of jobs at Dollar General.” How can any sane and reasonable person in these United States of America, land of the free and home of the brave, sit by and simply suck it up when someone takes their job, their child’s future, their seat on the bus?
After Michigan, Jean went to Alabama to teach at Tuskegee, a Black college in the deep south. She then became a major figure in SNCC and for her lifetime used her teaching skills and intellect to work for change. Her home became a way station for activists heading into dangerous territory. Right wing mobs love to chant “freedom isn’t free”, but there is no comparison to the violence perpetrated on Black people considered nothing but dregs to be shunted aside with impunity. The following is pure Jean. When confronted by a screaming mob with guns pointed at her, rather than turn and run she slowly backed away all the time facing people who wanted to kill her. In case she was shot and killed, a real possibility, she did not want her family to think she ran. She’d rather take the bullets of bigots than die in shame. How many of us have that kind of courage? Certainly not the elected officials we have in office today, men and women who don’t even consider the people who built the capital of the United States as human beings. Jean Wiley not a human being? George Barrett not a human being? Dr. Ulysses Grant Lee, Jr. not a human being? And, yet, a man wearing a Camp Auschwitz sweatshirt is? A mob defecating on the floor of the Capitol is? What kind of people are we to buy into this? The guts of a Jean Wiley had no need for an assault rifle to prove it.
George and I remained close friends until his death some years back on a July 4th. If George had to die, at least he picked a good day to do it. We lost track of Jean after George’s discharge when he returned back North to law school. The last time I saw her was in San Francisco, 1970. She was already heavily involved in the struggle, but we didn’t talk about that. We just chatted like old friends, but I sensed an anger in her that I hadn’t sensed before. She knew first hand what it meant to be excluded regardless of skills and intellect, and she was determined that this exclusion disappear from a nation that, since its inception, boasted otherwise. She was a major figure in SNCC and devoted herself to teaching Black students in schools from Alabama to Washington D.C. to Baltimore, Maryland, our home town. By that time, I was long gone.
When I taught at West Virginia University, 1968-70, I directed a production of “Guys and Dolls”. I cast a Black student as Sarah Brown, not because she was Black (I had no intention of making a statement) but because she had the best voice in town and was a good actress as well. The head of the Drama Department asked me to cast someone else, someone white. I wouldn’t and didn’t. I never made a stink about it. Casting was all. Morgan was in my blood. No way was I going to betray the friends and teachers who taught me so well. It would have been so much more than wrong. It would have been treason. I was aware of the consequences. My student became a wonderful Sarah Brown, and, of course, I was informed my contract would not be renewed. Tell the truth, it was a relief.
Jean had courage as did so many people I knew at Morgan. It took courage to even get an education full well knowing they would confront a world that did not want them in it. General Patton’s definition of courage was, “fear holding on a minute longer.” Jean Wiley was not fearless. She faced a real threat to her life but held onto her principles and faced that fear down. My commitment was paltry compared to hers, but how could I do otherwise and continue to live with myself? My student deserved to be Sarah Brown. Although I hadn’t seen Jean for years, my guts told me I could not let her down. Her legacy, and Morgan’s legacy, was that strong. I have never been able to deny them. What kind of man would I be if I did?
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