David Sher’s ComebackTown

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Today’s guest columnist is Janice Wilson.

There is a popular Facebook group entitled, “You knew you grew up in Birmingham, Alabama, if:”

It’s filled with fond memories and photos of such fun and happy places like Cascade Plunge, Kiddieland, and Joy Young.

I grew up in Birmingham in the ‘50′s, but my memories are much more conflicted.

Having moved to “the big city” from a small town, I was excited about the move.

We lived in a very nice neighborhood. Most families were professionals who also had children my age. Fun family times. Chasing June bugs, lightning bugs, playing cowboys and Indians, hide and seek, etc.

However, my excitement quickly changed to one of confusion, sometimes anger. There were so many “don’ts” and “cants”

Family fun

Amusement Parks, the State Fair, and swimming pools were off limits. We were given “special obligatory” days to attend. I never took advantage of the “invitation”. Even after integration I never wanted to go to many of the places that had excluded me. Hurtful memories.

We used to enjoy going to a drive-in theater in Bessemer on the weekends. Our drive took us past Kiddieland Park. I’d see the Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, children eating cotton candy, clowns, etc., and wondered when I could go. I was so disappointed to know I would never be allowed inside.

We traveled through Midfield, which we were told was a city filled with members of the Klan. I was always afraid and would hide on the floor of the car until we were past Midfield.

We were always told not to have direct eye contact, not to drive close to a car in front or beside us, and to always use correct hand signals when driving. Otherwise we would be pulled over.

So many “rules “.

Going to the movies downtown was a challenge. The Lyric Theater had a fire escape on the outside of the building that I had to climb to get to the balcony of the theater. The Alabama Theater was off limits entirely.

Shopping

Shopping was frustrating. When I shopped at the large department stores downtown, I’d be directed to the basement floor to try on clothes. Sometimes I couldn’t try them on at all, just purchase, hope they fit, and go home. Other times, a gruff salesperson would make me put a cloth shield over my head when trying on a dress so I “wouldn’t soil” the garment. Otherwise, I’d have to buy it. I felt so demeaned and dirty.

When shopping for shoes, there were some stores that wouldn’t permit me to try on the shoes. I’d watch other children try on their Buster Brown shoes and wonder why I couldn’t try on shoes in the store. I loved the smell of new leather shoes! So, the salesperson would use the measuring contraption to measure my feet, and bring the shoes to me.

In all of my ventures away from my neighborhood, I hated hearing “them”, everywhere we’d go, call my mother by her first name. I’d be furious and question her about it but she would caution me against saying anything.

In stores, when I would hand the cash to the salesperson, they wouldn’t touch the money, I would just have to lay it on the counter. If change was due they’d drop it on the counter, or throw it, never wanting to come in physical contact with my hand.

My mother developed great sales relationships with the salesmen at Blach’s and Burger Phillips department stores who treated us the same as other shoppers. That relationship lasted through my college years. They kept in touch with my mother and when I needed shoes or clothes, she would pay for them and give them my sizes and they would mail them to me.

Riding the bus

On occasions when I had to leave my “safe cocoon “to go into town, I had to ride the bus.

There were signs on the bus that read “Whites Only”, which meant I had to find a seat behind the sign. If more whites boarded the bus, the bus driver would get up and move the sign and I’d have to give up my seat, sometimes having to stand. I didn’t understand this, nor did I like it.

Other times I’d pay my money at the front door and then have to board from the side door of the bus. Sometimes the bus might slow up and appear to be stopping only to just speed up and pass me by. When I’d pay up front and have to walk the aisle to the back of the bus, the mean stares of the passengers were frightening.

Schools

You don’t know what you’re missing if you have no way of comparison. I thought everyone had ragged, outdated textbooks. Leftovers!

I didn’t realize the books were biased and outdated which kept us ill informed.

In music class we sang songs like “Old Black Joe” and “Dixie”. “I wish I was in the land of cotton “, said no one! Making me think “slaves” were somebody else and they were happy “all the days.” Nothing really related to me.

We spent years rehashing/reading about the same five Negroes for our One Week’s observance of Negro History WEEK! I never realized there were any more “Negroes” who had excelled or contributed to America until so much later. They would never again be mentioned until 51 weeks later. The same five.

In my readers, Dick and Jane never had friends like me and I never paid it any attention. Just loved diving in the fall leaves, of which we had none. LOL.

A potbelly stove stood in the middle of my classroom! We’d arrive early enough to start the fire. How dangerous was that!

Doctors

Doctors’ offices had a front door and…. you guessed it… a back door with separate waiting rooms. I remember asking my mom why. She would always warn me against asking questions and to be quiet.

I imagine Emmett Till must have been on her mind a lot during those years.

When my mother was hospitalized, I recall visiting her in a dimly lit basement with pipes hanging from the ceiling, and several other patients in the same room. They called them “Wards”. It had smells of disinfectant, urine, formaldehyde.

I was in a similar ward, a Children’s Ward, when I had my tonsils removed. So eager to go home.

Oh, by the way, my mother was happy I chose to attend a college outside of Alabama because of my questioning the “climate.” I left just before the “sit ins” and demonstrations.

Plus, the subject I wanted to major in was only offered at a university in Alabama that didn’t accept students who looked like me.

Love my life in Birmingham

I made the decision to move back home to Birmingham and I love living here.

But I think it’s important for future generations to understand that life in Birmingham was much different for many of us.

Birmingham may have a way to go, but we’ve certainly made progress.

Janice Wilson, ED.S is a retired principal and music educator. Post retirement she authored “This Is Our Song”, and enjoys performing with the Seasoned Performers of The Red Mountain Theatre”.

David Sher is the founder and publisher of ComebackTown. He’s past Chairman of the Birmingham Regional Chamber of Commerce (BBA), Operation New Birmingham (REV Birmingham), and the City Action Partnership (CAP).

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