In 1947, white and white haired Miss B had us black first graders bow and curtsy as we entered her room in the morning.

Black and pretty Mrs. B, my second grade teacher, had me do time out in the well of her desk. She never sat at the desk while I was in the well.

Blonde and ditsy Mrs. (?) read Little Black Sambo to us third graders. We were impressed. With her stupidity.

White, Barnard trained, Mrs. T read The Boxcar Children to us. We loved those sessions. And we loved Mrs. T.  I took more museum trips in the fourth grade than in any grade before or after.

White Mr. G had us fifth graders read The New York Times every morning. He also let us dance the "grind" at our class parties.

In the seventh grade at J.H.S. 115 I had a run of 100's on weekly Spanish tests. When I received my seventh in a row, I couldn't contain my joy. My Jewish teacher, Mr. S, became very angry.

In the eighth grade at J.H.S. 115 I had bah-mitzvah five or so times—vicariously through my Jewish friends. I began to wonder if the Methodist church was the right place for me.

My white eleventh grade honors English classmate looked over at my paper and saw an eighty-something. It was higher than his grade, so he questioned the teacher about the difference. The grade was the only thing he knew about my paper. The white teacher sent him back to his seat without responding.

My minister offered me a scholarship to a church associated college from which I would proceed to seminary. Either bah-mitzvahs or girls caused me to reject the offer. 

At Queens College in Flushing, a black man substituted in Money and Banking. The class was delivered from darkness into light. I had never had a black teacher in college.

Tyrone was a hero in the St. Nicholas projects. He finished college. Then, because of ROTC, he went right to Viet Nam. There he died for rice, oil, and freedom.
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