Short Stuff

Sit-ins in Dallas, Texas 1960-1961 In late summer of 1960 our small family packed all our belongings into the smallest U-Haul we could find in Logan, Utah and began the four-day trek to Texas in our faded maroon 1949 Dodge. The last item squeezed into the back was our son Timothy’s blue plastic bathtub. Our destination was Dallas, where my husband Glenn was to attend seminary at Perkins School of Theology at Southern Methodist University. We settled into married student housing at Hawk Hall on the campus. Glenn had snagged a job at a YMCA near the campus. We became friends with several second-floor couples sharing meals, children, and the general campus stories about classes, professors, and the culture we all shared in Dallas. I do not remember the exact dates when Glenn joined several students from the seminary in planning a “sit-in” at a drugstore across from the campus. They were all committed to a non-violent protest addressing a segregated lunch counter. All the young men planned to wear suits and ties and to be polite at all costs. As I recall, they were mostly white with a couple of very brave black students. There were enough students to fill every seat at the long counter. When they were asked for their orders, all would reply that they would order after their Black friends had been served. Since that did not happen, the students stayed until the counter had to be closed for the day, as no other people could be served. I do not remember the exact timeframe when the next sit-in occurred, but I will never forget the events. All the students again entered the drugstore and sat at the counter; the same scenario occurred with a major addition. The owner decided that it would be a good time to fumigate the place. As people came with masks and spraying devices, the air began to fill with noxious fumes. The students took their handkerchiefs (men carried them in those days) and soaked them in their water glasses and held them over their noses to be able to breathe. Finally the owner was worried enough to stop the fumigation and close the drugstore for the rest of the day. Back at home in Hawk Hall, I was very worried about what might be happening at the sit-in. I was shocked when Glenn came in with his suit reeking of pesticides. Acts of bravery are sometimes best appreciated in retrospect. In the moment I was terrified that he would suffer long-term lung damage. Looking back I see what a privilege he had to be part of this extraordinary historic struggle for equality. As an aside, the suit took a number of trips to the dry cleaner before it lost its horrid odor. The Last Days of the Poll Tax From 1961- 1963 I was living in the small town of Ector, Texas with my husband, Glenn, and our first son, Timothy. Our second son was born during our time there. I registered to vote in Texas while the poll tax was still in effect. In those days a wife was registered under her husband’s name with the title “Mrs.” At least, that is the case with mine. On the receipt it states that my poll tax of $1.50 was paid by “husband.” I was 24 years old. Previously I had been registered to vote in Logan, Utah where there was no poll tax. The poll tax was one of the “Jim Crow” laws used throughout many Southern states to work a hardship on poor, mainly Black people as a deterrent to voting. The amount may seem small in today’s dollars, but in that time it represented a sacrifice to many who were just scraping by. The idea that people would have to pay to exercise a right given under the Constitution has gone the way of the dodo bird. Thankfully, the poll tax was finally eliminated with the ratification of the 24th amendment in January 1964.