Reflections on My Hometown

Reflections on My Hometown

Huntsville, Texas

By

Burke Reed, Jr.

With the historic and orderly transfer of power from George W. Bush to Barrack Obama, the first African American President, this nation opened a new chapter in its ongoing development and once again showed the world its greatness.  It is a greatness that did not come easily.  It is a greatness that came about as a result of the pain, abuse and injustices suffered by those who would dare question an inherently immoral but legal system called segregation. Like many small towns in the south, some of that pain, abuse and injustice took place in Huntsville.

Forty-five years ago I was a young Black teenager growing up in Huntsville at a time when the city, the state and this nation was being challenged to stand and make good on its obligation to insure equal justice for all of its citizens.  It was a time when challenging the “status quo” often came with a terrible price to be paid.  For all of those brave persons, Black and White, who gave their lives fighting for our civil rights, we must never forget their sacrifice and at this moment in history offer to them a special prayer or words of Thanks.

For many others like myself, we lived to see in President Obama the fruits of the seeds that were planted years ago. Seeds that go back to a time in Huntsville when the Texan Café and the Raven Café were for white only patrons.  Seeds that go back to a time when the Walker County court house had white only drinking fountains and restrooms. These seeds of change took root because a few individuals in Huntsville, Black and White, decided to stand and fight against segregation, the system that perpetrated inequality.

As a teenager involved in the first organized voter registration efforts and the protest demonstrations in front of the Texan and Raven cafes, my gratitude is extended to the many Whites that joined our efforts and were often time physically abused because they supported the movement. Without their organizational skills and participation, the movement may have failed.

Because of my involvement in the movement, my senior year at the all Black Sam Houston High School and thus my future was threatened by the White superintendent of schools in a profanity laced tirade that would have made the most hardened individuals blush. Try to imagine what it was like to be a Black 17 year old high school senior with a full athletic scholarship getting cussed out by the superintendent and being told he would not let you graduate if you continued the voter registration efforts and your involvement in the civil rights protest movement.  I chose to continue my participation and I thank God he did not follow through with his threats.

After I went off to college, my younger sister, nieces and nephews continued in the movement. In his book, “If Not Me, Who?”, Wendell Baker wrote: “County Judge Amos Gates, who judged them delinquents for “repeated unlawful assembly” sent six girls to the Crockett State School for Girls and three boys to the Gatesville School for Boys.”

Four of those nine students incarcerated were my younger sister, a niece and 2 nephews. My sister and a nephew are deceased but to the four of them because of their bravery and the injustice they suffered, I dedicate this commentary.

So, as a Nation and as a Race of People we celebrate, some with glee, the election of our first African American President.  However, as we enjoy this historical moment, let us never forget the people and their sacrifices that helped make this moment possible.  To all of them, this nation is indebted.