A Jewell of an Evening: Goucher Honors Its First African-American Student

Release date: June 13, 2007 |

Members and friends of the college’s African-American community packed Buchner Hall on Feb. 9 to enjoy dinner and to celebrate Jewell Robinson, the first black student to attend Goucher College. The event was part of a month-long series of events, performances, and lectures designed to honor African-American achievement. Among the speakers were Ms. Robinson and Erica Green ’07, whose excerpted remarks follow.

Attention Must Be Paid

By Jewell Robinson

When I first came to Goucher, I had spent my life, until that point, in an institutionalized system of apartheid: born in a segregated city, I had attended segregated schools embraced by a segregated society, a system which was the cultural remnant of the Confederacy and a legal mandate of the laws of the state of Virginia. Blacks drank from "colored" water fountains, sat on the backs of buses, at the fronts of trains (cars closest to the engine were less desirable), did not eat at downtown lunch counters, and did not marry whites. And those were only a few of the restrictions. I remember, at about age 5, shopping for my Easter patent-leather Mary Janes at Miller and Rhodes Department Store. I didn’t understand why my mother chose to walk out of the store without buying my shoes when we were told we had to go back into the stockroom for me to try them on. How could my mother just walk out! I couldn’t comprehend it. In my 5-year-old mind, my Easter shoes were of primal importance. (Actually, I still feel that way about shoes).

In Richmond, VA, I'd had little interaction with whites, but I was never unaware of their presence in our lives. And though I was frequently asked to be what I called, "a representative of my race," what interactions I had could only be deemed as marginal at best.

So when I came to Goucher as the first and only African American, I had no idea what to expect. The fact that I came with an open mind, and a willingness to embrace and be embraced, is a tribute to my parents and all the people who taught me to believe in myself: my father, who took me to Virginia State College when I was five to be given an IQ test because he was convinced I was a genius; people like Miss Boyd, the librarian at the Rosa Bowser Branch (the colored branch) who, after I'd exhausted the supply of books in the children's division, facilitated my getting a library card at the main library, so that at 10 years old, I was the only little colored child with a library card at the Richmond Public Library; people like my drama teacher, Mrs. Hale, who taught me acting and cast me in leading roles and directed me in plays throughout my high school years; people like Mrs. Case, my Girl Scout leader from Brownies through Curved Bar (Eagle Scout equivalent), who selected me to represent black Girl Scouts when Lady Baden Powell, founder of Girl Guides in England, came to Richmond. Coming to Goucher was but another step in the journey that people who knew and loved me expected me to take.

I loved it here at Goucher; I made friendships with classmates and faculty that have lasted a lifetime. I continue to be involved with the college, and I am always happy to return.

One reason I found it easy to be here was because I had a good grasp of who I was in the world, due to those very people about whom I just spoke. I was a scholarship student, and I had received a supplemental scholarship from the National Scholarship Service and Fund for Negro Students. Richard Plaut, head of NSSFNS (we pronounced it "Nesfeness") came for a site visit during my freshman year. He asked to discuss any problems I might be having on campus. I told him I didn’t have any. He clearly had difficulty believing me and kept pressing me for an answer more in keeping with his expectations. I explained that I really had no problems, that I was sure there were girls here who didn't want to associate with me, but if I had gone to a black school everyone there wouldn't have wanted to be friends with me, either.

Another reason I had no problems here was that Goucher had prepared very carefully for my arrival. I was placed in a single room on third floor Dulaney with only four other freshmen, two of whom are still close friends; all the rest were upperclassmen, prepped for my arrival. What I didn't know then, but certainly know now is that a place like Goucher wouldn’t have problems with only one black girl. The problems arise when the number of black students reaches a critical mass, or at the point when the institution believes it's already solved that problem. Ladies and gentlemen, I can tell you categorically that the problems of race in America are not solved, no matter how far we've come; hence the problems here at Goucher aren't solved either. The solutions come only as a result of constant, extraordinary vigilance. I am reminded of the line from Death of a Salesman: "Attention must be paid."

There was one funny incident that I recall. A cab driver, who'd brought me from downtown Baltimore, where I'd gone to have dinner one Sunday afternoon, drove me to the service entrance to be dropped off, because that was where he thought I belonged. I paid him and went upstairs to Jane and Lois's room and asked them how I looked. I was dressed in a suit and heels and thought I looked pretty sharp. They said I looked great and wondered why I'd asked. I said, "Well, I just got dropped off at the servants' entrance, and wondered if I looked like a maid?" They were indignant for me and asked me how I'd handled it. I laughed and replied, "I didn’t say a thing! Did you know it's $2.00 cheaper when you use the servants' entrance, rather than drive all the way around campus to the entrance of Mary Fisher Hall?" (As a black person, a sense of humor never hurts.)

My seminal experiences with racial integration at Goucher led me to believe in the achievability of an American ideal, the idea that we can achieve diversity in our society, by believing in and working for that ideal, and that we can do it without sacrificing our own individual cultures or ethnic kinships. That belief has helped me chart my course in life: starting with my work in civil rights and now, in my current role at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery, where one of my responsibilities is to assure diversity in our public programming. This belief provides support for my work in the arts where, both as actress and producer, I practice and have been the beneficiary of what is called non-traditional casting. Even at Goucher I practiced it, though I didn't know it then: I was Irish in Synge’s Riders to the Sea and Spanish in Lorca's La casa de Bernarda Alba, thanks to Goucher's drama professor/director, Marian Robinson. On professional stages I've been Italian, Spanish, and upper-class British. I've been Jewish more times than I can remember. Ironically, I caught more flak about playing Lena Younger in Raisin in the Sun than in any of the other roles I've played (reverse stereotyping, I think you'd call it). By immersing myself in the cultures of the characters I've played, I hope I've helped others learn what I truly believe, that I can become each of those characters in my art, without losing my own character in my life.

When I think of those early days, I can truly say we've come a long way, baby, because we now live in a world where we've had two black Secretaries of State, we have the second black Supreme Court Justice (though I must say I prefer the first), and a black candidate for President who is a serious candidate for the Democratic nomination, meaning one who is supported by as many whites as blacks. Yes, we've come a long way, baby. But do you know the rest of that saying? It's: "But, baby, we've still got a long way to go."

It is not enough for us to cite how far we've come without understanding what we still have left to do. Despite systemic oppression, there have always been exceptional black people who rose above the masses: before Barack Obama, there was Edward Brooke; before Marian Wright Edelman, there was Sojourner Truth; before Toni Morrison, there was Phillis Wheatley; before Sidney Poitier, there was Ira Aldrich; before Denzel Washington, there was Paul Robeson; before Charlie Rangel, there was Adam Clayton Powell Jr.; before Randall Robinson, there was Marcus Garvey; before Clarence Thomas, there was Thurgood Marshall; before Denyce Graves, there was Marian Anderson; before Suzan-Lori Parks, there was Lorraine Hansberry; before Beyoncé, there was Lena Horne. But now, how do we address the problems of the black underclass, creating opportunities for those who might not be so obviously impressive? That is our task today, and I have a few suggestions for how to approach the solutions:

1. We need to work for someone other than ourselves. For black people, selfishness is not an option. That means volunteering, donating our time and money to organizations that promote our values.

2. We need to rid ourselves of stereotyping and expressing prejudice toward other groups: that means ridding ourselves of homophobia, anti-Semitism, hostile feelings toward Latinos, and negative attitudes about skin color (yes, that still exists).

3. We need to restore civility and reason to our lives: that means remembering that there are other people on this planet besides us; for example, environmental issues don’t just affect white people, so we need to stop saying it's not our issue.

4. We need to be positive role models for our children: that means teaching them how to participate equally in the ideally diverse society we create. I can't imagine where I'd be now, without all of the smart, wonderful people who helped me chart the course of my life. That means exposing children to something beyond pop culture: Gangsta rappers are not good role models; R-rated films are not good learning mechanisms, but reading to [children] is.

5. We need to vote. African Americans can help to determine who wins this next election. I don't care if you think Obama can't win or isn't really black (whatever that means). He certainly can't win if we don't all vote in the primary. I don't care if you don’t like Hillary. Vote for her anyway, if she gets the nomination. I don't care if you don't like John Edwards, if he's the candidate, vote for him. Vote for somebody! (preferably a Democrat, but that's my own bias). Unless you're like the guy I heard say he voted for Bush because he thought Bush was someone you could have a beer with. Duh! So if you're like that guy, don’t vote.

6. And, finally, stop thinking and talking as if African Americans were monolithic. Recognize that we are as diverse as the rest of the population, and we have to seek solutions that are as multi-faceted and as sophisticated as we are.

That must be true of Goucher students, as well. Haven't we reached a point in our development where we can afford black people independent thought? That way, maybe we'll come up with some really creative and original solutions to the mess we've gotten ourselves into in this country. And then we'll have a society that no longer will need to honor firsts, because there'll be no place where a black person hasn't already been.

 

The Power of a Simple Question

By Erica Green ’07

As I'm sure was the case for Ms. Robinson in the 1950s, from the moment I set foot on this campus and took a look around, I was prepared for a constant reinforcement that I was black. I was different -- I was a minority -- and I had a background and experiences that would separate me from my classmates.

All of these assessments were true -- but the negative implications of my initial thoughts changed dramatically with the first conversation I engaged in, the first class I participated in, the first extracurricular group I joined.

My defensiveness waned shortly after I got settled at Goucher, as I came to realize that none of my initial thoughts about how I would identify with, or adjust to, this community hindered my ability to grow as a person -- to engage in and contribute to the community dialogue and to actively grow as an intellectual.

I came to embrace what set me apart from the rest of my classmates and began to think what I would gain by staying at Goucher. So, I started with the basics. First and foremost, I was in college to further my education. I was here to learn. That was enough.

But I remember vividly my second day of school, when a girl in my freshman English class asked me, "How do you get your hair to stay in those teeny-tiny braids?" She was from Maine and had never seen a hairstyle like mine, except for on television, she told me. So, after a thorough and comprehensive lesson in hair textures and why her French braids got loose after only one day and mine didn't, I knew I was not only here to learn -- I was also here to teach.

As a communications major and political science and Spanish minor, my academic studies at Goucher have been ones that lend themselves to diverse perspectives. In my classroom experiences, I have always been encouraged to lend my voice to issues and topics that often call for a counter-viewpoint, an experiential angle, or a straightforward black-and-white answer. Whether my forthrightness in expressing my opinions has always been embraced is inconsequential. The point is: There has never been a deterrent to prohibit me from doing so.

Over the years, I also have been provided with a platform that extends beyond the classroom and into other sectors of the Goucher community. As president of my class, I am relied upon by my classmates to take pride in our time here together, despite our differences. As chair of the Academic Honor Board, I am entrusted by the Goucher academic community to uphold integrity and honor. As an editor of The Quindecim, I feel appreciated for the things that I speak for and against -- that I commend and condemn. And, equally in my identity as an African-American woman and in my various titles, I feel empowered by the community I serve.

I do recognize, however, that the empowerment I feel, and the encouragement and comfortableness I have been afforded as an African-American student at Goucher did not characterize the experiences of many who came before me -- and may not characterize the experiences of those who are here with me now.

And I must say that my time here at Goucher has not been without incident. I've witnessed ignorance and bigotry. I've observed fluctuating numbers in minority enrollment. I've heard the grievances of my fellow African-American comrades, who have been confronted with ominous situations.

However, as an African American, I have become accustomed to the phrase, "We still have a long way to go," when addressing the issues of diversity, and opportunity for African Americans. And while I believe wholeheartedly that this is true, I also believe that I have a responsibility to be a part of the movement to get where we need to be.

Goucher has come a long way -- and has a long way to go. But I know that my losing faith in the face of intimidating statistics or the egregious actions of a few members in the community won't help Goucher get to where it needs to be. The conviction of this belief has been reinforced in my final semester, as I think more about my journey here at Goucher.

As we honor the first African-American woman admitted to Goucher, I can't help but to think: What if Ms. Robinson had lost faith in how far Goucher could come? What if she decided not to take on the challenge of being a lone voice -- a representative of what would become an emerging population on Goucher's campus? Where would I be? Where would any of us be?

I hope the opportunities that I have had, to have a voice and presence as an African-American female on this campus, offer us all some confidence, that those who come after us will come to realize that our place at Goucher is determined by how we choose to affirm it. Like Ms. Robinson, it can be with an acceptance letter. Or, as was my case, it can be with a simple question -- even if it's about your hair.