its nostrils.
The University of Alabama
June 11, 1963
At 10:54 am, the blue and white Bel Air turned on to University Boulevard where it was met with a blockade of wooden horses and policemen. Frances rolled down the window to ask what was going on.
“No cars on the University campus today. You’ll have to turn around,” shouted the officer.
Frances did not argue. She backed the Bel Air, turned left on a side street, circled the campus and found the closest strip mall near the Union Building where she parked the car. Frances reminded Winifred, “Come to the Union Building when you finish registering. We’ll meet you there. Maybe we can all go to lunch if I don’t eat too many doughnuts or drink too much coffee.”
Frances and Trisha headed to the Union where they had arranged to meet Helen. Trisha would be hanging out at Helen’s house every day while her mother and sister attended summer classes. Despite her homeliness as a child, Helen had grown up to be a real looker. At 19, she held the title of “Miss Southern States.” She was originally first runner up. The winner, from Texas, had been caught in bed with the head judge the night she was crowned. Helen assumed the title the next day. Helen’s husband, Ralph Katwick was a wealthy insurance mogul. He was 20 years older than Helen. She was a trophy wife and did not need to work. Helen was usually home most days by herself. She was actually glad to have Trisha for the company. Otherwise, Helen would be alone in that big house.
Every term, including summer, registration was held in Foster Auditorium. To keep down the number of students waiting in line, every undergraduate attending summer school was sent a postcard stating a specific time to register. Students were to go to the auditorium and look for the registration signs. Professors would sit at tables with boxes of computer cards, waiting for students to retrieve them. Then the students would take their cards to the check out station where they would deliver them and pay their tuition. Only then were they officially registered for classes.
As Winifred walked into Foster Auditorium, all eyes in the room immediately turned toward her. Only faculty and staff were there. Winifred looked around and did not see even one other student. A handsome, middle age professor with graying temples and a light blue Van Heusen suit approached her at the door. Winifred had never seen him before, but she intuitively knew he was a professor or important administrator. She had never heard a professor or teacher curse until he spoke.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked in a stern, reprimanding voice.
Stunned, Winifred answered his question with another. “Where are the students?”
“They followed instructions. Why didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you mean.” Winifred realized this man believed she was intentionally being defiant about something, but what? She composed herself and added, “Here is my postcard for registration. See! It says to register at 11:00 am on Tuesday. That’s why I’m here.”
Winifred was caught off guard. Unlike other students, she had not been informed to register the previous day. For this historic date, the University administration and law enforcement had done everything possible to keep the media and public uninformed and thus, away from the events that were about to happen. There had been no news coverage up until now. Only the undergraduate students living in the dorms had been told they were to register the day before. Since Winifred was not staying in University housing that summer, she didn’t get the message. The handsome professor in the light blue suit was about to explain the situation to Winifred.
“Well apparently you didn’t get the communication follow-up. All White undergraduate students were to register yesterday. The only students who are to register today are the Negro students,” the professor retorted, relaxing his voice just a little.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get the message. I live in Birmingham and my mother drove me here to register. I know the three courses I need to take. If you will let me pull my cards and register, I will be out of here as quickly as possible.”
The man thought for a minute and then said, “I will accompany you to pull your cards and take you directly to the check out and then you must leave the campus immediately.” And that is exactly what he did while everyone in the auditorium continued to watch Winifred as if she were from some other planet. As Winifred left Foster Auditorium, she finally had a moment to consider what had just happened. And why was she supposed to leave campus immediately? She really couldn’t decipher any of this, but that was about to change quickly.
Outside Foster Auditorium, Winifred couldn’t believe her eyes. Unbeknown to Winifred, President Kennedy had placed the National Guard on active duty. Men in uniforms were armed, standing shoulder to shoulder. She had to walk past all of them to get to the sidewalk. As she walked, she was instructed to hold her ID card and make sure the guards could see her photo to ensure she was, indeed, the student pictured on the card.
As Winifred made her way to the sidewalk on University Boulevard, the carillon of Denny Chimes began to play, temporarily distracting her. She stopped and looked in the direction of the 115 foot structure, relieved to hear its familiar sound. She remembered the day Lee Roy Jordan and Jimmy Sharpe placed their footprints in the cement for the Walk of Fame, surrounding Denny Chimes. And, for some odd reason, she thought of the story she’d been told her freshman year about the legendary structure that had been dedicated 34 years ago. The legend, she was informed, was that every time a virgin passed Denny Chimes, a brick would fall out. So far, Denny Chimes had not lost a single brick.
Winifred hastened toward the Union Building to meet Frances, Trisha, and Helen. As she passed the nursing building, people who worked for the news media began to pass her. They were all scurrying to Foster Auditorium with their microphones, cameras, and crews. No unauthorized personnel or vehicles could be seen anywhere. She was the only one. The television crews began to set up their cameras everywhere. As she observed the commotion, Winifred realized these were not local or state news crews. National news was everywhere. Something that was about to happen would appear on television that night throughout the country and beyond.
As Winifred passed the nursing building, she realized history was in the making and was determined she would not miss it. Her mother, sister, and cousin were safe in the Union Building. She was sorry they were not with her for this momentous occasion, but they would just have to see it on TV that night. She hid behind the bushes of the nursing building, just as a limousine pulled in front of Foster Auditorium. The doors of a black vehicle opened and Governor George Wallace emerged. He walked to the front entrance of the building and stood in front of the door.
During Wallace’s campaign for the gubernatorial race, he made a vow to the people of Alabama. If the federal government tried to intervene with the public schools of the sovereign state of Alabama, he would put a stop to it. As George Wallace promised, he had come to “bar the school house door” at Foster Auditorium, accompanied by a group of state troopers.
The National Guard now lined up on both sides of the walkway. The United States Deputy Attorney General, Nicholas Katzenbach arrived in a three car motorcade. One of the three cars sheltered Vivian Malone and James Hood. Katzenbach and a group of Federal Marshalls walked up the steps to Foster Auditorium. Katzenbach immediately confronted Wallace and demanded that Vivian Malone and James Hood be allowed to register. Wallace refused to move and began reciting a short, symbolic speech about the sovereignty of the great State of Alabama.
Katzenbach returned to his motorcade and discreetly took Vivian Malone and James Hood to their designated dormitories and told them to wait until he came back to retrieve them. They were to have lunch in their respective dining
