An Oral History

With

Franzetta W. Sanders

Interviewer: Stephanie Scull Millet

Tougaloo College Archives

This interview was transcribed as part of the Civil Rights Documentation Project.

Funding for this project was provided in part by the Mississippi

Humanities Council, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and

the Mississippi Department of Archives and History.

2000

Biography

Mrs. Franzetta Wells Gladney Sanders was born September 2, 1936, in Moss Point, Mississippi, in Jackson County. Mrs. Sanders' parents were Everett and Mabel Hyde Wells; she was the second born of six children. During the sixties, Mrs. Sanders joined the NAACP and was active in testing public accommodations. She was active in bringing Head Start to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. For fourteen years Mrs. Sanders worked for Head Start, first as a teacher and then as Director of Resource Centers.

By signing the retainer for the Legal Defense attorneys, Mrs. Sanders became the plaintiff who sued the Moss Point school system to admit the first African-American students for attendance there in the sixties. Following her commitments and activities in the movement, Mrs. Sanders and her family suffered some reprisals, including attempts to do bodily harm.

Mrs. Sanders is the mother of six children, A. Jerome, Sandra, Gail, Cathy, Earl Jr., and Rodney. She has always been active in civic organizations and an advocate for the grassroots people.

Table of Contents

Childhood 4

Segregation in childhood 11

Racial discrimination regarding employment 17

First impressions of racism 22

Justice Robinson and the NAACP 23

Head Start 26

Registering to vote 32

Freedom Summer 38

Importance of churches to the movement 40

The Gladney children integrate Moss Point school system 41

Jack Young and Carsie Hall 41

Reprisal 42

Attending integrated school 43

Moss Point Dixie League desegregation 48

Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner 57

AN ORAL HISTORY

with

FRANZETTA W. SANDERS

This is an interview for the Civil Rights Documentation Project. The interview is with Ms. Franzetta W. Sanders and is taking place on May 17, 2000. The interviewer is Stephanie Scull Millet.

Millet: This is an interview for the Civil Rights Documentation Project of Tougaloo College and The University of Southern Mississippi. The interview is with Ms. Franzetta Sanders, and it is taking place on May 17, 2000, [in Moss Point, Mississippi]. The interviewer is Stephanie Scull Millet. And first, I'd like to thank you Ms. Sanders for taking the time to talk with me today.

Sanders: You're quite welcome.

Millet: And, I'd like to get some background information which is what we usually do, and just ask you: could you tell me your name and where and when you were born, please?

Sanders: Yes. My name is Franzetta Wells Sanders. I was born in Moss Point, Mississippi, Jackson County. I was born September 2, 1936.

Millet: Nineteen thirty-six. A little while ago.

Sanders: Yes, a little while ago.

Millet: Do you have brothers or sisters?

Sanders: Yes, I do. I have two brothers and four sisters. I have two biological brothers, two biological sisters--well, whole sisters--and brothers. And I have two half-sisters from my daddy after my mother died.

Millet: Mm-hm. Where do you fall in that lineup?

Sanders: I am the second child born of the first marriage of my mother and father, Mabel and Everett Wells[?].

Millet: So, were you one of the older children?

Sanders: Yes. I am the oldest one living. I had an older sister. She died as the results of a fire, at, I guess, four or five years old. Something like that. Yeah. I was old enough to remember. I was small, but I remember. In fact, that's her picture right there with my dad. So, that left me being the oldest one of the sisters and brothers.

Millet: So, I'll bet you were sort of a parent, sort of a mother to those younger siblings.

Sanders: Well, I actually was because, see, my mother died when I was eleven, and my father died, oh, I guess I was twenty. Nineteen or twenty. And the sisters and brothers from my father and my mother, I kept those. I stayed with those sisters and brothers until they got grown and what have you. But the last two children born from my step-mother, well, now, she's living. And she raised those, but they were babies. They didn't even remember Daddy.

Millet: Would you mind just telling us the names of your brothers and sisters?

Sanders: OK. My oldest brother's name is Livingston Nathaniel Wells[?], and he lives in Tuscaloosa, [Alabama]. And the next one is my sister, oldest sister under me, Mabel Euchrist Elliott. And she lives in Fair Oaks, California. She's a retired flight nurse, Air Force. And the next one is my sister Katie Jackson that lives across the yard from me.

Millet: Oh. That's nice.

Sanders: Katie Wells Jackson. And the next one is Clinton Lorenzo Wells[?] who lives in Denver, Colorado. That's the baby brother. And my two half-sisters. The oldest is Hazel Wells. She lives in Moss Point. And the youngest one is Carolyn Sims. She lives in Moss Point.

Millet: OK. Well, it's good to get them down for the record. We like to do that.

Sanders: OK. I hope I have them in order. (Laughter.) It was me, my sister Mabel, then Livingston Nathaniel, and then Katie. I think Katie is older than Buddy Boy. We call him Buddy Boy, but his name is Livingston Nathaniel Wells, the one in Tuscaloosa.

Millet: I believe that, maybe it's in Denver; Gladys Noel Bates is in Denver. I don't know if you ever met her. She demanded equal pay. She was a litigant and lost her job teaching as a result of filing suit, but eventually won and furthered the cause of equalization of pay for school teachers in Mississippi.

Sanders: No, I--. What was her name, again?

Millet: Gladys Noel Bates.

Sanders: Bates. Yeah. I didn't meet her, but I read of her.

Millet: So, she wound up in Colorado, as well.

Sanders: OK.

Millet: Well, tell me something about your parents. We'd like to know, for the record, your mother's name and when and where she was born.

Sanders: OK. My mother, her name was Mabel Celestine Hyde Wells[?], and she was born in Moss Point. And my father's name was Everett Wells[?], and he was born in Basin, Mississippi.

Millet: Basin?

Sanders: Basin. B-A-S-I-N, Mississippi. Now, that's--. And I don't ever remember us going there, because, like I say, Mama died when we were so young. I know we went, but we were so small, see? And after Mama died, well, the five of us living, Daddy was doing well to get to work and tend to us and whatever. And he tried having a sister of his move from New Orleans to live with us, and it didn't work out. (Laughter.) And he tried us living with my mother's mother, and it didn't work out. I guess he had us spoiled. You know, and we ended up back. Matter of fact, we was born right around the corner on Magnolia Street, and we ended up back there. And we were the youngest of the people on there. Everybody over there were older, and they sort of watched out for us until Daddy got home, or whatever. And that's where we stayed until everybody got older and moved out on their own someplace.

Millet: So, you're pretty close to where you started your life.

Sanders: Oh, yeah. Right around the corner. (Laughter.)

Millet: That's great.

Sanders: In fact, this property here was my daddy's sister's property, and she gave me this piece of property. That was her house right on the corner there. She gave me this piece of property, and she gave my sister the other piece right on, facing Bayou Street because they didn't have any children. And they kind of looked out for us, and as they got older, we took care of them. My sister and I. You know. We did a lot of care for them.

Millet: So, there was a lot of reciprocity between you, and an extended family. A real extended kinship.

Sanders: Oh, yeah. Mm-hm. Yes. OK. So, and Daddy worked at International Paper Company. I probably already said that. He worked at International Paper until he had surgery. And he died as the results of surgery. He didn't wake up from surgery, really.

Millet: Oh. Do you know how old he was when he died?

Sanders: I don't know exactly. I have it somewhere. I didn't have time to get it together, but Daddy was in his thirties when he died.

Millet: Oh, he was so young.

Sanders: He was young. And Mama was in her thirties, too. And they got married in February of 1934. Now, I saw that birth certificate. I didn't have time. I would have loved to have gone through and had that documentation, but I didn't have the time to get it together for you.

Millet: Oh, that's fine.

Sanders: But, yeah, they were young. They were young. And see, he met my mother; he lived in Basin, and my mother taught school. And she taught school at Basin, Mississippi, where he lived. And he moved down here to my mother's home, and they got married. And that's why he moved from Basin down here.

Millet: Is Basin close to the coast?

Sanders: Basin is up, I guess, past Lucedale, Mississippi, up there. I don't know exactly, but it's not a long distance. It's about, what, maybe an hour? An hour and a half? Maybe. If any longer than that. You know. It's not a--. And I remember us going to camp meeting up there. Every year in October, we went to camp meeting, and many relatives and friends would gather there. And they had tents and places to--. You know. They all prepared meals, and they shared meals together. And they had church services all day long. And it started, I think, that Friday, Saturday, and it culminated that Sunday. But we would always go. I can remember us going on Sundays, and I remember they cooked and everything. And even we got old enough to cook some food to carry. And so, that's--. And it didn't take a long, long while to get there.

Millet: What do you remember about those meetings? What do you remember eating? And how did that work? Did the adults eat first? Tell me about that.

Sanders: Now, maybe they did with other families, but not with our family. Daddy and Mama, we sat down at the table. Mama cooked three meals a day, and we ate our food that way, and we had plenty of food for anybody that would visit, but no it wasn't that in our household [that] your company eat and then you eat, later. We all ate. Daddy was adamant about that, and Mama was, too. And, like I say, it was always a home that welcomed people. And people say my household is the same way. And that's something. I guess that's something I wonder sometimes about us. I believe Daddy's and Mama's, although their years with us were limited, I think what they instilled in us made us know that we were just important as anybody, and we were not second-class citizens. And the opportunity is there, and you make yourself available to take advantage of it. And you treat people the way you want to be treated. He was, "You don't break the law." He says, "You work. Don't bet. Don't steal. Don't lie." He always said, "If you'll lie, you'll steal. Tell me the truth." You know. And the food we prepared, you know, the regular food. Your vegetables, your sweets, your salads, and whatever, and we'd put it in different--. It had boxes and what have you. Had it in, you know, your pots and pans, and the trunk of the car was made. That's the way they transported it. And once you got there and it was time for meals to be served, people opened the trunks of the car, and they--. Sort of like a picnic. What do they call it, nowadays?

Millet: Tailgating.

Sanders: Tailgating. Now, that was the way they tailgated, evidently. You know. And people went from car to car from wherever it was set up, wherever the table was at, and they shared. They shared food among the groups of people that were there, and the children played. And I remember it was a stream there. A spring. And it was so pretty, and it was cool. And the water was so clear. And it was cold. It was ice cold, and we used to like to go down to that spring. You know, you walk farther and drink the water and play and whatever children would do. You know. So, it was a pleasant experience.

Millet: October is one of my favorite times of year. When the season is changing, and I can imagine the water would getting pretty chilly in October.

Sanders: It was. I remember. Well, I didn't think about the time of the year, the month, but I remember it being so cold and clear and real good. You know.

Millet: Yeah. How old were you when your mother died?

Sanders: Eleven.

Millet: You were eleven, then?

Sanders: Mm-hm.

Millet: And how old were you when your father died?

Sanders: I think about--. OK. I had married for the first time before he died. I married at seventeen. I graduated June 2 of fifty-four. June 1 of fifty-four, and I married June 2 of fifty-four. That was real smart, wasn't it?

Millet: Got married the day after you graduated?

Sanders: The day after graduation. Did not know that I should have gone on to school or what have you, but I feel if had Mama lived, she would have been a person to say, "Hey, now is the chance. You go further." But, Daddy, he wasn't an educated person. Good-hearted, industrious person. He believed in taking care of family, and anything he could do for friend, neighbor, what have you, but he was not an educated person, so, therefore, for him, for us, graduating from high school, that was good. You know. That was sufficient, but, yes, I married June 2, of fifty-four, and my oldest child was born August 17 of fifty-five. And I was pregnant with the second daughter, Sandra, and when Daddy died, Sandra was born February 7, 1957. That's when she was born. So, I was pregnant with her, so Daddy died July. Daddy died July of--. Neecy was born in fifty-seven, and Daddy must have died in fifty-six because I--. Yeah. He must have died in fifty-six. Because Neecy was born in fifty-seven. And see, I was just getting into my first months of pregnancy. So. Because I remember going up to the hospital and having to stop along the way because I got nauseated. (Laughter.)

Millet: Oh, right. That good, old morning sickness.

Sanders: Going to Providence Hospital. That's where he had surgery.

Millet: I see.

Sanders: In Mobile.

Millet: I guess you were expecting to bring him home?

Sanders: Oh, yes.

Millet: Alive.

Sanders: He was just fine. He was going to have surgery, it was something dealing with his back discs or whatever. And something happened with the nerves back there. They clipped, cut the nerve, or something. Supposed to have been accidental, but I don't believe it was. But I was so young, I couldn't prove it.

Millet: Right.

Sanders: But he had had words with his supervisor at Ingalls. Not at Ingalls. I'm sorry. At International, and he, like I say, Daddy spoke up. He just--. You know. He, being a black man, and you don't tell them you got hurt on the job. It was this kind of thing. And Dr. Morris was Daddy's doctor, our family doctor at the time. A black doctor here in Pascagoula.

Millet: Dr. Morris.

Sanders: Yeah. Dr. Reuben Morris, and he even questioned why. What happened. He called the hospital and wanted to know what happened to him. And he said Dr.--. I said I would never forget that doctor's name in Mobile. So, but his remark was, "Damned if I know." And he says, "Because Everett's heart was good. He did not have high blood pressure. Only problem was that with his back." And, but me, I pressured the mortician. I knew him at the time, and I pressured him.

I said, "You need to tell me what happened to Daddy.

"Well, I'm afraid."

I said, "You need to tell me." Because I knew something happened. Because he was laughing. He was jolly when he went in. Just before they got ready to put him under to do the surgery and what have you, and he was kidding about the pretty nurses taking good care of him. And blah, blah, whatever, whatever. And I said, "OK. I'll be here by the time you get out of Recovery." His wife was there with him at the time. And so, he just didn't. Dr. Patton[?] was his name. And so, I asked when we got there. Well, they called me and said he had passed. And I was persistent with the mortician. When they finally released his body. Because they didn't want to release it. In fact, they did not release his body. We went up there two or three days in succession to try and find out. I went to his office there, and they would tell us he wasn't in. And finally I went back one morning, and this black man was on top of the roof, that he was doing some repair work at the doctor's office.

And he said, "Ma'am," he said, "Who are you looking for?"

I said, "Dr. Patton."

He said, "Well, he's in there." He said, "You've been coming up here several days." He said, "They're not telling you the truth." Said, "He's in there."

Millet: Now, is Dr. Patton a white doctor?

Sanders: Oh, yes. He was the company doctor. That's why we felt that something went on that was not right. But, like I said, I asked my step-mother. I said, "Why don't we get a lawyer? Why don't we try to do?" But everybody was afraid because--. And he had a brother that worked out there.

He said, "Well, if I question, they'll fire me. I've got to take care of my family." Which he had to do that, but you know, I didn't understand why they didn't pursue it, but me being as young as I was and not even being the next of kin to pursue something like that. His wife didn't do it for whatever reasons. She was afraid. You just don't. You know. In other words, you don't rock the boat. That he's already--. They've already done what they're going to do to him, and whatever. But, yeah, it was several days before they released the body, and we still didn't see the doctor. And I went to the paper mill.

And I asked Mr. Harris. He was the person in that office out there. And I sat across the desk from him and I was questioning what happened. And he says, "Your daddy had blah, blah, whatever."

I said, "Well, how in the world could you find out what went on with him, and we could not find out. I couldn't find out. I'm his daughter, and they wouldn't tell me. Why would they tell you?" But, it was--. They did it. I always will believe, you know.

Millet: So, it was a kind of reprisal?

Sanders: Uh-huh.

Millet: Unfortunately, there was a real reign of terror for a long time against the black population in Mississippi, and there are many stories like that.

Sanders: Oh, yes. It definitely is.

Millet: Yeah. It's very sad.

Sanders: It is sad.

Millet: Yeah. I was going to ask you about his hospitalization and if the hospital was segregated? Where did he have surgery? And what was that like?

Sanders: He had surgery at Providence in Mobile, Alabama. Now, I know he had white nurses. I don't remember seeing black nurses. I don't know if there were even any there. And he was in his room, but I--.

(The interview is briefly interrupted by a ringing telephone.)

Millet: OK. So, we were just going to talk a little bit about what the hospital was like when your father went in for surgery?

Sanders: Well, I guess it was just the routine. You know, you had the areas where the blacks sat, and areas for whites. Nothing sticks in my mind about the setting there. And, I guess by me being nauseated most of the time and everything else, but that didn't stick in my mind. He was there. I know he was in his room. Nice, clean room, and what have you, and in a happy frame of mind. But what was done to him behind closed doors, that was a different story. That was something we didn't witness, but it was always in my mind and always will be. Nobody can convince me that that's not what happened.

Millet: Mm-hm. Yeah. That's unfortunate.

Sanders: Because that's a good hospital. It has always been known for a good hospital. You know, staff and everything. So, it was something went on there that was unethical, in my opinion.

Millet: That's a sad story. I'm sorry he didn't live to meet your children. And you do have children.

Sanders: Yes. He was living when Jerome, my oldest son, was born. And I remember he said, "Fran," he said, "You're nothing but a baby yourself." He said, "When that boy starts walking, I'm going to take him. I'm going to get him." And every evening--. See, Daddy moved over with his second wife and we stayed on Magnolia Street, and she lived right around here on Bayou Street, right by Dr. Williams' house.

Millet: So, you are still in a walking-distance neighborhood?

Sanders: Still in that circle. Yeah. Mm-hm. And he said, "I'm going to take him because you can't raise him." And that's the one right there with the red shirt on. That's my oldest son. That's Jerome. That's the one that, he lives in Jackson.

Millet: Now, about when was that photograph taken, do you think?

Sanders: High school. Put it on hold a moment. Let me get--.

(There is a brief interruption in the interview.)

Sanders: His birthday was eight, ten, fifty-five.

Millet: Uh-huh. See, mine is fifty-four, so I knew that we were about the same age. We were contemporaries. I could tell by the red shirts were popular then, and that hairstyle.

Sanders: And he graduated seventy-three school year. And Sandra, the one I was saying I was pregnant with when Daddy had surgery, her birthday is two, seven, fifty-seven, and she graduated seventy-five, from high school. And Gail, her birthday is five, twenty-six, sixty-nine, and she graduated from high school in--I have seventy-seven. How can she and Neecy graduate the same time?

Millet: Did she skip some grades?

Sanders: No. She was smart, but she didn't skip.

Millet: Maybe, is it seventy-nine?

Sanders: Maybe so. Of course she was in, you know, went first through twelve.

Millet: Maybe you've got a seven that looks like a--?

Sanders: No, it had--. I don't know. That's Gail's. OK. Cathy's. Cathy was born seven, eight, sixty, and she graduated in seventy-eight because I was in the hospital for her graduation. They were born years, one right behind--.

Millet: Stairsteps.

Sanders: Yeah. OK, and Earl Jr., his birthday is March 5, sixty-five, and he graduated in eighty-three. Rodney's birthday, the youngest son and the youngest child, Rodney's birthday is seven, seventeen, sixty-six, and he graduated [in eighty-four].

Millet: So, over eleven years you were having your children. From fifty-five to sixty-six.

Sanders: Mm-hm. And I didn't get actively involved in civil rights until--. Well, Mr. Justice--. I was in my young twenties, I guess. Twenty-whatever because it was before--. It was right after Gail and Cathy. Well, it was before they got in school, in the integrated school system that I was involved because we--. When did we file that lawsuit?

Millet: Well, I would like to talk about that, and we'll get to that. But before we do, I know that you actually grew up in this area. Right around in here.

Sanders: Yes, I did.

Millet: I wonder if you could, just for the record, describe what it was like to grow up in Mississippi. You know. We remember it, now, but in a hundred years, or two-hundred years from now, when somebody is looking at this or listening to it, they won't know. So, tell us about growing here. What was that like?

Sanders: Well, like I said, this is where we were born and raised. And it was fine right here as long as we were there. When we went to town, went to Main Street--. See, we lived here. Main Street is there. We knew that if we went to the movie, for instance, we knew that we were to go upstairs. It was upstairs, there. We could not sit on the first floor.

Millet: So, it was segregated.

Sanders: It was segregated. We could not drink. They had the water fountains, "white, only." [And] "colored." We knew not to drink from those water fountains. The same way at--. There was a Rape's[?] Drug Store, right there where those apartments are. Right there on that corner. And there was a Burnham's Drug Store. I think just about in the same location that it is, now. We would go in there for medicine, or whatever we went in there for, and they had a counter there. You know. You had your little dairy, your ice cream, whatever. If we got the ice cream or what have you, we could not sit there. We had to get it and stand back. We could not sit at the counter like the whites would sit. And if we were in line to get medicine--you know, you had to stand in line to get your prescription filled--and it depended on how--. If a white came in to get their medicine or whatever, even though we were in line, they would automatically walk there, and we would have to wait and wait. Our stay there depended on us, how quickly we could get there before another white walked in.

Millet: Because they would always get in front of you.

Sanders: They would get in front.

Millet: And you were expected to stand back?

Sanders: Well, for some reason, we knew to. I guess we were taught that. I guess, our parents told us. And I guess that's why Daddy was always protective of us. He would go to town. We would go to town with him a lot, and he was kind of protective. You know. He would hold our hands or he kind of guided us, and I would notice sometimes if we were on the walkway meeting each other, or whatever, we would be the ones to have to either stop or step in the street or step wherever so they could pass through. Be it young or old, lame or sick, or whatever. Age. It didn't matter. No respect for age or whatever. If you were white, you know, you came first. The blacks just stepped back, and seemed like it was automatic. We knew to do that. And that's the way it was. Like I said, that's the way it was. Period. No other way to put it. You know.

Millet: So, when you ventured out of your community, you kind of went into another set of rules?

Sanders: Mm-hm.

Millet: Now, close around here, did you all have a garden? Did your mother stop teaching school when you were born? Did she continue to teach school for a while? What was your everyday life like here?

Sanders: OK. Let me--. I put a few notes down here about Mother. And, OK, Daddy. He worked at the paper mill, and after he would get off, he would go and he'd cut yards and blah, blah, whatever, in the white communities. That was extra pay. He also grew vegetables and some chickens and hogs and cows, right there. Not a lot, but some. And he had a smokehouse right in the back of the house where [he] would hang the meat or whatever, and it would smell so good. You know. And it was always clean. Mama was an immaculate housekeeper. It was clean. Everything was clean. I remember, and I'm getting off, now. I remember once--. And see, we had, Daddy had the smokehouse, and he had an ice house on the corner where he would sell the blocks of ice. I guess that's why I still carry my cup and my ice, and I don't use the ice from the--. I buy my ice or get ice. Whatever. I've always done that. And, showing you how things were done back then, I remember one day, a bright, sunny day, we were there at home, and the sheriff drove up. Two or three whites and what have you, and they came there and told Daddy that he needed to search his house there on the corner. The ice house.

And Daddy said, "Search it for what?" You know, I'm looking. I don't know. I was always somewhere close by to see. Not know what was going on, but I had a sense about me to know that there's something going on here. Something that's not right or some kind of, some sort of harassment or intimidation or whatever. I couldn't pinpoint it, but I knew in my heart it was there. And Daddy said, "Search for what?"

"Yeah. They told me you were selling whiskey or whatever, whatever."

And Daddy said, "Well, search." You know. And Daddy had some five-gallon paint buckets. And paint was in these buckets. And they went, and they opened the paint and whatever, and I'm looking, I guess. And I remember Daddy asked him, he said, when they looked and didn't find what they were looking for, Daddy asked him, "Aren't you going to put your hand down there and see if it's down in there?" Because, see, Daddy had a thing about white folks. (Laughter.) He really did. He had a thing about white folks. He respected people, but people respected us, and anybody around that was in Daddy's company, be it, no matter what color, and he would always tell us; he said, "Now, things can happen, and if whites ever come here," he said, "you all try to get wherever." He said, "Because they're not going to come in and just take over." He said, "They'll kill me." He said, "But somebody's going to get killed trying to get in here to get me." And I always remembered.

I said, "Why?" You know.

And then he always would say, he'd say, "You know, the Bible says we're supposed to love each other. Blah, blah, whatever." He said, "But you know what? If keeping me out of heaven by me having to love a white person," say, "I'll die and go to hell."

And then, as I got older, the Bible said to love everybody, and that's what he was saying. He could not love the white man because of the things that had been done to them as blacks, and see, out of the stories told to us, our grandparents up in Basin, Mississippi, they were Daddy's daddy's people, I guess. They were slaves. They had a master or whatever because my aunt always said; she said, "You know. Our names aren't Wells. That was the slave owner's name." And they changed my great-grandparents and our whatever changed their names from Lawrence. She said, "Our names were Lawrences, but it was changed to Wells because of them moving in." Or whatever Daddy's people had to do. However it was done. But like I said, we never went up. I don't remember us going there to see that, but Daddy had a thing about blacks and whites.

And that's why he would tell us, "You are just as good as anybody. You blah, blah, whatever." And I guess it was just deep-rooted, and I felt that way, and by me being involved. I instilled it; my children learned it from me. And it's on and on. It's going to my grandchildren and whatever. You know.

And I do. I say, "Treat people the way you want to be treated, but you don't have to bow down to anybody." You know. And so, yeah, he did. And back to Mama. Yeah. She taught school, and that's where he met her. And she moved back here, and I don't remember her teaching. I remember her being at home, and I believe for a short while there she must have done some domestic work. I don't know whether she could get work here in the school system or not. But I remember her as a very, very young child. I being a very young child. I'm thinking that she worked a short while as a domestic helper or whatever, but most of her years that I remember, of the few years that she was with us, she was at home. She was there, and she was a beautiful mother, wife, neighbor, whatever. And that's my mother's mother right there. That one in the center there. And she could sew. She was a seamstress. And I remember we would say, on different holidays, and when she was getting ready to make our school clothes or whatever, whatever, we'd get a Sears Roebuck catalog and a Montgomery Ward. And we would look in that catalog, and we would find the dress that we wanted, that we liked.

And she'd say, "OK." And Daddy would go, and he'd get groceries, and there was a feed store. I don't know whether they got meal. What all. They bought stuff in big sacks, and they would be different floral designs and whatever. You know. Sacks. And he would buy, whatever, corn. I mean, whatever came in those sacks. He would buy that, and he'd buy enough of the same pattern, and Mama would cut that dress out or that skirt or whatever, and she would make that. And it would be beautiful.

Millet: And, so, she would make her own pattern?

Sanders: She made her own patterns.

Millet: Just from looking at the photographs of the dress?

Sanders: Just from looking at the dress, and you could not tell that it was not a [ready-made garment]. I was looking around for the picture of the older two or three of us. She made everything that we had on in that particular picture. Let me step in here and see if it's on this shelf.

(There is a brief interruption in the interview.)

Sanders: Like, I said, she would sew, and I would sit. She had a Singer treadle machine.

Millet: Mm-hm. Didn't need electricity.

Sanders: No. And she sat there, and she would sew. And I would sit on the floor while she was making whatever she was making, and I would get the scraps. And I had that bottle, that drink bottle. You know, we'd have a drink bottle, and we'd put some rope, just rope down in it, and make the hair. You know. And I would make my little doll dresses to fit that. (Laughter.)

Millet: So, you had a little doll that you made from a bottle?

Sanders: Yeah.

Millet: And you made clothes from scraps?

Sanders: Yeah. We had those bottles we made little dolls from, and had the long, blond hair. The rope was blond. You know? (Laughter.) And she did that. And when we would come home in the evenings from school, she would be at home doing the chores of a mother, whatever, and when we got home, we had to come in, and we had to wash our hands and what have you. Face and hands, and we would go to the table in the front room. And we had a piece of fruit, a glass of milk, a half a sandwich, or whatever, while she was cooking. And after we had eaten that, we had to do our homework. And when we finished our homework, then we got a chance to go outside and play. And that was just like a ritualistic something we did every, every day.

Millet: Sounds like a good way for you to be real grounded in reality as a child. Children love that kind of routine. It makes them feel secure.

Sanders: Mm-hm. And I've always felt, I guess, older than my years. Seems like I've experienced more than some of my classmates and whatever. Seems like my years expanded beyond their years because of the role that I had to play, so young. You know?

Millet: Right. You had to become a mother at a young age to your younger siblings.

Sanders: Mm-hm. And I think that contributed to me jumping up and getting married the next day after [graduation]. You know. And get a (inaudible). (Laughter.)

Millet: Well, we live and learn.

Sanders: Yes, indeed.

Millet: And when and where did you go to school, around here?

Sanders: OK. It was Magnolia School. That was the first through twelfth grades.

Millet: Was it all black?

Sanders: All black.

Millet: It wasn't integrated back then?

Sanders: It wasn't integrated back then.

Millet: So, that the integration that you experienced was your children's desegregating the school?

Sanders: Was my children's. Mm-hm.

Millet: Do you have good memories of your school days?

Sanders: Well, we had some good times at school, but, you know, I often wondered why, as we got older up in, I guess, seventh, eighth, ninth grade, when we began to--. Well, our books and supplies and stuff, they were always ragged. And you know, they passed the books out, and you know, you had to open that book and sign your name. And it wasn't ever a new book. It was always used books, and they cautioned, "Take care of your books because if you tear these books, or if you lose these books, your parents got to pay for them."

And I said, "Now, this is not good, anyway. This is a ragged book, anyway." You know? And it was after we were there, I guess, for whatever time that we were there, and I guess, we began to ask questions.

"Why do we get ragged [books]?" And we could see Moss Point Central High School. That was Central High over there.

Millet: Which was?

Sanders: All-white school.

Millet: The all-white school. Mm-hm.

Sanders: And we said, "Well, these books came from Central. Why would we not have books?" You know, whatever. So, that was hand-me-down stuff there. And I used to love home ec, and Ms. Knight[?], she was my home ec teacher. And she would be struggling, trying to help us. She would have to call maintenance, whomever was responsible for the care of the machines because we could not finish a garment because the machine would finish tearing up, but the new ones would be over at Central High School. And we weren't there, but I knew if they handed those to us, they had to get some new ones to replace. You know, they had to get some to replace those, and I know they were new. You know?

Millet: Right.

Sanders: And a typewriter is something that was rationed. It was rationed to us. We saw a typewriter, I think, when we got up in tenth, eleventh, twelfth, in the office.

Millet: In the office.

Sanders: The manual typewriter. And, see, students could not use that typewriter. You know. It wasn't in the classroom. And I always said, "I'm going to learn how to type. I'm going to learn how to type." And after I was out of school thirty-five or forty years, I went back over [to] the J.C., and I got in the typing class. (Laughter.)

Millet: Good. Good for you.

Sanders: And I pecked a little bit, and I'm proud of my pecking. You know, after I had set up with arthritis, and all that. But I was determined. I stuck it out. I stayed in there, and I enjoyed it. And I'm proud of what I learned, even though it was years later. You know. And I laugh at my children sometimes, now. I encourage them. I say, "You need to take advantage of every opportunity that's there. You get in there and you do what you're supposed to do. If you don't understand, you ask questions. And if something--." I said, "Don't go be disruptive and all this kind of stuff." I said, "It doesn't take a genius to go in there and exercise good behavior." You know. Blah, blah, whatever. And I tell them all the time, I say, "Oh," I say, "Had I had the opportunities that you all have had and still has," I say, "And had Mama lived to say, 'Look. You need to go.'" And Jr. Earl, the one in that brown-tan suit there, the one I said is at Tougaloo, now.

"Oh, Mama." He said, "You know what?" He says, "I know it." He says, "I know it, Mama." He says, "But you know what, Mama? I'm so glad you had us." He said, "Because, Mama, if you had had the opportunity," he said, "You'd be up there in the Senate, as a senator!" (Laughter.)

Millet: And he's wondering where he would be.

Sanders: Yeah. He said, "Mama, we wouldn't even be here." (Laughter.) So. I said, "Well, I love all of you." You know. And I do. I love my children. A lot of times they don't do things the way we'd like them to do. I didn't do what Daddy and Mama wanted me to do, and that's just the way it is. We all have to experience our whatevers in life. But he said, "I'm so glad you didn't have, Mama." He said, "You're doing all right."

I said, "Well, I just see so many opportunities out there and that they just simply don't take advantage of, and I wish they would." I mean, as a whole; people as a whole. You know? And I get so depressed at our young, black boys, especially. Black girls, too, but boys, because they don't value their lives, and anyone else's either. You know you get out there. People fought and struggled. They lost their lives for them to have the opportunity, and it's no need of saying, "It's your fault. Your fault." It's your own fault because anybody can go in a classroom setting and sit there and study. And I said, "If they're smart enough to get out there to mix whatever these drugs is that they mix up or all this graffiti. They had that going. What beautiful art work! Why can't you put that on a canvas on display. You know. So it can be purchased as, you know, you make a living that way. An honest living." But, you know, it gets depressing sometimes. It gets depressing many times. They have just seemed like, lost all sense of values and morals and what have you, and it's so depressing. And I often think about the times and places; the lives that were taken. Threats made on. I mean, the chances you took because the reprisals against people that tried to make a difference. Because, I think sometimes through the years my children were denied the opportunities to get hired on a job because of my involvement during the years of civil rights. They know who did what. They know who was involved and what have you, and that was their way of punishing. Because I know I passed the test for a job at one of these plants down here, at the employment office. Down there on, what, Fourteenth Street, it used to be. I guess it still is back there. And he could not believe that they didn't hire me down there.

And he said, "What was the reason?"

(End of tape one, side one. The interview continues on tape one, side two.)

Millet: Well, what we were talking about was that he wanted to know the reason that they didn't give you the job, and you said that it was because, they told you because of your children.

Sanders: I had children and I would be called home at any time, if they were ill, or blah, blah, whatever. And he said to me, he said, "That cannot be." He said--. Because, that's the main reason you would go to work, is because you have children to take care of. You know. So, that didn't jive. You know. That didn't jive. But they would have their way of covering up or, you know, justifying why they did not do the right thing.

Millet: They would have their hidden agenda.

Sanders: That's right. And I know my daughter, Cathy, she went out to Chevron. I think it was Chevron, years after she got out of high school. She passed that test. She went back on the interview, and the reason for her not being hired, so stated, out there was because she was too young, and she might decide not to stay there. Now, who wouldn't stay on a job with those kind of benefits and that kind of income? And blah, blah. But, that was not it. Gail, she worked for South Central Bell on Market Street, years ago, right after she got out of school, and it was just fine until they changed supervisors, and they got a supervisor. I think his name was Owens[?], from the upper part of Mississippi, and he decided--see, she was a secretary--he decided that he didn't want a black person as his secretary. And they tried to come up with two or three mistakes she had made on some documents that she had done, and she questioned her supervisor. She said, "Well, mine passed through you, and you didn't see it. You didn't say anything. Why?"

"Well, he said whatever." And he told her, in the final analysis, "You're young. You can find another job." The thing was he didn't want her sitting in on his meetings with his white counterpart, and she knew it. I tried to get her to sue them, but she wouldn't. They didn't take after me. (Laughter.)

Said, "That's all right, Mama."

I said, "I would sue them." You know. Because she wasn't the only one that they had done the same kinds of things to down there. And I think one or two persons did bring a lawsuit against them. And won. And won. But she chose not to. You know. But I think a lot of it stems from them being my children. I know Rodney, my youngest son, went over--. The one that was here when you all came. He went to Ingalls and applied for a job and had gone through several steps that you go through till he got to this particular person, and she was reviewing his application and all, whatever he had there for her to see, and got down to emergency contact person.

And she looked. She said, "Oh, so, you're Franzetta's son."

And he says, "Yes." And that was the end of that. And, look, she was black, but she was doing what she was hired to do by the whites. Yeah. And all kinds. You know. And you sit back, and I try not to be paranoid.

My co-worker asks me all the time, "Fran, it's not like--."

I say, "Kerri." She's white. I say, "You cannot speak on that issue. You have not walked in my shoes. And, yes, maybe you think I'm paranoid, but I call it cautious." I said, "Because, I know. I can see it coming. I can see." And I say, "It's still prevalent today." And it is. I don't care how you perform on your job, opposed to that one that's not performing on their job, her job. And I'm right there in that position, today. I can function better. I perform better. Had more training. Whatever, whatever. And I love her to death, but she just cannot. But now, she is getting the salary. I don't get it.

But every time a directive is given, she says, "Fran, let's talk about--." And I don't mind it. It's not her fault. It's not her fault, but it's the system. That's the way it is.

Millet: Yeah. So, the equalization isn't as good as it could be.

Sanders: Oh, no. Not by a long shot.

Millet: Still a long way to go.

Sanders: They've gotten more tactful with it. And sometimes can't even use tact. (Laughter.) I'm sorry, but that's just the way I feel. I'm telling you what I see every day. You know.

Millet: I understand.

Sanders: And if I didn't have the grace of God in my heart, and I try to live that way. I would have a different attitude about it. And had it been years ago, when I was actually out there really whatever, whatever, I probably wouldn't have accepted it in the light that I accept in. I'm glad that he deals with me like that. I still can get kind of perturbed sometimes, and I--.

"Fran, this is not your better day."

I say, "No, Kerri, it's not my better day." And I go through my changes, and what bothers me, and I say, "Kerri, why do you and Billy," my supervisor and my co-worker, I say, "Why, when we're talking, OK, 'Do you know such and such a thing happened today or yesterday?' And say, 'And you know, it was a black man.' Or, 'It was a white.'" I say, "Why do you have to say? It was a person. A person did thus and so. A man, a woman, whatever. Or Valerie did. Or Franzetta did. Why do you have to refer to my color when you're talking about the rainbow?" You know? (Laughter.) But I guess it's just instilled in some, and it's going to stay there. It's going to stay there, but I tried so hard to teach mine not to. I was concerned about Jerome, my oldest son, when he went to Jackson State. I was so afraid that his mind was going to--. He just hated white people because he experienced so many bad experiences out here when he went to school, and I had to talk to him. I had to talk to him. I said, "Jerome, but, no, you can't. You have to do what you know is right to do. Don't let people run over you, but just don't do anything that you'll regret. And two wrongs don't make a right." I said, "You have to think about it. You really have." I say, "And pray over it and what have you." Well, it was hard, and I was really concerned for him the first few years he got out of school and out of college and he started working for an insurance company. In fact, he started working for George Dale who's still the insurance commissioner of the state of Mississippi, but he was Jerome's principal of Moss Point High School when he graduated. And see, Jerome went to Jackson State, and during those years, George Dale, he was elected as the insurance commissioner. And so, when Jerome got into insurance, well, he had to deal with George.

Millet: Here was this man from his past who was still in a position of authority.

Sanders: And it was OK. George and Jerome had no problem. But when he went out to his company to do his job, he was the only black. And my children are always the first, seems like, to do whatever. The first for this. The first for that. Whatever. I guess that's the way it is. But anyway, he had to work in an office setting with just him being the only black person, and they've always been proud people. Tried to keep themselves clean, dressed neat, and blah, blah, whatever. You know. Carry themselves in a professional manner and what have you. So, when he got in that office, see, he went in, I think, as an adjuster first, and he had to travel. Had to go from one city to the other city, and he had to sit at tables with other insurance claims adjustors, and they all being white. And he said, "Mama," he said, "I went to go and do my job and get off." He said, "But they want me to sit there at that table with them while we transact business and they drink their coffee and smoke their cigarettes and make racial jokes." He said, "And, I'm not going to do it." And he got called in a time or two on his job, but thank God, nothing really happened. Because, he said, "This is not right. This is what they want, and I'm not going. I don't have to take that. I don't have to take that."

And I know he's telling the truth because it's different. I went up the highway there to start working about six years ago, and I was the first black female in an office setting, and certain remarks were made, and I'd call them on it. And I'd say, "Wait a minute." I'd say, "Look, we need to talk." I called two of them, and I called my supervisor, I said, "You need to hear this."

"Oh, Fran, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." And it's slipped several times. But I think--. I know it's getting better in front of me. I don't know what goes on behind closed doors, but they do. They're very tactful. They try to be unless they really get carried away. And one lady, she just got carried away, and I was doing my work, and my supervisor was sitting there, and my co-worker was there, and she said something about someone had said something about some pictures she had where this boy had painted her daughter's porch and what have you. And the bannisters or whatever it's called out there. And she was commenting on how pretty it was. And I just kept doing what I was doing.

She said, "Oh, yes." She was just a-prancing. She said, "Yeah." She says, she called her daughter's name. She said, "She's got this little nigger to do such and such."

And I looked up. I said, "What did you say?" I called her by her name. I said, "What did you say?" I said, "This is the second time you've done it." And, I just called her on it. And I just told her how I felt about it. And Billy was sitting there, my supervisor and my co-worker, and he got just as red as this tablecloth. I said, "Now, it's no call for that." I said, "If you can't exercise yourself any better, then you don't need to come in here. I work here. This is a public facility. But you don't come in."

She said, "I'm sorry."

I said, "Look," I said, "And right now, I don't want you to love me. Don't hug. Just don't." You know, whatever. And I said, "You meant it because it's in you, and it came out. It was out before you thought about me sitting here. It would have been perfectly all right if I had not been here. It'd have been accepted."

Millet: You wonder if anybody would have stood up and said, "That's not acceptable."

Sanders: Billy, my supervisor, didn't say. But after she left, he said, "Fran, I'm sorry." He said, "She was wrong."

I said, "Billy. That's OK. I know she was wrong, but you didn't bother to say that."

He should have told her, "Look, now we don't have that here."

He didn't. He didn't. He just sat there and dropped his head. My co-worker and my supervisor, they were both embarrassed, and she sure was embarrassed. It was another county employee that had stopped by there and what have you. Like I say, and I knew Jerome was telling the truth about these kinds of things, and what have you. And they even commented on his job about, his supervisor, "How can you afford to wear this kind of suit? And this kind of shirt? And drive this car? And I'm your supervisor, and I can't blah, blah, blah." Implying (inaudible). If he managed, he and his wife managed their money well, they could buy some things that they wanted. They had to be doing something illegal, I guess. All kinds of little, snide, you know, but like I say, it's a big wide world. We all live in it, and everybody needs to know that we're all entitled to the same rights and benefits and what have you as the other, but we go from day to day.

Millet: Well, I can't remember who said, "Ask not for whom the bell tolls; it always tolls for you." You know. I mean, if I stand by and allow someone to be deprived of their rights today, it could happen to me tomorrow.

Sanders: That's right. That's right.

Millet: It's just such a big problem, and it doesn't have an easy solution. You know, I wish I had the answer.

Sanders: I know. You and I, too, because I see people. I'm a loving person, and I don't see color. If we all--. But now, when you do something, then I see, you know. OK. And I know to excuse myself from your company. I know if I have to come in contact with you, again: "Hello. How're you doing?" And keep moving on.

Millet: You can't trust that person so much anymore.

Sanders: Mm-hm.

Millet: Yeah. Well, that kind of leads into this question about: if you have an incident in your memory that started your awareness, maybe as a child, or was it as an adult, that started your awareness that there were racial differences? There was inequality, and discrimination. Do you have an early memory like that?

Sanders: Well, as I've said before, the water fountain incidents and all those kinds of things. I knew then that people looked upon us as less than they were. They made a difference. I knew then there was a difference being made, and like I said, back to the schools and things that happened there as far as school supplies and what have you. And why would I have to stand back? And I would go into the banks. I transacted a lot of Daddy's business. I paid his bills for him, and he dealt with Pascagoula-Moss Point Bank; it's Hancock Bank, now. And we had this statement you'd carry up there, and they'd put it in the machine or whatever. They didn't have all the computers and all that stuff, then. And the whites were there, working. I thought to myself, "Now, here they are. Same age as I am. And they're sitting here; they're dressed clean and whatever. And why can't I do some of the same things?" You know. I was aware a long time ago that there were differences.

Millet: Even as a child?

Sanders: Even as a child. Yes. Early age. Early age. Mm-hm. And like I say, Daddy, he pulled no bones about it. He told us. (Laughter.) And it's good he did because he didn't live long with us. Mama didn't live long, and Daddy didn't. I mean, Daddy didn't live long, but Mama lived even less time than he did. But he told us. You know, he didn't teach us to hate, but he said he wouldn't go to heaven if he had to love a white. And he always taught us to speak up. "Be right," he said, "But speak up."

Millet: So, even though he left you at an early age, he prepared you for a sort of reality that is not fair or attractive, but it was reality. So, in 1954, Brown v. the Board of Education came down, and you were finishing school that year.

Sanders: Yeah. That's the year I was in high school. (Laughter.)

Millet: That was just a little while before you got married.

Sanders: I graduated.

Millet: Just a few months.

Sanders: Uh-huh. For the first time.

Millet: So, integration for you was really about your children. So, there's a question about that a little later on, so I think I'll just postpone that question and ask you about registering to vote. Do you have an experience registering?

Sanders: Oh, yes. I remember that. Now, I had gotten involved with Mr. Justice Robinson, then.

Millet: Uh-huh. Yes. Tell us about that.

Sanders: He belonged to the Knights of Pythians. The Heroines of Jericho. And very few senior members during that time. I'm a senior, now, but during those years, they were seniors. And he said, "Franzetta," he said, "Sister Darling." He called you "sister" and "darling" all the time. Those were his words. He said, "We need you to join our Heroines." Said, "We need a secretary. We need some younger ones[?]." So, I joined the Heroines of Jericho. Three or four of us would meet every other whatever night it was. Right over there at the KP park. You know right across the yard there. And I guess after I was doing that a while, he mentioned the NAACP to me. He said, "You need to join the NAACP."

I said, "Yeah." And he explained what was going on with the NAACP, and we needed to work toward our civil rights and blah, blah, whatever, whatever. And I joined the NAACP under his administration.

Millet: Do you remember when? When was that?

Sanders: I don't remember exactly when.

Millet: Ballpark figure?

Sanders: Let me think. It was before Earl and Rodney was born. It was after Cathy.

Millet: Sometime between sixty and sixty-five?

Sanders: Yeah. It was after Cathy and Gail. During the early sixties, late fifties. Early sixties. Yeah. Because Cathy was born in sixty, and we had begun to go to meetings. Immediately, "Franzetta, you're the secretary." Everywhere I go, "You're the secretary." (Laughter.)

I'd say, "My gracious!" (Laughter.)

So, anyway, I joined and we were having meetings. I don't know whether we had them twice a month or every week, but we were having meetings over on Bowen Street, at the Masonic Hall. And, yeah, that's Bowen Street, at the Masonic Hall. And we put on a membership drive, and members were really, really joining. OK? And our membership on the book grew, but naturally we didn't have that [many] members to attend the meetings, but we did membership meetings, our regular meetings began to grow. More people began to come to the meetings as things began to happen. You know. And so, we worked there for a few years. We would go to Jackson, Mississippi on Lynch Street to that Masonic building.

And I didn't ever meet Medgar Evers. Mr. Justice did. I didn't meet him. I was involved, but for some reason I didn't meet him before he got killed. I spent more time with Charles Evers, his brother that took his place afterwards. So, Brother Justice Robinson and State Stallworth and William McElroy[?], Sara Ellen Lett[?], Willie Lett[?], and I don't like to call names because I have a tendency to forget. J.P. Miller, he came on. Yeah, he came on, but I don't remember going to Jackson with J.P. a lot. Edna Fields[?] was there and Dolores Thomas[?]. They were there as secretaries and officers before I joined. They were there. They were secretary and treasurer and all these kinds of things before I joined. OK. And they attended a lot of meetings after I joined, too. And so, we would go to meetings in Jackson a lot, discussing the issues and things that needed to be addressed and how we would approach different protests, and how we would test this facility and that facility, and what have you. And we attended, like I say, many, many meetings in Jackson. One time it seemed like we were going to Jackson every week. And sometimes we'd spend the night. You know. And I don't know what came. Well, we were concentrating on the schools, too, but whatever year it was that we went to, I went to, I participated in the March on Washington. We went there. They had buses. You know. We went to Jackson, and we boarded buses and all along the route there, they joined in. I went. I attended the March on Washington, and I carried Clinton, my baby brother. He went with us, too. Yeah. And so, then we got involved with--. Well, we tested. We tested Moss Point Theater, downtown Moss Point, and the way we did that, we would go to our meetings. We would plan what we was going to do. How it was going to be done, and we decided that we would get dressed to go to the movies. We were always dressed. We didn't go tacky. (Laughter.) We would dress, and we would go at the times that the men from the shipyard would be coming home, and we were giving them a chance to have gotten up there and gotten in place to kind of protect, watch us while the ones of us--. I remember we walked across the street to go to the front, to the window where we could get the ticket to go up to the balcony. We knew they wasn't going to let us do that, but that was our attempt. They closed that movie down, Moss Point. They closed it down before they would let it be integrated. We didn't stop there. Our next plan would be to Moss Point Recreation Center. They had a swimming pool there. And some of the kids, you know. We were there and some of the kids decided they were going to swim. They got them out of the pool. However, ran them out of the pool, and they closed that pool down and they, for a while, they was just closed. And finally, before they accepted the integration of that pool, they just cemented it.

Millet: Cemented it over.

Sanders: That's where that Moss Point Recreation sits, the river front, I think, sits on a portion of that property, now. It was the same thing with Ed's Drive-In on Market Street. We decided we was going to go to the front window from Market Street. You know, they had a side window there, where the blacks would come to be waited on. And a group of us decided that we were going to go to the front to be served. And we went to the front, and we demanded service there. I don't remember whether they served us or not, but I know that's where we went to be served, and I don't know how long after that that they decided they would open up to the public, any window to the public.

Millet: So, they didn't close Ed's Drive-In down.

Sanders: No, the drive-in is still in operation. It's in operation, now. The man is dead, now, the owner, at that time.

Millet: But do you remember being successful in integrating it?

Sanders: It was integrated, and I know that was the initial process of getting it to become integrated. I'm not going to say that it was integrated at that particular moment that we went there, but it is, and it's been integrated for a long time. Have not seen any blacks working there. And, we tested many places. We tested Food Town right across from Glass[?] Auto.

Millet: That was a grocery store?

Sanders: That was a grocery store, and we went and said, "Hey, it's about time that we have some black cashiers. You have many [black] people shopping here." You know, the whole nine yards of that. And eventually, I don't know when, they hired some black cashiers. You know. And, I'm trying to think.

Millet: Were there any boycotts? Did you have to boycott businesses to get them to do that?

Sanders: Yeah, we did. We did some boycotts. We did some marching. You know. Yeah.

Millet: With