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Oral History Interview with Willie Shepperson Pt 2
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Oloye Adeyemon: Brown v. Board oral history collection. Prince Edward County, Virginia. School segregation, desegregation interviews. Interviewee, Mr. Willie Shepperson. Interviewer, Oloye Adeyemon for National Park Service. Interview conducted in the home of Dr. Dean in Farmville, Virginia on September 9, 2001. These interviews are made possible through the Brown V. Board Oral History Research Project funded by the National Park Service for the summer of 2001 as part of the Brown V. Board of Education National Historic Site of Oral History Collection. This is the third part of our interview with, uh, Mr. Shepperson.
Mr. Shepperson, you, um, in the first two parts of the interview, talked about, uh, the history, um, that you lived through here. Y-you know, you talked about the conditions of the schools and your own background. And we took it all away, uh, to the, uh, walkout and beyond. And one of the things that, um, is clear, uh, is that you not only continued to keep up with it, but there were a lot of concerns that you had about what was done and how what was done during that time, uh, has been reported, uh, how—what people’s understanding of what happened.
And I guess, first, I’d like to know, um, what was your, uh, involvement and contact? How were you keeping up with this? What-what was it that was goin’ on after, uh, your graduation, uh, after the court case, you know? I guess I’m-I’m-I’m really, uh, most interested in the period, uh, politics and-and so on that were involved in the closing of the school—’cause that didn’t happen anywhere else in the country—in Prince Edward, uh, County. And it was a direct, uh, response to the court case, to the Supreme Court case, but the Supreme Court case included the-the Davis v. Prince Edward case from Farmville, which was a direct result of the walkout, which was a direct result of the conditions. Can you help us to understand, from your own personal involvement, what was goin’ on during the ‘50s that ended up with closing the schools? And what-what-what was your contact in all that?
Willie Shepperson: I became a union organizer shortly after high school. And, uh, I traveled around the country, all over the country as a union organizer. And I eventually ended up in Prince Edward County, back in my home state. Virginia took a very, very strong stance against, uh, the Supreme Court’s decision. And politically, they decided to hold what was a referendum vote in this state to decide—a public referendum vote to decide whether or not the people of this state wanted to integrate or not integrate. This was after the court’s decision.
They held this referendum vote, and it passed overwhelmingly that they wanted to keep segregation. It passed overwhelmingly because the majority of the voters in Vir—State of Virginia at that time were white. Black folk had yet—not yet. The majority of the black had-had-had not yet found the value of the vote. Plus, anytime you told your white boss—and most of the black folk in Virginia at that time worked for white people. You told your white boss or your white boss found out that you were going down to register and vote, you had a problem with your job. So, therefore, most black folk were not registered voters.
Second, at that time, this was along toward the ending of a system they had here called poll tax where you had to pay a certain amount of money in order to vote. Plus, as a black person, you had to memorize certain portions of whatever document they wanted at the time for you to memorize and be able to explain. It could be the Constitution. It could be the Declaration of Independence. It could be, uh, a county tax code. You name it. Whatever would defeat the purpose of your being registered to vote, that’s what you had to do. So, since the majority of the folk voting in the State of Virginia were white, the referendum passed overwhelmingly. I mean, it was lopsided.
So, now, the state, now, has been empowered by the people to stop segregation. So, the state legislatures then went back, and they voted, and they passed another bill. This bill was to allow separate but equal in the sense that the local municipalities or supervisors could draw money out of the county, tax monies out of the counties, give it to the families in the form of what you would—we would now call vouchers of some kind. They, in turn, would give it back as a means of establishing private schools. It was supposed to have been done for blacks and whites equally because they were all taxpayers to some extent.
They notified the whites not to come to the bank during normal banking hours because that would’ve attracted attention. They opened the banks up midnight and the wee hours of the morning and had them come down, and the money was distributed. They notified the blacks to come down two-three days later. So, when they arrived, naturally, there was no money there. It was all gone. But they—according to them, they had complied with the law.
This money was used to build the Academy, the Prince Edward Academy, which is now—the [unintelligible 06:56] of that is Fuqua. The blacks had no schooling whatsoever, public schooling available to them whatsoever. So, outside agencies came in, and, uh, they started taking our students, children, out of Prince Edward County and sending them elsewhere to live with white families, black families, some in New York, some in the Carolinas, some in Florida to where they were educated in those areas.
Oloye Adeyemon: Is it true that some students never got that opportunity?
Willie Shepperson: Yes. And-and to be fair, the ones who got the worst of it were the white ch—students. Because once that money ran out at the Academy, those white parents cannot afford the tuition for their kids. They were too proud, had too much pride to send them to these, uh, out-of-town schools that were associated with the black children. So, therefore, their children—
Oloye Adeyemon: These were liberals that were coming in and taking the children out to get an education.
Willie Shepperson: Well, I wouldn’t call them liberals. They were just people who were concerned. And—
Oloye Adeyemon: The reason I use that term is I was wondering if that’s how they perceived it. If the—some of the poor whites were—
Willie Shepperson: No. They considered them outside agitators.
Oloye Adeyemon: I see.
Willie Shepperson: That was the term they used. Liberal was too nice. They were outside agitators coming in here.
Oloye Adeyemon: And so, therefore, even though their children were not able to go to school, they would not have—
Willie Shepperson: Wouldn’t have anything to do with it.
Oloye Adeyemon: - consented and—
Willie Shepperson: Now, today, there are some folks in Farmville, Prince Edward County, white, who are the same age as I am. They have no education. They worked for—at that time, their families who were—own sawmills or they had the country store. They had a little service station. Well, right now, Exxon and, uh, uh, Texaco own all the service stations. The sawmills are now owned by conglomerates. So, they have-have no—had no jobs for years. They have no education. They didn’t put anything into retirement for themselves. So, that—they’re at that age where they are a sorry lot, and they’re here. That’s how this system backfired on the white community. And these are the individuals who, today, are still mad about the fact that the school integration allegedly took something away from them.
Oloye Adeyemon: They don’t necessarily see that the c—as the county. They see it as outside agitators and—
Willie Shepperson: They see—
Oloye Adeyemon: - the federal government and—
Willie Shepperson: - they see it as the same way they see the Civil War. These black folks were being led by outside agitators because we had good relations with our negros. That’s what they used to call us back then, colored people and negros. Not nigger, but negros. We had good relations with our negros until these outside agitators came in here and started agitating. And there were not outside agitators here at the time when Barbara called that meeting at the high school. But they had—
Oloye Adeyemon: And-and walked [unintelligible 09:49].
Willie Shepperson: That-that’s right. When they walk out of here, there were no—
Oloye Adeyemon: She actually called Oliver Hill to help.
Willie Shepperson: Yeah, she did. She did.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm-hmm. And the NAACP came in after.
Willie Shepperson: That is correct. That is correct. In this town, there were two things—well, really three things that really got you into trouble. And that was being a member of the NAACP, being a union organizer, or being black. And I was all three. So, when I came back, there was—it was a real problem for a while, a real problem. For me, makin’ the adjustment. And for them, the fact that I wouldn’t adjustment the way they wanted me to adjust. Then—
Oloye Adeyemon: What-what workers were you organizing at the time?
Willie Shepperson: Um, Craddock Terry Shoe Company here, in Farmville, uh, another company called Stackpole, and another one called Uniroyal.
Oloye Adeyemon: What kind of company was Stackpole?
Willie Shepperson: S-Stackpole made electrical components.
Oloye Adeyemon: And Uniroyal was a tire company.
Willie Shepperson: Uniroyal was a tire company.
Oloye Adeyemon: Were these factories?
Willie Shepperson: Yes, they were factories. And Craddock Terry Shoe Company made shoes. And again, everything in Farmville, yesterday and today, is based on whether it is black or white, and it’s a shame. It is racially motivated, everything in Farmville. Now, there are those who tell you not true, but it is true. Pick any form of plight in Prince Edward County, and I will show you where it’s based on race. Whether it’s the churches, which is the most segregated institutions we have in Prince Edward County are the churches at 11:00 on Sunday morning. Um, whether it’s the schools. You have schools that are probably 67 percent black, and the teaching staff is probably 80 to 90 percent white. They recently hired 32 new teachers, eight of them are black, 24 of them are white. Um, take the employment here. The jobs that are paying anything are held by whites. Those jobs that are minimum wage or less are held by blacks.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm-hmm. So—
Willie Shepperson: You can—well, let-let me go a little further. Let-let’s-let’s take something that seems, um, perfectly normal. If one were to ride down Griffin Boulevard at night, you would see where the college butts up to the black community. You will see blue lights. Those blue lights are telephones. Those telephones are—
Oloye Adeyemon: Payphones?
Willie Shepperson: No, no, emergency phones. You don’t have to put any coins in ’em. They are hooked directly to the security of the college and the, um, police department. Now, there is a great deal of fear, and that manifested fear—now, whether the fear is justified or not, I don't know, but it is there, and it’s racially motivated because wherever the black community butts up to the college, you’ll find those blue lights. Where the college butts up to the white community, you will not find those blue lights. I challenge you to find one blue light on High Street, which butts up to the college, but it’s white. But there, on Griffin Boulevard—there is one on Reynolds right directly in front of an apartment complex that houses one black family. You won’t see another one until you get up to the top of the hill on South Main Street where you’ll see additional black families. But wherever it butts up to the white community, you don’t see those blue lights. Now, if that doesn’t present itself as a fear of the black community, I don't know what does.
Oloye Adeyemon: It’s interesting that you would say that, uh, because I interviewed Dr. Anderson who, for 25 years, was the superintendent of the schools here. And he said that when he first came to that position, when he-when he first took that position, uh, he came to, uh, the game. And at this time, this is the county schools, but there are no blacks. Uh, at the time that he takes over, you know, it’s the beginning of integration. There’s no blacks. I mean, it’s only blacks in the-in the school system. And he came to the game, and he was the only white person in the entire stands. And the—he said in the interview that the, uh, deputy stood beside him. And he said, “I don’t need you stand beside me. I want you to—I’m uncomfortable with you standing here.”
He got a call from the sheriff after-afterwards saying that the sheriff wanted him to carry a-a-a visible, you know, firearm and to take a different route to work every day. And he said that he refused to do that, but that he considered that to be a message that was supposed to be demonstrated. He-he—I-I guess he was saying that-that both a message to blacks but also to whites because I think whites were being told it wasn’t safe.
Willie Shepperson: There is that fear. And that fear is created for the purpose of creating a division among the races. There’s a guy that I’m not sure whether you’re gonna, uh, interview or not, but his name is Dr. Moore, Ray Moore. Uh, you will find if—not-very-hard-to-find articles in the newspapers here of late where he and I had a reconciliation of sorts out at the symposium that happened at Hampden-Sydney College. It made the front page where—that I referred to him as my brother. There was a time when there was a great deal of hate and animosity between me and that man. Whenever I came into town, he demanded that the deputies guard his home.
Oloye Adeyemon: What was his-what was his role at the that time?
Willie Shepperson: He was with the—on the school board. And unbeknownst to him, he was being used just like all the rest of us. See, he was a young doctor that came into the area and didn’t know. And he got caught up into the political cesspool. But he was so afraid that I was gonna kill him that he had deputy sheriffs guarding his home the whole time that I was in town until I left. And it never occurred to me to kill Ray Moore.
Oloye Adeyemon: It was not somethin’ on your mind. [Laughter]
Willie Shepperson: No, no. He wasn’t important. I-I didn’t give him that much importance. He had a racist attitude at that time, but it did not occur to me that my killing him was gonna do anything to—
Oloye Adeyemon: Change the conditions of the county.
Willie Shepperson: - and change the conditions in-in Prince Edward County. So, it didn’t make sense. And I am not gonna expend a hell of a lot of anything on anything that I don’t think is gonna reap some benefit. And that includes cuttin’ the grass on my lawn. If it’s gonna reap some benefit, I’ll dig the stuff up and put gravel down.
Um, I had an incident once, um, during that period of time when I used to come across the campus here of Longwood College to get to Ed—Will and Edna’s house. And the sheriff, at that time, caught me one day—young man in his teens, had my little crease in my pants, you know? And, uh, he caught me comin’—walkin’ across the campus. And at that time, it was an all-girl school, all white. And he made me purposely sit down in the mud because it had rained. And, uh, his name, incidentally, was Sheriff Clark. And he read me the Riot Act and told me that, “Nigger, you better learn your place. Don’t you ever let me catch your black ass on this campus again, walkin’ across this campus.”
Oloye Adeyemon: How old were you then?
Willie Shepperson: Fifteen.
Oloye Adeyemon: Okay. So, this was even prior to the walkout—
Willie Shepperson: Yeah.
Oloye Adeyemon: - around the time of the walkout.
Willie Shepperson: Yeah. Fifteen years old. And many years later, I came back to Prince Edward County as a grown man to look for him because I wanted him to make me sit in the mud. But somehow, th-there was an intervention with a mightier power than I because he was—he had deceased at the time. But I was gonna insist that he make me sit in the mud. And that just goes to show you how many years hate can build inside of you. I’m a grown man now. I’m in my 30s, almost 40 years old.
But anyway, getting back to the incidents—the things that are happening in Farmville right now. Uh, well, shortly after the-the schools closed. We had a guy here by the name of Reverend L. Francis Griffin whom we referred to affectionately as Doc. We called him Doc all the time. Doc had, um—how many children did he have? There was Skip. There was Nagy. There was Minion. There was Cookie. There was Boon. I think he had six or seven children and a wife. He was a preacher at First Baptist Church. And to show you how the politics of a place can turn people against each other, people who are—s-should be fighting side by side with each other, they can turn it against each other because of the economics involved.
Reverend Griffin pas-pastored the First Baptist Church in Farmville, where some of your interviews were held, for many years. And this house, the black bourgeois professionals in Farmville—these were the teachers, the undertakers, the—all the people who had professional jobs. And the pressure that the white community was putting on them because they owed bills to banks and, some of them, their jobs are dependent upon, uh, the good graces of the white people. And they felt that things would be much better for them if Reverend Griffin would stop what he was doing. And they turned against him.
Oloye Adeyemon: What was he doing?
Willie Shepperson: Oh, he was supporting—he supported Barbara at the time of the strike. He supported this all the way through until the day he died.
Oloye Adeyemon: He was involved with—
Willie Shepperson: Involved.
Oloye Adeyemon: - getting the petitioners to sign for the court cases.
Willie Shepperson: Oh, yes. Oh, yes, all of this.
Oloye Adeyemon: He even had a s—there was even a second court case that he brought.
Willie Shepperson: That he was the plaintiff on.
Oloye Adeyemon: What—
Willie Shepperson: That court case was—when the Supreme Court gave the decision, they did not say when to integrate. So, naturally, they say, “When? Well, we can take our time.” So, Reverend Griffin filed a lawsuit so that they would have to start immediately to integrate. And that’s when the Supreme Court came back with this decision, all deliberate speed that grew out of that suit that, uh, Reverend Griffin filed here, in court, in Prince Edward County.
Anyway, um, the white merchants downtown cut off his credit. Um, there were times that he didn’t h—in the wintertime when he didn’t have oil to heat his home. Sometimes he couldn’t pay his telephone bill. Christmastime, he didn’t have money to buy toys for his kids. And there were individuals that folk don’t talk about or maybe they don’t know about who came to his rescue. One of them is living today, and he owns the, um, Bland Reid Funeral Home. His name is Warren Reid. Warren Reid religiously assisted Reverend Griffin financially. How do I know? Because I was there when it took place. Saw it with my own eyes. His telephone bill was always paid, and his-and his house was always paid by, uh, Warren Reid. And that telephone is in the house of the parsonage that’s owned by the church. So, why weren’t they paying-paying the telephone bill?
The oil tank is—it’s taxed to the house that’s owned by the church, so why weren’t they paying the bill? When Reverend Griffin died, the first thing they did was put his wife in the street. And the house is sitting over there empty right now. There’s nobody living in it. So, why did they do that? They—I betcha there aren’t 15 people in this town that could take you and show you where his grave is.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, if I understand you correctly, then, some of the things that ministers normally who, you know, are working full time in the ministry, connected to the church, that they, many times, would expect—
Willie Shepperson: These things to be taken care of.
Oloye Adeyemon: - to be taken care of. These things weren’t taken care of. Was that possibly in order to force him to leave and get another—were-were they trying to get him to leave so they could get another pastor?
Willie Shepperson: Well, at the latter part of his-his—
Oloye Adeyemon: Or at least get him to stop doin’ the things he was doin’?
Willie Shepperson: At the latter part of h—they wanted him to stop doing what he was doing long time ago. But the latter part of his, uh, ministry, uh, according to him, he felt—in his conversation with me, he felt that they were trying to get him to leave the church so they could, uh, get a new minister. And there was a fella by the name of, um, Weinberger. He was a white fella. Uh, he owned a s-store here, in town. Every Christmas, he used to make certain that Reverend Griffin had toys for his kids. This is a white man.
Oloye Adeyemon: Did he do this openly? Did other whites know he was doing this?
Willie Shepperson: He didn’t do it openly, but they—I’m sure that word gets around. This is a small town. He didn’t advertise that he was doing it. And then there was another guy. I don’t remember his name, but he had a-a red caboose in the back of his house that he bought for his grandchildren to play with, a real-size, full-size caboose that is now part of the-the, uh, uh, memorabilia down at the train station. I can’t think of his name. And he’s—
Oloye Adeyemon: He was white also?
Willie Shepperson: Yes, he was white also. Another gentleman that—
Oloye Adeyemon: W—he helped the same—
Willie Shepperson: Yes, he helped. Yes.
Oloye Adeyemon: He financially helped them.
Willie Shepperson: Yes, yes. Then there was Dr. Miller, the black dentist here, in town, who helped. Um, when I came into town, I came with the ability to assist because I came here from the AFL-CIO, the United Brother of Carpenters, on a full expense account. I didn’t have to account for every penny that I spent. All I had to do was requisition it and say it was for organizing. And in this town, in one year, I spent $750,000.
Oloye Adeyemon: Organizing these various factories—
Willie Shepperson: Attempting to organize—
Oloye Adeyemon: - as well as the community.
Willie Shepperson: - attempting to organize th-these various factories. But the cover was that I was organizing these various factories was, basically, I was putting a lot of money into the, uh, Civil Rights Movement here, in this county. Um.
Oloye Adeyemon: But then, in some ways, that would still be organizing, though, because—
Willie Shepperson: That would still be organizing, but you gotta remember, the guy who headed my organization were old Southerners. The general presidents of-of the United Brother of Carpenters, these were old Southerners. If they found out what I was doing, man, I’d have been on the hotseat like you wouldn’t believe. So, they were Southerners. They was from Texas, uh, some of them were from South Carolina.
Oloye Adeyemon: How did you get to that position in the union?
Willie Shepperson: Well, I first started out working for a place called Williamsburg Steel in Brooklyn, New York, and I joined the union. Now, we gotta back up a little bit. The reason why I joined the union, we had a teacher here by the name of Mrs. Connie Rawlins. And Mrs. Connie Rawlins taught a class called civics back at that time, which means it was all about current events. And she used to bring these little newspaper clippings to class to teach us, and we’d read them. And for some reason, I read those things religiously. And I read about this murder between the AFL and the CIO and, uh, how this organization helped workers to better their lives and all this.
Now, I’m a young kid. But when I got to Brooklyn and I got to Page Avenue with Williamsburg Steel and they said the union, bang, it hit my head. Mrs. Rawlins told me about this thing. It was a good thing. I better join this. So, I joined it. And then I eventually, a year and a half later, I became an officer of Local 2947 in Brooklyn, New York. And from there, I went to work for the, uh, District Council of New York, which is one of the largest councils in brotherhood. And then, from there, I went and became an-an organizer for the International union. Then I became an international representative for the, uh, International union. Then I became a representative to the general president, and I served four general presidents as their international representative and as their representative. Then I became a director of organizing. So, that’s how—it all really started in Mrs. Rawlins’ civics class.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm. Were th-were these white Southerners in opposition to you holding that position?
Willie Shepperson: Oh, you gotta be kidding-kidding. Of course, they were.
Oloye Adeyemon: And did they know that you were doing organizing in the South?
Willie Shepperson: Oh, they knew I was doing organ—I was assigned to the South. Because you see, you didn’t have too many white folks that would come down south because, during that time, you’re talkin’ about the ‘50s and ‘60s. That’s when all the racial strife and unrest was going on. And they didn’t want, uh, unions in the South. So, no white man that did-didn’t already live in the South was comin’ down to the South to organize because he was coming in as a white agitator.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm. So-so—
Willie Shepperson: And they’d have hung him quicker than they would’ve hung me.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm.
Willie Shepperson: So, blacks went into the South to organize because blacks were easier to organize than whites in the South because they had already found out what organizing could do for them through Martin Luther King and Ralph David Abernathy and the Southern Christian Leadership. They already seen what organizing could do for them.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, that’s why you were able to include your efforts in the black community—
Willie Shepperson: Yeah.
Oloye Adeyemon: - right along with the factories.
Willie Shepperson: That’s correct. That’s correct.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, coming back, th-there were whites that did, you know, help, uh, as well. So, it wasn’t—but it wasn’t nece—it wasn’t a lot of whites, and it wasn’t always open.
Willie Shepperson: Right. One of the whites that—he is dead now. And I don't know what happened to all of his documentation. This man kept an accurate record of the Civil-of the Civil Rights Movement here, in Prince Edward County, because he had Reverend Griffin’s confidence. And he was allowed to attend all the meetings, make recorders, recordings, whatever he wanted to do. But when he died, it all somehow disappeared. His name was Dr. Gordon Moss. He was a dean here, at Longwood College. He was an historian.
Oloye Adeyemon: Was he the one that sent his child to—
Willie Shepperson: That’s the one.
Oloye Adeyemon: - the free school?
Willie Shepperson: That’s the one, Dr. Gordon Moss. Now all of that stuff is gone. Where it is, nobody knows.
Oloye Adeyemon: I understand his s-his son was one of the few children going—
Willie Shepperson: One of the first.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm-hmm. So, were there other people, locally, who played, uh, prominent roles whose names might not be known, uh, in the-in—played a leadership role along with Reverend Griffin during those times?
Willie Shepperson: Reverend Griffin was the leadership. No doubt about it. Reverend Griffin was the leadership. Now, there were other people who played prominent roles in opposition to him who were black.
Oloye Adeyemon: But he was the primary—he was the leading f—uh, guiding force.
Willie Shepperson: He was-he was the guiding force. He was a spiritual leader and the guiding force for not only us as, uh, children in school but for the black people in the community. Now, there were other blacks in this community, now, that—I can think of four or five of ’em right off the top of my head who were what we defined as the biggest Uncle Toms in the county. They attended the meetings, and they went back and told the white folks what we were talkin’ about and what we were planning. And they prospered.
Oloye Adeyemon: While Reverend Griffin—
Willie Shepperson: Suffered.
Oloye Adeyemon: - suffered. Was, uh, Reverend Griffin directly involved in the NAACP?
Willie Shepperson: Yes.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm-hmm. Did he hold office?
Willie Shepperson: I believe he did at one time. He was president—I know he was president of NAACP here, in Prince Edward County.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm-hmm.
Willie Shepperson: Uh, the guy—the top guy in the State of Virginia at that time was Lester Banks. He was field representative for the NAACP out of Richmond.
Oloye Adeyemon: During that time, uh, being a part of the NAACP did not, um, often mean any, uh, financial support. It was just—
Willie Shepperson: No.
Oloye Adeyemon: - help with organizing—
Willie Shepperson: That’s right.
Oloye Adeyemon: - and supporting.
Willie Shepperson: That’s right.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm-hmm.
Willie Shepperson: NAACP, at that time, didn’t have very much money. And they didn’t have any place to get very much money from because, certainly, nobody was giving them any grants the way they do today. And the black folk barely had enough money to survive with them and their family, so they couldn’t be making too much of a contribution. I remember, at one time, the dues in the NAACP, I believe, was $1 a month.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm. And, uh, if I understood it, the, uh, NAACP Legal Defense Fund, which was called the Inc. Fund, was formed specifically, uh, so that they could get 501(c)(3) status and get donations because the NAACP, with its lobbying and political involvement, was ineligible for 501(c).
Willie Shepperson: Right.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, no one would give the NAACP—
Willie Shepperson: Correct.
Oloye Adeyemon: - uh, tax deducted donations—
Willie Shepperson: Correct.
Oloye Adeyemon: - white or black even.
Willie Shepperson: Correct.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, you know, this, um, period is also a period when the schools are closed, and you s-started talking about that. Uh, what were some of the, um, things that were done during that time—and I’m speaking now of the ‘60s, early ‘60s—uh, locally to educate the children who couldn’t go out of state for one reason or another? ’Cause I understand there were people that were, uh, taking students but that that was limited. There were limited, uh, resources out of state. And then some-some people had family members in other parts of the state or out-out of state who sent their children there. But there were—would you say the majority of blacks in the county were unable to afford to do that?
Willie Shepperson: Well, it was no expense on the blacks to send their kids out of state because the people who took them paid that expense.
Oloye Adeyemon: Did every—did-did—were there a lot of blacks that—w-was there a significant—
Willie Shepperson: There were a number—
Oloye Adeyemon: - percentage that didn’t have that opportunity?
Willie Shepperson: Well, it’s a s-s-significant number that didn’t take that opportunity. And the local churches set up classrooms in the local churches to teach the kids.
Oloye Adeyemon: During the week?
Willie Shepperson: During—yes.
Oloye Adeyemon: Now, the teachers also, uh, in many cases, left because they-they didn’t-they didn’t have jobs.
Willie Shepperson: Right.
Oloye Adeyemon: They had to go out of county or out of state.
Willie Shepperson: Correct.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, the teachers were being taught by parents—
Willie Shepperson: By parents.
Oloye Adeyemon: - ministers, and—
Willie Shepperson: And, uh, college students who had heard about this from up North came down during the summers to teach classes.
Oloye Adeyemon: How, um, successful were those children that were stuck here in getting the things that they needed to prepare them for when the schools opened five years later?
Willie Shepperson: I think they were pretty well prepared. But the thing that hurt the most was that when schools were finally opened, they were made to go back to the last grade they were in before the schools closed. So, now you’re talkin’ about a kid who was 15 when the school closed. If he wanted to go back and get his diploma from Prince Edward County High School, he was now 20 years old. So, a lot of them didn’t go back because they—now they’re married. Some of ’em, they had families. Some of them moved away. Some of them had gone into the Service. And they ended up, some of them, getting GEDs, and some of them went on to college thereafter.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm. But some didn’t.
Willie Shepperson: Some didn’t. But that was a difficult thing to back and tell a-a guy, uh, 20 years old—some of them, in some cases, 21 years old to go back now and sit in the classroom at 14 and 15 years old to study.
Oloye Adeyemon: Psychologically, what impact did that have—
Willie Shepperson: Sure.
Oloye Adeyemon: - on the county?
Willie Shepperson: On the county?
Oloye Adeyemon: On the whole county, those children—teachers coming in after the schools have been closed five years, on everybody.
Willie Shepperson: I think the ones who had the courage to—and swallow a little bit of pride and go back and say, “Well, I’m gonna get my high school diploma no matter what,” I think, um, there was a great deal of pride in those kids who did that. Um, more black kids did that than white kids ’cause the white kids wasn’t coming back period.
Oloye Adeyemon: I understand that some teachers wanted to come back, wanted to help, and they weren’t discouraged by the challenge they were gonna face in trying to help children catch up. They were, you know, sometimes hesitant because they were afraid—especially with the free school. They were afraid it would happen again. They-they-they’d leave the job they had, come—’cause the free school was not counting, uh, county schools and federal intervention. And I’ve-I’ve heard some say that, um, psychologically, they were torn because if they came back, they were afraid they might—the schools might close again. It was like a—almost like a fear. I understand, from some of the students, that there was this fear—who had gone out of the county to go to school. They wanted to come back home to school, but there was kind of a fear it may happen again.
Willie Shepperson: Well, that may have been one of the fears. But let me tell you that other fear that folks don’t talk about. In Prince Edward County, the Ku Klux Klan came here. Now, today, the Ku Klux Klan among kids 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 25, 30 years old don’t mean a damn thing. But back then, the specter of the Klan or a cross burning created a fear like you wouldn’t believe. Because everything that you knew about the Klan was that it was almighty, and it was powerful, and it was backed up by not only the local politicians and the law enforcement but the state and the federal government. They could do anything they want, and they were above the law. So, that was a fear.
Now, the Klan came here en masse not once, not twice, not three times, lots of times. And when they came here, they were welcomed by the city fathers. They were welcomed to the extent that the local police department downtown Farmville, state police were involved, and the county sheriff’s office guarded them while they were here. When they were having their rallies, they were here—they were being guarded to make sure that nobody interfered with them while they were here.
Um, they had a rally out near the Hampden-Sydney campus, big rally. And people actually lived down that road, and they were trying to get home, and the state police wouldn’t allow ’em to go home until—
Oloye Adeyemon: Blacks?
Willie Shepperson: Yes, blacks. Wouldn’t allow them to go down the road to their house until the Klan had finished their business. There are folks here, in Farmville, who gave the Klan room and board while they were here, in Farmville, demonstrating. They burned a cross on the f—in the front of the school up there and one down on the, um, athletic field.
Oloye Adeyemon: What school?
Willie Shepperson: Robert R. Moton High School.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm. When was that done? During the night? During the day?
Willie Shepperson: One was done while we were in school. When we came out of the school, there was a cross burning.
Oloye Adeyemon: This was the one in front of the school.
Willie Shepperson: In front of the school. The other one was in the afternoon—
Oloye Adeyemon: So, somebody saw that they—
Willie Shepperson: Somebody saw it being erected, yeah. What—they had to. Lemme describe this thing. Somebody had to see it. It was probably 10-15 feet tall. It was wrapped in, um, sacks, cloth sacks, burlap sacks, if you will, for want of a better word. And that sacks were tied to the cross with string or-or twine so it would stay there. And they put some kind of a flammable-flammable liquid, like o—it wasn’t gasoline ’cause it didn’t burn fast like gasoline. It was more like crude oil, something like that that burns slowly. ’Cause gasoline would’ve just went whoosh, like that. It didn’t do that. But it burned-burned very slowly. And that was the one that was in front of the-the school when we came out.
Oloye Adeyemon: And-and this would’ve been after the walkout?
Willie Shepperson: This was after the walkout, yeah.
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm. So, that was a message?
Willie Shepperson: Sure, it was a message.
Oloye Adeyemon: To students, the teachers, just—
Willie Shepperson: To everybody-to everybody.
Oloye Adeyemon: The parents.
Willie Shepperson: Everybody. And it created even more fear in the black community because they were already afraid that they were gonna lose because blacks just didn’t win anything against whites in Prince Edward County or in the State of Virginia for that matter. So, what was there to make them believe that they were gonna win this to begin with? So, they were goin’ out there on blind faith that Reverend Griffin and the belief that, hey, here is an opportunity for us to try, so we’re gonna try it knowing that you’re probably gonna fail. Now, here comes the Klan. You’ve got two shots at this thing now. And that was the fear. That’s why a lot of teachers left. A lot of the teachers were very angry with the students who walked out.
Oloye Adeyemon: For that reason.
Willie Shepperson: It co-it cost them their jobs.
Oloye Adeyemon: It was-it was costly. And it was also, uh, from-from their point of view, not good for race relations but were bad for race relations because it was upsetting white people.
Willie Shepperson: And not necessary-not necessary-not necessary because during that era, that was an era with black folks where you go along to get along. You don’t cause no problems. If you just go along with the white folks, sooner or later, they’re gonna treat you right. And then you had that same old mentality that you had when the Eman-Emancipation Proclamation was signed. The word finally got around that all the black folks was free. You could get off the plantation. The white man went down and said, “Look, okay, you all got to go. You’re free.” They went outside and sit down beside the road and beside that plantation and cried. “Oh, Lord. Now, so, what are we gonna do? We ain’t got you no more. What are we gonna do?” Same thing here. What we gonna do without the white folks?
Oloye Adeyemon: Mm. You mentioned the-the-the fact that there was some whites that, you know, whenever—in whatever ways they could, supported Reverend Griffin. Was that sympathy or charity, you know, feeling sorry for him? Or was it that there were some whites that understood that what he was fighting for was the right thing?
Willie Shepperson: I can only speculate because, you see, I didn’t have any personal conversations with any of those white folks. So, I don't know what their motives were. But I would like to believe that they did it because they felt they were doing something that was right. There are family members of some of these white folks who still live around here. And you might wanna talk to some of them. There is—for instance, an-an interesting woman to talk to, I think, would be, um, Mrs. Barrye Wall. She’s still alive. Interesting woman to talk to. Talk to her. Talk to her granddaughter.
Their hus—her husband and grand—her grandfather, he was the worst racist. He-he owned the—he was publisher of the, um, Farmville Herald. And the reason why you don’t have any history worth talking about in print here and you had a newspaper sittin’ right down there because Barrye Wall wouldn’t allow it. He wasn’t gonna give these black folks a forum to speak through his newspaper. You gotta be kidding. And all that history was lost, and he was sitting right here.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, this cross burning, could it have also been a message to whites who did not agree with the Klan’s position that, you know, we’re, kind of, you know, going to—we have-we have—we-we’re involved in this and—was that—would that have also been a message to whites that, you know—
Willie Shepperson: I don’t think so. I don’t think so. Because you see, the outside Klan meshed with the inside Klan. The Klan from the outside came in, and they joined forces with the Klan that existed in Prince Edward County, in Buckingham, in Cumberland, and then all the rest of these different counties immediate—because their Klan members were very strong. And no matter what their feelings were, white people in this town and others like it publicly showed a united front no matter what they did behind closed doors now.
Oloye Adeyemon: But I’m saying, it might not have necessarily been as united a front as it seemed. It’s just that there was a certain amount of fear on the part of whites to-to do anything differently. Or would you say that they all had been conditioned to the point where they didn’t challenge or even question that of that nature?
Willie Shepperson: They just—those who were doing what we might today consider the right thing, they didn’t want to be ostracized by their friends and associates. So, therefore, they played the game. They acted like the Klansmen too in public. But privately, they did what they felt—well, I hope they felt was the right thing. But I don’t think they had any fear of the Klan. Because nine times out of ten, either they, themselves, or members of their family were members of the Klan, so they had no fear from them.
Oloye Adeyemon: So, after the schools opened, I wanna pick up—well, actually, I wanna pick up—maybe this would be a good place to stop. I want to talk about what the next step was, uh, in this process and-and where things are today and what the museum’s effort is. You know, so, perhaps this would-this would be a good place to-to go to the next stage in—
Willie Shepperson: Well, just before that, lemme tell you. In-in—at the—before we go—went to this next stage, when Anderson came here as superintendent of schools, there were a number of walkouts by students while Anderson was here. I don't know if you know that, a number of them. And the governor of the State of Virginia, who was Governor Battle at the time, sent his representative here and demanded that all the black people in Prince Edward County show up at the armory over here on the hill over here.
Oloye Adeyemon: I think we’re gonna run out before we can—
Willie Shepperson: Okay.
Oloye Adeyemon: - talk about, uh, that. So, perhaps, we’ll start—
Willie Shepperson: Okay.
Oloye Adeyemon: - the next part of the interview—
Willie Shepperson: Okay.
Oloye Adeyemon: - with that. I really appreciate you.
Description
Shepperson details his elementary and high school experiences, the discrimination faced by students of color, Barbara Johns role in the student walk-out, and the aftermath of the Davis v. County School Board case including the five years that the county shut down public schools. Readers will find a detailed and open history from the perspective of a student during the Davis v. County School Board case.
Credit
NPS
Date Created
09/05/2001
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