MELBA PATTILLO BEALS: Warriors don't cry: a searing memoir of the battle to integrate Little Rock's Central High, New York, Pocket Books, 1994, pp. 106-125.

*NB Pp. 106-107 is Source Pg. 1&2 and Pp. 108-109 is Source Pg. 3&4 etc.

Source Pg. 1& 2

CHAPTER 10

CITY AND STATE POLICE TO BE THERE TODAY; OFFICIALS CONFIDENT.  FAUBUS SAYS HE'S HOPING FOR NO UNREST; U.S. KEEPING CLOSE EYE ON LITTLE ROCK

- Arkansas Gazette, Monday, September 23, 1957

AS I READ THE MORNING NEWSPAPER THAT MONDAY WHAT WITH all the changes, I thought maybe the headline would read, INTEGRATION HALTED AGAIN.  At least this time it seemed everybody was expecting us to arrive at Central High School and go inside for classes.
   As I walked back to the kitchen, I decided I would begin to mark off my days at Central High on the big wall calendar that belonged to Grandma.  I longed to see all the cross marks fill the days that would become weeks and then months.  I glanced at the month of September and picked the spot where I would put the first cross mark, if I completed the first day.  Lord, please let me be strong enough to fill in this day and all the school days that follow, I whispered.
   It was not yet eight o'clock when Mama and I parked at the curb, just outside Mrs. Bates's home.  I was surprised to see so many people milling about the yard.  There was double the usual throng of news reporters.  Everybody spoke in whispers.  We greeted each other as though there were a compelling reason not to talk in ordinary tones.  I was ushered through the crowd and into the living room, where radio and news reports held everyone's attention.

Hundreds are gathered at Central High to await the arrival of nine Negro students who will begin the court-ordered integration.  Some believe the governor should have instructed the soldiers to remain at the school to keep order.  Assistant Police Chief Gene Smith and a group of officers arrived at 7 A.M. to patrol the area.  Fifty state police have joined them.

   We nine acknowledged each other with nervous smiles and a very few whispered words.  Adults nodded to each other with the kind of glances that seemed to carry secret messages as they periodically looked at their watches.  The nervousness grew worse with each passing moment.  People were pacing, pretending to smile, sitting a moment, then rising to pace again.  After a while, I became one of those people.  We were going to be late for school, no doubt - late on the first day.  What would everybody think?  The phone rang.  It was time to be on our way.
   Mother Lois looked as though she were on the brink of tears.  As we filed silently out of the house, I waved good-bye to her.  I wanted to hug her, but I didn't want everyone to think I was a baby.  Other parents milled about, looking as if we were being carted off to be hanged.  As we started to walk to the cars, they clutched at us as though they weren't completely certain we'd be coming back.
   We settled ourselves into two cars.  Mrs. Bates was in the first car with four of the nine, and a man introduced as C. C. Mercer.  Another NAACP official, Frank Smith, was driving the car I rode in with the remaining four students.  We watched the news reporters run to their vehicles and rev their engines.  The non-white reporters seemed hesitant about getting started.  They hovered together.  That's when I realized it must be difficult, even dangerous, for our people to cover a story like this.
   We seemed at first to be driving in circles.  Our driver ex-

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