Source Pg. 17 & 18

head, the way I wrote letters to God every night in my diary.  All the while I was talking to the reporter, I kept our instructions in mind: Accentuate the positive - don't complain too much.  He said my story would appear in newspapers everywhere just as I had written it because it was on the Associated Press wire.  Sure enough, the next day I saw it on the front page:

Would you have exchanged places with me and entered Central as I did this morning?  I went, and I am glad.
   Previous to making actual entrance into Central I had feelings that I'm sure have never been experienced by a child of 15 years.  Sensations of courage, fear, and challenge haunted me.  With the morning, came my definite decision:  I must go.
"The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped."  With this verse in mind and a hopeful prayer in my heart I entered the halls of Central High.  The spacious halls brought again the school feeling, however the atmosphere was not conducive to study by one of uneasiness.
   The sea of faces represented no special personality to me.  Although some were kind, many showed contempt, especially some boys gathered in the halls.
   I was beginning to believe that the long hard fight was over, that finally this American way of life was going to pay off.  As I walked through the halls alone it seemed as if I were lost on an island, an island of strange people, having no way of communicating with them.  I longed to tell them, "I won't hurt you, honest, give me a chance, come on.  How about it?  I'm an average teenager, just like yourself, with the same aspirations and heartaches."  But it was useless, only a few facial expressions told me I had gotten through.
   Each time as I was about to give up, exhausted from the jeers and insulting remarks, some kind face would come up and say: "I want you here" or "You're pretty" or "Won't you stay and fight it out?"
This above all made all the "Go home, nigger" and "I'm gonna get you before the day is over" fade into the background.
   There were a few trying experiences such as being blocked from passage to class by a few rough, tough-looking sideburners, boys who I'm sure if separated would not attack a mouse.  Then, there were the three women who jumped the fence and attempted to "get me."
   A favourite activity of the kids was to form a group in a circle and scream: "Two, four, six, eight, we ain't gonna integrate."  I know of no physical injury to any of the nine students.  I was slapped by one girl.  I turned and said "Thank you" and continued on my journey to class.
   I did not realize the size or the intentions of the crowd outside until I was told for my safety I had to leave Central High.  This hurt me deeper than I can ever express.  I'm glad I went, Oh, so glad I went, for now I know without out-of-school interference integration is possible in Little Rock, Arkansas.

   When I finished the article I realized it was not the whole truth but a version that wouldn't jeopardize the integration.  If I had told what really happened, one of the officials might say we couldn't go back.  I composed the story in a way that would make my day sound okay.  Maybe in a few days if I remained patient and prayed it would really be that way - white students would welcome me and smile and treat me like an ordinary human being.
   All that evening we continued our vigilance on the couch in front of the television.  Mother seemed to relax a bit, and Grandma settled down with her almanac and handiwork.  The newsmen reported more roving gangs of hooligans doing their evil deeds throughout the city.
   From his Sea Island, Georgia, retreat, Governor Faubus urged our leaders and school officials to allow a cooling-off period before resuming integration.
   President Eisenhower had earlier complimented us on our

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