PANEL OF CONTRIBUTORS: Death of Rosa Parks stirs memories PANEL OF CONTRIBUTORS: Death of Rosa Parks stirs memories (November 09, 2005)

By Henry Organ

I regret never having had the honor of meeting Rosa Parks. Her recent death resurrected sweet and sour memories that are related to the venue in which she became famous, and the nation embarrassed.

My "sour memory" occurred sometime in the 1970s when I was volunteering at the Nairobi Day School in East Palo Alto. One day in class, in response to a question from an elementary school student, I told them I was born and raised in Denison, Texas (birthplace of Dwight David Eisenhower).

This led to a discussion about racial discrimination, and another question: "Mr. Organ, did you ride in the back of the bus?" I told them that I had, which was followed by a chorus of disappointed "oh's" from the students: "Mr. Organ sat in the back of the bus!"

The sourness comes from a feeling of failure of not having had the resolve of Mrs. Parks, even though I was quite young at that time.

Moreover, what I failed to tell the students was not of harm from police or vigilantes. My fear was of my Dad, who went to great length to warn me while growing up about the danger of challenging racial segregation and discrimination.

The protection and shielding black parents gave their children in the South is well documented, and can never be overestimated: it was intense; it probably saved the lives of many black children, like me.

The "sweet memory" occurred in my youth in this Texas town. I was probably about eight years old, and had developed an early love for airplanes. In fact, I had begun a hobby of making model aircraft. An ad appeared in the local paper that a barnstormer would be coming to town, and would be taking kids up for rides on a C-47 (DC-3). Denison, with a population under 12,000, had no airport, so directions were given to a dirt strip outside town.

On that date, I persuaded my Dad to take me, and he did with reluctance, and a promise that I would not tell my Mother until afterwards. When we got to the strip, there were scores of kids there with their parents. I was the only one of color.

When my Dad and I got to the front of the line, the ticket seller told my Dad that he could not sell him a ticket for me because "...there is no colored section in the passenger compartment for me to sit."

The pilot was standing nearby, and told the seller: "He can sit in the cockpit with me." The law required separate compartments for passengers, not for those in the cockpit! You can imagine the dismay the white kids had on their faces as they saw me striding up the aisle with the pilot to the cockpit!

It was a marvelous ride, and seemingly too short. But it showed how ridiculous racial discrimination was, and is. Henry Organ is a member of the Almanac's Panel of Contributors; he lives in Menlo Park.

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