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�Life�s most urgent question is:
what are you doing for others?�

�Martin Luther King, Jr.
January 15 1929�April 4 1968
"The More Things Stay the Same" by Sharon Kyle

busing_1111.jpgThe More Things Stay the Same
By Sharon Kyle


Fast forward 20 years after the 1954 Brown v. Board of Education Supreme Court decision and we find ourselves embroiled in yet another school desegregation controversy. The more things change

It was September 1973, I was about to enter the 11th grade in a new state, a new city. A transplant from the East Coast, I had recently moved from Queens, New York, to Long Beach, California. Feeling somewhat at a disadvantage entering school a full year after the rest of the class, I was determined to find my place in this strange new environment 3,000 miles away from what I still considered home.

On registration day, when I arrived at the neighborhood school prepared to enroll, l learned I would not be attending class locally. Lakewood, not Long Beach, would be the community where I would go to school. Although Lakewood is a different city, its public schools were and are part of the Long Beach Unified School District. Naturally, I assumed the reason I would have to travel to Lakewood was that the neighborhood high school was overcrowded. Having to attend a school in another community meant that my sister and I would have to get up a little earlier each morning to catch a bus and arrive home a little later. But aside from the extra transit time, this arrangement didnt seem too problematic. Besides, we were new to the community anyway and were going to have to make new friends even if we went to the local school. I figured wed make new friends in Lakewood instead of Long Beach. No big deal -- or so I thought.
A Visit to the Principals Office
On the first day at Lakewood High, we were greeted by the principal, who ushered my sister and I into his office. I remember wondering if the principal had one-on-one meetings with all transfer students. Already this was different from what I was expecting. The principal had a pleasant demeanor and a gentle voice. I have forgotten most of the details of our conversation except for one question he posed. He told us that Lakewood High School had a student population of approximately 3,000 and that all except for two students were white. He asked if we thought wed have a problem in that kind of environment. The question threw me off guard. I didnt know how to answer. The mere fact that it was being asked gave me pause. I began to feel that perhaps I had reason for concern.

The school I transferred from in New York City was about 60% white and 40% other than white. But we tended to think in terms of ethnicity. This is not to say that New York had it right and California had it wrong. Its just one of the observations I made as a newcomer to California. In New York City, our identities were more closely tied to our countries of origin. So the white kids werent just white; they were Italian, Irish, Jewish, or newly arrived Czechs, Lithuanians, and other Eastern Europeans. The blacks, latinos, and Asians were East Indian, West Indian, Haitian, Puerto Rican, Black American, Dominican, Cuban, Chinese, Pakistani, and a host of others. While this was certainly a different racial and ethnic blend, it was the kind of environment where getting along with others was a given. No one would even think to ask a student if they thought they could get along because of ethnic difference. We all had ethnic differences. Everyone saw themselves as belonging to an ethnic group and the term ethnic wasn't used as a euphemism for "people of color" as it is today. But by raising the question, the Lakewood principal pointed to something I had not considered. Maybe being the new girl wouldnt be my only problem.

In the weeks that followed, I learned that I had not been sent to Lakewood High School for the reason I had assumed. It is important that I make clear that I was in no way misled. The reason I didnt know the real reason was because I hadnt been paying attention to the news. If I had, I would have known that like the communities it served, the LBUSD was racially segregated. Its answer to school segregation was to funnel black students transferring into LBUSD from other states into Lakewood High irrespective of the distance from their home. My sister and I were the first two; eventually, there were as many as a dozen during that year.

As time passed, what seemed like an odd question the principal had asked began to make sense. I had no idea that my sister and I were walking into a national controversy. In the mid 1970s, the debate was over the use of busing as a tool to affect racial balance in the nations schools. Busing was enacted as a component of many school desegregation programs in response to federal court decisions establishing that racial segregation of public schools violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. In Green v. County School Board (1968), and Swann v. Charlotte-Mecklenburg Board of Education (1971), the Supreme Court established that federal courts could require school districts to implement busing programs as a means of achieving racial integration of public schools.

I attended Lakewood High School from September 1973 to June of 1974. During that single school year, I learned more than perhaps all the previous 10 school years combined. To begin with, in the LBUSD busing was one-way. By that I mean there wasnt a bus that carried white transfer students to black high schools. Only the black transfer students were bused. Early on, I began to see this as an inequity, which put me at a disadvantage, making it difficult for me to fully participate in school life. There was only one bus in the morning and one at the end of the school day. If I had an interest in any of the many extracurricular activities -- such as debate club, cheerleading, yearbook, football, the school newspaper, or drama club -- I was out of luck because most, if not all, of those groups met before or after school hours. Even the core classes required spending some time before or after school with your classmates. For example, I took a marine biology class but couldnt attend the study groups. My dance class culminated at the end of each semester with a performance that required rehearsals, half of which I couldnt get to (good thing Im black and already knew how to dance ?.) Thanks to a fantastic teacher, some great fellow students and a little talent of my own I ended up with the only solo performance in the show, and an A in the class.

Because I was determined that I wasnt going to let this transportation thing beat me, I came up with some creative solutions of my own. When I needed to attend a rehearsal or meeting that just couldnt be missed, Id often take public transportation home instead of the school bus. But this required money, which I often didnt have. So I got to know some of the city bus drivers and theyd let me ride for free. But with every solution there seemed to be another problem. In the winter months, if I stayed more than an hour beyond the school day, it would be dark when I got to my final bus stop, meaning Id have to walk several blocks in the dark. This brought a whole slew of problems that I wont write about here. But, during that year, there were students, teachers, and a wonderful school bus driver named Wanda who made my experience tolerable most of the time. Unfortunately, there were just as many who made it almost more than I could bear on a few occasions.

Hard Knocks in Lakewood
It doesnt take much imagination to guess that I experienced my share of racial incidents and yes, I did. But a couple were noteworthy and particularly hurtful to a teenager who didnt have a clue about the deeply entrenched racial divide that exists in this country. Heres one such experience. I was in an advanced social studies class that contained some of the top students in the school. For reasons I dont have space to write about here, I felt more comfortable with the students in the advanced classes. I loved this class and had friends there. One day, I happened to spot one of those friends handing something to the other students. Our eyes met. She saw that I saw that she was doing something that she didnt want me to see. To her credit, she was enough of a friend to tell me what was going on. It seems she was throwing a birthday party and was handing out the party invitations. She expressed deep regret that I would not be invited because her parents would not allow me in their home. As I write this, I still feel a little of the sting I felt on that day.

Another incident put things in a whole different perspective for me. This experience helped me to see that what I was observing at Lakewood was preparing me for life in the United States.

We were working on a group project in this same advanced social studies class. We had broken up into groups of four and were given a writing assignment. The paper had to have contemporary social relevance. Research for the paper was to be conducted as a team. The four in my group were two boys and two girls. I put forth the idea that we do something on the topic of racial integration. So the four of us came up with a plan. The two girls would pretend to be apartment hunting college seniors. The boys had cars. Their job was to provide transportation, leads to apartment vacancies in Lakewood, help tabulating the results, and input in the overall writing of the paper. Lori (not her real name) and I would be the college girls. Separately, she and I would put in applications at the same places. Id apply first and shed show up a few hours or, at most, a day later. We decided that the girls were more suited to play the role of college seniors because although the four of us were 16, the boys couldnt pass for 22, the approximate age we figured wed be if we were college seniors. The other advantage was that I was black and Lori was white. Both boys were white an obvious disadvantage for this kind of research.

As 16-year olds, both Lori and I were excited and nervous about whether we could pull this off. It only took a couple of attempts to see that it was a breeze. My initial concern was that the apartment manager or owner wouldnt believe we were old enough to be college seniors. But that issue never arose. In the first attempt, the four of us drove to our first target. My three classmates stayed in the car a half a block away as I nervously approached the apartment building where a sign clearly advertised an apartment vacancy. The manager of the building was very pleasant. I think she may have addressed me as dear. She explained that shed love to take my application but unfortunately, the apartment had just been rented. She wished me luck as I went on my way.

When I got back to my classmates, I gave them the details of our exchange. The way we planned it, wed go to about four places and then circle back, if we had time that day, so that Lori could go to the same places. If we didnt have time that day, we planned to continue the next day. We documented things like the race and approximate age of the apartment manager, the nature of the exchange (were they pleasant or rude, for example), and the look and feel of the place. We made our notes and drove on to the next place. The first day, all of the places I went to had just been rented. The kicker is that all of us, including myself, believed the apartment managers. Without exception, they were polite and talked to me like I had come to expect adults to talk to kids. They encouraged me to keep looking, congratulated me on almost finishing college and wished me luck in my new career.

And then it was Loris turn

At the first apartment building, unlike my exchange which, was held while standing at the front door of the apartment managers unit, Lori was invited inside. The same woman who had told me that the vacancy was filled gave Lori an application to complete. She promised Lori shed get back to her within a week. This time, the three waiting in the car were the boys and I. When Lori reported her experience we all high-fived each other. We knew we had hit a home run with this one. All of us, myself included, were highly competitive students. We wanted an A in this exercise and this outcome almost assured us of that. And to top it all off, all four of the places that told me they had just rented the apartment took Loris application. But while my classmates were jubilant that our research was yielding such dramatic results, with each new revelation, I felt as if I were being kicked in the stomach. I knew I was given a window into my not-too-distant future and I didnt like what I was seeing.

Wedding Rings
To make a long story short, my study group was awarded an A on our project. We went on to do another group project, this time the topic was interracial dating. This one was just as successful, a lot less painful for me and a little comical. It involved a hidden camera, a white young man (one of my classmates) and a black young woman (me) shopping for engagement rings at the Lakewood Shopping Center. Needless to say, with the help of a very talented team member who was great with the camera we got some fantastic candid shots of the locals expressing their extreme dissatisfaction as my fianc and I shopped for rings.

Its been more than 30 years since I attended Lakewood High School. I like to think the classmates who participated with me in those projects were somehow enlightened by the experience. Perhaps their lives were changed in a way that wouldnt have been possible had they not witnessed, first hand, what many minorities experience on a regular basis. In her book, The Failures of Integration, author and Georgetown Law Professor Sheryll Cashin points out that the civil rights revolution put in place laws that attempted to guarantee that no one should be restricted in their access to education, jobs, voting, travel, public accommodations, or housing because of race. The key word here is attempted. My very first experience in trying to gain access to housing proved that the civil rights revolution wasnt completely successful. The one-way busing policy implemented by LBUSD in the seventies resulted in me having limited access in ways that did not impact white students. And more than 40 years after the Civil Rights movement we live and work in communities that are just as racially segregated. Although most Americans, when asked, say they support integration, the lives they live tell another story.

When asked if I think things are getting better, Im not sure I have an answer. While Im less likely to experience the kind of overt racism experienced in the South in 1957, at least the Little Rock Nine knew who was for them and who was against them. In the 1970's, although there were laws in place that provided for equal opportunity in housing, I demonstrated that it didn't take much effort to find places where the law was being violated. In 2007, it's hard to tell what lies behind the veil of political correctness. If one were to rely solely on statistics to draw conclusions on the effectiveness of desgregation efforts in this country it would seem we've made little to no progress.



smk_headshot_c1.jpg






Sharon Kyle

dick_and_sharon@yahoo.com


Other articles by Dick & Sharon

"Fighting for Fair Wages"
"Veterans Fight to Save 'Hallowed Ground'"
"Winning Elections One Club at a Time"
"A Cab Ride with Xavier Becerra"
"It's Not Just MacArthur Park"
"Battling Gang Violence"
"Stormy Weather"
"Gunfire Down Below"
"The Iron Rainbow"

"The War Comes Home"
"Reporting for Duty"
"Healing the Black-Brown Divide"

"The Long War"
"Hopeless No More?"







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