91影视破解版

When a Supreme Court decision opened the door to educational opportunity, Marvis Barnes 鈥�59 and Myra Harris 鈥�59 stepped through to enroll at the State Teachers College at Towson. Their arrival signaled the beginning of a determined, rewarding 鈥� and at times hurtful 鈥� journey.

The decision would alter the course of millions of lives, Black and white alike.

On May 17, 1954, a landmark U.S. Supreme Court case, , overturned state laws establishing racially segregated public education.

For more than 50 years Maryland stipulated that its Black citizens attend 鈥渟eparate but equal鈥� schools. They were separate, but too often unequal.

Following Brown v. Board of Education, formerly all-white public schools and colleges across the country opened to Black and other nonwhite students. Some complied with the decision promptly and without incident. Others resisted, especially in the Deep South. For years afterward, violence marred attempts at racial integration.

Marvis Barnes (left) and Myra Harris from the 1959 yearbook.

The 1,164-student State Teachers College at Towson had already eliminated the color barrier peacefully with the admission of four Morgan State College (now Morgan State University) graduates into its one-year teaching-certificate program.

Harris and Barnes, both stellar high-school graduates with glowing recommendations, were to become the first Black students to earn bachelor鈥檚 degrees from the college.

For four years they (and the pioneering Black students who followed them) brought a dab of diversity to the overwhelmingly white campus.

Myra Harris, then a recent graduate of Baltimore鈥檚 Frederick Douglass High School, had already been accepted at the historically Black Coppin State Teachers College (now Coppin State University).

Later she found herself at a meeting listening to Rebecca C. Tansil, director of admissions at the State Teachers College at Towson. Harris says she approached Tansil afterward to ask who could attend the college. The firmness of her response had an impact, Harris remembers. 鈥淭owson,鈥� Tansil said, 鈥渋s open to everyone.鈥�

Harris decided to transfer. When Coppin State balked at releasing her records, the staff at Frederick Douglass High, glad to help an illustrious graduate, provided her transcripts and other records in a sealed envelope. Harris and her mother then carried the envelope to a meeting with Tansil and Orielle Murphy, dean of students, on the Towson campus.

Harris鈥檚 qualifications were never in question. After all, she鈥檇 graduated third in her high school class of 401. Tansil confirmed the young woman鈥檚 distinction as the college鈥檚 first Black freshman. Then, Harris recalls, she said, 鈥淢yra, if you have problems, please don鈥檛 hesitate to call me.鈥�

Harris had aspired to become a teacher since childhood. Now she was a 鈥渄ayhop鈥� (commuter) majoring in elementary education at the state鈥檚 largest teachers college. September 1955 marked the beginning of a college career distinguished by success both in and out of the classroom 鈥� as well as exposure to bias and bigotry.

The exposure to people who weren't like me was better for me than being in a segregated environment.

Myra Harris '59

Mr. Morton鈥檚 Plan

Marvis Barnes (then Marvis Brown) grew up in Turner Station, a close-knit community near Dundalk, Maryland. 鈥淚t was an isolated, segregated neighborhood,鈥� Barnes explains. As a top-notch student at the all-Black Sollers Point High School, she knew Towson only as a 鈥渨hite school.鈥�

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know I could go there,鈥� she says.

Mr. Morton knew otherwise. Barnes remembers him fondly as a 鈥渂ig, tall man鈥� who taught high-school mathematics and challenged her and her classmates every day.

He was determined to see his star student enroll at the State Teachers College in Towson.

I had mixed feelings, but my mom urged me to go ahead and try. She said, 鈥楤e yourself and you won鈥檛 have any trouble.'

Marvis Barnes '59

Barnes already had been admitted to two historically Black colleges: Morgan State College (now Morgan State University) and Howard University. She鈥檇 been offered some scholarship money and was in the process of deciding between them when Mr. Morton interceded.

Morton told Barnes鈥檚 mother that if her daughter aimed to be a 鈥渂ig-time teacher,鈥� she needed to send her to the State Teachers College at Towson.

The math teacher then obtained an application and asked Barnes鈥檚 mother to complete and mail it.

鈥淪omeone from the State Teachers College phoned my home and told me I had to take a test as part of the admission process,鈥� Barnes remembers. 鈥淚 had mixed feelings, but my mom urged me to go ahead and try. She said, 鈥楤e yourself and you won鈥檛 have any trouble,鈥� so I took the long streetcar ride to the Towson campus.鈥�

She was met by Rebecca Tansil, who explained that Barnes would be admitted if she passed a comprehensive test.

Tansil then escorted her to a large room in Stephens Hall 鈥� Barnes thinks it was the music room 鈥� and instructed her to leave the test with the custodian when Tansil had gone for the day.

鈥淚t was not the SAT,鈥� Barnes emphasizes. 鈥淚 had already taken that.鈥� She remembers the test as a basic assessment of reading, math and English skills.

鈥淚 finished it in a couple hours,鈥� Barnes recalls, 鈥渁nd I was so afraid when I turned it in.鈥� Evidently surprised, Tansil asked if she had finished. 鈥淎re you sure?鈥� she persisted.

But when the director of admissions examined Barnes鈥檚 answers, her doubts evaporated. 鈥淐ongratulations!鈥� she exclaimed. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e admitted.鈥�

Barnes then explained that she lived in Turner Station and would have to make a grueling streetcar commute every day. Tansil seemed to take that in stride. 鈥淐ongratulations!鈥� she repeated. 鈥淵ou have a room in the dorm.鈥�

鈥淭hat鈥檚 how I ended up at the State Teachers College,鈥� says Barnes, who majored in secondary and middle school education.

鈥淕lory to Mr. Morton.鈥�

Remembering the State Teachers College of the 1950s

The photos below are from Towson University鈥檚 .

(1) The reading room on the main floor of the original Albert S. Cook Library (1959). (2) President Earle Taylor Hawkins who was in office during Barnes鈥檚 and Harris鈥檚 time at the State Teachers College. (3) Named after Principal E. Barrett Prettyman, these dormitories were the third created to house women on campus (1957). (4) The snack bar in Newell Hall (1956).

Dayhopping to Towson

Myra Harris remembers getting up early every morning to catch the No. 8 streetcar. 鈥淚鈥檇 always try to sit with other students and exchange ideas,鈥� she says. 鈥淲e learned about each other that way.鈥�

Harris says she didn鈥檛 encounter blatant racism on the Towson campus. There were no ugly taunts, racial epithets or threats, and in fact many students, faculty and staff seemed receptive to integration. But at times she found herself on the receiving end of what are now called microaggressions 鈥� subtle words or behaviors meant to let her know she was an outsider.

Harris endured the slights and kept on going. 鈥淚鈥檇 pray over it,鈥� she says.

Sometimes the rejection wasn鈥檛 so subtle.

For example, during her freshman year Harris was assigned to observe classes in a Baltimore City elementary school. 鈥淲hen the teacher there found out I was Black, she had an excuse,鈥� Harris recalls. 鈥淪he said she was 鈥榥ot ready to accept me at that time.鈥欌��

One professor continually doled out A鈥檚 to white students while making Harris 鈥� who thought her work equaled theirs 鈥� make do with A minuses. 鈥淚 asked what I could do to raise my grade, but never got much of an answer,鈥� she says. 鈥淓ven the other students noticed that their grades were always higher than mine.鈥�

She decided not to make an issue of the biased grading.

Once some of her classmates shunned her. 鈥淲hen the professor asked us to break into groups, it was clear that some students didn鈥檛 want to be with me,鈥� Harris recalls. She says Orielle Murphy resolved the problem by forming the groups herself. 鈥淪he assigned those same students to sit with me,鈥� says Harris with satisfaction. 鈥淪he wanted us to get to know each other.鈥�

When the time arrived for student teaching, the college assigned Harris to a nearby elementary school. But she subsequently learned that it, too, was 鈥渦nready for integration.鈥� 鈥淚 was very disappointed,鈥� she recalls.

I鈥檇 always try to sit with other students and exchange ideas. We learned about each other that way.

Myra Harris '59

Instead she did her student teaching on campus at the Lida Lee Tall School, a site ordinarily limited to resident students.

Although her student-teaching supervisor seemed cordial, at times her actions suggested darker motives. 鈥淲e were required to keep a log book,鈥� Harris says. 鈥淭he supervisor collected the books every week, graded them and returned them to us.鈥�

鈥淥ne week as she returned my partner鈥檚 book, she said, 鈥楳yra, I don鈥檛 have your book.鈥� She kept forgetting to return it. I knew that if I didn鈥檛 keep a log, I鈥檇 get behind. I was not going to get behind, so I started a second book.鈥�

Then one day the supervisor approached her with a plan. 鈥淚鈥檓 going to take you home with me,鈥� she insisted. 鈥淭hat way I鈥檒l see the book and return it to you.鈥�

Harris asked the supervisor if she would take her home afterward, and the supervisor agreed. After phoning her mother to say she鈥檇 be late, Harris accompanied the woman to her house in a suburb north of Towson.

鈥淪he gave me a room-by-room tour, which I thought was unnecessary,鈥� Harris says. 鈥淲hen we got to the bedroom, she said, 鈥楳yra, here鈥檚 your book!鈥欌��

Then she drove her student back to Baltimore.

As they pulled up to the curb, Harris says the supervisor exclaimed, 鈥淥h, Myra, you live in a beautiful house.鈥�

The woman鈥檚 stratagem didn鈥檛 fool Harris for a minute. 鈥淚 think she just wanted to see where I lived,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut I did get a good grade in student-teaching.鈥�

Harris emphasizes that good came of the hurtful experiences. 鈥淭hey made me a strong person,鈥� she says.

As an upperclassman, she became a member of the college鈥檚 Freshman Advisory Council. By then there were a few more Black students, and she enjoyed sharing the insights she鈥檇 gleaned. She coached these young men and women on how to keep moving forward despite occasional setbacks, saying, 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 worry about everything. Deal with it and put it behind you.鈥� Later they鈥檇 tell her how much they appreciated the advice.

Nine White Sisters

Resident student Marvis Barnes says the top floor of Richmond Hall became her home away from home.

鈥淚 had a handpicked roommate, a junior named Katherine 鈥淜athy鈥� Smith, who was the nicest person on earth,鈥� Barnes says. 鈥淭here were eight other girls on the floor, and they were so accepting that we bonded right away. We were close, like sisters.鈥�

Her new roommate shared her deep religious faith. 鈥淲e had Bible study and devotions every night before we went to sleep,鈥� she recalls.

鈥淥ur group eventually moved to Newell Hall, and we lived together until we all graduated. It was a delightful experience.鈥�

There were eight other girls on the floor, and they were so accepting that we bonded right away. We were close, like sisters.

Marvis Barnes 鈥�59

Although Barnes鈥檚 friends had her interests at heart, she says a couple of faculty members did not. 鈥淭hey would go down the row asking questions,鈥� she says. 鈥淲hen it was my turn, they鈥檇 skip over me.鈥�

Not one to be ignored, Barnes answered anyway.

There were times when her mere presence excited unwanted attention. 鈥淢y friends and I used to walk up to Hutzler鈥檚 [department store] after dinner,鈥� she says. 鈥淲hite people driving past on York Road would actually slow down to look at us.鈥�

She was a young Black woman clearly on equal terms with her white classmates, and their easy comradery turned heads wherever they went.

Today Barnes shrugs off those disquieting moments. 鈥淭hey were little things,鈥� she insists.

鈥淢y friends were protective and Dr. Tansil and Orielle Murphy always asked me how I was doing.鈥�

Barnes says student-teaching was a rewarding experience for her, most likely because the college had scouted local schools to identify which ones would welcome her. Every day she rode a campus bus to and from a Baltimore County middle school. There she says she worked with 鈥渁 fantastic teacher who taught me a lot.鈥�

Still, neither Barnes nor Harris took chances with their personal safety.

鈥淚 never feared for my life,鈥� Barnes explains, 鈥渂ut I never went anywhere alone. I took precautions.鈥�

Harris recalls having to leave campus after dark, something she鈥檇 always managed to avoid. As she waited alone at the York Road streetcar stop, a carful of unruly men sped by. 鈥淭hey were yelling at me,鈥� she remembers. 鈥淚 was frightened. Thank the Lord the streetcar came right away.鈥�

Exemplary Educators

After earning their bachelor鈥檚 degrees in 1959, both women went on to illustrious careers, initially as classroom teachers and later in administrative roles.

Myra Harris taught elementary school and supervised student teachers. She served as assistant principal and later principal at Harlem Park Elementary as well as at Madison Square Elementary in Baltimore City.

She earned a master鈥檚 degree from Columbia University and took postgraduate courses at Johns Hopkins and Loyola universities.

The local Jaycees chapter recognized her contributions with Outstanding Elementary School Principal and Outstanding Educator of the Year awards. In retirement, she continues to be involved in her church, saying her work there helps to keep her mind focused.

In retrospect, Harris doesn鈥檛 hesitate to credit the State Teachers College for her professional achievements. 鈥淭he exposure to people who weren鈥檛 like me was better for me than being in a segregated environment,鈥� she explains. 鈥淭owson was a treasured experience that helped to make me who I am. I would do it again.鈥�

Marvis Barnes began by teaching core social studies and English at Garrison Middle School, where she found innovative ways to encourage boys to read. (She made them buy and read a newspaper every weekend.)

She married a Morgan State graduate, reared two sons and earned a master鈥檚 degree from what is now Loyola University Maryland.

At Northwestern Senior High School she served as department chair and assistant to the principal. 鈥淎fter I retired, the principal phoned and asked me to come back.鈥� She relented and returned to Northwestern for another four years. 鈥淚 loved every day of it, but after 54 years I needed to learn how to rest,鈥� she admits.

Now retired, she remains active in her church and loves spending time with her four grandchildren. Today she recalls her undergraduate years as a wonderful, formative experience. 鈥淭owson made me a teacher,鈥� she says.

Myra Harris and Marvis Barnes made 91影视破解版 history, though they didn鈥檛 recognize that at the outset. The two women integrated the State Teachers College only three months before Rosa Parks refused to surrender her seat to a white passenger on a Montgomery, Alabama, bus. By the time they graduated, the Civil Rights Movement was in full swing under the leadership of Martin Luther King Jr.

And make no mistake: Harris and Barnes are proud alumnae who excelled academically, socially and professionally. Both say the State Teachers College at Towson provided an excellent foundation for long and rewarding careers. They remain grateful to Rebecca Tansil and Orielle Murphy for their unstinting guidance and encouragement. And although they agree that although most members of the campus community were receptive to integration, some were not. That, they agree, was an unfortunate fact of life.

Harris and Barnes dealt with it, finding solace in friends, family and faith. They pressed on, eyes on the prize, with the support of those who wanted them to succeed.

And they did.