Americans: if you were born before 1968 what did you actually experience or know about regarding segregation and desegregation?

My mother-in-law is visiting, and while her memory has big holes in it, she occasionally comes out with an interesting story (or… story fragment)

She says she was accidentally sent by her parents to an all-black school when they moved to a new neighborhood in what was then rural Illinois. She says she was confused at first, but the girls admired her hair, so it was OK. I never got out of her whether she continued to go to that school.

The only thing I remember about segregation was when we moved to Dallas, Texas in 1960. I was with my mother and wanted to go to the ladies’ room. I walked into one and it was full of black women. When I came out my mother laughed and said, “read the sign: “Black Women.” You’re supposed to use the one that is labeled, “White Women.” I was stunned, confused and thought it wasn’t right. Then I noticed two drinking fountains with the same labels. It was another world to me. But more shocking than that was when my new boyfriend, who was always very nice and from a good family, told me he’d never go to a swimming pool with any black kids in it. I asked him , “why not?” and he said, “it would be like taking a bath with one!” And I realized then he had been raised differently than I had been. And I disagreed.

@Aster Where had you moved from? Did your parents take it all in stride and adjust easily?

I was born and raised in Oakland in the 50’s/60’s., so there wasn’t a lot of segregation in that area that I recall.
I remember the first black girl to come to our school.
I remember traveling, and seeing “whites only” drinking fountains and bathrooms.

@JLeslie I don’t know how they took it. I never heard them mention it.
We came from New Jersey.

@filmfann In California?

One summer when I was 10, my mother and I took the train to visit her childhood friend who was the wife of a farmer with a large and successful farm in Oklahoma. When the train crossed from Kansas into Oklahoma, a young conductor walked through the car and very politely informed the black people that they would have to leave the car and move to the one behind it. Now my father had worked on the Union Pacific for my entire young life, and I thought I knew EVERYTHING about railroading. So I asked my mother “What is he talking about? She gave me the death stare that meant serious business and replied “shut up and mind your own business.” The train pulled into Muskogee and our car stopped with its exit door directly facing a wall with 2 drinking water fountains. One had a sign above it that said “white” the other had a sign stating “colored”. This was too much for me to resist, so I ran over to get a look at both the white water and was particularly eager to see the colored water. The fountains were duplicates of the ones in my grade school, so I grabbed the knurly thing on the side of the colored fountain and twisted it. Just as at school, dull regular water shot up. I held on thinking that perhaps the colors took a little time to reach the outlet like hot water does. I decided that I might as well crank the white water up at the same time in case it took time to “warm up” as well. I was still at it when my mother snatched me away screaming “do you have to grab and play with EVERYTHING?”

I grew up in Oregon. (Born in 1961) There were very few minorities in my grade school. I’ve told this story here before but there are a lot of new users. I was in first or second grade and a black kid came to our school in the middle of the year. In the cafeteria usually girls sat on one side of the table and boys sat on the other. This new kid sat down and no one sat on his side of the table. The cafeteria was packed except for his side of the table.
In what was probably the most courageous act of my young life (my daddy had taught me about civil disobedience.) I sat right next to him, defying the social boundaries that were firmly in place. There we sat, not saying a word. Two misfits, but in that moment neither of us were alone.

I grew in a mid-size Texas city in the ‘50s. Segregation was in full swing, the “N” word was common, public bathrooms and water fountains were separate, and Negroes (as African-Americans were then called) had to ride in the back of the bus. I was very fortunate to have grown up in a Jewish household more liberal than those of most of my non-Jewish friends. My dad was an Eastern-liberal and though my mom was Texas-born she came from a liberal family. My brother and I were forbidden to use the “N” word (still, today, the word sickens me) and encouraged to treat people with equal respect and kindness. I recall many experiences witnessing and having to deal with racism in Texas, both raw and subtle, but I also saw it in New York, where I went to college and lived in the ‘60s.

In 1963 I had the privilege of attending the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom and hearing, not far from where he stood, Martin Luther King deliver his rousing “I Have a Dream” speech.

Oh oh, I told the serious story but now I’ll tell the funny story. I told you there were very few minorities in my grade school but there were maybe 4 in my jr high.
The scene: the 9th grade/ faculty basketball game. It’s packed because it was an assembly and we were required to be there.
Jimmy Martin, in full, huge Afro haircut, decides to streak through the basketball court! How in the world he thought he wouldn’t be recognized is beyond me. It still cracks me up.

We moved to the US, or rather Texas, in ‘65. I don’t recall a lot of those 60’s and 70’s years (Hmmmm, wonder why not?) but the two things that came to mind were;

The schools, not so much elementary, or junior highs, but the high schools. There were five in all and they were known as the black school, the mexican school, the white school, the rich white school, the goat-roper school.

The other thing that stands out was the overt prejudice toward hispanics. I remember the neighbors talking to my parents about my brother having a mexican best friend who used to come over. They had a fit several years later when he married a hispanic girl. Thinking back on it, we lived in a very while middle class neighborhood, I remember a couple of hispanic families and no black ones.

My brother-in-law is black and I remember when he and my sister got engaged my mom thought he was a great person and would make an excellent husband but she expressed her concern about the possible negative responses their marriage might cause in the community they all lived in (this would be in Alabama in the early eighties) and how they could face being ostracized, not only them but any children they might have.

My sisters response was “Mom, he was raised in a predominantly white middle class neighborhood, went to predominantly white schools and most of his friends are white. Heck, mom, ‘Bob’ doesn’t even know he is black!”

Moms reply: “Well, he is in for a rude awakening one of these days!”

BTW they have been married over thirty years now and have two great kids, the last of which graduated this month. Mom lives with them in her declining years and, in her words, “wouldn’t trade either of them for all the tea in China”.

Nice stories, you guys! Kudo’s to your mom @rojo! That’s incredible for Alabama.

I was born in 58, into an upper middle class neighborhood. I was pretty unaware of any of it. Flashes include:

We used to play “Eneey Meeny, Miney Mo. Catch a nigger by his toe…” to divvy up sides. At some point we ended up changing it to “catch a tiger by his toe.” I don’t remember anyone saying anything to me, whether it was my parents or a friend…maybe a friend. Maybe a friend said, “We can’t say it that way any more.” I wasn’t even sure what a “nigger” was so I didn’t think anything about it.

I remember picking out crayons to color a girl. They had a “skin color” crayon. (Peach.) Didn’t think anything of it then, but I thought about it often as I got older.

Annnnd…I had a black kid in my 4th grade classroom. Never forget. His name is/was Clarence. I always thought of Clarence the Cross Eyed Lion of course. He was my friend. He sat in front of me. At one point, for some reason, I got mad and called him a “nigger.” As I said, I didn’t really even know what that was, but my friend turned around and stared at me in betrayed shock…and I was floored. I will never forget that feeling. I went home and asked mom what that meant and she said, “It’s a disparaging (explains ‘disparaging’) word for black people and we do not use it.
I don’t think I ever apologized to Clarence, but I was extra super nice to him after that.

I wish I could find him now and tell him how sorry I am. :(

I was born at the very end of of 1959, might as well say 1960 as my birth date is Dec. 26.
I lived a very sheltered, upper middle class life in a white neighborhood in California.
Yep, I’m with @Judi very few minorities in my schools as a kid, only one black kid that was super smart and well liked in my high school and one hispanic family with several kids in my high school.
I really was quite unaware of all of the countries segregation and racial issues in the 60’s.

I was born in a small Midwestern town in 1961, and segregation didn’t really hit home for me until about 1986, when I had a job that involved working in and around the old “Negro” school. Of course, I had been told it was there, but I was young and dumb and self-centered – segregation was just another historical curiosity. I remember being struck that the gymnasium (about all of the school that was still standing) was equivalent to the school I attended. It really brought the reality of segregation home to me.

There was a piece on NPR recently that blacks are often nostalgic for those times, as they had so much more “community” then. I definitely understand that.

I was raised mostly in California, and also lived abroad. But California and Westchester County NY were the extent of my travels before ‘65. And I never knew of de jure segregation where I lived, only from the news.

I was shocked when I was 7 because I walked to the house in San Francisco where Willie Mays was supposed to live. When I got there, I was told he didn’t live there, and when I mention it to my mom, she told me he wanted to live in that house but the neighbors objected because he was black. That made no sense to me, why would you not want Willie Mays as a neighbor?

I was born in ‘61. But growing up in Northern California in a racially diverse city, I never really saw any.

My mom was born in 1964 and grew up in West Virginia. She can remember the first time she saw water fountains labeled “white” and “colored.” She asked my grandmother what that meant and she replied, “foolishness.”

I have an enamel over metal “Colored” sign hanging on the wall in my living room, with a collection of other interesting items.

I was born in 1948, in rural Chicago area (now suburban), in a working class family. My grandparents on both sides were immigrants from Europe. I remember going into the town where my uncle lived. All the African-American (Negroes, at that time) lived on the South side of town, or in some pockets of the east side. My uncle just happened to live in a “colored” neighborhood. One day, we were visiting, his kids (cousins near my age) were not home, so I went outside while the adults visited. I remember seeing some black kids playing, next door, I think, and I went to join them. My aunt called me to come back, and she said “You don’t want to be playing with them. I didn’t understand why, until I was older, and heard a lot of racial slurs and jokes.

Later, when I was in high school, I befriended the only black athlete (I think one of the two or three black students) at the Catholic boys’ school I attended. When I invited him to visit me at home, my parents asked me not to bring him home anymore. They said they didn’t have any problem with him, but they didn’t want any trouble with the neighbors.

When I met my wife (who is African-American) in the late 1980’s, I let my family meet her and get to know her over the phone first, without letting them know about her skin color. She also did not have what many stereotypically think of as an “African-American” accent. My family was mostly in Illinois, and I was in Texas. My father passed before we decided to marry, so his reaction was never an issue. My mother, at first, did not know how to react, but she and my wife ended up with an extremely positive, loving relationship, until she passed in 1996.My older brother had the biggest issue with it. He thought I was making the worst mistake of my life. It was not that he had any problem with the fact that the woman I loved was black, but he thought I would run into all kinds of difficulties because of the mixed marriage. He later recanted, and actually called, and offered my wife a tearful, heart-felt apology.

More recently, we had occasion to visit the family with our now 14 year old daughter, and I’m very happy to say there was no issue of acceptance or prejudice on anyone’s part.

I grew up in the Bronx in New York City and was just a kid back then. There was no on going knowledge of anything about segregation. We grew up in a predominantly hispanic and black neighborhood. There were a few mixed families (black with hispanics or hispanics with white or white with black) but no one seemed to care. We knew for most of the whites living among us, it usually meant they were ostracized from their families. I remember this because a few of my friends where of mixed races and would tell me that their white grandparents didn’t want them.

There were a few hispanic who would do the same thing but funny enough were ok with other mixed marriages, just not in there family. I went to a Catholic school so I don’t remember there being an issue with race there. We were all mixed but the predominantly leading race was hispanic because most of the kids families where Roman Catholic. Some of the few white kids who went there were also races who where usually Catholic. Like the Irish, or Italians. Not many Italians. They usually lived in Queens.

We grew up in mostly different areas of NYC. Queens were the Irish, and almost anyone who could pass for white. You had little china, and little italy. Staten Island was all white until about the 1980’s . Bronx was mostly black and hispanics. Manhattan was anyone with money. But mostly it meant, upper white class. In NYC, you could go to any school outside your area after grade school. For grade school you went to a local school, or a private school of your choosing.

I will say, that although there were poor neighborhoods in other parts of the city that it seemed that only people of certain races ever got accepted into those neighborhoods. Or even if you had money to purchase a home back then, people knew it wasn’t advisable to try to move into a neighborhood that was all white. There were death threats or your children were harassed or even beaten at school. But I wasn’t really aware of any of that until the 1970’s.

Vietnam was also an issue that many were more concerned about in 68. Racism was something that was pretty much accepted by most as just the way things are. Hippies were laughed at by some, hated by others, and often seen as Communist lovers because they were viewed as anti-government or simply as stoners with nothing better to do.

Great stories everyone. I found the answers really interesting. I hope we get some answers.

White female American here born in ‘62. The family (all brought up in the North except for my sister and me) moved to Virginia in ‘65. In this mid-sized southern town, there were hints of the past segregation, but never from our parents.

By the time I was in school, desegregation was in place, so we didn’t know any better. There were no separate bathrooms or drinking fountains, nor any sign that they ever existed. In hindsight, it is because there was one school in town for all of the black students, while whites (the predominant population) went to various schools based upon geographical location.

About a month ago, I chatted with an older woman who attended that downtown school because she is black. I asked her what it was like growing up during that period. Her reply touched my heart. She explained that the teachers never expressed any bitterness over their current situation. The students were all encouraged to excel in their education so that they could live a good life and make the world a better place.

A couple of counties over, it was a different circumstance. The local government refused to desegregate their schools. The state government stepped in and finally shut their funding off. According to our high school government teacher, a generation of children, both black and white, didn’t receive an education. There is more to it than that, so here is a link in case you are interested.

@Pied_Pfeffer Thanks for that link. A woman I used to walk with from my neighborhood in TN was a retired teacher from MS and she had told me that when the schools desegregated where she lived she begged the (white) parents not to pull their children out of the public school, because the public school had lab equipment for science and a good array of subjects being taught, but many of the parents did take their kids out and put their children into the private school that had been created. I never knew there was a technical name until your link—Segregation Acadamies. I remember finding her story interesting, because a close friend of mine had moved to the south in 10th grade, so that would 1982–83 school year, and by the time I saw her in 11th grade, because she would visit her dad near me, she had changed. She went to a small private school now (she had been in public with me in MD) because that’s where white kids go, and she had become a born again Christian. That was my first real experience with knowing someone who lived in the south. As I write this I wonder if part of her mom’s decision to move back to the south was my friend had dated a black guy for a time as a young teen. I don’t think of her mom as a racist, but maybe that troubled her. Our high school was very diverse in MD.

I recently saw a show on TV where a black woman talked about growing up somewhere in GA during segregation, but that in her town everyone was good to each other, and as a black child she felt cared for, protected by, and encouraged by, both the white and black people in town. She didn’t grow up with any overwhelming feeling that she was second class or that she couldn’t do whatever she wanted to do in life.