A Bronze Star for Brenda
A Bronze Star for Brenda
By Randall O`Brien, Exec. V.P. and Provost, Baylor University
Heroes, civil rights heroes and heroines, number in the hundreds, or even thousands, from the 1960s alone. Immortalized in the pages of American history many of our country`s bravest soldiers earned their medals of valor on battlefields of strange name: lunch counters, bus stations, courthouses, and jails. Purple Hearts rained upon chained chests in darkened forests where Satan`s army tortured God`s children of color. There hooded hoodlums and klansmen cops dispensed pain to prophets, wounds to warriors, evil to any who courageously worked for racial equality.
Jesus was a Negro in the 60s and anti-Christ Christians and other hate-filled infidels killed him-again. And again, and again and-again.
Was not that a crucifixion on the balcony of the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis in 1968? Did not Chaney, Schwerner, and Goodman precede Dr. King on Golgotha in Philadelphia, Mississippi in 1964? Was not Medgar Evers nailed at Calvary by a bullet to the back in Jackson in 1963?
All of these are heroes, fallen heroes, national heroes, and heroes of mine. There are thousands more. One, a young Black girl, from McComb, Mississippi, stands out.
On Saturday, August 26, 1961, Mississippians Hollis Watkins and Curtis (Elmer) Hayes, both African-American, sat down at a "Whites Only" lunch counter in my hometown of McComb, becoming the first persons in the state to take direct action against segregation in a "sit-in." For their revolutionary bravery they were promptly arrested and jailed for 30 days, charged with breach of peace.
Four days later on Wednesday, August 30, 1961, Robert Talbert, Isaac (Ike) Lewis, and 15-year-old Brenda Travis "sat-in" at the segregated Greyhound bus station in McComb. They, too, were arrested immediately and incarcerated 28 days in the county jail.
When Ike and Brenda were expelled from Burgland High (McComb`s segregated high school for Blacks), and refused readmission they were, in effect, handed lifetime sentences of punishing poverty. Within a month or so other African-American students would also be permanently expelled. Southern Negroes with high school educations could hardly expect, as a rule, to earn a fair, living wage. But to be denied the opportunity to earn even a high school diploma represented cruel and unusual punishment, or a sentence of extreme poverty for life.
On October 4, 1961, approximately 120 of Brenda`s and Ike`s protesting classmates, led by young Brenda, marched from Burgland High School through town, to the steps of City Hall while singing, "We Shall Overcome." One-by-one the students ascended the steps of City Hall to kneel and pray. There they were beaten and kicked by cops and other fine citizens, then arrested.
Brenda related years later, "I believe I was predestined to become an activist. I joined the NAACP and became involved in the movement to get people to vote. But they were afraid."
Jailed again, this time for her role in the McComb march, Brenda and the other students sang and prayed through the night. After several days, "They took me out of jail," Brenda related. "Said, `We`re taking you to Jackson to see your attorney.` After a long drive they pulled the car up to the gates of the Reform School in Oakley. My family, nobody knew where I was. My mother was never allowed to visit me the whole time. My family suffered."
Though sentenced to a year in Reformatory School, the young teenager was released before completing her full term under one condition established by the Governor: she must leave the state within 24 hours of her release!
After 45 years of exile, Brenda returned to Mississippi, June 21, 2006, for the 45th anniversary of the 1961 direct action against segregation in Mississippi. Determined, I got in my automobile, pulled out of my driveway, and drove 10 hours from my home in Texas to meet her in McComb. I had something to give her; I had something to say to her.
Following two days of recognitions, speeches, awards ceremonies, a moving graduation exercise nearly a half-century too late for the expelled seniors of Burgland High, class of `62, and a final stirring address to a full house at Burgland High by Brenda Travis the right moment arrived for me to approach Brenda. My heart raced.
"Brenda," I began, "I`m Randall O`Brien. I am a minister and Executive Vice President and Provost of Baylor University. I grew up in McComb." "Oh, I`m very glad to meet you." "No, the honor is all mine. You are a hero of mine. I was 12-years-old when you sat-in at the bus station and marched on City Hall. You were 15. Those remain, for me, two of the greatest acts of bravery in my lifetime."
"How very kind of you. Thank you, Randall." "Brenda, what happened to you was one of the darkest travesties of justice in American history. I am ashamed; I am embarrassed; I am angry. I am also changed by you, by your life, your courage, your cries for justice. As you know," I continued, "our lives always travel down paths of continuation or compensation, one or the other, in the area of racial injustice. Your witness, and the courageous work of your sisters and brothers has been a huge influence upon my life. I`ve tried to live my life to help compensate for all the wrong done to African-Americans. How can I say, `thank you,` Brenda, for who you are and for who you`ve helped me to become?"
Brenda tried to speak, but couldn`t. Her eyes filled with tears. We embraced. Slipping my right hand into my pants pocket, I clutched the surprise I had for her, pulled the gift out, and placed it in Brenda`s hand.
Pulling back, looking into her eyes while still holding her hand, I whispered, "A few years after your civil rights battles for our country, I fought for our country on a different battlefield-in Vietnam. Sometimes in an imperfect world a person might need to fight for his country. But no one-no one-should ever have to fight her country!"
Nodding humbly in silent agreement, her brown eyes floating in tears, Brenda stood still. "For my service in Vietnam I was awarded the Bronze Star," I said. "For your gallantry, Brenda, you were awarded Reform School, and cruel exile from your family and home state. You were so many times more heroic than I ever was! I want you to have my Bronze Star, Brenda, for your heroism. You already have my heart and my admiration."
Plunging us into tearful embrace again, Brenda whispered to me through her sobs, "I don`t know what to say." "You don`t have to say anything," I said. "I thought about saving my medals for my children," I confessed, "maybe giving my bronze star to my son, so my children would have something to remember me by. Then I thought, No, this is how I want to be remembered: Brenda Travis gave her youth for civil rights for all Americans; daddy gave his Bronze Star to Brenda Travis."
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