Letters from my Grandmother - Part 3
Nina Hortense Clinton, around 1900 When I think of the humiliations endured by my mother and grandmother, it makes my blood boil. My grandfather had built his house in a rural area, which was eventually swallowed up by the city of Charleston, West Virginia. The people who built their houses around his happened to be white, which meant that by the time my mother was old enough to attend school, she was not allowed to go to school in her own neighborhood. She had to travel for miles to get to the nearest “Colored” school. My grandfather faithfully paid his taxes so that his children could attend public school, all for naught. My mother told me a story that she and her mother were taking a trip on a bus, and they had pulled into a bus station for bathroom breaks. The humiliation of segregated bathrooms was bad enough. But my grandmother had already returned to the bus and was seated when my mother tried to board. “You can’t get on this bus!” the new driver spat at my mother. She ...