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Authors: Karin Tanabe
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yawning as they ended their tour. “Let’s go outside and see if it has cooled off at all. One would think we’d stop suffocating by early October.”
The three young women walked down the hill from Fay House, toward Cambridge Common, enjoying the slight breeze. Lilly introduced her cousin and Anita to several of the girls they passed, animatedly relaying the gossip about each one after they had bid them goodbye.
“Hollis Kelly: so poor at French that it sounds as if her tongue has been split like a lizard,” said Lilly, speaking louder than she should have been. She nodded to two more girls after giving them a warm hello and introducing her guests. “AliceTruman: her father was flush with money out west, but he died in a mine collapse and the family went bankrupt. An estranged uncle has to pay for her schooling now. The other is Edna de France: Be sure to look at her from the side as she walks away. Her nose is so hooked she can hang a coat on it.”
Lottie made a face at her cousin. “It’s no wonder you always got along so well with my mother,” she told her.
As they looped back to Fay House, Lilly slowed her steps and whispered something to her cousin. Anita stopped behind them, her body stiffening as they spoke, then Lilly turned back to her and said, “Anita, up ahead of us is Alberta Scott. Did Lottie warn you about her?”
Anita looked at Lottie, who shrugged and said, “I forgot she was here. We don’t have that concern at Vassar.”
“She was the first,” said Lilly in a whisper, and suddenly Anita knew. She was speaking about a Negro.
“She was the only one until another came this year, a Gertrude Baker in the class of 1900. And now that they’ve made their little point, I pray they are done admitting them,” said Lilly. “It cheapens the school. Of course, neither of them resides near anyone we’re acquainted with or engage with us outside our classes, so I suppose it could be even more inappropriate. I hear there have been several of them at Wellesley. And this Alberta Scott, the first one to arrive, she’s very dark. In the evening all you can see of her are those bulging white eyes. You know the type. She’s class of 1898, but they admitted her accidentally, I’m sure. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get rid of her.”
Lottie turned and looked ahead. “She’s stopped walking. She’s just standing there in the middle of the road.”
“Let’s cross the lane so we don’t have to walk by her. It makes me very uncomfortable. She has a smell about her that isn’t quite right,”said Lilly, her face pinching in disgust. “They all do, don’t they? Especially when it’s warm outside. Virginia Bloomingdale had Greek with her last year and had to sit right next to her. Imagine. And Virginia is from Atlanta. The poor girl barely made it through class. Her father wrote letters to the president to protest, threatened to pull Virginia out of school, but the administration wouldn’t listen. They even went so far as to say there would be more admitted in the years to come, so perhaps it wasn’t an accident after all. Now Alberta is still here and Virginia is not.”
It took Anita a moment to follow Lottie and Lilly across the street so they would not have to pass close to Alberta. She took a few steps, careful not to look back at Radcliffe’s first Negro student. She had been so scared at the prospect of running into Gertrude that she had not even considered the possibility of seeing another Negro on campus.
Anita had never lost sight of the fiction she was living at Vassar. The Plessy v Ferguson debate and discussions about the Jim Crow laws were just recent reminders. Her freshman year, she had been in a hall play and blackened her face with makeup to play a Negro woman along with ten other girls, who declared it all great fun. She had listened to southern girls talk about the former slaves who were still on their properties, sharecropping cotton to survive. Some spoke
The three young women walked down the hill from Fay House, toward Cambridge Common, enjoying the slight breeze. Lilly introduced her cousin and Anita to several of the girls they passed, animatedly relaying the gossip about each one after they had bid them goodbye.
“Hollis Kelly: so poor at French that it sounds as if her tongue has been split like a lizard,” said Lilly, speaking louder than she should have been. She nodded to two more girls after giving them a warm hello and introducing her guests. “AliceTruman: her father was flush with money out west, but he died in a mine collapse and the family went bankrupt. An estranged uncle has to pay for her schooling now. The other is Edna de France: Be sure to look at her from the side as she walks away. Her nose is so hooked she can hang a coat on it.”
Lottie made a face at her cousin. “It’s no wonder you always got along so well with my mother,” she told her.
As they looped back to Fay House, Lilly slowed her steps and whispered something to her cousin. Anita stopped behind them, her body stiffening as they spoke, then Lilly turned back to her and said, “Anita, up ahead of us is Alberta Scott. Did Lottie warn you about her?”
Anita looked at Lottie, who shrugged and said, “I forgot she was here. We don’t have that concern at Vassar.”
“She was the first,” said Lilly in a whisper, and suddenly Anita knew. She was speaking about a Negro.
“She was the only one until another came this year, a Gertrude Baker in the class of 1900. And now that they’ve made their little point, I pray they are done admitting them,” said Lilly. “It cheapens the school. Of course, neither of them resides near anyone we’re acquainted with or engage with us outside our classes, so I suppose it could be even more inappropriate. I hear there have been several of them at Wellesley. And this Alberta Scott, the first one to arrive, she’s very dark. In the evening all you can see of her are those bulging white eyes. You know the type. She’s class of 1898, but they admitted her accidentally, I’m sure. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get rid of her.”
Lottie turned and looked ahead. “She’s stopped walking. She’s just standing there in the middle of the road.”
“Let’s cross the lane so we don’t have to walk by her. It makes me very uncomfortable. She has a smell about her that isn’t quite right,”said Lilly, her face pinching in disgust. “They all do, don’t they? Especially when it’s warm outside. Virginia Bloomingdale had Greek with her last year and had to sit right next to her. Imagine. And Virginia is from Atlanta. The poor girl barely made it through class. Her father wrote letters to the president to protest, threatened to pull Virginia out of school, but the administration wouldn’t listen. They even went so far as to say there would be more admitted in the years to come, so perhaps it wasn’t an accident after all. Now Alberta is still here and Virginia is not.”
It took Anita a moment to follow Lottie and Lilly across the street so they would not have to pass close to Alberta. She took a few steps, careful not to look back at Radcliffe’s first Negro student. She had been so scared at the prospect of running into Gertrude that she had not even considered the possibility of seeing another Negro on campus.
Anita had never lost sight of the fiction she was living at Vassar. The Plessy v Ferguson debate and discussions about the Jim Crow laws were just recent reminders. Her freshman year, she had been in a hall play and blackened her face with makeup to play a Negro woman along with ten other girls, who declared it all great fun. She had listened to southern girls talk about the former slaves who were still on their properties, sharecropping cotton to survive. Some spoke
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