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Phyllis Jenkins May

March 25, 1943

Phyllis May’s maternal grandparents and other family members moved from Savannah, GA to Douglass Avenue in Haddonfield in search of work. The neighborhood children used their dead end street as a “playground.” There, the children would ride bikes, play hopscotch, jacks, and hide-and-seek. In her neighborhood, she felt safe and happy.

Everyone in the community knew and loved her grandmother and affectionately called her Mama Daisy.

“Mama Daisy was on one corner and down the street Ms. Ross had a corner store. We called it the candy store. We would always get something: ice cream, candy, whatever.” Mrs. Mays’ father was among Haddonfield’s first Black mailmen. He was a whistler.

When he reached Ms. Ross’ store, the children knew he had arrived. At Christmastime, she and her sister also enjoyed opening gifts from the people on his mail route.

As a teenager, she and her friends enjoyed house parties. They would “roll up the carpet” so they could dance. She remembers frequenting the “Ice House” at the intersection of Brace and Berlin Roads. Jerry Blavat frequently staged dance parties there. They also appeared on American Bandstand.

Back in the day, the Camden

County pool was located in Haddonfield. It was within walking distance to most of the homes where African Americans lived, but they could only swim there on Wednesdays. This applied to all Blacks in the County. She learned how to swim at the insistence of her mother and other mothers in the community. They engaged a Red Cross worker for this purpose.

Mrs. May explained how Haddonfield’s Central Elementary School had just been built when it was time for her to go to school. “Morris Brown and I were the first two Black kids to go up to Central School.” Although her attendance there reminds her of The Little Rock Nine, she admits, “There was none of that when I went to school. We just went. We were just two Black kids in kindergarten.”

For Mrs. May, high school was also a positive experience, “I loved high school. I was a pretty good student, I had a lot of friends.” However, Mrs. May remembers that black and white students “didn’t socialize with each other after school. When I left school and the other Black kids left school, we went back to our neighborhoods.” She explains that, although the African-American students did not attend most high school formal affairs, she “volunteered to deco-

Dansbury

continued from page 3 rate for the proms.” Mrs. May detailed the Shangri La theme. “We had crepe paper hanging everywhere in the high school gym.”

She took college preparatory classes, participated in student council, and was in the band. “Music was a big part of my life. I played piano for the chorus and for the choirs.”

Mrs. May remembers how fellow high school students “kept getting called down to the guidance counselor to make plans for what they were going to do after high school.” Although not among them, she wanted to be a classical pianist and hoped to attend The Juilliard School or the Boston Conservatory. At one time, she also contemplated going to the Katharine Gibbs Secretarial School because she dreamed of becoming a journalist. As Mrs. May loved to write, she thought she could have a career at a magazine.

Mrs. May considers herself to be a bookworm. While she was growing up, one of her favorite places was the Haddonfield Library. She reveals that her mother kept plenty of magazines and other reading material in the house: Ebony, Jet, National Geographic. Furthering her education beyond classrooms was part of her mother’s plan for her two daughters. Mrs. May recalls that on one summer day, her mother was sitting on their enclosed porch with Phyllis and her younger sister. Her mother calmly turned to the young ladies and insisted, “You girls are going to go to college whether I have to work three jobs to get you there.”

She said, “You could be a nurse or a teacher.” Mrs. May remembers looking at her younger sister and professing, “I’ll be a teacher.” Only two options were offered by her mother: “You can go to Glassboro, or you can go to Hampton.”

The memory behind her decision to attend Hampton Institute, an historically Black college in Virginia, is easy to recall. One of Mrs. May’s neighbors attended Hampton. She showed a postcard to her mother and said “Phyllis would like this college.”

Sight unseen, Phyllis Jenkins May’s mother drove her to Hampton and dropped her off.

To help with tuition, every Fourth Sunday, after church was over, the ushers at the Jenkins’ family church would stand at the back door and hold an offering plate for the “kids that were going to college.”

“I think of all the talents the people of my mother’s generation had that they weren’t really able to use” because people had a tendency to “judge a book by its cover.” Mrs. May contends that this is the greatest limitation on one’s potential. “Never prematurely ‘judge.’ You will be surprised of all the wonderful things you can do.” watching the riots and violence that surrounded school integration. Watching news reports that showed images of dogs attacking African Americans, state troopers using force, and firemen using hoses to control protestors was unsettling. “I was scared as heck that they would come up this way and we were going to get chased by police dogs just for going to school.” Decades later, Mr. Dansbury experienced similar opposition. He moved to Boston and accepted a teaching position at South Boston High School in 1976. At this time “The federal government forced the Boston School District to integrate their public schools.” Since they refused, the government put the School District of Boston into Receivership,” taking over control. This decision was met with violent opposition and even death. He explains that, for the two years he was employed there, he had to travel to a location where he would “wait for a police escort to get to the school.” Dansbury admits that, though the state had intervened to enforce integration within the public schools, white students withdrew when the community established “community schools” for white students.

For most of her career, beginning in 1965, Mrs. May was an elementary school teacher in the Willingboro and Cherry Hill school systems. After earning the master’s from College of New Jersey, she became a counselor at Cherry Hill West and retired in 2007.

Highly accomplished and content with his life’s work, Mr. Danbury’s advice to young people is to “Find what you want to do and go for it, focus on what you love.”

He continues to serve the public as a Commissioner of the Housing Authority of the City of Camden.

Kristine Kirby Reynolds

November 10, 1944

This is where African Americans lived. However, having developed an appreciation for the performing arts early-on, “There wasn’t anything in Haddonfield for entertainment for me.”

She enjoyed dancing and had the luxury of taking lessons in Camden, NJ, where there was a more diverse population and less racial tension stemming from bias against people of color. Yet, this did not preclude danger.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” While facing discrimination and other forms of adversity, Kristine Kirby Reynolds heavily relies on biblical scriptures like Psalm 23:6 to find comfort and joy.

While growing up African American in the predominantly white borough of Haddonfield in the 1950s and ‘60s several national incidents presented cause for hope and optimism as well as despair. With the increasing visibility of proponents of non-violent activism—like the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.—the appeal of the Civil Rights Movement widened; this, ultimately, led to the passage of the Civil Rights Act, which prohibits discrimination in public places. It was preceded by the Equal Pay Act. Earlier, John F. Kennedy’s 1960 presidential campaign promised a more equal and just America. Along the way, Motown’s tunes energized America—across racial lines. Yet, these good fortunes were offset by the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assassination of a beloved and progressive president, and increasing engagement in the unpopular war in Vietnam. And, in her hometown, progress was slow to come.

Mrs. Reynolds recalls, “It was a close-knit neighborhood” and “you could track it off: Fowler Avenue, Ellis Street and Potter Street, Douglass and Lincoln that went into Ellis Street.”

Jacquelyn Johnson

Mann Roberts

January 7, 1939

“I’ll never forget it.” Mrs. Roberts recalls a time when an elementary school teacher asked the class where their ancestors came from. Causing much embarrassment, the teacher announced, “We know where Jackie's ancestors came from, Africa.” Mrs. Roberts laments that “they never taught us Black history in school, we only studied the white history.”

Mrs. Reynolds recollects, “One day, on the way home (from dance class), someone had thrown a knife at me and cut my pocketbook.” The perpetrators were a group of young white men in a car. Mrs. Reynolds surmised that this act of hatred was racially motivated. She adds, “It was what I would call the only negative experience that I had…you know everything else was just underlying things….”

Despite being part of a marginalized group, Mrs. Reynolds participated in several activities offered at Haddonfield Memorial High School. As the drum majorette, she proudly led the band during football games, Christmas and Memorial Day parades, and other special occasions. The whole community would come out to celebrate. Mrs. Reynolds recalls being elated when anticipating seeing her photograph printed in The Town Crier for leading these events; however, she was not pictured on a single page. She reflects on the implied message: “Being a Black person in Haddonfield, and being upfront, was not where I should be.”

While being the drum majorette was a source of pride and fun, she could not help but feel “invisible.'' Ralph Ellison’s critically acclaimed novel Invisible Man addresses the complexities of living in a society by which one is essentially ignored. In the end, his central character goes crazy. Yet, this would not please see REYNOLDS, page 7

The desegregation of Haddonfield’s elementary schools began in 1948 with the closing of the Colored School on Lincoln Avenue. State laws outlawing segregated schools recently came into play. Not long after this, the last all-Negro unit in the Armed Forces was abolished by desegregation, too.

Mrs. Roberts and her fellow students were integrated into Central Elementary School. Due to the political impact of integration as well as the possibility of protests and violence, armed guards escorted the children into the school to ensure their safety. Fortunately, there was no violence on that historic day.

Mrs. Roberts shares, “That’s what I loved about Haddonfield. There was change. That’s a wonderful thing. When I was growing up, I didn’t know about segregation and all that. I just figured that’s where we’re supposed to be. We stayed in our place.” Reflecting on her experiences—now—however, Mrs. Roberts admits “segregation was powerful in Haddonfield.” Her mother defied the normalized separation of races by intentionally sitting in the non-colored section of the movie theater. According to Mrs. Roberts, “mother was tired of [segregation and unequal facilities] and felt like it was time. Someone had to do it.” Although her mother was given threatening looks, she remained seated until the conclusion of the movie. Her mother’s lesson of stoicism and confidence inspired her daughter to resist and challenge acts of racism and injustice. However, it was not lost on any- one that the theater closed for good within weeks of this courageous act.

Jackie Johnson Mann Roberts has faced racial discrimination throughout her life. One of her earliest experiences entailed being rejected from the high school’s cheerleading squad. Revealing the sustained trauma of this event, she exclaimed: “I knew I could dance!”

Feeling terribly unfulfilled during the high school years, she opted not to complete studies there. She went to Camden County College to attain her General Equivalency Diploma and was on the Dean’s List. Subsequently, she married a fellow HMHS student. Together, they had two children. Her son had special needs and passed away a few years ago. Her daughter, who graduated from HMHS and became an underwriter in the insurance industrry.

Notably, in the late-1980s, Mrs. Roberts became the first African American to be hired in an administrative capacity at Haddonfield Borough Hall. Although apprehensive about working in an environment lacking diversity, her fears would soon be assuaged. Mrs. Roberts shares, “They welcomed me and treated me as one of their own.” She feels proud to break the color barrier, not only professionally but personally, forming friendships with an otherwise all-white workforce and explains that she lives by a simple tenet: “Always be nice-no matter what—and hold your boundaries. Be peaceful with others no matter what happens. Hold your boundaries.” This philosophy helped her overcome personal and professional adversities.

Generally, despite facing problems growing up in a Caucasian-dominant town, her childhood was happy. She found comfort in her family; nine siblings brought a sense of community to her home life. This second oldest child, Mrs. Roberts shouldered responsibility for her younger siblings as she proudly watched her father serve as one of the first Black mail carriers in town, paving the way for other job opportunities for African Americans.

In sharing a sentimental experience with her father, who had been an HMHS track star, she reveals: “My brother and my sister were on the mail truck, and my father took a picture.” Simple moments like this, which so many people take for granted, are valued by Mrs. Roberts, because they were often off limits to people like her.

Being so young, Mrs. Roberts didn’t realize the significance of the progressive steps her father took toward achieving equality. When she approached adulthood, Mrs. Roberts came to understand the power of her father’s decisions, would break barriers herself, and see her brother-in-law become Haddonfield’s first African-American police officer.

Having been born in her parents home on Potter Street more than eight decades ago, her lasting memories of this historic borough are fond. In retirement, she has a larger residence in an area populated by more country-esque landscapes. Nonetheless, she says: “That (Haddonfield) was my home. No matter what, it was my home. No matter how bad things were, it was my home and it will always be my home. I'll never forget Haddonfield. Never. Even with the good and the bad, I love Haddonfield.”