A Wave From Mama

Chapter 7: Colored School No. 2

Chapter 7

Colored School No. 2

COLORED SCHOOL NO. 2 was a tremendous source of pride for the residents of Weeksville. Entering this building as a student meant the beginning of a journey denied to most Colored people—a journey to a better future. Junius Morel, the principal of the school, enjoyed a national reputation as a writer and understood better than anyone the kind of opportunity a good education could provide. In addition, his role as a member of The Committee of Thirteen—an influential group of Colored New Yorkers who represented the Black population in matters of importance, added to his prestige. Junius appreciated how his education made all of his achievements possible. Often, Principal Morel reflected on each of his various roles of leader, writer, and educator, and always came to the same conclusion: the simple but essential task of teaching was his most important work.

Principal Morel often walked the halls, remembering past students who went on to bigger and better things. He passed a framed essay, mounted in a prominent position on the wall and remembered the author. John Sampson, a most remarkable German child. What a marvelous piece about the founding principles of the United States. So hard to imagine a White boy appreciating the irony of the concepts of freedom and liberty within a society based, at least in part, on s*****y. This is one White man who will make a difference. He smiled as he continued his tour.

Other exceptional essays written by Colored students outnumbered those penned by Whites, but the disparity in numbers simply reflected the racial balance of the school. These essays represented public proof of the high standards at Colored School No. 2, which ensured that the children of Weeksville would be literate—reason alone to believe the next generation would be more prosperous than the last.

Junius struggled with the issue of educational segregation. He thought, Is it possible for Whites and Blacks to learn together with equal treatment? This was the case at Colored School No. 2, but under White control, Blacks would not receive equal treatment. Perhaps being separate, but equal, like the community of Weeksville, would be a better option? The principal’s mind started to drift as he considered this basic question yet again. The knock on his door brought him back to matters of the day. Esther Washington wished to speak with him about a potential new enrollment.

Junius greeted his guest. “Esther, how are you? How are things in your husband’s shop? I hope he’s doing well.”

“Yes, everything is fine, Mr. Morel. Thank you for asking. How are things at the school?”

“We’re getting ready for the start of another year. Busy as always, but how can I help you, Mrs. Washington?”

“I took in a child over the summer from the refugee camp. The one found with his dead mother in the camp after the riots. He caused some trouble a few months back, but he’s settled down and should be in school. I’m guess’n you might know ’bout him.”

“Yes, Esther, my understanding, however, is that he hasn’t settled down yet. I don’t need problems like that at the school. Are you sure he’s calm enough? Is he ready to be a student?”

“I think so, but he’s still high-strung. Seems younger than he is. He’s going on thirteen.”

“Let’s chat with him. Is he outside?”

“Yes.”

“Please bring him in.”

Vent walked into the principal’s office wearing some of Horace’s old clothes. Esther did her best to shorten and tighten both the pants and shirt, but Vent still swam in the outfit. He took the empty seat next to Miss Esther. Principal Morel smiled at his potential new student and opened with, “I understand your first name is Venture, an unusual name. What is your last name?”

Venture didn’t answer and didn’t raise his head.

“Venture, what is your last name?” the principal repeated.

Esther decided to intervene. “Vent, Principal Morel is a good man and I want you to raise your head, look at him, and answer his questions. Tell him your last name.”

“My mama said it didn’t matter, just the name of the folks who used to own us as property.”

Esther took Vent’s trembling hands into her own and counseled him. “Vent—that ain’t no way to speak to Principal Morel. He is an important man in Weeksville. Now tell him your last name.”

“Simmons.”

The principal smiled. “Fine. Venture Simmons. Will this be your first time as a student in school?”

Vent couldn’t believe this man had asked another question and he kept his head lowered. He offered no response.

Esther Washington whispered, “Vent, please answer all the questions, ain’t gonna be so many more. Principal Morel is a good man.”

The principal repeated his question. “Venture, will this be your first time in school?”

“Yes, but Mama taught me how to read and write. Math I just always understood.”

“Venture, nobody naturally knows math. What do you mean by that?” the principal asked.

“Always could add, subtract, multiply, and divide for as long as I can remember.”

“Vent, is it?”

“Yes.”

“If I had a hundred apples and I needed to give them equally to twenty people, how many apples would I give each person?”

Vent answered without hesitation, “Five.”

“Excellent!”

The approval from the principal, along with the introduction of one of Vent’s biggest interests, mathematics, cracked the boy’s armor ever so slightly. The principal offered a second, more difficult question. “If it takes six apples to make a pie, how many pies can you make with ninety-five apples? I’ll give you a piece of paper to work on this one.” The principal reached for a sheet of paper from the corner of his desk.

“Don’t need no paper. You could make fifteen pies of the regular size you want, and one smaller one with the leftover five apples, which would be just right for someone my size,” Vent offered with both a smile and a giggle, because his mama taught him a long time ago that any statement about his small size would be considered funny. Vent never attempted a joke before as far as Esther understood. What a surprise, she thought. Maybe school will be good for him.

“I think Vent will do just fine in school, Mrs. Washington! Welcome to Colored School No. 2, Vent! You start on Monday.”

The sound of a whip coming from the street disturbed the feel-good moment, and Vent rushed into the corner and curled up in a ball. He repeated his mantra, “I’ll get them all, they killed Mama,” and then started to count. “Five, ten, fifteen, twenty…”

Esther rushed over to check on Vent. “Ain’t nothing to worry about outside. Everything is fine. The school is a safe place. Principal Morel is a good man. No one out there trying to hurt you, Vent.”

Vent’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Gonna kill them all. They killed Mama. Gonna kill them all. Fifteen, thirty, forty-five, sixty…”

Esther pulled up a chair and sat as close to Vent as possible. She knew he didn’t want to be touched, but felt better when close to someone who cared. They sat together as Vent continued his mumbling rant.

Junius Morel got up from his desk, shrugged his shoulders, and walked toward Vent, but stopped when he saw the child tense up. He directed his comments to Esther. “He is a remarkable child, but he still needs to adjust a bit more—Monday might be too soon. Give him some time. I’m going to leave the two of you here in my office so I can prepare one of the classrooms for a meeting tonight. Take all of the time you need.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Morel, but don’t give up on this boy. He’ll be a good student. I promise you, he’ll be okay.”

“Don’t worry. I hope to welcome him into the school in the near future, but first he needs to be ready. Let’s give him time. Good day, Mrs. Washington. Good day, Vent.”

The principal stopped by his bookcase on the way out of his office and searched the top shelf for a few moments before pulling out a book. “Here, encourage him to read this math book. I’ll leave it on my desk. Also, please remind your husband about my meeting tonight at the school for the visitors in the camp.”

“You mean the Fort Sumter folks?”

Principal Morel didn’t much like the name given to the camp, but in the interest of clarity, he responded, “Yes, Fort Sumter.”

“I’ll let him know, Principal Morel. I’m sure he’ll do his best to be there. Thank you for the book and your time.”

“Good day, Mrs. Washington, and Venture, please enjoy the book.”

Esther and Vent sat for another fifteen minutes in the principal’s office. As suddenly as it began, it ended—Vent stopped his chant, stood up, and sat at the principal’s desk. He held the book up to the sunlight and admired the way the light passed through the thin sheets of paper. One page, in particular drew his attention, and he smiled. Another page made him laugh. He started to write on the blank piece of paper the principal had left behind, tucked the sheet into the book when finished, and placed the book on the principal’s desk.

“Let’s go home, Miss Esther.”

“Vent, you can take the book with you. The principal wanted you to read it.”

“All done, Miss Esther. Let’s go home.”

Vent headed out of the office with a bounce in his walk and a smile on his face. Then the c***k of a whip from a passing horse carriage triggered another bad episode and Vent ran home to the safety of either his tree or closet. Esther followed and pondered the same questions she’d asked herself since meeting Vent weeks before. What happened to this boy? At least now I know his last name, but what made him like this? Esther wondered if she would ever get answers because Vent refused to talk about what had happened, and appeared downright scary when he repeated his endless threats of retaliation for the total loss of his family. Who knows, maybe he had brothers and sisters as well. What am I going to do with this boy? The question, simple, but the answer, complex.

Principal Morel returned to his office about an hour later, found the book still on his desk and assumed Vent was too upset to take an interest—not so unexpected—but then took note of the paper inserted at the end of the book. He removed the sheet and realized that Vent submitted his first homework assignment. The paper contained answers to a series of ten questions, which involved the kind of mathematics with which some of Principal Morel’s most advanced students might struggle. What a remarkable, but troubled boy, the principal thought to himself. I’ll be sure to check on him over the next few weeks.