By Karen Boutilier Kendall

At the end of the day as I walked home, one of the girls from my class called after me. “Hey, preacher’s kid, get your white ass over here.” I took a deep breath and turned around. The girl was backed up by a large group of kids anxious to see a fight. I walked over to her and stared straight into her eyes. “I am a pacifist. I won’t fight with you. I don’t know you and have no reason to dislike you.”

She looked at me as if I spoke a foreign language. But, I continued. “I won’t fight you simply because you think something is wrong with me just because I’m white.” I turned toward home and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” She was not to be deterred so easily. I kept walking. I could hear the crowd getting closer, but vowed to simply keep walking no matter what happened. She picked up a small stone and threw it at me. I had a jacket on and it hit me in the back, but I barely felt it. She then picked up a small branch and ran up to me hitting me in the back of the head. I kept walking.

She hit my back and my head, but I didn’t stop. She started yelling at me, calling names. I turned around and told her she knew nothing about me. She said, “I know you’re white and your dad’s a preacher.” I cut her off and asked her why she thought I was the enemy simply because I was white and my Dad was a minister. I was furious. I asked her, “Did you ever walk with Martin Luther King?”

She hit me in the face. I thought of what I had been taught and crazily, turned my head and said, “Go ahead, hit the other side.” She just stared at me. I told her I had marched in the Poor People’s Campaign to help end prejudice. I continued my rant, telling her she was prejudiced because she thought she could sum up my life by looking at my skin. “Well, you can’t. You don’t know anything.” I turned around leaving the whole group staring at me. I expected to feel more hits, but all she threw at me were verbal taunts, which I simply ignored.

The next day in class, I walked up to the girl who had taunted me and said, “Hi, we didn’t get to meet properly yesterday. I’m Karen.” She looked at me and said, “You’re crazy, but I like that. My name is Wilma.” Then she asked me to take the empty seat in front of her. At lunch, Wilma found me and invited me to eat with her friends. I was really surprised that she changed so much over night. All of a sudden, I was her new best friend.

Many weeks later, Mr. Ladd told us about an important test that all fifth graders in the entire state would take. We all needed to do our very best on the test. While he explained the test to us, a boy named Billy made snide comments. He often talked out in class and Mr. Ladd usually ignored him. Billy kept making comments and a few kids laughed. I literally could see the anger rising in Mr. Ladd. Finally, I guess he snapped. He looked at Billy and said, “Quit acting like a little nigger.”

There was an audible gasp from almost the entire class. I couldn’t believe a teacher would be so crass as to say that word. The class had three white, one Hispanic and seventeen black kids. He grabbed Billy by the arm and said, “You’re going to the principal.” The minute the two of them left the room, the class erupted in threats of what everyone wanted to do to Mr. Ladd.

I was so angry at Mr. Ladd, but I wanted to humiliate him, not physically hurt him. I stood up and yelled so everyone would listen. I said I knew how to really get him. I explained my idea. At first there was opposition, but once Wilma liked the idea, the class followed suit, afraid to cross her. The only person still against my plan was a girl who said she would tell Mr. Ladd. I gave her as stern as I could muster and suggested in my strongest voice, that she might want to rethink her position. If you’re not with us, fine, but you keep your mouth shut. I didn’t like to threaten people, but we needed surprise for our plan to work.

The principal used a wooden paddle to punish Billy for disrupting the class. Apparently, the principal didn’t care what Mr. Ladd called him. The kids from our class met after school to finalize our big plan. During dinner, I told Mom and Dad what happened. They were deeply off ended and wanted to take action. I told them our idea and they both agreed it was a great plan. I asked Dad why a school with such a large black population would have almost exclusively white teachers and principal, many of whom appeared to be very prejudiced. He said it was a sad problem affecting a lot of schools. Things were slowly changing. Dad offered to help us by calling a friend of his on the School Board. He warned his friend about my plan. The friend promised to keep it quiet, but was going to make sure the school would take the matter seriously once our plan was executed.

The day for action arrived. We all sat in our seats including Billy. Mr. Ladd told us to clear our desks and take out a pencil to take the math section of the state test. We put away our books and pulled out small, hand made signs which read “ON STRIKE” and “NO APOLOGY - NO TEST.” Mr. Ladd turned crimson with anger. The only person who didn’t have a sign was the girl who earlier threatened to tell Mr. Ladd. She kept quiet, but refused to be a part of our strike. Mr. Ladd could barely speak he was so mad.

He yelled at the class, “Who is responsible for this?” We decided it might be more effective for me to ask him to apologize to the entire class. So, I stood up and said it was my idea and asked if he was ready to hear our demands. He practically hissed as he said, “You kids have no rights. You are in no position to make demands.”

I ignored him and continued. “We, the class, feel it was morally wrong for you to use that ugly racial epithet toward Billy. You deeply off ended all of us, white, brown and black. We demand an apology in front of the entire class or we will not take the exam.”

His face splotched in beet red. I thought he might actually have a heart attack right there in front of us. He looked around the class staring intensely at each kid. Then he looked at me specifically and asked me what my parents would think about this stunt, especially once he had me expelled from school. I told him my parents knew about it and supported me one hundred percent. We then all began to chant in unison, “no apology, no test.”

Mr. Ladd stormed out of the room. I knew he would get the principal, Mr. Peabody. Sure enough, the two of them showed up a few minutes later. Mr. Peabody came in and told us we were required by state law to take the test. The school would lose a lot of money if we didn’t take it. I told the principal that Mr. Ladd violated our rights and was morally wrong to make such an offensive comment. Mr. Peabody scanned the room and looked at each kid. “Anyone who doesn’t take the test will be paddled, suspended and their parents notified.” I replied to his threat. “We are all in this together. We won’t back down.” We started chanting again.

Mr. Ladd and Mr. Peabody left the room. When they came back they were joined by one of the few black teachers. He pleaded with us to take the test for the sake of the school. Wilma said we would all take the test the very second Mr. Ladd apologized. All we want is an apology. I addressed Mr. Peabody directly. “You can suspend every one of us, but if you do then none of us will have taken the test. The only way the test will be completed is if Mr. Ladd apologizes.” The three adults left the room and we could hear the murmur of arguing in the hallway. After a couple of minutes of discussion, the three of them walked back in. Mr. Ladd walked over to Billy and said through clenched teeth, “Billy, I apologize for losing my temper and calling you a nigger.” He then turned to the class and told us he was sorry if he off ended any of us. He angrily said, “Now, put away the signs and take the test.”

We all cheered wildly and yelled, “Yeah! We did it!” Mr. Peabody looked directly at Wilma and me. “You two won’t be taking the exam because you will be joining me in my office,” he said. We followed him downstairs where he shut the office door. He said he knew we were the ring leaders and both of us were in very deep trouble for causing this commotion. I handed him a note from my parents indicating they did not believe in violence toward children and expressly declined permission for me to be paddled under any circumstances. He chuckled when he read the note and said it made absolutely no difference. He had the right to spank me as punishment by law if he felt it was necessary. “Obviously, you need to be punished,” he reasoned.

I told him my parents would react by suing the school and guaranteeing a lot of bad publicity if he so much as touched me. He was so angry I thought the vein in his neck was going to explode. “You, young lady, are out of here.” I responded by taunting him, “But, what about taking the test?” He said he didn’t give a damn about the test. He wasn’t going to have me in his school. He told me to wait in the secretary’s office, asked for my file and called Dad to pick me up.

Unfortunately, Wilma didn’t have a letter from her parents. I made the suggestion she get before our strike, but she knew her Mom would not agree to our action. So, she took her paddling and returned to class to complete the test. We hugged in the hallway. She said even though she got spanked, the protest was a lot of fun. “We really humiliated Mr. Ladd,” she bragged.

I saw Dad walk through the doors of the school and ran over to him. He asked if we were successful. I gave him a brief accounting of the day. There was a man with him whom I hadn’t met before. Dad introduced me and said that he was a member of the School Board. The two of them went into Mr. Peabody’s office while I sat outside waiting. It took awhile before they all came out. In the end, I did get suspended for several days. But, the entire matter also was discussed at the next school board meeting.

We celebrated at dinner the night of the strike. When I finally returned to school, Mr. Ladd clearly was still very angry. He never called on me after the strike, but it was still all worth it. The following year, a black teacher in the district became the new school principal, which was a huge improvement for everyone.

Karen Boutilier Kendall lives in the mountains of Northern New Mexico with her husband, Gregory. For years, friends and family encouraged Karen to write down the stories of her childhood. Berkeley to Beijing, from which this is excerpted, took over a decade to write, but was a labor of love. To learn more about the book, please visit https://www.iuniverse.com/Bookstore/BookSearchResults.aspx?Search=Berkeley%20to%20Beijing