"Unknown African American History,"
This book is about what it was like being black and growing up in Greenville, Texas. It is also in remembrance of all those before us who went through struggles to help people free themselves from undesirables which had previously enslaved us. Although we obtained certain rights, I give you a background and the history of why things were the way they were. Even a more valuable history is of why things are still the way they are, especially between blacks. Is it because of a single, powerful, twisted-minded genius 292 years ago, whose theory is still a powerful affront in the black race today? My hope is to help break this chain of enslavement of blacks against blacks in my hometown.
The Blackest Land The Whitest People
©Copyright Brenda Huey RN, JD
While visiting my hometown, many memories came back. I started to think about what it was like for a black person growing up in my hometown. I remember a period of time when there were trials and tribulations in my hometown for black folks. There was a dual standard of privacy and liberty. These were times when you were ordered out of your own home by police officers, without search warrants. When I was a young girl, I can remember sneaking back inside to see what was going on. I remember seeing one of the officers pick up my cousin’s tennis shoe and put what looked like mud, mixed with grass in the grooves of the bottom of his shoe. I did not understand what was going on, but I remember wondering why he was doing that. It made no sense to me. I was curious as to why the officer would do that, but children had to stay in their place and not get into grown folks’ business. Although I shared the stories of the events in my hometown over the years, I really don’t think I was believed. Especially how the police officers harassed the black boys. My most vivid memory was an incident while we were playing baseball. There was always a baseball game going on in “Snuff Dipping Alley” during the summer months, and on weekends. The Alley was a dirt road, rarely traveled by cars, behind my house. There were always kids waiting to take a spot when someone took a break or had to leave. One day, the police officers came down to the Alley and started harassing one of the guys, trying to make him tell where his brother was. He did not know, because we had been playing baseball all day, so they took him to jail for more interrogations. When he returned, they had beaten him up very badly. I looked at his face. His dark, beautiful skin was now pink, bloody, and swollen.