Oral History Interview with John J. Johnson

JOHNSON: Well, no. We knew that we had, over the years, got hand-me-down books. We even got the football uniforms that the white kids--when they wore them out they would pass them to the black schools. The books that were worn out came to the black schools. The hand-me-down equipment-- everybody knew that it would be better if we could integrate the schools; not that we necessarily want to be beside white people, but the feeling was that the resources would be shared equally with black students as well. So we all felt like there was a need to have the schools integrated. We also were aware that there would be efforts to try to keep blacks and whites from participating fully in the process. Black teachers, in some instances, were very reluctant to get involved in civil rights activities for fear of losing their jobs; and not just in Franklin, I mean, you know, all over the nation. Ah, that didn't mean that many of them didn't take the chance and got involved, but at some points there was real reluctance to be involved in civil rights work. But once in that you start realizing how far the opposition would go just to keep the races apart. The feeling there was that black professionals no matter how much education and formal training you got still would not be treated equally. If Mr. Story wanted to be the janitor, or maybe even the librarian there would have been no problem; but all of a sudden going become the Assistant Principle and actually supervise white people in the community was something they couldn't hardly deal with at that time. It's amazing.

JOHNSON: Well, I was raised by a great Aunt and Uncle. Ah, one, my great uncle passed when I was thirteen, and his wife when I was fifteen. I often say but for the Grace of God I may have found myself anywhere. It was the Grace of God and the involvement of a lot of people--several of the school teachers there kind of reached out for me; the ministers reached out for me, and I became kind of a the child of the community, if you will. I had a little small job where I made fifteen dollars a week working in a restaurant, but was able to survive. And, ah, in that time you know, if a young person did something wrong everybody thought they were your parents, and nobody was reluctant to call you aside and tell you what you needed to do and where you should be and that sort of thing. But at any rate, that kind of got me involved in--also involved in things with your church--I mean I was raised up in the church. The only time you could go outside of the house was if you were going to prayer meeting, or business meeting, or choir practice, or BTU meeting, or something at the church. That was the only way you could get away from home. So you had those experiences. And then there was the Masonic Lodge, and the Masonic Lodge had something called the Pythagoras Lodge. It was a lodge of young men, or young boys actually; and I got involved in that. And you got a lot of guidance and nurturing in the community. And ah, but the incident with Mr. Story drew me more into feeling the need to really address some of those issues. I will tell you just real quick one other point. I had thought--"Well, maybe there is a way of getting involved in the broader community." And actually I had thought of getting involved in the Jaycees. The Jaycees did the annual Christmas parade, and they did some neat things in the community I thought that would be real nice to get involved in. So I was working in a factory at that point, and I am getting ahead of this story a little bit, but I want to tell you real quickly--the guy who was president of the Jaycess worked in the factory; and I approached him about an application. He was kind enough to give me the application, and I took it home with great pride and filled it out. That evening I got a call from a gentleman--an older gentleman--who worked in the factory; who was the foreman of the custodial crew there. Who called to let me know that they really didn't want me to submit my application. That there were only three or four black Jaycees, according to them, in the whole state at that time; and that the Franklin Jaycee chapter wasn't really willing or ready to integrate. Again I felt kind of like a slap in the face, all I wanted to do was help put on the Christmas parade: I thought I would be given neat stuff to do, and it was very, very frustrating at that time. I often think about that now--as a matter of fact a couple of years after that the Jaycees there gave me some kind of an award. You know they do these Outstanding Man--Men of the community. Well, I moved to Louisville several years later the Jaycees tried to get me involved in organizing some Jaycee chapters around the state, and I have done some work with National Jaycees even since I've been on the National Staff here. But I am always mindful of what that initial experience was. But finding myself--I had no real interest in getting involved in civil rights work beyond wanting to do something to try to make some changes. I wasn't trying to be you know, the local hero for civil rights activities. But if you found the door slammed in your face so many times--you know if you want to make a change, you go where you can make the change.

JOHNSON: I guess it was in 1963 when I graduated from high school, they integrated the schools. Um, the order was in 'fifty-four so it took them awhile to get around to integrating down in Kentucky. But in Franklin, in the year 'sixty-four they were to integrate--to merge the two schools, the black school and the white school. I was telling you somewhat before, the principle there was a very strong role model. A leader in the community, a person we had looked up to over the years as a strong black professional. And in the merge system he was to become the assistant superintendant. But in--between 'sixty-three and 'sixty-four several charges were brought against him to remove him from becoming the assistant super--the assistant principal. It was later found out they merely didn't want to see a black person be in charge of white teachers there, or have any supervisory role in the school system; in spite of the fact that he had more formal education than any of the teachers in the whole system. He--his family had been strongly involved in the field of education--his wife taught school in the same system. His brother-in-law was president of Kentucky State University. He had been principal of a school over in Hopkinsville prior to coming to Franklin. He saw his career just at that point almost coming to an end. He had spent his whole life in this field of work, only to find out that now his whole work is being discredited--his whole life of work and commitment was being torn apart. This was before I became President of the NAACP, but I was asked to go to the school board meeting. And the room was jammed tight--we sat kind of on the edge watching through the door; about three or four other black teachers, and a couple of other community people, and myself. So a gentleman by the name of Mack U. Brooks, who was an assistant coach to the black school and taught agriculture there, and always was a very mild-mannered person. I had never seen Mr. Brooks raise his voice, or get upset about anything unless we were losing a basketball game. But[he] never challenged the white establishment to my knowledge, but he got so mad and so upset at the charges that were being brought against Mr. Story; and I sat there and watched how Mr. Brooks just came up in righteous indignation almost, based on what he heard coming as charges against his co-worker there at the school system. Then finally I saw Mr. Story come forward then to offer testimony, and to be asked questions about his profession, and how he worked; and watched him just break down in tears because there was no way to explain some of the--to respond to some of the charges they brought against him. The one that stuck out most vividly was if he gave away too many free lunches. Lunches at that time cost twenty-five cents for a student. And many of these children--all of them from low income families--many of them from rural communities and didn't have food to eat. They would come some days with lunch, and some days they didn't have lunch. And if they didn't have food Mr. Story would give them a twenty-five cent ticket to have lunch. That was one of the charges against him: that he gave away too many free lunches. Despite all of his education, and all of his training and his skills; they brought such minor charges. And he just broke down and cried. It has always stuck in my mind how you could just take a strong black man and tear him to pieces like that where he gets to the point that he loses faith in the system.

JOHNSON: I guess I should tell you real quick about the swimming pool. I believe it was in 1968 that we, the second hearing that the state Commission on Human Rights held. It held its first hearing in Campbellsville, Kentucky to integrate the swimming pool there. The second hearing took place in my little hometown in Franklin, Kentucky. We got two young men who were still in high school to go to the swimming pool. It was segregated. They were telling us that blacks could not swim there because it was built with private funds. We later found out that it was on property owned by the School Board. It was maintained, we could do our own little research, it was maintained by public funds, the city itself. And so we filed a complaint with the state Human Rights Commission. The young men went up to swim, they were denied, so they actually filed a complaint. The, as a result of that, the commission held its second hearing and ordered the integration of the pool, of the swimming pool. At that time, as a recall, it was David Welch, who ended up being a mayor of Ashland, Kentucky, who was chair of the commission at that time who presided over those hearings. But, these black and white folk came to town, professionally attired black lawyers and everybody in town was amazed to see these people come in and hold these hearings. I was quite proud to see it happen, I should tell ya, I sat right there on the front seat just as happy as I could be to watch these people come in and make a change in that community. Now I go to Franklin and nobody thinks twice about it. You see the black kids and white kids just jumping up and down, playing in the pool. But I often, my mind goes back to the time when only whites could go there.

JOHNSON: The more devastating piece for me personally on that is at that time I was working in a factory there. Again, the same factory I referenced earlier, but working in the stock room. The only black person working in the stock room at that time. And there were some of the white employees attempted to joke with you, and I never really appreciated their joking. And--but on that particular day after the hearing there was an article in the paper, and they clipped out the article and put it on my work station. When I came back into this little darkened area in the stock room and looked down, there was this news article with KKK scrolled across the front of the article. And it wasn't a very comfortable feeling to be sitting in a place like that, and you are the only black person there; and somebody gives you a note with KKK on it. But it was an interesting--interesting time. Today you might say, you know, "Bring them on." If they think that you're the butt, but at that time it was somewhat frightening. You weren't quite sure what might happen in a rural community. I worked at one point--I guess called the midnight shift--from eleven to seven, and then at one time from three to eleven you go in and work. But yes, that sort of thing was somewhat frightening, because you didn't know who did it. And you didn't know what they might do; but you continuously read and saw news articles about what they were capable of doing. And the sad truth is there were no black people on the police department. Ah, many of the people in law enforcement may have been just as supportive of the Klan as anyone else. The work of the Klu Klux Klan in Kentucky, and many places around that state, they have been and I fear continue to be quite active. Ah, we went through--during the sixties, yes, they were active. Places like over in Danville--Over in Allen County-- around Russellville you would hear about meetings of these groups. Ah, we thought at some point we had put the Klan in our past history, not in the sixties, but in the mid-seventies. And for fourteen years I had the opportunity to serve as the president of the state NAACP, and it was in the mid-seventies that we continued to see active organizing efforts by the Klan. And we adopted several resolutions asking for law enforcement and for government officials to take leadership in opposition to the Klan in that state.

JOHNSON: Actually, it was the day after Bobby Kennedy was killed. And, again, I was working in this factory. And still was the only black person in this area. I never enjoyed the playing that some of my white co-workers tried to do with black workers. Joking, and telling black jokes: they called them something else down there. But working in this stock room, there is a caged-in area where the valuable equipment is kept kind of behind a wire mesh cage. And you would go in there to issue out various parts, and so I was in there pulling some stock; and one of the white workers came by the day after Bobby Kennedy was killed. And says, "I told you we was going to kill all them nigger lovers. And we got a good one yesterday." And I told him to, "Go on and leave me alone I didn't want to be playing about this." And he stood on the other side of this mesh wire and continued to joke; and try to joke with me. I said, "I told you to go and leave me alone, I don't appreciate this; I don't feel like it." And as he continued to do it I took my fist and hit at him, before I realized what I did. And I felt so foolish then because for years there was a scar on my hand it may still be on the knuckle now. But where I took my fist and actually rammed it up into this mesh wire--like my fist is going to penetrate it and go through it you know. And I felt like a real nut in a cage for real. I--that was my last day working in the factory.