From Dunbar to Destiny: One Woman's Journey
Through Desegregation and Beyond
Shirley Robinson Sprinkles
Paperback, 6x9 in, 244 pages
Wheatmark, January 2008
ISBN: 9781587369261
Endorsements
“A remarkably honest and penetrating self-portrait of the
quintessential African American woman. Dr. Sprinkles manages to
convey the miracle of existence itself. I dare the reader not to
feel a combination of sadness and delight.”
—Ralston Pitts, Professor Emeritus,
Northern Arizona University
Description
By the time the Warren Court began rearguing Brown v. Board of
Education of Topeka, Tucson’s board of education had
already made its decision: racially segregated education in
Tucson’s public schools would cease to exist. Though Shirley
Robinson Sprinkles, a student at Paul Laurence Dunbar Elementary
and Junior High, was not happy about the forthcoming integration at
the time, she realized in retrospect that it was the best thing
that could have happened to her. Dunbar gave her a solid
educational foundation and provided her with the experiences and
opportunities that would set her on her path. With vivid
descriptions of the events that shaped her unusual, unpredictable
life, Shirley weaves a tale of courage, indomitable spirit, and
faith.
About the Author
Shirley Robinson Sprinkles lives in Texas with her husband, Leo
Morris. Her curriculum vitae includes careers in education,
politics, and, most recently, publishing.
Excerpt
By the time the Warren Court began rearguing the landmark school
desegregation case, Brown v. Board of Education, which was
before it in the Supreme Court (1953), Tucson, Arizona’s
board of education, and its district superintendent, Robert Morrow,
had already made up their minds: racially segregated education in
Tucson’s public schools would come to an abrupt
halt—schools would be integrated. The first year of
implementation of school desegregation there was 1951. I had spent
the better part of seven years attending what was to me and about
seven hundred other students the most beloved school in all the
world, Paul Laurence Dunbar Elementary and Junior High. Paul
Laurence was the black school located in the barrio on the west
side of town. I was not happy with the board’s decision. In
fact, I can’t remember anyone who, at the time, was gleeful
about the forthcoming integration.
It was a time of mixed emotions—emotions that varied
between schoolchildren and adults, alumni, taxpayers, and
politicians. The forecast of greater and equal educational
opportunity sounded so positive on the one hand; on the other was
this thick, dark veil of uncertainty that accompanied such a
monumental change. Initially, what we—the Dunbar community of
students, teachers, and parents—felt was more akin to
depression and deep sadness than to any other emotion. We were
losing something that we cherished. The Fourteenth Amendment
notwithstanding, we minority students did not feel “deprived
of equal educational opportunities, even though the physical
facilities and other ‘tangible’ factors may be
equal.”
It was the intangibles that had us bummed out. Yes, it was those
aspects of schooling that couldn’t be measured by data:
pride, love, community support and encouragement, friendships,
school spirit, “family,” and the most precious of all
intangibles: dignity. The loss of these vital and sustaining life
forces was the source of my (and others’) deep anxiety and
personal conflict. We had excellent teachers. New construction had
improved our facilities and made life more comfortable on our
campus. Our athletic teams were high-performing winners in
virtually all local and state competitions in which we were
permitted to participate. The fine arts program was not lagging
behind either. We enjoyed plays, choir, and band activities. Aside
from hand-me-down, outdated textbooks, we did not feel in any way
“deprived.”
That was then. Looking back, I can now candidly state that what
happened was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. My
educational (and many other) opportunities did, indeed,
expand—beyond my wildest dreams. Life for me took on new,
exciting attributes after Dunbar, and as the lessons I’ve
learned keep unfolding, life continues to amaze me. I’m so
proud to have been a Dunbar student—so very, very proud. It
was in that place that a solid foundation was laid in my soul for
all that has followed.
There are many “Dunbar schools” in this country.
Perhaps you, the reader of this book, may have attended one of them
at one time in your own city. If so, I am confident that you will
identify with many of the anecdotes that are highlighted in From
Dunbar to Destiny. They are stories that characterized the
culture of the “Dunbars,” “Carvers,”
“Washingtons,” “Wheatleys,” and
“Bethunes”—schools named for former
slaves—that so many African Americans attended because they
were the only schools that were available for blacks for so long. I
believe that it is precisely because of our composite experiences
in those settings of old that we who are black in this country have
come through many generations of struggle for equality. Our
successes were drawn by an indomitable spirit that was learned in
those segregated schools: the spirit to work, help each other to
survive, thrive, and excel in spite of difficult social and
economic conditions.
On my own, without the solid educational and spiritual
foundation I acquired in my youth, I know that I would never have
achieved some of the amazing things that I have achieved in my
lifetime. There’s been a lot of help. I have not built
castles, scaled lofty mountain peaks, or raised trillions to feed
the poor. Nor have I earned a Nobel Prize for some monumentally
worthy literary attainment. However, by most social and economic
measures, what I’ve accomplished in my lifetime, considering
the point from which I began, has been anything but average.
Along the way, I have done the ordinary things, too: I have
raised four children to adulthood (and sometimes beyond); I have
successfully mastered enough academia to earn four degrees from
four different colleges and universities; I have worked happily in
five careers, building one on top of the other; and I have
purchased and lived in four lovely homes and bought six
automobiles, some with partners, some alone.
Isn’t it funny how a whole lifetime fits so snugly into
one short paragraph?
Like most things in life, what you see on the surface is not the
whole story. As Gustave Flaubert put it, “Le bon dieu est
dans le détail” or, translated to English,
“God is in the details.” Others, such as Michelangelo
and the art historian Aby Warburg, are frequently quoted as having
used a variant of this phrase: “The devil is in the
details.” “The devil is in the details” is a
variant of the proverb, referring to a catch hidden in the
details.
In reference to my life, I subscribe to both versions. As I
share some of the details of my journey from Dunbar to my destiny,
I will take you with me into the important caverns, deep valleys,
and ditches and up some of the mountaintops that comprised my
journey. Along the way, I invite you, the reader, to decide where
and when these powerful forces (God and devil) were at work in my
life.
Among those who choose to read my story, in part or in its
entirety, I hope many will be teachers, parents, and students.
Reading it will evoke nostalgic memories for those who have shared
my experiences—old memories that will bring smiles (or
grimaces) to your faces. For others, the stories will sound like
current events, for there are still many unresolved social,
relational, and cultural circumstances like the ones I faced that
exist to this very day.
In any case, it is my fervent hope that by the time you reach
the end, you will feel that the time spent reading will have been
worthwhile. I also hope the read will be enjoyable.
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