Alone

Too excited to sleep—come morning she would be starting high school, and under very dramatic conditions—Elizabeth Eckford, 15, spent the night of September 3, 1957, preparing for her first day of classes at Central High in Little Rock, Arkansas. Like her mother and sisters, Elizabeth was an expert seamstress. Once again, she ironed the pleated white skirt she had made, taking care to touch up the navy blue and white gingham trim she had added when she ran short on white fabric. With bobby socks and white buck loafers, her outfit would present the ideal look. She was a little nervous; last evening on television, the Eckfords had watched Governor Orval Faubus announce that to protect everyone involved and to “preserve the peace,” he was activating the state’s National Guard units and stationing them at Central.

In the morning, as usual, Birdie Eckford inspected her children, making sure all six had notebooks, sharpened pencils, and lunch money. Then, also as usual, she read to them from the Bible, this day choosing a particular passage—the 27th Psalm—and giving those words heightened emphasis. “The Lord is my light and my salvation,” Mrs. Eckford read. “Whom shall I fear?”

ELIZABETH KNEW THE ROUTE TO CENTRAL BY HEART; SHE’D PASSED THE SCHOOL COUNTLESS TIMES ON HER WAY TO HER GRANDFATHER’S GROCERY STORE.

As Birdie was reading, husband Oscar nervously paced the room, chomping on an unlit cigar. A night-shift maintenance worker at the Missouri Pacific Railroad station, he should have been asleep, but he too was wound up. Saying goodbye to her parents and siblings, and with a swirl of her skirt Elizabeth walked out the