Toeing the Mark: The Life and Times of Willington E. White Second Edition

By Willington E. White

Dr. White is a product of a very dark period in American history -- segregation and racism: Jim Crow! This was a period which limited the growth of African Americans in the southern region of the United States. As a result, African Americans were denied opportunities to learn to read, write or become productive citizens. These negatives were very apparent in his family. Because of this void throughout most families, very little information was expressed concerning their lives, relationships, livelihoods, loves, losses, and ideas for the future. As Dr. White began thinking of the "information void" about his ancestors, he wanted to tell his children and their children about his life and how he had achieved the American dream.

While his family may not face the same problems that he encountered, he hopes this memoir will encourage them to share their life experiences with their descendents.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496929969

Willington E. White

Dr. Willington E. White, a graduate of Catholic University of America, was born 1935 in Charleston, South Carolina. A commissioned officer in the US Army, he retired as a Vietnam veteran after 25 years of active duty. His first scholarly writing was a dissertation entitled “A Survey of the Attitudes of Administration and Faculty Members toward the Program Evaluation System in Maryland Community Colleges.” (unpublished)

Book preview

CHAPTER I

THE GENE POOL

My Parents

Franklin and Mary

Mary Richardson (Mag), my mother, one of fourteen children, was born on Sol LeGare Island on July 2, 1914 to Toby and Mary Richardson. Franklin White, my father, was born on James Island proper on May 6, 1913 to Willington and Elizabeth White. Franklin was one of eight children born to them. Mag and Franklin’s education ceased at the elementary levels. Franklin only completed the third grade and Mag finished the eighth grade. Mag was raised by her brother Elijah and his wife, Cornelia, who lived on James Island, where Mag met Franklin. They were married in 1934.

During the first three years of marriage they lived with Elijah and Cornelia when Mag gave birth to her first child, Mary Alvilda. With a lack of money, no place to live, and no saleable skills, Mag and Franklin moved to the city of Charleston to find employment and establish a home. Franklin worked at odd jobs before landing a job as a painter at the Charleston Navy Yard. Mag worked as a domestic in the homes of various white families in downtown (old town) Charleston. My sister did not join us in Charleston until I was born in 1935. We lived in Rosemont Court in Charleston for approximately four years and subsequently moved to Bogard Street. My brother Franklin Jr. and younger sister Esther were born at this address. The family resided on Bogard Street for twenty-five years before relocating to New York City.

Despite the in your face disadvantages my parents grew up facing, they never spoke about it or felt that society owed them a living. They worked hard, loved their family, and were extremely generous to others. My father was fiery, independent, and had complete confidence in his ability to perform whatever task confronted him. Yes, I loved him. It was because of my father that I learned how to survive, work hard, and not look back.

After a few years of working at odd jobs, my father became a businessman. Over a period of five to seven years he owned and operated the following businesses:

• A gas station,

• An automobile paint and body shop,

• A restaurant,

• A laundry and dry cleaning business, and

• A taxi service.

With the exception of the restaurant, all of the businesses failed due to a lack of business acumen, lack of technical information, lack of managerial skills, limited operating funds, and lack of steady customers. The failure of the restaurant resulted from arson which destroyed the facility on two occasions. A search for the perpetrators revealed no suspects. As a result my father was not interested in rebuilding the restaurant a third time. My mother, sister, and I were an intergral part of our father’s efforts to build an efficient business. We were disappointed in ourselves as we watched the family’s failure and a disappointed and discouraged parent.

For a short period after these businesses failed, my dad worked for his relative, Ed Singleton, and was paid on a commission basis as an automobile repairman and painter. I had never heard of someone working for commission. Yes, it meant that he would receive an agreed upon percentage of the cost for each repair job he completed. This was a new concept for work completion in the black community. My father’s dream was always to improve the financial status of our family. He started a taxi service during WWII. This operation with three taxi cabs did a booming business. The taxi fleet serviced Charleston and the outlying military bases. My job was to serve as a dispatcher after school and weekends when required. As the war wound down in 1944-45 so did my father’s income. Lastly, he opened a laundry and dry cleaning business in uptown Charleston. This was a three-person business. My parents laundered the clothing items at night. The presser, a one legged individual, worked during the day with my mother who also worked as the seamstress and clerk.

During my father’s period of financial success, the family lived well but not extravagantly. My father purchased the house on Bogard Street from the owner of Dorcher’s Supermarket in 1949. This was quite an achievement for an African American during the 1940’s.

After the laundry/dry cleaning business failed due to a lack of work, my father went to work on the Charleston docks as a longshoreman. While this type of work often kept him away from home, he was paid well. The work was hard but steady. From time to time he would find me a job for one or two days. It was a lot of money for a teenager. However, I did not let this work or money interfere with my love for school. My father worked as a longshoreman for approximately eight years.

Despite my father’s financial losses and personal short comings, he was a hard working, dedicated, humanistic, and loving kind of guy. He taught me numerous lifelong skills, such as dedication to one’s family and friends. He kept me at his side when he worked while teaching me the do’s and don’ts of certain automobile repair, carpentry, household plumbing repair, interior painting and wallpaper hanging. All of these skills became extremely helpful to me and the family as I became a teenager and later as a husband and father. At some point, my mother began relying on me to complete many of the household repair jobs.

An experience I shall never forget is helping my father install two bathrooms in our recently purchased home. Because of my size, I was responsible for running the pipes under the house and electrical wiring between walls. I helped with the electrical fixtures and the installation of the toilets and bathtubs. We completed the work with no major problems. This was the project my mother desired over all others, an indoor bathroom. My dad and I…we did it!

In 1960, my parents sold our home and relocated to New York City. My father applied for and was one of the first African Americans to be approved for a small business loan from the Small Business Administration. He used the loan to open a self-service laundromat. This small business was not a successful venture due to the fact that it was located in a poor area of Harlem and was broken into numerous times. Customers’ clothing was stolen, equipment destroyed and funds were confiscated. Yet, my father did not close the business because the residents very much needed a laundromat in the area. He died suddenly at the age of 54 and was buried in the Payne Reformed Methodist Union Episcopal (RMUE) Church cemetery, James Island, South Carolina.

My mother, Mag, was a stay at home mom while we were young. When our income was reduced, she would get a job until our finances improved. Our babysitter was Mrs. Manigault, a friend of my mother when we lived in Rosemont Court. Mrs. Manigault was a warm lady whom we liked very much. As we grew up, we would visit her