A Little Girl Who Can't Read Writes a Book and Brings the Shoney's Corporation to Its Knees

By Christine Williams

Christine Williams was born, sixth out of eight children, to a very modest family in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1960. When she was in the first grade, Williams was among the first to be integrated into a White school, where instead of learning, she was expected to wash the classroom windows, take out the trash, mop the floor, and dust. When Williams entered the first grade, her race was used against her due to an all-White school and integration. After many humiliations in the classroom, Williams finally gave up on school when she was fifteen.

While school was bad, life was no better at home. There, her days were fraught with dysfunction and tension. To cope, Williams often went out to the back porch, sat on the steps, and talked to God.

Christine Williams has been a lifelong trailblazer against racial injustice. She played an important role while employed by Shoney's Inc. This included efforts both before the 1989 company-wide race discrimination lawsuit but also in the successful implementation of the settlement of that lawsuit after she became one of the first mid-level African Americans ever employed by Shoney's. Her efforts helped countless African Americans who came behind her gain better jobs with better work conditions and more opportunities for advancement at Shoney's.

--Tommy Warren, Class Counsel, Haynes versus Shoney's Inc.

I have known Christine Williams for many years and have always been impressed by her high moral character, integrity, dedication, and the loyalty she has shown to worthwhile causes in the community. She works tirelessly to help those who do not have a voice and need protection. I am happy to stand up to endorse Christine in anything she does because I have so much confidence in her.

--Brenda Gilmore, Senator, District #19, Tennessee

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886541199

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A Little Girl Who Can't Read Writes a Book and Brings the Shoney's Corporation to Its Knees

Christine Williams

Copyright © 2022 Christine Williams

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 979-8-88654-108-3 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-119-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my loving children: Tommy Edward Smith Jr., Antonio Lewhan Smith, Leanna Marie Harding, and Sylvainus Cole III.

To my pride and joy—the center of my heart, my three grandchildren: Tommy Edward Smith III, Nia Simone Smith, and Sylvainus Cole IV.

To my one great-grandchild, Zhavia Evette Karponai.

To my goddaughter: Dr. Allie Kenitra Henderson Fitts, MD, and her family includes Christopher Earl Fitts (husband); Curtis Ramon Henderson Jr.; and Amaya Kenleigh Henderson.

And finally, to my late husband, James Edward Williams, who truly was the rock in my life for nearly thirty years and who always supported me in everything I set out to do and loved me unconditionally. I love you, and I miss you.

Foreword

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

Chapter 2

Do I Need Professional Help?

Chapter 3

What Was Really Wrong

Chapter 4

The Nature of Who We Are

Chapter 5

Our Days in Sports

Chapter 6

High School and a New Relationship

Chapter 7

The Answer to My Prayers

Chapter 8

Finally Made Up My Mind

Chapter 9

All Grown Up

Chapter 10

Everybody's Asking Why I'm Not Playing

Chapter 11

Daddy, Please Come and Get Me

Chapter 12

Returning Home from Surgery

Chapter 13

August: One of the Hottest Months of the Year in Nashville

Chapter 14

My Sister and Future Husband Are Officially Seniors

Chapter 15

Nothing to Do—Until…

Chapter 16

My Daddy Returns to the Hospital

Chapter 17

Lil' Tommy's Battle

Chapter 18

The Best Holiday Ever!

Chapter 19

The High School Seniors and Me

Chapter 20

Determined to Find a Job

Chapter 21

My First Job—Shoney's

Chapter 22

Tommy Goes Back on Duty

Chapter 23

Looking Back Over My Life

Author's Note

About the Author

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my loving children: Tommy Edward Smith Jr., Antonio Lewhan Smith, Leanna Marie Harding, and Sylvainus Cole III.

To my pride and joy—the center of my heart, my three grandchildren: Tommy Edward Smith III, Nia Simone Smith, and Sylvainus Cole IV.

To my one great-grandchild, Zhavia Evette Karponai.

To my goddaughter: Dr. Allie Kenitra Henderson Fitts, MD, and her family includes Christopher Earl Fitts (husband); Curtis Ramon Henderson Jr.; and Amaya Kenleigh Henderson.

And finally, to my late husband, James Edward Williams, who truly was the rock in my life for nearly thirty years and who always supported me in everything I set out to do and loved me unconditionally. I love you, and I miss you.

Foreword

When you grew up during the time of integration and racial injustice, to talk about this author is like talking about a happy, sweet little girl with a beautiful smile, with a lot of patience, caring for others, and not actually realizing the prejudice or hatred that she had to face in the world. The challenges in her life were so frightful. When we look at life in grammar school, middle school, high school, college, marriage, family, children, and retirement, as the way it is supposed to go, you don't think about all the curves and personal issues you experience along life's journey when you can't read or write.

Can you imagine going through life not being taught to read and not wanting anyone to know? Not even your husband? You have to ride the city bus, someone had to write the street name of it down for you, and you have to carry it in your pocket! How about traveling by a Greyhound bus or in a car, how much farther? Where am I? What would be a horrible nightmare turns out to be a doing what you got to do to survive and a make the best of it attitude. And a thank-you to God for making it safe.

Imagine also being a teenager. You and some friends go out to eat, and it's your turn to order and you're not able to read. The things you would have to do to fake it, things you would have to say to compensate for your disability or handicap your whole life. You can't even send a thank-you letter or condolences to someone you know personally or even a family member. Think about it. What if you loved being around people so much that at a young age, to accomplish that would be to become a waitress…wanting no more than to see people smile and enjoy themselves because you learned the menu and used the pictures?

Because of her beginning in life, there was always faith and leaning on God throughout. The back steps of her childhood home were always her refuge and a quiet place where she could go and talk to God about any and everything she faced in her day to day, week to week, month to month, and year to year crises. She found God would be there for support and guidance every step of the way.

Read this book. Feel this book. Understand what it had to be like to live in her shoes. Go on this journey with her—see what it was like back in the 1960s and 1970s. Her storytelling—the truth will touch your heart. The best book you'll read from her childhood to adulthood. I've already read the book. Each chapter was unique. If you want to read a book that brings back some of your memories and makes you cry, this is it!

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I have to thank God for my life—my wonderful mama (Mrs. Evelyn Marie Harding) and my dad (Mr. Lawson Harding Sr.). If it had not been for the both of you, I would not be here. Mama and Daddy, if you were here, I would tell you, "The things you taught me in such a short time have carried me through a lifetime. Only God knew how this would turn out. I love you both more than any words could ever say. Thank you. I turned out okay. I know you would've been proud of me."

And to my Big Mama (Mrs. Finnie Harding), even though you could not read or write, you taught me the most important thing in my life, the power of prayer. I remember the day as if it was yesterday, I asked, Big Mama, how do you pray?

She sat me down and simply said, You just talk to God like you're talking to me, but don't just always ask Him for something. The first thing you do is always thank Him for what you have, and be grateful because that's where your blessings come from. Don't ever forget that.

I have carried that in my heart. So I need to thank her for the most valuable lesson. I will love her for all my days.

To my children—Tommy, Antonio, Sylvainus (Trey), and Leanna (LeLe)—and my three grandchildren—Tommy Jr., Nia, Sylvainus IV—and my great-granddaughter who just arrived, Zhavia, I pray that you all have peace and happiness throughout your life and many blessings from above. You are the future of our family. Mama loves each and every one of you.

To my sister Sandra, I am so thankful that you were not only my sister but also my best friend, who loved me unconditionally as if you were my mama. The encouragement and support you gave me throughout my life have carried me through. You were truly my biggest cheerleader. I miss you. Thank you for being my sister. I love you.

To my three brothers—Lawson Jr., Thomas Lee, and Dorris—I miss you all. I think of you each and every day. There is nothing like having older brothers.

Lawson, you were the adviser, and I listened to your advice. It has helped shape me into the woman I am today. Thank you.

Thomas Lee, you were so talented! Whatever parties you went to, everyone wanted to dance with you. I loved dancing with you. You were the best dancer, and you taught me lots of moves.

I miss you, Dorris. You absolutely were the comedian. You kept us laughing. Watching that beautiful smile of yours always made my day. I am so proud to have been your little sister. Love you.

To Ladevia Davis (Dede), you are not just my first cousin, you have also become my best friend and confidant. I thank you for always supporting me throughout this journey. It couldn't have been easy. We talked about happy times, sad times, and lots of family times, listening to my stories at one in the morning and never once complaining. That is just who you are. I absolutely love being around you and your three children. Thank you.

And to the rest of my family, just know, I love you.

To Eloise Greer, thank you for all your hours sitting and reading my work. I could not have gotten this right without you. Thank God for you having a passion for reading, and because of you being a part of my team, I have gotten my book into the hands of a publisher. You are a blessing from God. Thank you for being on my team. Love you.

Joi Mitchell, thank you for turning that light back on the conversation over and over. It inspired me to, again and again, pick my book back up and start again. Thank you for challenging me every day to write. With your encouragement and love, it took me to the finish line! You and Ivy are a blessing to me. I love you.

To Linda Christine Hughes, Jesus knows exactly what you really need and how to provide it in the most loving and edifying way possible. He is committed to seeing you become all He created you to be. I cannot even thank you enough. I absolutely love you. I appreciate you for all the long days and nights. This could not have been easy by no means. I have watched you take my words and make them into sentences and, from there, to paragraphs and on into chapters. Now we are at the finish line. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for always being there for me and never giving up on me. This is not just my book; it is our book. I get up every morning and thank God for another day and a special prayer for you. I will always be forever grateful for having you in my life. Let me say again, I absolutely love you.

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

My Early Childhood—What I Remember

I don't know how to really begin…this is what I remember in my early childhood years as an African American little girl, around four years old. In 1965, I was five years old preparing for kindergarten. We lived in a five-room house—three bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and a very small bathroom with a beautiful porch and a front and backyard. There were about six or seven steps out of the kitchen to the backyard.

I had seven siblings, with five of them being older than me and four of them already in middle school and high school. I was the sixth in the family. I remember going to my older sister's graduation; that was the highlight for our family. I have never seen my mother so proud and happy. That was a great day.

It was one thing for sure, I knew what I didn't want my life to be like. I learned early from my mom and dad to sit on the steps, especially on nice days. One day in particular, my daddy was coming home from work. My father was a brickmason, self-employed working with his brother. His brother was dropping him off. I remember my uncle driving a big old raggedy red truck with a big cement thing on the back of it. They were hauling materials for the job they were doing that day.

There was a caterpillar tree in our backyard that was full of caterpillars. One had dropped and fell on me.

My dad got out of the truck. He noticed I was having a fit running off the steps. He asked, What is wrong with you?

I told him something was crawling on me. That's when he pointed out the caterpillars on the tree and a nest that was there too. The caterpillars were coming out and crawling up the back of the house. I never paid any attention, so until they went away, that was it for the steps. It wasn't long before I was sitting back on the steps and wondering what my life would be like.

We lived in an all-Black community. My siblings went to an all-Black school. Sitting on those back steps, praying and wondering what my life would be like, my older siblings all went to Meigs, an all-Black school. My family was poor. Most of the time, my mother was a stay-at-home mom that never ever worked outside of the house. My mother and father had difficulties. There were a lot of us living in one house. I would often hear them argue about the bills, money, and food. That was very disturbing for me. It stayed on my mind all the time. I couldn't stand to hear them argue, but I would go out to the steps where I sat and talked to God.

I was so excited when it was my time to start school. I knew that would give me a lot of peace and something to do and somewhere to go every day. I was excited to learn. I couldn't wait to get there.

I started to go to school with my brothers and sisters. I was in kindergarten. I can't really remember what my teacher's name was, but I know that she was beginning to teach me the alphabets, numbers, and how to spell my name. I spent one year at the school. The very next year was when they decided to integrate schools in Nashville. I was promoted to the first grade.

I knew most of my alphabets by then, and I was beginning to learn my numbers. I knew those two things. You see, I was so excited to go to school because in my household, we didn't have any books—we didn't sit around reading to our mom and dad. I knew that school would be where I would get my knowledge. I knew that's what I would learn in school, but unfortunately, when I got to the first grade after the integration of schools, there were two Black students in the first grade. It was devastating for my teacher at that time.

What's going on? Now I know very clearly what was happening. The teacher refused to teach me and the other little Black girl to read, write, or do numbers. The teacher would have to read to the class. As they sat in a circle on the carpet with little books in their hands, they took turns to read. The teacher was seated in the middle. She had me and the other little Black girl cleaning windowsills and sweeping. Often when they finished reading, she would tell us to sweep the carpet and put the pillows back on it. When you're six years old, you have no idea what is really going on.

My mother and father always taught me to have good manners, be respectful, be a good little girl, and do as I was told. I was following my mother's and father's directions. I did as I was told, but little did I know that this woman refused to teach me. She really didn't want me there! This happened day after day after day. Some days when they were reading math, she would give me a treat. She would give me some crayons and a page out of a book and say, Color and stay in the lines.

I did that often during the day. I still didn't recognize completely what was really going on. I thought I was doing exactly what I was told. Well, I was doing exactly what I was told, but I wasn't learning anything, and soon I had forgotten all the things that the teacher at kindergarten had taught me. I didn't remember what went on day after day, but I was so happy because every day my mother would get us up, comb our hair, put clean clothes on us, and send us off to school. She was doing her job. I would be so excited leaving out the door because we walked to school rain or shine, whatever the weather was. I couldn't wait to get there, and every day it was the same routine. I still didn't know what was going on. Every day I would wonder when it would be my turn to sit in a circle.

When it was my turn to go to the board to practice writing my name, writing numbers, or doing my alphabets, it never happened in the first grade. I would go home every day, and Mama would often ask me, What did you do today? I would tell her, and I don't think she really knew or understood what was going on, but I surely did.

Summer came, and I was so excited to go to the school and get my report card. I ran home as fast as I could with my report card in hand. I couldn't wait to give it to my mama so she could see it. We were standing in the kitchen. My other sisters were in there with their report cards too, but I was first, practically shouting, Mama! What does it say? How did I do!

Mama replied, Chris, you did a really good job. Your teacher said you were promoted to the second grade, and in the comment block, she said that you were a very sweet little girl and she enjoyed having you in her classroom.

I get to the second grade—it was the same. I had a different teacher, but she was meaner. This teacher made you feel like you didn't belong or you shouldn't be there. I did all kinds of stuff to try to make her happy and please her during the day to see if I could get some praise, like You are doing a good job. Those words never came. When they had read in circles in the first grade, sometimes she would ask me to come up and stand behind her back and massage her shoulders and neck as she read. All the little kids would be in the circle to read; I didn't mind. I had no idea what was really going on.

One of the things that really stuck out in this grade is the class where we're going on a field trip. I can't quite remember exactly where we were going. I heard the teacher tell all the students about it, and everybody was clapping as they were so excited. I thought, Wow, this is going to be really nice. I've never ridden one of those large school buses. I would just see them out front because we walked to school and walked home.

As the time got closer to the field trip, they were drawing pictures and talking about the place that they were going. Once again, I was not included. The teacher said that she would be sending home a paper for all the parents to sign concerning the field trip. I remember that well because when she handed the papers out, she did not give me one. I asked her about it, and she spoke, Well, you don't need one because you're going to be in another class that particular day.

On the day of the field trip, they sent me to another teacher's class. I just sit in her classroom while my class went on a field trip! I remember being so sad the entire day; I shed a tear on the way home.

When I got home that day, I didn't even eat supper. It was a pretty day. I sat on the back steps and looked up to the sky. I remember my grandmother always talked about heaven and God and looking up to the heavens. I sat out there, and I looked at the sky and talked to God.

It wasn't long before my sister Sandra came out of the house. It was Saturday, and she asked, What are you doing?

Oh, nothing, I replied.

Why are you out here talking to yourself? Sandra asked.

I'm not talking to myself—I'm talking to God.

So she told me, Let's go play, and I did.

We went and made mud pies. We didn't have very much in the way of toy swing sets, bicycles, balls—most of our things were made. We took sticks and made bats out of them. We took the paper, balled it up, and wrapped them tightly with aluminum foil. We played ball until dark. It was always like that. The early years for sure. We had to go in and get ready for bed.

It was very clear that I understood that it just wasn't like me to give up, and I never did. I kept trying because I had to go to school every day. By the time I got into the fourth grade, there was a teacher that set me down and gave me lots of tests one day. She discovered where my true grade level was. She seemed to care and was very disturbed. I remember her talking to my mother and my previous teachers. They decided that I was a slow learner.

They had special books that they begin to teach me and compared me to be at the kindergarten level. I didn't know any of the sight words, and I cannot complete the alphabets. I was beginning to believe them. I was a slow learner, so now all the kids looked at me in a different way that made me feel bad.

I was beginning to not like school.

I really didn't want to go; one reason was because when I wanted to go up to the board in the classroom and learn what the other kids were learning, I wasn't given that opportunity. We all made mistakes. I would've been okay, but now I didn't want to go to the board, I didn't want to read, and I didn't want to write because everyone was so far ahead of me. I would sit at my desk, and when the teacher would get close to me, I would hold my head down and pray that she would not call my name.

Those were very difficult years. I didn't even want to be home during summer. My mother and father fought like cats and dogs. Sometimes it was hard for me to say, but my father was an alcoholic. He worked hard. Most of the time, during the week, I would always hear my mother cry. My father wouldn't bring his money home, so that made it very difficult for her to run the house, buy food, and take care of things that she needed to.

My father's mother lived very close to us; we called her Big Mama. She would often come when my mother and father would fight. We were so glad to see her. She would walk to our house. We would stand on the corner and see her coming and run to her. She would stay with us for a few days. We didn't want her to go home. My father was quiet as a mouse when she was in the house. My mother seemed to be at peace because she knew my daddy was not going to act like a fool with Big Mama in the house.

Often, she would come to our rescue, especially when we were low on food and sometimes when one of the utilities may have been turned off. I remember all of my siblings living in the house. My mother had four children, and then about twelve years later, she had four little girls. I was one of the little girls. I remember my older siblings leaving the house one after the other; my oldest brother graduated from high school, got married, and moved out. Of course, we wanted to go with them because it was like Don't leave us here, especially me.

I was scared often. I couldn't sleep at night, especially when my mother and father would fight. My siblings, the ones that were closer in age to me, and I would go to bed and think nothing of it, put a pillow over our head, and go to sleep. I would listen and would be very scared…I thought my daddy would hurt my mama. That was frightening.

Now it was a new school year. Everything was pretty much about the same. They put me in some special classes for children that had learning disabilities. That didn't help either. I still never learned to read.

I remember my youngest brother went to Meigs as well. He loved to play basketball and football. I remember my parents taking him out of Meigs and putting him in an all-White school, East High School.

He didn't like it, but he still wanted to play football. We lived very close to East High. From my house, you could just walk up the hill. There was the school and the football field that you could see from the back of our house. I remember my brother playing on the football team. We would walk down to the fence and watch them practice.

He would come home every day complaining about the coaches calling him names—N-word. He was furious. I thought, Well, is it going to be like that in high school too? I was trying to prepare myself. Once, my brother and one of the teachers had an argument. He called my brother names, also the N-word. My brother hit him in the nose and broke it. It was in the papers everywhere.

They took my brother to juvenile, but back then, your parents could get you in the Armed Forces. Daddy immediately enlisted my brother in the army, and he went away. He was right. My brother would send us things from all over the world. I know he really loved us and was concerned about us being at home. He would come home when he was furloughed. We were so happy to see him.

Brother would bring us things and buy us candy… I think he stayed away for about three or four years. Then I heard my mother telling Big Mama that he was coming home to stay. He did his time and came home. We were so happy to have him around the house. That also made a difference in the way Daddy treated Mama because my brother was a grown man now.

There was one incident that I guess it just really didn't matter. Daddy had been drinking. He hit my mother. She ran out of the house to a neighbor. My brother was in the other room. I don't think my dad knew that he was at home. My brother picked up a poker from the fireplace and went for Daddy's head with it. Daddy fell to the floor.

My brother left the house. We were in the next room. We did not know what to do! We're four little girls. My mother had already left the house to go to a neighbor. She was terrified of my father when he acted like that. We ran into the living room, and we saw Daddy lying on the floor. One of my sisters grabbed a towel and threw it because he was bleeding. We ran out the door with our pajamas on. These little houses had alleys, so it was dark outside. We had no idea which way to go.

At that point, we didn't know where Mama was. She really was only next door. We went down the alley looking for our Big Mama's house. My sister pointed and said, Let's go this way. This is the way Big Mama always comes from.

We found Big Mama's house, and we all walked back to my house. As we were going down the street, we saw an ambulance. I knew it had to be my house.

Paramedics came to get my dad. He recovered. Needless to say, my brother could not live with us anymore. He went to live with another grandparent for a while, then eventually got a job and got his own place. He was doing okay. In the years that went by, he and my father made up.

I know that there were moments I was so afraid. For years, in the back of my mind, things like that would happen. Now I see that was a part of me completely shutting down, not wanting to go to school, scared to leave my mom at home by herself though there was nothing that I could do if those fights broke out. I never understood why my mother wouldn't just leave him. Not until I was grown could I understand, where was she was going to go?

Mom never worked outside the house. She could read well, was educated, never had a driver's license, but had eight children. So as a grown woman, I started putting my life together, and I understood why she couldn't do it, but only that she loved my daddy regardless. I loved him too. I just hated the way he acted.

We had good next-door neighbors. They had children that were older than us. The family went to church on Sundays. They always wanted to take us riding in their car, take us to Sunday school, etc. It was an ideal family to me. I loved them dearly. They were a huge relief from some of the madness that went on at my home.

Chapter 2

Do I Need Professional Help?

Vanderbilt Children's Mental Health Center

Well, I was about in the fifth grade now. Summer had come and gone again. In the fifth grade, my teachers would call me up to the chalkboard. I didn't want to go once again. I would hold my head down.

I was so embarrassed now because the other classmates would look at me totally different than in my first and second grade, so now I just wanted to hide or disappear. The fact that I could not read had the effect that numbers look foreign to me. My teacher began to realize that this problem was much bigger than me, not being able to do basic math and read at the first-grade level. She began to talk to my mother.

The teacher told my mother, "Maybe she needs some professional