Rosa Parks’ Diary
By Angelica Wannakul
1st Place Prose winner in the Rosa Park’s Contest
Team 6-1
June 7, 1923
This is my first ever diary; I’ll tell you all my secrets and tell you about my days. Today, Sylvester is being bad. He is playing with the horses, even though Grandma says not to.
I miss Dad and wish he were here, but momma says that he has to go make money for us, even though I tell her I’m okay. She’s worried, because I got sick again but, now, I’m healthy as a horse! Today, there was this boy who pushed me at the park. I pushed him back but his momma said that she could call the cops on me for that. I don’t think that’s fair because he pushed me first!!
I miss Grandpa so much, I wish he were still here to protect us.
April 29th, 1929
I stopped going to Industrial School for Girls in Montgomery. Momma and Grandma are sick, so I have to take care of them.
I really don’t like that I have to get on from a different entrance when taking the bus. It’s so unfair, and today this poor child asked her momma why they couldn’t sit in the white people seats. I felt so bad for the two, because the momma ain’t got nothing to say to her; too young to understand segregation.
December 19th, 1932
1 year ago I met this lovely man named Raymond. He works at the barber shop. Yesterday, I got married to him, and it’s been the greatest week of my life! He brings me so much joy.
I haven’t talked to Sylvester today, but I’m sure he’s doing well.
Ray is also suggesting I pick up high school again.
I brought Ray a shirt I tailored for him at work today, and he says he loves it, and that I’m a great seamstress.
January 20th, 1943
I plan on joining the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. I also want to join the Montgomery Voters League. I want to help the colored folk vote, because we should have the rights.
It’s been scary with Sylvester in World War 2. I am always worried he might die. The war has been going for 4 years now and I miss him.
September 5th, 1955
Last week, a girl so young got arrested for sitting in a white seat. A couple days later a man got attacked by the bus driver for doing the same. The bus driver hit him with a metal pole. The NAACP and I won’t stand for anymore injustice against black people.
Edgar Nixon is a good man, he’s the President of the NAACP. We are trying to get the government to acknowledge that segregation isn’t right.
Sylvester says he found a woman he loves at a restaurant.
Ray and I are happy together!
January 2nd, 1956
A few months ago, I got arrested for sitting in a white seat on the bus. Mr. Nixon was kind enough to pay my bond and get me out. Even in court with Mr. Fred Gray, I was found guilty.
There is this man named Martin Luther King, Junior, I met on Dec. 1st last year. He’s become the President of the Montgomery Improvement Association. We’ve printed hundreds of papers for colored people to walk instead of ride the bus. It’s been happening for a month now and it’s hard sometimes to walk places. I know folks who wake up at 3 in the morning to walk to work. But, you know what they say: early bird gets the worm! With all this effort, I do believe it’s working, the bus company is losing money. The newspapers have called this city, “The Walking City” as there are so many protesters.
March 17th, 1956
About a hundred people, including me, got arrested for protesting. The leaders of the protest paid our bonds and we’ve been able to continue. There are people who call me and tell me that I should be killed for protesting. I don’t know what to do about them.
The bus companies are not profiting as well, we must keep fighting. I got fired from the Montgomery Fair Department Store for protesting. I’ll get by somehow.
April 15th, 1958
The buses have changed seating rules for not supporting the U.S Constitution, which seems so long ago.
We’ve moved to Detroit, Michigan, and it’s a clean canvas we need to map out, with so many mysteries to unfold!
June 17th, 1988
It’s so lonely without my parents or Sylvester. It’s hard to believe and so upsetting that I’ve outlived him; he could have lived a lot longer.
I’m grateful for my parents as well. My mother, basically taught me everything I know.
Rosa’s Momentum
By Delaney Paul
2nd Place Prose winner of the
Rosa Parks’ Contest Team 6-1
I grabbed 52 cents from my purse, counting the money silently in my hand. Waiting to board the bus. My laced black shoes softly tapped the white sidewalk each time I took a step, “tip, tap, tip, tap.” I felt eyes all over me as I walked up to pay. I looked down as almost everyone sent to the back of the bus did…watching my dress sway and my feet move underneath me…too afraid to even consider a glance upwards. I would have to sometime, but not today. My fingers wrapped around my purse feeling the sewn leather under my fingers, going over the stitches one by one. A younger woman behind me was going on about her new job as a maid. It was hot outside, standing for so long. I fanned my face still clutching my purse as I heard two men up front mumbling about the protest and how “those stupid negros shouldn’t be allowed to protest.” I saw their heads nod and wrinkly hands shake, then their voices drifted off as the line started to move.
I followed the line of people going into the bus. The young woman’s voice stopped abruptly as we entered the bus. I passed the seated men, women, and children until I made it to the colored section. There were a lot of people on the bus that day, but I managed to find a seat right behind the big neon sign that marked our section. I placed my purse on my lap and crossed my hands and watched as everyone board. I saw a black girl skip on to the bus, and I peered over to look at the smile she had on her face. Then out of nowhere the bus driver yelled at that girl to sit down. Her smile washed away as her mother quickly apologized and grabbed her by the arm. They sat her down right behind me. Nothing came out of my mouth or anyone’s mouth, when I saw this.
I was sitting by the window when an older woman boarded the bus. She looked about in her late 70s. She came and sat on the outside of the 2 chairs right next to me. She had black pointy shoes on and a very long black dress. It looked as though she was in a pool of despair. She was wearing an elegant black hat which looked very similar to mine. She had a slight grin on her face but something was off about her. Maybe it was the way she walked slowly down the aisle, or how her back slouched as she slid in her seat without saying anything. She slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out a tan piece of paper. She flipped it over and a very faded image appeared. I didn’t want to be nosey, so I looked out the window trying not to seem interested. The woman slowly turned around to show the image to that little girl. Pointing at the image like it was a map, “This was my great granddaughter when she was little and you look just like her, even that dress looks like the one she was wearing.” The girl blushed and smiled. I couldn’t help but turn around to take a glimpse of the photo. She showed everyone in the back of the bus that photo but not many were interested. The little girl asked to hold it and the mother told her to see with her eyes not hands as my mother would have told me. The old lady gave that photo to the girl, “Don’t worry sweetie I have thousands of them.”
She turned back around and her face went numb. The smile ran away faster than a hare. She turned to me and said, “My great granddaughter was so beautiful.” I gave her a quick smile and looked down at my purse again. We sat in silence for a few more moments, both listening to the voices of everyone talking over one another. The woman grabbed another photo out of her pocket and gently traced the edges of the fine paper. “You must be wondering why I am dressed in this lifeless color.” I turned, tilting my head slightly. “I am going to a funeral,” she looked back down at the photo, “her funeral.” her voice cutting off at the very end, becoming choppy and uneven. I don’t know what to say because all this information hit me so fast. “She was sweet as honey and her hair soft as a feather.” she smiled at me, “She was a good one.” “She was protesting at a white only cafe and somebody came in and shot her.” Her brown lively eyes suddenly faded, to match the color of her somber, black dress.
We both looked down, her at the photo and me at my purse. Just then a white man hopped on the bus. He looked at each seat carefully, passing through rows and rows till he stopped at the lady next to me. “Get up, I am sitting here.” Our eyes fix on him. “Yes sir,” the old woman said. I watched as she made her way to the back of the bus. Everyone stared. I looked down at my purse. I placed my feet under my chair bending my legs, but I couldn’t move. I thought of the great granddaughter the lady told me about. She wasn’t afraid of doing what’s right. Why should I. “Get up negro!” he yelled in my ear. The whole bus looked at me in confusion. “No.” I said, still looking at my purse, imagining the great granddaughter getting shot. I looked back at the old woman to calm me in some way. The bus driver made his way to me and yelled in my face, “Get up he is white and you can’t sit there.” I sat looking out at the window wondering if I should do this. I didn’t want to show the anger inside of me so I calmed down and waited.
The cops came, put me in handcuffs and walked me out of the bus. I looked back at the yellow bus to people looking back down at me, some glaring and grinning, some in disgust, some with a wandering expression, but only one had the expression I deeply longed for. It was a sad smile and a tip of her black hat that looked just like mine.
In the Eyes of a Tornado
By Annabel Shultz
Poetry winner for the Rosa Parks’ Contest Team 6-2
Rosa parks,
A name put down in history.
In the eyes of a tornado peace walked in and changed it all.
Never a perfect fight, but Rosa Parks stood tall.
No one said it was easy, but she took on the fight for civil rights. It was time for a change.
The word “No” reigned in the air like a cloud that couldn’t move. How could a movement so big start on something that felt so small? But that one word changed the way we all think today.
On that bus, the word was a chance to resist. She opposed how people were treated.
She was like a judge that refused to listen.
The movement for civil rights,
No matter black, white, tan, brown,
You were to be treated like somebody in a place that treated you like a nobody.
It was a long fight,
But like any rolling ball, it couldn’t possibly be stopped. Rosa Parks was going to retaliate.
Just like she said she would,
Rosa Parks fought and fought until justice was served. She never let her guard down.
Like a hawk that keeps its gaze.
In the eyes of a tornado,
Rosa Parks saved.
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