{"id":17400,"date":"2026-03-10T14:15:08","date_gmt":"2026-03-10T14:15:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/uncategorized\/how-a-member-of-the-little-rock-nine-found-courage\/"},"modified":"2026-04-10T06:03:36","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T06:03:36","slug":"how-a-member-of-the-little-rock-nine-found-courage","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/inspiring-stories\/stories-of-faith-and-hope\/how-a-member-of-the-little-rock-nine-found-courage\/","title":{"rendered":"How a Member of the Little Rock Nine Found Courage"},"content":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s difficult to move to another state, another town, another school, especially for a teenager. As a 17-year-old, I was compelled to move\u2014not just to another part of the country but to another family.<\/p>\n

My life had changed two years earlier, when I became one of the Little Rock Nine, the teenagers who integrated all-white Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas. When my teacher asked who would be interested in going to Central High, the pride of Little Rock, my hand shot up.<\/p>\n

For as long as I could remember, I\u2019d wanted to break free of the rules that defined\u2014and confined\u2014black people\u2019s lives in the segregated South. It upset me to see my mother, a teacher working on her doctorate degree, kowtow to whites. It hurt to have to drink from \u201ccolored\u201d water fountains and sit in the back of the bus.<\/p>\n

The warnings from my parents and grandmother made it clear that white people were in charge and not to be disobeyed or confronted. At age five, I\u2019d seen a man hanging from the rafters of our church, and fear of white people and their rules had consumed me ever since. I knew I could not live that way. At first, I was driven by the notion that attending Central would be my ticket to college and out of Little Rock. Just to get the nine of us inside the school\u2019s front doors, President Eisenhower sent the 101st Airborne to escort us through an angry mob. Every day, white students hit, kicked and spit on me. When I went to the bathroom, they tossed burning strips of paper over the stall. I walked the halls in constant fear.<\/p>\n

When I complained to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.<\/a>, about the treatment we received each day, he said, \u201cDon\u2019t be selfish, Melba. You are doing this for generations yet unborn.\u201d He changed the direction of my commitment. \u201cYou can always call on the Lord,\u201d Grandma told me. \u201cHe\u2019s as close as your skin.\u201d I\u2019d never prayed harder than that year at Central. I focused on my studies and got good grades\u2014the best revenge, Mother said. The next year, to avoid integration, the governor closed all the public high schools, opening a private school for whites only. Because of legal appeals, I couldn\u2019t register at any school anywhere.<\/p>\n

I stayed home, teaching myself with Grandma\u2019s help. We used the many books at home and correspondence courses. In September 1958, Grandma was diagnosed with cancer. She passed on in October. I felt lost without her.<\/p>\n

\nCentral High was scheduled to reopen in the summer of 1959. But Mother found out that the KKK was offering a $10,000 bounty to kill any member of the \u201cNine.\u201d \u201cYou can\u2019t stay here,\u201d she said. \u201cThe NAACP has a family in California you can live with for your senior year.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019d read about California in magazines like Ebony <\/em>and Seventeen <\/em>and had seen it on television. Movie stars. Mansions. The ocean. I fantasized on the long flight there that my foster family would have more money than my family and live in a lovely house.<\/p>\n

At the San Francisco airport, I was startled to be met by white people who looked like folks back home who wanted to kill me. They said they were NAACP members and would drive me to the family hosting me.<\/p>\n

The van crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. We drove far into the countryside. I fretted about whether I had been kidnapped by members of the KKK. Finally, the car turned into a gravel driveway and pulled up to a two-story farmhouse. The front door opened and out stepped a shaggy little dog, barking madly, and a petite, brown-haired\u2026 white woman. I gasped.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Kay McCabe,\u201d she shouted over the barking. \u201cThis is Rags. He\u2019s just excited. Welcome!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. McCabe?\u201d I whispered. She extended a hand. I kept mine to my sides. Did she really want me touching her?<\/p>\n

\u201cCall me Kay,\u201d she said, which only added to my discomfort. Back home no child dared call an adult by her name.<\/p>\n

She greeted the other NAACP members and showed me a bedroom with three single beds where I could leave my things. After the others left, Kay sat me down at the kitchen table. \u201cCome help me with dinner,\u201d she said, handing me a knife and carrots to slice for the beef stew simmering on the stove. Next, she had me set the table. Was she thinking I was going to be her maid?<\/p>\n

Minutes later came a deep voice. \u201cI\u2019m home.\u201d Mr. McCabe was tall, dressed in brown tweed trousers, white shirt and plaid bow tie.<\/p>\n

\u201cGeorge is a psychology professor at San Francisco State,\u201d Kay said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019re the new kid?\u201d he said. \u201cHow\u2019s it going?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mother and Grandma never talked to me so casually. I barely had time to react before the McCabes\u2019 teenage daughters, Judy and Joanie, burst through the door, and three-year-old Ricky woke from his nap. Everyone sat for dinner. No one said grace. That made me nervous. I said a silent prayer. \u201cWhat day would you like on the chore chart?\u201d Kay asked. \u201cWe all pitch in.\u201d I didn\u2019t understand. They weren\u2019t <\/em>expecting me to be the maid? I was already part of the family? I even shared a bedroom with Judy and Joanie.<\/p>\n

That night I wrote in my diary: \u201cDear God, is this the family you want me to have? The McCabes are very sweet, but can\u2019t you find me one that looks like me?\u201d<\/p>\n

The next day, I was astonished to once again be in an all-white school. I saw no other black students but was told there were four others. These white students were very different from those at Central. They smiled, helped me with my locker and offered to show me to my classes. The teachers were just as welcoming. Even so, I kept looking over my shoulder.<\/p>\n

I was surprised to discover my classmates dated each other. I hadn\u2019t been allowed to date in Little Rock. They all made plans to go places together. While friendly, students rarely invited me and I didn\u2019t have the confidence to initiate a friendship. Every day I was reminded of how I didn\u2019t fit in. The clothes I wore. The way I talked. I learned that it wasn\u2019t only race that separated people. Only well-off people could afford to live in Santa Rosa.<\/p>\n

One day, George took me to the city swimming pool. \u201cShe\u2019s not allowed here,\u201d the attendant said. I suddenly felt as though I were back in Little Rock.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll have your job!\u201d George said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re violating my daughter\u2019s civil rights<\/a>.\u201d I wasn\u2019t sure what was more shocking, having this white man call me his daughter or his coming to my defense. George gathered friends from his college, and they marched on the pool continuously for a week. There was never a problem after that.<\/p>\n

The McCabes were Quakers. They believed in hands-on helping people. Kay had helped found the Santa Rosa Quaker meeting and the local NAACP chapter. She had marched for voters\u2019 rights and helped establish a preschool for minorities. Judy and Joanie treated me like a sister from Day One. We hung out together, caring for the pigs and cows on the farm. Still I missed Mother and my brother and the AME church I was raised in. The quiet, more contemplative Quaker worship wasn\u2019t for me. I needed to feel the spirit and hear the choir. George drove me to a Methodist church on Sundays. But God didn\u2019t feel close by, as he had in Little Rock.<\/p>\n

In late fall, I caught the flu and spent many days in bed. George thought he knew what was ailing me. \u201cYou\u2019re homesick,\u201d he said. \u201cIt can be unsettling to be separated from everything that\u2019s familiar. Why don\u2019t you go back to Little Rock over Christmas? If you decide to come back, we\u2019ll always have a place for you.\u201d If I came back? <\/em>It hadn\u2019t occurred to me that I might not return.<\/p>\n

In the Little Rock terminal, a white man bumped hard against my shoulder. \u201cWatch where you\u2019re going, you piece of trash,\u201d he snarled. My stomach clenched, but I said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cMelba Joy!\u201d Mother ran to me, my brother right behind her. On the drive home, she said, \u201cI was thinking that if you told the newspapers you weren\u2019t interested in integrating, maybe the KKK would leave us alone. Then you could come home for good.\u201d<\/p>\n

That night I couldn\u2019t sleep. I imagined Grandma beside me, settling me like she used to when I was a girl. \u201cYou\u2019re going to be just fine, Melba,\u201d I heard her say. \u201cStop resisting this new path the Lord has chosen for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

But after only a few days back in Little Rock, I found the fear of white people and what they might do to me once again consuming me. At our family Christmas, my relatives talked about whites threatening them. How could you be your personal best if you were frightened all the time?<\/p>\n

Finally, I understood. My true home wasn\u2019t a particular place or even with particular people. It was with God. He gave me the vision to see beyond what segregated society dictated. He had given me the courage to raise my hand to enter Central. He would keep giving me the strength and support I needed to follow my own path.<\/p>\n

After Christmas, I went back to Santa Rosa. The McCabes greeted me warmly. \u201cWhat day do you want on the chore chart?\u201d Kay asked my first night back.<\/p>\n

A few weeks later, George asked if I\u2019d be interested in leaving high school early and enrolling at San Francisco State College. \u201cI know some people,\u201d he said with a smile. \u201cIt\u2019ll be a more diverse experience. I think you\u2019d benefit.\u201d<\/p>\n

He went to the campus with me on my first day. \u201cMelba, you can make your life into whatever you want it to be,\u201d he said. \u201cKay and I are here if you need us. Remember, you\u2019re never anything less than our daughter, never less than an important human being, a person who had strength to set this country on its ear and teach it a lesson in civil rights.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tears streamed down my face as I watched him walk away. Then I turned and followed the path the Lord set out for me, an incredible journey that has led me to be a wife, a mother, a TV news reporter, a writer, a university professor and a speaker, telling my story to audiences across the country about how I turn my fear into faith. Fifty-eight years later, I am still a member of the McCabe family, experiencing all the love and comfort they offered me from the very beginning.<\/p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s difficult to move to another state, another town, another school, especially for a teenager. As a 17-year-old, I was compelled to move\u2014not just to another part of the country but to another family. 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