Chapter 7 A Lesson Before Dying

TWO THINGS HAPPENED at the school during the weeks before I visited Jefferson in jail. The

superintendent of schools made his annual visit, and we got our first load of wood for winter. We

heard on Monday by Farrell Jarreau, who had gotten the news from Henri Pichot, that the

superintendent was going to visit us sometime during the week, but we didn’t know what day or

time. I told my students to take baths each morning and wear their best clothes to school. After

the Pledge of Allegiance in the yard and the recitation of Bible verses inside the church, I would

send a student back outside to look out for the superintendent. If the student saw a car, any car,

turn off the highway down into the quarter, he or she was supposed to run inside and tell me.

The superintendent didn’t show up until Thursday. By then we had had many false alarms. The

minister of the church, who didn’t live in the quarter, had made a couple of visits to church

members. A doctor had come once, a midwife had visited a young woman twice, an insurance

man had shown up, a bill collector from a furniture store had appeared, Henri Pichot had driven

through the quarter at least once each day, and family and friends of people in the quarter had

also visited. On Thursday, just before two o’clock, the boy I had watching for cars ran into the

church. “Another one, Mr. Wiggins, another one.” “All right,” I said to the class. “Keep those

books opened and look sharp.” I passed my fingers over my shirt collar and checked the knot in

my necktie. I felt my jacket to be sure both flaps were outside the pockets. I had three suits—

navy blue, gray, and brown. I had on the blue one today. In the yard, I passed the tips of my

shoes over the backs of my pant legs. Now I was ready to receive our guest. This time it was

the superintendent. He stopped his car before the door of the church. A thick cloud of gray dust

flew over the top of the car and down into the quarter. The superintendent was a short, fat man

with a large red face and a double chin, and he needed all his energy to get out of the car. “Dr.

Joseph,” I said. “Hummmm. Stifling,” he said. I thought it was a little cool myself, but I figured

that anyone as heavy as he was must have felt stifled all the time. He wheezed his way across
the shallow ditch that separated the road from the churchyard. He looked up at me, but I could

tell he didn’t remember my name, though he had visited the school once each year since I had

been teaching there. “Grant Wiggins,” I said. “How are you, Higgins?” “Wiggins, sir,” I said. “I’m

fine.” “Well, I’m not,” he said. “All this running around. More schools to attend.” Dr. Joseph

visited the colored schools once a year, the white schools probably twice—once each semester.

There were a dozen schools in the parish to visit, if that many. “We’re honored that you took this

time for us, sir.” He grunted and looked around the yard. There was a good breeze coming in

from the direction of the cane fields, and it wavered the flag on the pole in the yard. “Place looks

about the same,” Dr. Joseph said. “Things change very slowly around here, Dr. Joseph,” I said.

“Hummmm,” he said. I motioned for him to precede me into the church. He needed all his

strength to go up the three wooden steps, and as he entered the doorway, I heard Irene Cole,

the sixth-grade student in charge, call out to the class: “Rise. Shoulders back.” I followed Dr.

Joseph down the aisle, and on either side of us, the students from primer through sixth grade

stood as still and as straight as soldiers for inspection. I nodded toward my desk for Dr. Joseph

to take my chair. He grunted, which meant thanks, and pulled the chair farther from the desk

before he sat down. He needed the extra distance for comfort. Irene was watching me all the

time, and when I nodded to her, she called out to the classes: “Seats.” And the whole school sat

as one. We had been rehearsing this, morning and afternoon, for the past three days.

“Students, I’m sure you all know Dr. Joseph Morgan,” I told them. “Dr. Joseph is our

superintendent of schools here in St. Raphael Parish. He has taken time out of a very busy

schedule to visit us for a few minutes. Please respond loudly: ‘Thank you, Dr. Joseph.’” Which

they did, loudly. Dr. Joseph acknowledged their greeting: “Hummmm.” “Dr. Joseph, we’re at

your service,” I said, and sat down on one of the benches against the wall. Dr. Joseph leaned

back in the chair, and still his large stomach nearly touched the edge of the table. He looked

over the classes from one side of the aisle to the other, as though he was trying to catch

someone doing something improper. “Primer, on your feet,” he said. They stood up, seven or
eight of them. Dr. Joseph looked them over for a moment, then he told the little girl at the end to

come forward. She took a deep breath and looked at the girl standing beside her before coming

up to the desk. She was afraid, but she came up quickly and stood before the table with her little

arms tight to her sides. She would not look up. “Nothing to be afraid of, child,” Dr. Joseph said to

her. “What is your name?” “Gloria Hebert,” she said. “I can’t hear you if you keep your head

down,” Dr. Joseph told her. She looked up, timidly. “Gloria Hebert.” “That’s a pretty name,” Dr.

Joseph said. “Hold out your hands.” She must have thought she had said or done something

wrong, because as she held her hands out across the table, palms up, I could see them

trembling. “Turn them over,” Dr. Joseph told her. She did. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Relax.” She did

not know what he wanted her to do. “Lower your arms, child,” Dr. Joseph said. She brought her

arms back to her sides and lowered her eyes as well. “Did you say your Bible verse this

morning, Gloria?” “Yes, sir, Dr. Joseph.” “Well, what did you say?” he asked her. “I said, ‘Lord is

my shepherd, I shall not want,’ Dr. Joseph.” “Hummm,” Dr. Joseph said. “Seems I’ve heard that

one before. But you’re a bright little girl. You tell your folks Dr. Joseph said they ought to be

proud of you. Go back to your seat.” “Thank you, Dr. Joseph,” she said, bowing and turning

away quickly. She smiled as she faced forward again. But no one else was smiling. “Primers,

take your seats,” Dr. Joseph said. “First graders, on your feet.” And he called on the one boy in

class who I wished had stayed home today. He was without doubt the worst child in the school.

He came from a large family—thirteen, fourteen, fifteen: I don’t know how many—and he had to

fight for every crumb of food he got. At school he did the same. He fought if he played marbles,

he fought if he played ball, he fought if he played hide-and-go-seek, he fought if he played hide-

the-switch. In class he fought with those who sat in front of him, beside him, behind him. I had

punished him as much during the last month as I had all the other children put together. Dr.

Joseph asked his name, and he ran together three words even I couldn’t understand. His name

was Louis Washington, Jr., but what he said didn’t sound anything like that. “Your hands,” Dr.

Joseph told him. The hands had been cleaned an hour before, I was sure, because I had
checked each pair when the students came in from dinner. But now the palms of those same

hands were as black and grimy as if he had been pitching coal all day. “Did you pledge

allegiance to the flag this morning?” Dr. Joseph asked him. “Yazir,” he said. Not “Yes, sir,” as I

had told him a hundred times to say. “Yazir.” “Well?” Dr. Joseph said. “Want me go stand

outside and s’lute flag?” the boy asked. “You don’t have to go outside,” Dr. Joseph said. “You

can show me in here.” The boy raised his hand to his chest. “Plege legen toda flag. Ninety state.

’Merica. Er—er—yeah, which it stand. Visibly. Amen.” Dr. Joseph grunted. Several students

giggled. Dr. Joseph seemed quite satisfied. I would have to do a lot more work. For the next half

hour it continued. Dr. Joseph would call on someone who looked half bright, then he would call

on someone whom he felt was just the opposite. In the upper grades—fourth, fifth, and sixth—

he asked grammatical, mathematical, and geographical questions. And besides looking at

hands, now he began inspecting teeth. Open wide, say “Ahhh”—and he would have the poor

children spreading out their lips as far as they could while he peered into their mouths. At the

university I had read about slave masters who had done the same when buying new slaves, and

I had read of cattlemen doing it when purchasing horses and cattle. At least Dr. Joseph had

graduated to the level where he let the children spread out their own lips, rather than using

some kind of crude metal instrument. I appreciated his humanitarianism. Finally, when he felt

that he had inspected enough mouths and hands, he gave the school a tenminute lecture on

nutrition. Beans were good, he said. Not only just good, but very, very good. Beans, beans,

beans—he must have said beans a hundred times. Then he said fish and greens were good.

And exercise was good. In other words, hard work was good for the young body. Picking cotton,

gathering potatoes, pulling onions, working in the garden—all of that was good exercise for a

growing boy or girl. “Higgins, I must compliment you. You have an excellent crop of students, an

excellent crop, Higgins. You ought to be proud.” He had said the same thing the year before,

and he had called me Higgins then too. And the year before that he had said the same thing,

but he had called me Washington then. At least he was getting closer to my real name. “Rise,”
Irene called to the class. They came to their feet, their heads up, their arms clasped to their

sides. But instead of feeling pride, I hated myself for drilling them as I had done. Dr. Joseph and

I went down the aisle. Outside, he looked up at the flag waving on its bamboo pole in the corner

of the fence. I thought for a moment the superintendent was about to salute it, but he was either

too tired or too lazy to raise his hand. “Doing a good job, Higgins,” he said. “I do the best I can

with what I have to work with, Dr. Joseph,” I said. “I don’t have all the books I need. In some

classes I have two children studying out of one book. And even with that, some of the pages in

the book are missing. I need more paper to write on, I need more chalk for the blackboards, I

need more pencils, I even need a better heater.” “We’re all in the same shape, Higgins,” he

said. I didn’t answer him. “I said we’re all in the same shape, Higgins, the white schools just as

much as the colored schools. We take what the state gives us, and we make the best of it.”

“Many of the books I have to use are hand-me-downs from the white schools, Dr. Joseph,” I

said. “And they have missing pages. How can I—” “Are you questioning me, Higgins?” “No, sir,

Dr. Joseph. I was just—” “Thank you, Higgins.” He started to get back into his car. It was harder

to do than getting out, because he was upset with me now. “More drill on the flag, Higgins,” he

said, through the rolled-down window. “More emphasis on hygiene.” “Some of these children

have never seen a toothbrush before coming to school, Dr. Joseph.” “Well, isn’t that your job,

Higgins?” “Yes, sir, I suppose so. But then I would have to buy them.” “Can’t they work?” he

asked me. “Look at all the pecan trees.” He waved his hand toward the yards. “I wager you can

count fifty trees right here in the quarter. Back in the field, back in the pasture, you can count

another hundred, two hundred trees. Get them off their lazy butts, they can make enough for a

dozen toothbrushes in one evening.” “That money usually goes to helping the family, Dr.

Joseph.” “Then you tell the family about health,” he said, looking out of the rolled-down window

to let me know that his visit was over. “I have another school to visit. All this running around

’nough to give a man a heart attack.” He drove away. I stood there until he had turned his car

around and started back up the quarter. I waved at him, but he did not wave back.