My Grandfather, Dave Allen

In 1863, Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, which stated that all men are created equal. My grandfather, Dave Allen, and his brother Robert (Bob) Allen, who were sons of a slave, experienced some of that period known as "reconstruction" in the Republican congress, which was intended to impose order and assure that African Americans got their rights.

In December of 1865, the Thirteenth Amendment, which prohibited slavery, was ratified by the states. In 1868 the Fourteenth Amendment granted African Americans their citizenship and equal protection of the laws. Reconstruction officially ended in 1877 when United States troops left the South. With them went the hope of black citizens for equal citizenship.

The Fifteenth Amendment in 1870 gave black men the right to vote. Black candidates were voted into federal office, including two in the United States Senate and fifteen into the House of Representatives. An all-white state legislature quickly passed a series of measures to separate the races and guarantee white supremacy. This system of racial segregation was known as the "Jim Crow" laws.

In 1870 my great-grandfather Allen was deeded eighty acres of land from the government. He had two sons; the elder son was Robert (Bob), and the younger one was Dave. Before my great-grandfather died in 1890, the deed for the eighty acres was transferred to his two sons. My uncle Robert died, and my grandfather Dave inherited the entire eighty acres.

Grandfather Dave had two boys and three girls: Alex, Lonnie, Iree, Lavada, and Lovie. My father, Alex, was the oldest child. He was born in Riverside, Alabama, in 1905. He grew up on the family plantation and helped his dad farm. He married a wife by the name of Callie. To this union, one child was born, and she was named Callie after her mother and grandmother. Alex's wife, Callie, died in 1931.

My father, Alex, continued to work on the farm in Riverside. At the age of twenty-seven, he decided that he wanted another wife. On the weekend, he would get on his bicycle and ride out of Sinclair County, Alabama, to the west side of Calhoun County to a small community called Eastaboga to look for that special one to marry.

One weekend he ran into a beautiful young girl by the name of Annie Mae Gladden, who was only fourteen years old. Annie Mae's father, Kenney Gladden, felt that Alex was too old to court his daughter. He told Alex to go back to Riverside and leave his daughter alone. Despite the warnings from Kenney Gladden, my father went back to see Annie Mae.

My father was twenty-eight years old and my mother was fifteen years old when they got married in 1933. Out of this union, ten children were born: three boys and seven girls. I, Norris, was the fifth child and the smallest of the ten. My mother's brother, James Gladden, treated me special out of all the ten children and my half-sister, Callie. When I went to see him, he would pick me up and say, "Look up at the airplane." Sometimes a plane would be flying over, and sometimes not. He would also say, "Norris, dance for me," and I would start dancing. I was told that I started dancing at the age of three, and at the age of four, I could cut up on the dance floor. People would give me nickels and People would give me nickels and dimes to see me dance.

When I was five years old in 1947, my grandfather Kenney died. I had been given the name Kenney as my middle name after my grandfather. At that time, the mortician brought people's bodies to their homes. As my grandfather lay in the casket, I came into the room and danced all over the floor around the casket. They tell me that I never danced again after that. It must have been true, because I never learned to dance very well. I always stepped on my partners' feet.

A Phenomenal Mother

The last time my mother was able to come to my pastor's anniversary was in August of 1977. In 1959 she was diagnosed with breast cancer. After having one breast removed, it didn't look as if she would survive, according to her medical report. The doctors gave her about five years to live.

My mother was a faithful believer, and she lived nineteen years before the Lord called her home in 1978. She had prayed that the Lord would let her live until her youngest child, Yvonne, finished high school and became an adult who could take care of herself. God granted her that request. My mother was a child of God who loved Jesus. She was a Good Samaritan who helped others whenever she could.

I loved my parents very much, and I always wanted to do something to make life better for them. Our home was too small for the Allen family, so there were three things I wanted to do for my mother and father. I wanted to add more living space to our house by building an additional bedroom, an indoor bathroom, and a family room. These things became a reality in 1965.

For some reason, the Lord placed me as the leader of the family to see that things were done for my parents with the support of all my siblings. When my youngest sister, Yvonne, started school, I made a promise that if she graduated from high school, I would make sure she went to college. She did not go to college after graduation but got married. After being married for a while, she was determined to pursue her education by going to nursing school. She did just that, and she received her degree as a practical nurse. I tip my hat to her for her accomplishment.

Allen's First House

In 1942 the Allen family moved from Ohatchee, Alabama, to their first house on State Highway 53, a busy road between Rome and Shannon in Georgia.

Saved to Witness the Changes in America

I have my mother to thank for putting her life at risk to save me when I was a child. I was two years old when I ran out of the house to my mother as she came across the street from the mailbox. I was too small for the driver of the oncoming car to see. The driver was close to the mailbox on the opposite side of the road. My mother was coming back from the mailbox and saw me going in front of the car. She could see that her child was in danger, and she stepped in front of the vehicle, put her hand on the hood, and said, "Excuse me," as she picked me up in her arms. The driver put on the brakes and came to a complete stop.

That was in 1943, and if it hadn't been for my mother, my life may have ended. I thank God every day for a loving and caring mother who saved me when I was not old enough to know the importance of a mother's love. My mother was around for me for thirty-seven years, teaching me right from wrong and praying for me as I began to know the difference between justice and injustice. Being in our small, segregated, southern, rural town of Rome, Georgia, she feared for me, because, from the time I was an adolescent until I became an adult, she knew I would speak up when I saw injustice. If I saw someone being treated wrong, I would say quietly, "Excuse me," to get attention and to open a dialogue in which to be heard. I knew I had a reason for being born in 1941 and a reason to live when God stepped in with my mother in front of that car in 1943.

At the age of twelve, I became engaged in fighting injustice in America. I stood up for equal rights whenever and wherever I could. If I had not lived, I would not have been around in 1954 to witness Brown v. Board of Education in Topeka, Kansas. If I had not lived, I would not have been around when Rosa Parks sat in the front of the bus in 1955 in Montgomery, Alabama. If I had not lived, I would not have been able to support the 1960 students' sit-in at Woolworth in North Carolina. If I had not lived, I would not have been able to hear Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. tell America about his dream on August 28, 1963. If I had not lived, I would not have been around in 1964 when President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Public Accommodation Bill. If I had not lived, I wouldn't have been around to see Congress pass the Voting Rights Act of 1965. If I had not lived, I would not have been around to hear Dr. King deliver the most important speech of his life on April 3, 1968, when he said, "I've been to the mountaintop."

If I had not lived, I would not have been around in 1980 when John Lawson Vaughn, who came from the small, rural, southern city of Rome, Georgia, became the first African American to serve as assistant school principal and school principal in an integrated Floyd County school system at Johnson Elementary School. If I had not lived, I would not have been around in 1984 to witness President Ronald Reagan signing a bill for the first African American to be honored with a national holiday in America.

If I had not lived, I wouldn't have been around to tell industries that job discrimination must end. If I had not lived, I wouldn't have been around to see the United States of America elect the first African American president, Barack H. Obama. If I had not lived, I would not have been around to witness Eric Holder become the first black person to head the Justice Department of the United States of America.

If I had not been around sixty years later, I would not have been able to plan and establish a historical monument and library for previous property, home, and business owners between 1800 and 1970 who survived the Reconstruction, Depression, and the civil rights era in my home district of Kingston Highway in Rome, Georgia. I am so happy that I am still around and that my mother and Jesus stepped out and saved me. I had a reason to live, and the proof is found in this book about my extraordinary journey.

It was fourteen years from Brown v. Board of Education in 1954 to the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968 (1954–1968).

It was fourteen more years from the first anniversary of the death of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in 1969 to President Ronald Reagan's signing of a bill to create a national holiday commemorating Dr. King in 1983 (1969–1983). Before I retired from the General Electric Company in 1983, I asked my fellow employees to sign a petition for Dr. King's birthday to become a national holiday.

Fourteen years later (1983–1997), before leaving the General Electric Company, I thanked my coworkers for their support of civil rights.

It was another fourteen years beginning with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference's fortieth anniversary in 1997 before the subject "Brother Up" about the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial became a reality in 2011.

Coming Up as an Innovator to Beat the Odds

When I was in school being called a colored boy, the Floyd County Board of Education was giving us buses that were worn out by white children. Those buses were removed from the route and taken to the garage for an overhaul of the motor and other repairs. Then they were given to the schools for the colored children. The white children then got new buses. Everything that was worn out by the whites was handed down to us. Sometimes I used duct tape to hold my books together. After moving to the Moran Lake Road area, I walked a mile to school, because we had no bus to ride. I thank God for carrying me through this, because Mom and Dad could not help change these conditions. All they had on their side for their children was prayer.

When I was six years old in rural America, our school was not accustomed to consistent attendance in my classroom. The teacher taught each class one hour at a time. Sometimes we finished our lessons, and sometimes we didn't. During the class years of 1948 through 1952 in Shannon, Georgia, the colored schools were under review to see what the attendance was and to determine whether or not to keep the schools open.

Our school consisted of grades one through six. The building had a small kitchen to cook whatever the county would give us to eat. Most of the time it was hash meat. First and second grades were taught together in one room. Third and fourth grades were taught together in another room. Fifth- and sixth-grade students were taught in the Big Pleasant Grove Baptist Church sanctuary located next to the school. Only one teacher taught each class.

I thank God for seeing us through those times. The school's principal, Mrs. McWhorter, knew that if the attendance dropped below one hundred, the school would close, and she and the three teachers would have nowhere to go in the educational field, unless there was an opening elsewhere. The Floyd County and city school system already had people waiting for teaching positions to open. It was a shame, but true, that the second- and third-grade students were held back to keep attendance over the one hundred count. Not only did this affect the teachers, but it affected the students.

In 1954 to 1955 the schools on the east side of Floyd County were consolidated for two years while under review. Students in my area went to a school called Moran Lake Road Primary. The students from Shannon went to Shannon primary and middle schools. At the end of the school year in 1955, all colored schools east and south of Floyd County were closed. At the beginning of the school year in 1956, the schools consolidated with the city of Rome school system, and Anna K. Davie Middle School was built, which I attended. After leaving the middle school, I was able to go to Main High for my high school education.

After moving from Shannon, we rented a house on Moran Lake Road from Mr. Buster Branch, and we stayed there for several years. In 1952 my dad bought a piece of property at 333 Hasty Road and built his first home in Floyd County, which we refer to as the "old home place." While I was in middle school, the city school children always had an advantage over rural students. Every year they would take the city patrol boys to Washington, DC, but the rural patrol boys could not go on those trips. It was something I always wanted to do, but I never had the opportunity.

Memories of My Childhood

Some memories of my childhood involve my family traveling to my hometown in Calhoun County, Alabama, every second Sunday in May for homecoming. We would leave early Saturday morning and go to Anniston, Alabama, a seventy-two-mile trip that took several hours in our Model T. Sometimes we had two or three flats, because the tires had boots inside. My parents and ten siblings packed the car on the seats and floorboards.

One of the most memorable trips was when we were going home and we all got sick from carbon monoxide coming from the pipe under the car through the floorboards. Some of us had to go to bed when we got to Anniston. During these homecoming trips, we would all get together on Saturday morning and go to the family graveyard to clean away the grass and put flowers on the graves. It was a lot of fun working together and getting to see our kin from far and near.

When I entered high school, I was two grade levels behind, because I'd been held back in the old primary school, but my teachers, Mrs. McCain and Mrs. Bell, helped me to stay in school and kept encouraging me.

As an adolescent during 1955 to 1960, I stayed with my brother Alex and my sister Embry and her husband, James, and worked as a shoeshine boy and a waiter at a Greek steak house. Each morning, I attended school, and in the afternoons and evenings, I went to work. From the money I earned at these jobs, I gave my brother or sister ten dollars a week and my parents ten dollars a week. I lived off the remaining eight dollars a week.

During my high school years, I loved boxing. I became an amateur boxer with a record of twelve and zero. I could have become a professional boxer, but my church work took first priority in my life. At the age of eighteen, I volunteered for the US Army, since I was behind in school. But after I had passed the test to join, I decided not to go, even though Sergeant Cameral was getting ready to send me to Atlanta for my physical. Knowing that I didn't want to go, the sergeant did not force me to go.

My wedding to Gladys was held at the church where I grew up. The photographer did not show up at the ceremony, but my niece Revonia had a small camera, and she took one picture of our wedding when we were cutting the cake. We were very young, and everyone commented that we looked like two teenagers getting married. I was nineteen at the time, and Gladys was seventeen.