Oral history interview with Marilyn Lott, 2010 [text/print transcript]

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THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT GREENSBORO
INSTITUTIONAL MEMORY COLLECTION
INTERVIEWEE: Marilyn Lott
INTERVIEWER: Hermann Trojanowski
DATE: August 6, 2010
HT: Today is August 6, 2010, and I am Hermann Trojanowski. I’m in Front Royal, Virginia
with Marilyn Lott doing an oral history interview for the Women Veterans—I’m sorry,
for the UNCG Institution Memory Collection. Marilyn, if you will give us your full
name, we’ll see how we both sound on this machine.
ML: My name is Marilyn Herbin Lott. I live in Front Royal, Virginia. I graduated from what
was then WCUNC [Woman’s College of the University of North Carolina] in 1962.
HT: Well, Marilyn, let’s start the interview. I’m asking a little bit about your background,
about when and where you were born.
ML Well, I was born in San Diego, California in 1938. And my father was career navy. My
mother was by training and early profession, a school teacher. And I do remember Pearl
Harbor Day. Probably because it was such an uproar at home. My uncle was on the USS
Arizona and survived the attack. My father was out at sea at the time, and my mother
didn’t know if he would be coming back, because they might have been sent somewhere.
And it was all a big secret, because my father’s parents were visiting. And they didn’t
want grandma and grandpa to know anything. As I said, my father is career navy. He was
also a writer and naval historian and published at least a half a dozen books on aspects of
naval history.
HT: Was he an officer, or—
ML: Yes, he joined as an enlisted man from Iowa. In those days the Navy was very selective
in the [Great] Depression days. And they gave a very difficult test, and they took three
men from Iowa. And he was one. And my mother was a graduate of what was then San
Diego State Teacher’s College. And is now University of California at San Diego. She
had a great teaching job she said. And when she got married they fired her, because in
those days in the ’30s, and I suppose up in the ’40s, married women couldn’t teach. So,
she raised us. I had a brother born in 1940. And he lives now in Memphis, Tennessee.
She raised us and managed Daddy very well.
HT: I’m assuming your father was career navy. So, he was in 20-30 years?
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ML: He was career navy. He went into the Navy in—it was 1931. And he retired twice. He
retired in 1959—’58 or ’59. And, then, he was called back out of retirement to do a
special book for the chief of naval operations, who at that time was Admiral Farley Burk.
We loved Admiral Burk. Yes, about six navy histories altogether. And three of them—
two of them published before he retired, and the rest after. He continued to write. And,
then, he took a job with the US Naval Institute in Annapolis, Maryland. And was an
editor for them for a number of years. And at the time of his—that would have been his
third retirement was senior editor of the Institute. And they published all his books but
one.
HT: Are those books still available as far as you know?
ML: The Institute probably still has books in print, yes. I of course have every one of them.
HT: And where did you go to high school?
ML: Well, which time? Yes, I went to Falls Church High School in Falls Church, Virginia
until 1952. And, then, we went to California to a town called Vallejo. That’s V-A-L-L-E-J-
O, north of San Francisco where the Navy had a shipyard at Mare Island. And there I
went to two junior high schools and the community college simultaneously in order to
complete all the classes I transferred with. And, then, I graduated from Vallejo High
School.
HT: Being a Navy brat—
ML: A Navy junior.
HT: Sorry, Navy junior. It’s an Army brat, I guess.
ML: It is.
HT: You must have done quite a bit of traveling back and forth all over the country.
ML: Five times across the country by car. We always took a different route. Well, when we
moved in ’45, that was the war [World War II]. We had to do a direct route. But after that
Daddy always picked a different way to go to and fro.
HT: Was this by car or train?
ML: By car.
HT: Oh.
ML: Car. And on our last trip in ’55 coming east, we drove all the way across Canada. All the
wheat growing provinces in the western half of the country. Gosh, what a sight. I mean
miles and miles of miles and miles.
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HT: And this is pre-interstate system, I imagine?
ML: This was 1955. We didn’t get interstates until, oh, I’m trying to think, ’56, I guess.
[President Dwight D.] Eisenhower’s second term.
HT: Exactly, right. And, then, of course even then it was just starting, so.
ML: Loved the interstate system. Be glad to name Ike [Ed. note: President Eisenhower’s
nickname] for sainthood any day.
HT: Well, back to high school. Do you recall what your favorite subjects were?
ML: I was all for English and history.
HT: And did you have any teachers that you were particularly fond of, remember—
ML: In high school—
HT: That type thing.
ML: Yes, actually, I did. I had a public speaking teacher, Falls Church, Geraldine Lenvin. She
was marvelous. She was the first grownup that I knew that would let students call her by
her first name outside of class, away from school. Ah, she was great. She was great. And
I had the very good fortune when I was working in Washington in 1962, right after I
finished school, to discover that she was still alive living in Arlington, Virginia, and
called her up, because I thought she should know how much I appreciated the work she
had done.
HT: And how do you spell her last name?
ML: Lenvin, L-E-N-V-I-N. She’s marvelous.
HT: Thank you. Well, how did it come about that you decided to attend Woman’s College,
now called UNCG [The University of North Carolina at Greensboro]?
ML: Well, we had—my mother had a colleague, a WAVE officer, Betty Winspear, W-I-N-S-P-
E-A-R. And I don’t know if that was her maiden name or married name. But she was a
graduate. She was an alum. And when I started college at George Washington, and then I
missed—I was majoring in beer, boys, and bridge. It wasn’t going to work out. And Betty
said if I was thinking about transferring. I might want to consider the Woman’s College.
And I thought that seemed like probably a good idea, not so much beer, boys, and bridge,
a little bit more academic. I also applied to [College of] William and Mary, and I went in
spring of ’58. Lord, help us, ’59, whatever, spring of ’59, I guess. Went down to
Williamsburg, [Virginia] for an interview at William and Mary. And they were very
impressed with the fact that they were the College of William and Mary of the University
of Virginia. And I was very unimpressed with that attitude. So, I drove on over to
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Greensboro, [North Carolina], and I drove over on to campus. And I felt like I had come
home. And this was even before I had my interview. I absolutely knew that’s where I was
going to go. And I had my interview with Dean [Mereb] Mossman. And I liked her a lot.
And they decided they’d put up with me. Geez, they didn’t know what they were getting,
did they? Anyway, I was on probation, because my grades were so lousy. So, I came
down in the summer of ’59. And took biology. One year of biology in summer school.
Uh.
HT: That must have been tough.
ML: You had lectures every morning until lunchtime or for an hour. And, then, you were there
every morning in the lecture, in the lab, and we had—Martin Roeder was our professor.
We had a great time. I really liked him a lot. And that was the only class I had with him.
But he always gave a watermelon party on Bastille Day. And, so, I got my father to get a
French flag and sent it down to me. And I went over early that day to the classroom and
stuck it up over the backboard with heavy tacks. And I don’t know how he figured out
who had done it. He came in, looked at the flag, turned to me and said, “Thank you, Miss
Lott.” Man must have been psychic.
HT: Oh, gosh. Well, you mentioned earlier that you felt like you really were home when you
first started at WC [Woman’s College]. Did you get a tour of the campus, or?
ML: I don’t remember. Is that odd? Um, I just knew that’s where I belonged. I have rarely in
my life had such a feeling of, “I am where I’m supposed to be.” I mean there are people
that know this from the time they’re in diapers. I didn’t have a clue. I did not.
HT: Do you recall the dorm where you stayed?
ML: Well, for summer school we were in Mendenhall [Residence Hall]. Those were then—
Ragsdale [Residence Hall] and Mendenhall were the two newest dorms. And, so, summer
school we stayed in those, in Mendenhall.
HT: I guess you had most of your classes probably in the Petty Science Building?
ML: Well, math, physics, uh, I didn’t take chemistry. I had taken chemistry my—my
chemistry credits transferred. My math—I started as a math major. But at the end of my
first semester I went in to see my advisor, and she had all these courses lined up for me,
all these education classes. And I said, “I’m not taking those.” “Well, Miss Lott, you
can’t be a teacher without them.” And I said in my usual diplomatic way, “I have no
intention of ever teaching.” And I waltzed off to the English department. And Miss
Bush’s door was open. So, I went in and became an English major. The English
department didn’t care what I took. [unclear] They didn’t care. If I wanted to take another
physics class, “Go my child with my blessing.” I took social anthropology. “Go my child
with my blessing.”
HT: So, you became an English major?
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ML: I was really an English major, and I had sort of a secondary major in history, because I
managed to gobble up a lot of history while I was there.
HT: Did you have Richard Bardolph by any chance?
ML: No, I didn’t have Dr. Bardolph. I had Dr. Barbara Brandon who taught English history.
And even to my jaded eyes at twenty-one or twenty-two she looked pretty young to be a
professor. I’m not sure how old she was. But she wasn’t an old creaky academic. And
there is a book called 1066 and all that. It’s a satire of English history. It gives you two
genuine dates, 55 BC when Caesar landed in England and 1066, when William the
Conqueror came. And, then, three or four definite memorable kings. It’s a satire. And if
we were very, very good she would read from that on the day before vacation. So,
everybody showed up for that class, because you didn’t want to miss it. Yeah. She had a
good time teaching. And, then, I took her history. And I used to do what I called
academic shoplifting. Because I knew people who were taking short story and poetry
classes from Randall Jarrell. And, so, I’d just wonder in, and he didn’t mind at all. He
was sweet that way. And I had Dr. May Bush in the English department. I took a graduate
course from her. She wouldn’t have let me in if she knew I was only a sophomore. But I
got an A. So, she could hardly—I took a course called literary criticism which oddly
enough opened a whole part of English art to me. It introduced me via John Ruskin’s art
criticism to the works of J. M. W. Turner. And the library had, at that time, what was
called [unclear] edition of Ruskin’s criticism, humongous, long, three-foot long row of
thick books. And I was just sitting on the floor reading something and there were these
Turner paintings. Turner had such a way with life. I was just knocked off my feet. And I
never would have found it if I hadn’t taken a graduate course in literary criticism. You
know, when the school opens doors like that, you know you’re in the right place, really.
And I also took Victorian literature from Dr. Bush. And I took Romantic lit, but
not from her. She didn’t do Wordsworth and Shelley, and all those folks. Now, I forget
who I had for that. I had Dr. [Harry] Finestone for American lit. And I absolutely
disgraced myself in class one day. We were reading Mark Twain, and I’m particularly
fond of that little passage in Mark Twain where—in Tom Sawyer where Tom gives his
pain medicine to the cat, and everybody generally refers to that passage as “Peter and the
Pain Killer”—cat’s name was Peter. I loved it, it’s so funny. And he was reading out loud
to us. [laughing] I had to leave the classroom. I just burst out with my typical hoo-ha.
And I said, “Excuse me, I’ll be back,” and I just split. And I ran back in when I had
myself under control. I said, “I’m sorry, but I think it’s probably the funniest thing ever
written in the English language.” My father was a great fan of Twain. I could always tell
when he was reading Mark Twain. I mean the house could have been falling down
around him. And he would have been sitting there in the living room laughing reading
Mark Twain. The other thing American literature introduced me to was Ambrose Bierce.
And I knew he had existed, because he’s kind of considered a figure in California. But I
hadn’t really read anything of his. And he did this thing called The Devil’s Dictionary,
which has wicked definitions. Not dirty. Wicked, clever, sarcastic. And to this day I can
tell you what his definition of a cat is. “Cat. Noun. A soft, boneless, automaton, designed
to be kicked when things go wrong in the family circle.” Stuff that sticks with you for
fifty years. Got to be important. Yeah.
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HT: Well, it sounds like you really enjoyed school.
ML: I did. You know, I did. Oh, I got A’s in the stuff I was good at. I skated on the stuff I
wasn’t very good at. I graduated with a gentleman’s C. Because I wasn’t there to get what
I referred to as my union card, my teaching certificate like this ticket, that ticket. I was
there to learn how to read, analyze, write, convey my thoughts. Yeah, I was there to learn
to think. And to be able to get those thoughts over. I actually did teach much later in my
life, but I didn’t graduate as a teacher. And the first job was a computer programmer for
IBM. Go figure.
HT: Oh, gosh. Well, tell me something about the campus traditions as you recall.
ML: Jacket Day.
HT: Yes.
ML: My parents gave me the whole three-piece outfit for a gift. I think it was my birthday
present that year, because I was paying high tuition.
HT: Because you were out-of-state.
ML: [Tuition for an] out-of-state resident on campus was astronomical. I think my last year
there it was $1,125—$1,175. That doesn’t even pay your book bill today.
HT: But it was still a lot of money in those days.
ML: In those days, yes. They did take a bank loan to pay my tuition and stuff.
HT: Now, you mentioned they gave you a three-piece—
ML: Okay. We had our class jackets. And you could also get a skirt. And a blouse that was
made of the same fabric that the jacket was lined in.
HT: Because we have several class jackets.
ML: It was a cream-colored print as I remember.
HT: But I have never heard of a matching skirt or blouse.
ML: The skirt matched the jacket.
HT: Because we have 20-30 class jackets in our Textile Collection. As a matter of fact
numerous ones were just transferred from the alumni people, because they—we boxed
them in acid-free paper and acid-free boxes and that sort of thing. So, we’re grateful to
have those, but it would be wonderful to have the whole three pieces.
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ML: You know, the problem, of course, is you have a skirt, and you give it to Goodwill. And
your jacket still fits. I wore my class jacket until it absolutely fell apart. I was so proud of
having attended that school. In spite of my differences of opinion with the administration,
I was so proud. I wore that until it was a disgrace. I had outgrown the skirt. And I have no
memory of whatever happened to the jacket—to the blouse. It was the same cream-colored
print, a floral print, tiny print as the lining of the jacket.
HT: Interesting. I know I’ve talked to numerous alumni, and they always are very proud of
having that jacket. It’s just absolutely amazing, truly it is.
ML: I have no idea what one would cost these days. Well, I just had a blazer made here in
Front Royal because my blazer that I’d been wearing forever is no longer fit for public
appearances. And I like a jacket. And, yes, it’s silk. But it’s such a wonderful light-weight
silk, almost a Harris Tweed look—$450. So, yeah. A class jacket today would
probably cost $300.
HT: Probably, yeah.
ML: I mean it’s not made to excruciating perfection like Mrs. Lee does. But they were well-made,
too. They did not ever come apart at the seams. You just wore them out.
HT: You recall what color yours was?
ML: Green.
HT: Green.
ML: Dark green.
HT: What about some other campus traditions such as the Daisy Chain, and Rat Day, and—
ML: I never heard of Rat Day.
HT: Okay.
ML: I think a lot of that had stopped before I ever got there. And, also, remember I never lived
on the freshman quad. So, there were some things like I think Rat Day that—
HT: Right. I think that was underclass tradition where you sort of have show obedience to
upper classman.
ML: Yes.
HT: So, that’s right. You missed that.
ML: I would have missed that, because I came in as a sophomore.
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HT: Right, yeah.
ML: Although my next door neighbor, here in Front Royal, started at WC the year I graduated.
We did not know each other. We did not know each other then. But it’s a big country.
What are your chances of moving to a place you’ve never lived before, and buying a
house next door to a college [alumna]?
HT: Well, there were quite a few women who graduated from WC over the years.
ML: Yes.
HT: And they would have—lots of them came from the Virginia area, particularly the East
Coast. So, that—
ML: That was so funny. I was joking about school, and she said, “Where did you go to
school?” I said, “Well, it’s called The University of North Carolina at Greensboro now.
But when I was there it was Woman’s College.” And she said, “When did you graduate?”
I said “’62.” She said, “I graduated from there in ’65.” So, she would have been a
freshman when I was a senior. And there, again, I was only there for one semester,
because I was a mid-year. I came back for commencement. We didn’t have mid-year
commencement.
HT: That’s right, yeah.
ML: It was hardly worth it. There probably weren’t more than a handful at that time.
HT: I have forgotten exactly when the December graduation started. But it hasn’t been
around, I guess, more than 15-20 years. Because now, of course, we have 18,000 students
over—
ML: What did we have 3,500—3,000?
HT: It’s grown tremendously in the last few years. It’s just amazing, absolutely amazing.
Well, I’m assuming there was a dress code at Woman’s College at that time. Do you
recall anything about that?
ML: Yes. Sunday you had to wear Sunday dress to the dining hall for dinner and supper. And
no black tights. It had to be heels and hose and Sunday dress. We had an art major—Ann
[Dearsley] Vernon, would remember her—Melissa Bassler, who had worked in New
York, danced as a Rockette in order to get enough money together to come back to
school. And Melissa came into Sunday mid-day dinner one day—one week in heels and
black tights. And they told her she couldn’t go in, in those black tights. She was very tall.
She sat down on the floor right there at the dining hall, kicked her legs straight up in the
air, and whipped her tights off and went in and got her tray. You also did not wear
trousers. The exception was in the dorm, but never on front campus, not to class, ever,
geez, no. And the only other exception was if you were working in the theater, going to
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rehearsal, working on the sets, the lights, whatever. You could actually go to—get a pass
so you could hop the line at dinner and go on to the theater. And you could wear pants.
HT: How about shorts?
ML: Excuse me? I suppose in the dorms. Over on the golf course. As long as you weren’t
making—what I call making a public appearance. So much of the dress code. But I also
don’t like to see young ladies who need bras and something to cover their sleeves, their
arms running around in tank tops with no underwear. They have no idea how terrible they
look. I’m not picky. But when you’re out of your dorm you can run into a professor.
There’s going to be some outsiders walking around. You need to represent the college.
Yeah, I don’t even make public appearances here like in my paint-stained jeans, my nasty
tatty, ratty tank tops. I think it’s generational.
HT: I’m sure it is. We mentioned the dining hall earlier. What did you think of the dining hall
food?
ML: It was food. You ate it. [laughing] The summer I was down there—as a state school we
would get surplus commodity. And chickens were in surplus in ’59. I bet we ate chicken
almost every night, probably not. That’s what I remember. But there was a baker who
made the best pie. I do not remember that man’s name. And he died and we never got
good pie again. I went home for a weekend during summer school, and I had to go and
see my eye doctor. And my mother was so excited, she was going to do a chicken. I said,
“Can we have anything else?” I’ve been eating chicken all summer.
HT: You said something about chicken surplus, though.
ML: Well, the Agricultural Department distributes surplus commodity food. And at that time
even land grant and state-run schools were eligible. Land grant colleges. And as a state-run
school we got a look in. And, apparently, chickens were in oversupply. I mean mind
you, at that time chicken was—in the grocery store it was twenty-nine cents a pound at
the most. So, we had lots of chicken. But, you know, you don’t go to school for the food.
HT: No.
ML: I did have lunch with Stephanie [Cole] while we were down for reunion, Betsy [Toth]
and I and Stephanie went over.
HT: That’s Stephanie Cole?
ML: Yeah. Went over and had lunch. And I was very impressed. It’s way more—you got to
feed 18,000 people, and to do it that well, is excellent. Really excellent. A chocolate
fountain. We might have had chocolate pudding.
HT: Oh, my gosh. Well, tell me about your involvement in extracurricular activities such as
clubs or the theater.
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ML: I only did two things. I worked every show for the time I was there in one capacity or
another. And at the end of my first full year there I was picking in Masqueraders [Club]
with the big midnight stroll through the dorms while they knocked on your door, and you
went out, and there you were.
HT: Now, what kind of club was the Masqueraders?
ML: That was for theater people.
HT: Theater people. Okay.
ML: And you had to put in X number of shows, or days, or something. I forget. Betsy might
have remembered the details more clearly. But you had to qualify. It was an honor
society more than—it wasn’t at all an interest club. You had to qualify and be invited.
And I was a Masqueraders. And that became a difficult point with Dean [Katherine]
Taylor after they decided we were scum. I couldn’t—couldn’t do—have any more
involvement with the theater. And I said—she was—that meeting—my parents met
[with] Dr. [Otis] Singletary, and I said, “Well, I have an obligation to the honor society,
to Masqueraders, which I have to fulfill.” And that was the last I heard of, “Stay away
from the college theater.”
HT: So, she actually told you that you could no longer—
ML: Yes.
HT: —participate in theater after you participated in [Greensboro] Sit-ins?
ML: Yes. That was when I came back to school and whenever we went back, August of ’61.
She had a lot of good qualities.
HT: Well, what did you do for fun while you were there?
ML: Theater.
HT: Theater.
ML: I hung out with theater people, and art majors, and music majors, and English majors who
were also involved in art, music, the theater. It was a—I won’t say it was a clique,
because it wasn’t. But we all shared these common interests: music, the theater, art,
dance, and the language, literature.
HT: I think most of them lived in New Guilford [Residence Hall], is that correct?
ML: Yes.
HT: Is that where you lived?
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ML: I did.
HT: Was that later on?
ML: Yep. We were only—I was only over at Mendenhall for that summer. And my roommate
was a returning student, and she put us in New Guilford. I didn’t know the dorms. But
that was totally right. Absolutely. And, then, I think maybe at the middle of the year there
was an empty room in North Spencer [Residence Hall], and I moved over there.
HT: Speaking of North Spencer, North Spencer is reportedly haunted by a ghost. Have you
ever heard of the ghost of Spencer?
ML: No. I missed it.
HT: That might have been—we don’t know exactly how long these tales have been going
around.
ML: Well, I think Laura Lingle used to tell students—let me see. She graduated in ’61. I think
Laura Lingle used to tell students—new kids in New Guilford that there was a baby
buried under the floor or something like that.
HT: Yeah, Betsy told me that tale yesterday to scare off the non-Black Stocking Girls sort of.
ML: Yeah, it was a way of getting rid of education majors, I think.
HT: How do you spell Laura’s last name?
ML: L-I-N-G-L-E.
HT: Thank you. Let me see. Well, what social or and academic events stand out in your mind
during your time at WC?
ML: Actually none. None. I really was there to get an education. I had a boyfriend in Virginia,
at home, that I saw when I was home on vacation. And I’m trying to think.
HT: Did you play bridge or anything like that?
ML: No, actually I didn’t. I didn’t like the girls who played bridge. I’m not a serious bridge
player. I don’t like people who scream, smash their cards on the table. Get all bent out of
shape over a misbid or a revoke. Nope. Totally not. Didn’t like them at all. I don’t think
we played cards. We were really kind of busy.
HT: If you were involved with the theater that took a lot of time.
ML: Putting on a major musical every year takes a lot of time whether you’re backstage or on
stage. And we did major musicals. We did the “Boy Friend.” We did—that was in ’59. I
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did lights with Betsy for that. We did “South Pacific” in 1960. I played Bloody Mary in
that. We did “Annie Get Your Gun” in ’61, and I was an Indian. And we had a rolling
piece of stage set. which some of us pushed. I drove it over my toe. But, you know, we
did have casts of thousands. And that takes a lot of time. The “South Pacific” set was
very complicated.
HT: So, did you work on the sets as well as perform?
ML: Um, yeah, I did. For things I wasn’t in, I would do lights, or props, or set construction.
And that was great. You learned how to use all those power tools. Loved it. Most girls
don’t have that opportunity.
HT: Well, what can you tell me about the Black Stocking Girls?
ML: See, they were gone by the time I got there.
HT: Oh really?
ML: That bunch all finished up in ’61. So, I didn’t know what’s-their-name twins, so-called.
HT: That was Carolyn Harris and Bertha Harris?
ML: Yes. I didn’t know them.
HT: Because Betsy mentioned them yesterday.
ML: Yeah.
HT: And I asked her if they were sisters, and she said, “No, they were just real good friends
apparently.”
ML: And they had the same last name. That’s how it—I heard about them, but they had all
left, except for Laura Lingle who was there during the summer because they were getting
a show ready to take on a USO tour to Korea. I didn’t know any of the people that
graduated ahead of me. And they all did. I sure heard about them. If ever there was a
ghost to haunt New Guilford, it would be one of those two girls.
HT: Oh really?
ML: I swear to you.
HT: As far as I know, they’re still alive. I’m not sure. I’ll have to find out about—no, Carolyn
Harris was the daughter of Clarence Harris—
ML: Yes.
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HT: —who was the manager of Woolworth’s where the Greensboro Sit-ins took place.
ML: Yes.
HT: He actually donated the—we have a Clarence Harris manuscript collection. He had
gathered—after the Greensboro Sit-ins had gathered all this memorabilia, basically
scrapbooks and things like that.
ML: Oh, wonderful.
HT: And she donated those to us several years ago. I’m guessing at least about ten years ago.
And the collection is online and everything. Several people have come in to use it.
ML: That’s wonderful. Gosh.
HT: I sort of suspect that he wanted to write a book, and he was gathering material, and I
think just became sick, you know, in his later life.
ML: Time catches up with us sometimes. But that’s interesting, because that had to be a
terrible time for him.
HT: Well, his livelihood was at stake, I’m sure. Because he was—had been a Woolworth
person for a number of years. I think he had operated a store in Durham, and maybe
Raleigh, other places in North Carolina.
ML: Woolworth’s was big back then.
HT: Yeah. It was big. And here his operation was sort of going to pot.
ML: Well, nothing personal but—
HT: Yeah. Did you ever get a chance to meet him by any chance?
ML: Not that I remember. I may have seen him in the store.
HT: Did you know the connection between Carolyn Harris and—
ML: No, I didn’t, because I didn’t know her.
HT: Oh, that’s right. You didn’t know her.
ML: Yeah.
HT: That’s right. Because Ann Vernon—
ML: Ann Vernon did because—
14
HT: They went to high school together in Raleigh.
ML: They were high school acquaintances.
HT: Well, tell me something about the professors you had at Woman’s College, and some of
the administrators that you recall.
ML: Professors. Well, I talked about Barbara Brandon. I talked about May Bush. In her
Victorian literature class Dr. Bush came in one day and reminded us of a due date of a
paper that we were working on for her. And she was maybe two weeks ahead of due date.
And, then, she quoted the—I think it was the Episcopalian Church of England confession,
“We have left undone those things we ought to have done. And we have done those
things we ought not to have done. And there is no health in us.” Never had a professor
who quoted the confession of my sins. Barbara Brandon, she was great. I did get one of
Dr. [Jordon] Kurland’s lectures on the Russian novel which, of course, had to be moved
to—the year I went, I believe, it was moved to the auditorium in Weatherspoon [Art
Gallery] because you couldn’t—everybody came to do academic shoplifting to that class.
The word would go out, “Dr. Kurland is talking about the Russian novel next Friday,” or
whenever. And the whole world could get away from whatever they were doing, would
show up to hear the lecture.
HT: Sort of audit-type situation.
ML: I like to call it academic shoplifting, because if you audit it, you have to go; but if you are
just going to sneak in for a lecture once, yeah.
HT: And what was Dr. Kurland’s first name, do you recall?
ML: Jordon. I’m pretty sure. Kurland, K-U-R-L-A-N-D. But you can get that off some ancient
dead list of faculty.
HT: Right.
ML: He was really good. He was really, really good. He taught Russian history. And I didn’t
take Russian history. But I had a friend who did. She said, “Now, don’t forget, the
Russian novel is coming up.” So, yeah, everybody went to that. I mean there were
probably four or five times as many people to hear that lecture as would have ordinarily
have been in his classroom.
HT: So, did he on purpose get a larger room to give his lecture in?
ML: It was just understood that Dr. Kurland would have to have a bigger space on the Russian
novel day. I don’t think he had to run around reserve anything back then. God knows.
But, yeah, he had to have a bigger space. And I used to go from time to time. Well, my
first roommate was a writing student, and she was taking some things from Randall
15
Jarrell. And, so, I would go occasionally. Sarah would give me the heads up that there
was something good coming up, and I would go with her to class and listen in.
HT: But I think you said earlier that you never had any classes with Dr. Jarrell.
ML: I never took a formal class with him.
HT: You didn’t?
ML: No. I’m just a little academic shoplifter.
HT: Oh, gosh. Now, what about Warren Ashby, did you ever have any classes with him?
ML: I took one class from him, and I guess I’m the only person in the college who didn’t think
he was all that. I—we were living on different planes, and I just didn’t get connected. I
was—I dropped that class. I just couldn’t get it.
HT: Well, what can you tell me about Katherine Taylor? You mentioned her in passing
already.
ML: Yes, that’s generally how I mention her. She was—she was a formidable lady.
HT: And she was in the WAVES in World War II.
ML: She was. She was, so. I don’t know whether she was retired Navy, or just ex-Navy. She
had been an officer. She was—setting aside the differences I had with her—I think she
was a first-rate administrator. And I think she would have made an excellent chancellor.
HT: Right.
ML: Because she—I suspect that she had talent and skills that weren’t utilized. And she was
ambitious, and there’s nothing wrong with ambition. And there was no way at that time
in history that she was going to be chancellor of that school. And, yet, it would have
given her such scope for her talent and her ability. I did not like her one little bit. But you
cannot—nobody I think that knew her, nobody would deny that she was an excellent
administrator.
HT: You sometimes wonder what transpired behind the scenes that caused her not to become
chancellor. Because I’ve done some reading somewhere that she and Dean Mossman,
Mereb Mossman, were sort of in the running at one time in the ’50s, and something
happened, don’t know exactly what, but I guess the Board of Governors, or whoever
chooses, just weren’t ready for a woman chancellor.
ML: They weren’t ready for Katherine Taylor, because she wouldn’t put up with any nonsense
from the Board. No way. And the Board of Governors was all men. They were not going
to take a WAVE officer who stood six feet tall in her dress shoes and was strikingly
16
handsome, and put her at the helm of the Woman’s College. No way. They might have
taken Dean Mossman. She was substantially less threatening personally. But I think a lot
of people found Dean Taylor threatening.
HT: Because of her height?
ML: Her height—
HT: I think she was absolutely beautiful.
ML: Was so handsome, so elegant. And that’s a threat. That’s a terrible threat. Dean Mossman
was just a really neat academic.
HT: Not terribly handsome?
ML: Nope, not the least bit. She was really very nice, though. But I’m not sure nice is what
you want in a chancellor. Katherine Taylor would have been an excellent choice. I would
have slit my throat.
HT: Did you have a meeting with her after the Sit-ins?
ML: Yes. Well, Chancellor [Gordon] Blackwell had given that offensive, obnoxious, racist,
bigoted speech to the entire student body. Ah, just enough to make you throw up. And
it’s the kind of thing that five years later I would have stood up and said, “This is BS,”
and walked out. I couldn’t quite do it at that point. I was afraid they were going to kick
me out. Little did I know, he had given that just totally disgusting scream, rant, whatever
at a mass meeting. And—
HT: Was that meeting held in Aycock Auditorium?
ML: Yes, yeah. That was the only space that was big enough for everybody.
HT: So, the whole student body attended?
ML: Everybody was there. I mean nobody took attendance, but for that one everyone was
there. And, then, we had a meeting with Dean Taylor. And we were told we had brought
disgrace on the school. The disgrace chiefly consisted of us wearing school jackets,
because we did. And—
HT: If you hadn’t worn them, no one would have known that you were Woman’s College
students?
ML: Probably not. Although the kids from Bennett [College], the kids from [North Carolina]
A&T [State College], and if anybody came from Guilford College I don’t remember.
They would have known. But, no, nobody would have known.
17
But, obviously, of course, the college didn’t think we were representing them very
well. I thought we were representing them very well. Anyway, we had this meeting. Mind
you, now, I was twenty-two. Well, I had turned twenty-two that March. But they ran this
rap on us about, “Well, when you’re here, we are acting in loco parentis, in place of your
parents. Geez. And I said, “Well, not for me you’re not. Because I’m not a minor. I was
then twenty-one. I said, “I’m not a minor. My parents know exactly what I did, and
they’re very proud of me.” I—and I suppose that really truly put my foot in it with her. It
took them, when they were trying hardest to get rid of us, it took them the longest to get
rid of me. And it was the most underhanded and absolutely I believe to my dying day, the
whole thing was orchestrated by Katherine Taylor.
HT: What exactly—what happened?
ML: Well, we—at that time Dean Mossman was head of a committee called—I want to say
academic and retention, because as a representative of that committee it was she who
interviewed me before I came down to school. So, I think that’s what they did was deal
with whatever problems they were getting. And summer of ’61 I was accepted into a
graduate program at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland. And I went off so excited. I
had wanted to go and visit Scotland, um, gosh since I was in high school sometime. I fell
in love with bagpipes and everything Scottish. And I’m not out of love with it yet.
Anyway, there was a program at that time—one of the drama students had been to
Stratford [-upon-Avon], [England] in the part of their program that was theater and
Shakespeare. And she was talking about it one night. And I thought, “That sounds really,
really good.” And when she said they had a program in Edinburgh. Ha, ha, I was ready to
go. So, I got accepted. I filled out the application and got accepted. And, oh, I forgot
about this. I got accepted. I was so thrilled. And, apparently, they wrote to the college and
asked for a transcript to date.
And I got called in to see Dean Mossman. I didn’t have a clue. I was already
accepted in the program. And she said, “I don’t—we’re not going to recommend you for
this program, Miss Lott.” I said, “Well, I’ve already been accepted.” So, I think that may
have put her nose out of joint. I didn’t know I had to ask, “Mommy, may I?” I was like
grown up. My parents thought I should go. So, I went. And I found out when I got there I
was the first person selected. They had a program in Stratford. They had 17th and 18th
century life at Edinburgh. They had a program at Oxford, [England], and one at the
London School of Economics. And when I filled out my application my first choice was
Edinburgh.
My second choice was Edinburgh, and my third choice was Edinburgh. If I
couldn’t go to Edinburgh, I wasn’t going. And later at the program—our director was
talking about criteria for selecting students. And I said, “Well, my college isn’t very
happy with me about this. How did you select me?” He said, “Well, Marilyn, you were
the first person we selected.” He said, “I was clear if you couldn’t come here you weren’t
going anywhere.” Oh, gosh, that was great. And I got three credits because I took the
final exam back at the college. I took the final for 18th century literature, and I aced it.
And the instructor said—I can’t remember who taught that class—but I went and she
said, “Yes, you can take it by examination. Just show up for the final.” And, so, I did.
And she told me afterwards if she had realized that I had—was so well grounded in the
18
subject she said, “Miss Lott, I would have had to write a paper. You would have gotten
an A for this class.” I may have got a B. Because what you did was if you took something
by examination your grade was one letter below your exam grade. All, I knew was I
could ace that. I didn’t know I had to write a paper to get—but, yeah, see they weren’t—I
just went and did what I wanted to do, because I was a grown up. I had already had jobs
in the real world. I worked on Capitol Hill.
HT: What kind of work did you do on Capitol Hill?
ML: Oh, I worked for the most wonderful senator. I worked for Senator Leverett Saltonstall of
Massachusetts. And this was—this was summer of 1960. John Kennedy was going to be
elected, and he was junior senator, and Saltonstall was a senior senator from
Massachusetts. And I just worshipped the ground Senator Saltonstall walked on. He was
such a gentleman. And the office staff was great. His legislative aide was a graduate of
Yale Law named David Martin. And when I went back to school every week David sent
me all his issues of the Manchester Guardian for that week. Nobody else was getting the
Manchester Guardian. I got the Washington Post. I took the local papers. And David
would send me the Manchester Guardian every week. Oh, and I took the New York
Times, too. But, yeah, that was wonderful.
HT: So, you just did that for that one summer?
ML: Yeah, it was a summer job. Everybody should have one exciting summer job. And I was
just a gopher—wrote letters, used the letter writing machines in the basement. Fetched
coffee, relieved people at their desks from their phones when they went to lunch. I was a
gopher. I loved it. I loved it.
HT: That’s great. Well, if we can back track to the Sit-ins.
ML: Yes. Let’s do.
HT: How did you find out about the Sit-ins that started February 1, 1960?
ML: Well, remember my brother was at Greensboro College at the same time. And he called
me. I don’t know, Tuesday, Wednesday, and said, “There’s something going on at
Woolworths that you should know about.” He said, “You’ve got to go down and see it.”
And I finally pried it—he was being smart. Finally, I pried it out of him what it was. And
I said, “Oh, right.” Now, I don’t know how the others knew. Osmosis. I have no clue. But
off I went.
HT: And I think that you and Genie Seaman, and Ann Dearsley all went down that same week
on a Thursday, is that right?
ML: Right.
HT: Which was the fourth day, right?
19
ML: I remember it. And—
HT: And you went down separately, as I understand?
ML: Well, yeah. We were together but separate.
HT: Right.
ML: And some things—you’d think that every minute of a time like that would stick. And,
yet, there are big blank patches, during that day and for some time after when I just don’t
remember.
HT: Had—do you recall how you got to downtown Greensboro, which is about a mile from
the college?
ML: Oh, we walked. We walked everywhere.
HT: And it was cold February, that’s why you wore the class jacket?
ML: Yeah, but it wasn’t like—well, this year’s February, 8 to 9 feet of snow and ice. Yeah.
HT: Do you recall what the scene was like when you first got there?
ML: It was a mob scene. That I remember.
HT: People inside sort of milling around, I guess?
ML: Yeah, because the lunch counter was at the back of the store. And—now, I remember
talking to somebody down at the end of the lunch counter where the door was to go into
the kitchen. I don’t remember who the somebody was. I remember standing there talking
to someone. And, then, we saw how it worked. When somebody got up and left the
counter, a demonstrator would slide in the seat. So, I watched and waited for my
opportunity. And somebody got up and left, and I slid into the seat next to one of the guys
from A&T. And the waitress came and she said, couldn’t she help me. And I said, “Oh, I
think he was here first.” And she just looked at me. And she said, “This isn’t right.” Did
she mean it wasn’t right for me, wasn’t right for her, wasn’t right for the world?
HT: I assume the waitress is white?
ML: Oh, yeah. She said, “This isn’t right.” But I definitely hold the distinction of being the
first white person to be refused service at Woolworth’s. Big deal.
HT: So, you got there first before Ann and Genie?
ML: Well, I must have.
20
HT: Because you had not planned, but you had discussed it?
ML: We didn’t all sit together at lunch and say, “We’re going to go.” Because I actually didn’t
eat lunch with them. I forget who I did eat lunch with. But you always ate either
breakfast, or lunch or dinner, one meal at least, with your same group of pals.
HT: Sure.
ML: Except for my senior year roommate and I took two copies of the morning paper, because
we didn’t like to share the paper. And we would go down to breakfast with our papers.
HT: Gosh. So, do you recall about what time you got there by any chance? I’m assuming it
was after lunch?
ML: It would have to be after lunch, because I always had classes in the morning. And—and I
think I had a Monday, Wednesday, Friday at twelve o’clock. So, I would have had my
lunch and gone on downtown at noon. So, noon—one o’clock, sometime in that
timeframe. I’m quite easily identified in the one news— newspaper picture. I’m standing
talking to something. And I’m in sort of a three-quarter profile. And, of course, it’s a
black and white picture. But I was wearing a blue sweater and the pearls my parents gave
me for my twenty-first birthday. And, I have a portrait that a local artist did of me in that
same sweater and pearls that I gave my parents the next year for their wedding
anniversary. But it’s identifiably me.
HT: Right. It is a very famous photograph. Betty Carter, the former University Archivist, had
tried for years to find the photographer who took that, and the original photograph, and
nobody knows who took the photograph. Nobody knows where that photograph is, and
there is just one of those mysteries.
ML: It’s not in the archives of the Greensboro papers.
HT: Betty checked—
ML: I’m sure she did.
HT: —numerous times, because the Smithsonian contacted us. And, of course, the—to see
about that photograph at one time. And, then, the people down at Woolworth’s, the
museum people. I think numerous people have contacted us, because we seem to be one
of the few places that has—even a clipping of that thing. So, we sent—with permission of
the Greensboro newspaper that clipping all over the place, or copies of it, because we
scanned it. But nobody knows who took that photograph, where that photograph is. It’s
just lost.
ML: That was taken inside the store.
HT: Inside the store. And it could have been a freelance photographer for all we know.
21
ML: Oh, yeah.
HT: And he or she sold it to the newspaper.
ML: I’m here. And whoever took it is well to my right. Because they’re shooting up a line of
heads.
HT: Right. And Genie is behind you, sort of.
ML: Genie is behind me. And I think Ann—
HT: Is sort of in—to your right?
ML: I would have to look at it again. But I’m pretty sure Ann is right in that grouping.
HT: Right. And Betsy told me yesterday she said she went down several times, but only one
time did she wear the jacket. But she could not recall when she went down exactly. But
she wasn’t sure she was there that Thursday, or maybe prior. Because the whole series—I
mean the whole Sit-ins lasted several months.
ML: Oh, yeah. Yeah. I do not remember.
HT: And, of course, we assume that’s when the college found out the next day when that
photograph was published in that Friday paper.
ML: Could well be. No, because I’m not wearing a jacket in that picture.
HT: That’s right. You’re not. Did you take it off or put it aside?
ML: I have no idea. It’s another blank spot.
HT: And I don’t think Ann is wearing one either.
ML: No. So, maybe we didn’t wear our jackets on the first day but on a subsequent day. We
were there at least twice.
HT: Oh, you were twice. Okay.
ML: I—maybe we all had to be shut in one room and sort out the timeline. But we were there
at least twice. But if that picture ran in the Friday paper, that was Thursday. That was the
first day we were there. We did go back to campus in a taxi.
HT: Do you have any recollection about the taxi ride back?
ML: Not a bit.
22
HT: Neither does—Ann doesn’t either. And Genie doesn’t either. I think it’s just—
ML: We went in a taxi. They put us in a cab.
HT: For safety reasons we assume?
ML: I think so, yeah. And, you know, I realized those boys from A&T were at risk for their
lives. And that was such a courageous thing for them to do. It never occurred to me, not
then, not ever, that we were also at risk for our lives. First of all, at our age, twenty,
twenty-one, twenty-two, you’re immortal. You’re going to live forever. Nothing is going
to get you. It never occurred to me that we were at risk for our lives.
HT: Well, Betsy told me yesterday that when she went down there that she was threatened by
a white woman who was standing behind her who had a stick or a two-by-four, or
something like that.
ML: Something, yeah.
HT: Did you have anything like that happen to you?
ML: I got a lot of hate mail.
HT: Oh, Okay.
ML: I got a lot of hate mail.
HT: On campus?
ML: Yes.
HT: And was that—did the administration—what do you call it, did they interfere with—
ML: They couldn’t, of course, that would have been a federal offense.
HT: Oh, Okay. So, you got it directly?
ML: Got it directly.
HT: Did you, by chance, keep that?
ML: I didn’t. I threw it away. I was disgusted. It was—it was so stupid. It wasn’t scary
[laughing]. It wasn’t scary. Nobody was going to come over and take me out. Do me in.
It was really bad reproductions of, I think now, probably, pictures from old National
Geographic of African natives, pygmies naked. I guess I haven’t thought about it in
forever. But who would have been so stupid as to think that was going to scare anybody?
Good Lord. But it was meant to—it was hate mail.
23
HT: Right.
ML: Not quite sure what they were trying to say, because I would suspect that these were what
I call sub-literate people. Not illiterate. They at least managed to put my name and
address on the envelopes. But, certainly, sub-literate.
HT: What was the reaction of your fellow students?
ML: Well, you know, I don’t remember getting snubbed or cussed out by anybody.
HT: But I guess after that Friday most people on campus probably knew—
ML: Pretty much everybody knew about it. I had a good friend who had transferred at the
same time I came in. She had married a guy who was an instructor at A&T, and she had
transferred in from Howard [University]. Jean [Favors], of course, was African
American. And we hung around a lot together, because we took many of the same math
classes. And her husband thought that I had lost my mind. Jean said Eddie [Favors] had
asked her, “Is she absolutely nuts? She could get hurt.” And I hadn’t met him at the time.
And Jean said she told him, “You haven’t met her.”
HT: Well, what—
ML: “You don’t know.”
HT: What were their last names?
ML: Favors, F-A-V-O-R-S.
HT: And I think you told me yesterday that you had actually called your parents that night?
ML: The minute I got back on campus.
HT: Did you tell anybody else that you had done this on campus?
ML: No, I wanted mother and daddy to know, because I figured—let me back up. The stringer
for the New York Times, was also a stringer for the Associated Press in Greensboro, Lane
Kerr, K-E-R-R. And we used to go out occasionally, or I would go over to his house, and
we’d watch TV and drink. But he knew about it. He was there.
HT: So, you knew him prior to this?
ML: I knew him prior to this. And I figured he was going to put it on the wire. So, I got back
to campus, and I called Mother and Daddy right away. Because they needed to know
before they were blindsided by a newspaper column. And we talked on it. I told them
what I’d done. They only said, “Be careful.” And I’m sure I said, “We are.” But my
mother told me later that it was less than an hour after we finished our call that they got a
24
call from the Washington Post. And Daddy was so funny about it. He said, they must
have thought you were something like Joan of Arc leading an army. They asked us how
big you were [laughing]. All five foot two of me.
HT: Oh, gosh.
ML: Unbelievable. But I was glad I’d called them, because I wouldn’t have wanted them to
get that [news] unprepared, blindsided. So, yeah. And that, I think, probably was the first
national news that was given to the Sit-ins. And it was given because this was going to be
an important point in our social history. It was given because white people were involved.
If we hadn’t gotten there, I don’t know what kind of publicity would ever have been
given. It certainly did stir the pot.
HT: I think you said that as far as you know there were some other participants—some white
participants from probably Guilford College, maybe?
ML: Probably Guilford, and maybe from Greensboro College.
HT: But your brother did not participate?
ML: No. No, he’s—
HT: And I know—
ML: He’s mildly bigoted, let me just—
HT: I know there was some white girls who were attending Bennett College at the time, and
there were a few who participated in that, because I saw a listing recently of the Bennett
College students who participated. Some—I think maybe two or three, which was very
unusual. I don’t know what day.
ML: You know, and I’m sure we probably had people from Guilford there. Because Guilford
is a Quaker school.
HT: Exactly.
ML: Or was. I guess it still is.
HT: It still is, yes.
ML: Still—yeah, there would have been people from Guilford.
HT: Was—
ML: The only people who would have stood out were the kids from A&T, and the kids from
Bennett, the African American girls from Bennett.
25
HT: Sure.
ML: Because everybody else was white.
HT: And had you ever been at Woolworth’s prior to this?
ML: Oh, forever, yes, my goodness. There used to be—Woolworth’s was a big five and dime
chain. There was also Kresge, which is now K-Mart. And, then, back here in the East
there was G. C. Murphy. And I mean this was important the five and dime.
HT: Yes.
ML: Totally important. Everything you needed you could get there.
HT: That’s right. There was no Wal-Mart in those days as far as I know.
ML: God, no.
HT: No big K-Mart.
ML: No, that was Kresge’s.
HT: No Target.
ML: None of that big-box stuff, no.
HT: Exactly.
ML: You went to department stores where the linens were on the sixth floor. And the baby
things were on the fifth floor. And you had various levels of department stores: high-end,
everybody’s J. C. Penney, Sears, [and] Montgomery Ward. But what you really had was
the dime store. I can remember going in there with my grandmother. Grandma would buy
crochet thread at the dime store. She never went to yarn shop in her life. She went to the
dime store. And my mother’s housekeeper in Annapolis, [Maryland] would never buy her
glasses anywhere but at the dime store, because Beatrice said all she needed was to read
the paper. So, why should she pay for her money for the eye doctor and the—she just
went to the dime store and bought glasses. Well, now, we buy them—not those, but we
buy our reading glasses at Wal-Mart, the Dollar Store. The Dollar Stores are as about as
close as you come.
HT: Probably so, yeah.
ML: But I still miss dime stores, because you just never could tell, never could tell.
HT: Well, do you recall the TV being present when you were at the Woolworth’s at that time?
26
ML: No. I don’t recall that. You know 1960, we’re pretty early—
HT: It was.
ML: —in broadcast journalism.
HT: There was only Channel 2 in Greensboro at the time. And—
ML: Well, Washington we only had four in the Washington area. The three networks, plus
what is now the Fox Network. I sure don’t remember any big—and news cameras in
those days were huge.
HT: Right. Took an army to operate those things.
ML: Yeah, two guys to move them. And they weren’t all that very portable because of needing
power. So, I don’t remember.
HT: Obviously, the newspaper was there, or somebody was there taking photographs.
ML: They were taking pictures, yeah. But I don’t think there were any TV people there.
HT: Probably not on the radio either because, there, again, they would have difficulty doing a
remote shot even with microphones and things like that. It just wasn’t—technology was
just not there.
ML: You could have dictated into a tape recorder, but that would have been it.
HT: Right. So, a still photographer was about it.
ML: Yeah, even then. Even then. Well, fifty years. I would think.
HT: Well, let me see. What was the—do you recall what the reaction of other customers were
in the store at the Woolworth counter, or were there any other customers ever not—
ML: Yeah, there were earth people sitting, eating their lunch, whatever. I don’t—if anybody
behind me was being obnoxious, I would have shut it out. I wouldn’t remember. I didn’t
need that. I was there to do one thing, and that was to occupy a seat until somebody got
served.
HT: How did you know what to do?
ML: You watched.
HT: Oh, you just watched.
ML: [I] talked to some of the other kids.
27
HT: Okay. So, you got a chance interaction with—
ML: Yeah.
HT: —the Bennett students, too.
ML: Ooh. Although, I think it may well have been just [unclear] Abraham because when we
were down in February for the museum opening I was sitting on the steps of the
courthouse with his daughter. And first we were just casually chatting, because our feet
hurt. And, then, we discovered who we were. And she said, “My father talks about you
all the time. He talks about how much you girls helped.” Ah, because we got publicity,
maybe. I don’t know.
HT: This showed the people that they were not alone in this—
ML: Yes.
HT: —struggle?
ML: That there were others who cared. Now, I went at Easter that year or near Easter. I went
to a Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee meeting at [St.] Augustine [College
and] Shaw [College] in Raleigh. And they were then organizing for more sit-ins. Because
you couldn’t miss a class.
HT: Right.
ML: They didn’t dare miss a class. That would have given their schools enough of a reason to
put them out. And there was an early organizing meeting at Augustine [and] Shaw that
year. And I’m— it was around April. Before Easter, because I was home for Easter. So,
in the few weeks before Easter, but after February.
HT: Now, I think it is called SNCC, is that right?
ML: Yes, SNCC, yeah: Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee.
HT: And that just started over at A&T, I think, is that correct?
ML: Yeah, because they had to coordinate the classes.
HT: I understand.
ML: And the people to make sure everybody was cared for. I mean this was not the kind of
thing that a young black man would walk down by himself and do, because it wouldn’t
have been safe. And I went to that meeting with someone from the Quaker community. I
don’t remember his name. We went over to Augustine [and] Shaw for that. And we also
went out to the Cherokee Reservation out at Cherokee, [North Carolina] to do some
28
advance setup for a summer work program that the Society of Friends was going to do
out there, painting houses, and classrooms, and doing repair work and stuff. So, yeah, I
went to those. Jesse Jackson was definitely there.
HT: Did you see him? Do you recall seeing the day you were there? Because I know he was a
student at A&T at that time.
ML: Yeah, he was. And he was there. Because it was years and years before I realized who
that was.
HT: Sure.
ML: Because he was not well known. He was just another—
HT: He was a kid from A&T.
ML: Right.
HT: Well, speaking of kids at A&T, how were you received when you sat down with them?
Did they know that—
ML: They were fine with it.
HT: They were fine with it.
ML: One more body filling a seat.
HT: Did you recall chatting with them, or anything like that?
ML: Well, yeah, you know, I sat next to a boy from A&T. And I don’t remember who it was. I
have no memory of—I know we introduced ourselves. But I don’t remember who it was.
And—
HT: I know yesterday—
ML: We did homework.
HT: Oh, really? Because I think Ann Dearsley actually took some—did some painting, some
drawings, while she was there to occupy the time.
ML: Yes. And I had work to do, and you took your work and you sat.
HT: Oh, I see, Okay.
ML: It wasn’t quite like Madam Defarge knitting at the foot of the guillotine, but it was the
best we could do under the circumstances. And that was important, of course, because,
29
obviously, if you were going to miss a class you were in trouble. If you were going to
slack off on your outside assignments, you were going to be in trouble.
HT: Sure. And I think you were there probably four or five hours.
ML: Oh, yeah, until they closed the store.
HT: So, it’s good to have something to do.
ML: You can’t just sit for—well, I can’t. I’m not a mediator kind, no.
HT: Oh, gosh. Well, I know—I think you mentioned there were no threats to you other than
afterwards.
ML: Stupid, laughable.
HT: Well, we have heard that Martin Luther King’s organization might have contacted you, or
other participants?
ML: Southern Christian Leadership Coalition.
HT: Did they—
ML: Betsy did not recall that.
HT: I don’t recall that either. You got to remember that Martin Luther King, [Jr.]—I’m
seventy-two.
ML: Right.
HT: And Dr. King is only a few years older than I.
ML: Right.
HT: Would have been, right, yeah.
ML: I’ve been to Memphis [Tennessee]. Been to that museum. But Dr. King was only a few
years older. So, I’m not even sure that they were really that much up and running.
HT: Because everything sort of started—
ML: It was all starting.
HT: Yeah. So early. Yeah.
30
ML: Now, we’re old. It’s been fifty years. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast
yesterday, for God’s sake.
HT: I know. It’s difficult. I’ve also heard that maybe the FBI [Federal Bureau of
Investigation] might have been involved. Do you have any recollection of that?
ML: I seriously doubt it for me, because I got a top—I got a top secret clearance in 1962.
HT: Because Betsy—
ML: I had a whole background investigation.
HT: Betsy said that she had a file, that the FBI had a file on her.
ML: I’m sure she had a file on me. Ask me if I care. Nah. If I could, I would go and make
number one on J. Edgar [Hoover’s] grave. Pee on it. But I did get a top secret clearance
in ’62. So—and I’ve held that clearance until I left that part of the industry. And I don’t
know ’66 or ’67. So, whatever the FBI may or may not have had on me, I think I
probably redeemed myself. I married a Republican.
HT: I think you said earlier that you had been—that you were expelled, that there was an
official notice of that.
ML: Yes. That was there big official—
HT: Were you the only one?
ML: Yes.
HT: The only one?
ML: Yes.
HT: Do you have any idea why that happened to you?
ML: I’d been a pretty snotty to Dean Taylor. Uh, I think that she probably was not used to
young women like me.
HT: And you were the oldest—well, maybe Ann Dearsley—
ML: Ann is older than I am.
HT: Right, but she had English connections.
31
ML: Genie is like, I think, my same age. Maybe a year older. We’re all of an age. Betsy is
seventy. She’s my brother’s contemporary. I’m seventy-two. I—we’re of an age. And
Ann and Genie maybe seventy-one, seventy-two.
HT: Right.
ML: So, we’re all the same age, basically. You know.
HT: So, what was the whole process of the expulsion, do you recall?
ML: Well, I wasn’t there for it.
HT: Oh, Okay.
ML: They burned me at the stake and forgot to invite me.
HT: You were overseas?
ML: I was in the summer program in Edinburgh.
HT: So, it was in the summer of 1960?
ML: Summer of ’61.
HT: Oh, why did it take so long?
ML: This was done under the aegis of that interim chancellor that I don’t have any memory of
before, Dr. Singletary.
HT: So, it took them a full year to do that?
ML: Laid the groundwork.
HT: Hum.
ML: Well, I had promised to behave, and I didn’t. See, I think Katherine Taylor was used to
being able to intimidate people. And United States senators, and admirals, and four-star
generals don’t scare me. Compared to people like that, Katherine Taylor was small
potatoes. And what she forgot was that I had a lot of experience with senior naval
officers. She very much underestimated me. And I have—that was not—didn’t make her
very happy. And, anyway, I went to Edinburgh. And I was there for—the program was
six weeks. And, then, I had a week off. Then I went back to Scotland for the Edinburgh
Festival. And when I got home—you’ve been gone for two months. Your suitcases are
full of dirty laundry. First thing you have to do is wash all your clothes. Still sorting my
laundry when Dr. May Bush called to ask me why I wasn’t coming back to school.
32
HT: This was fall of ’61?
ML: And I said, “I am coming back to school, why?” She said, “Well, I just got my list of
advisees, and you’re not on it.”
HT: That would have been your senior year?
ML: Yes. I had one more semester to go. So, I threw a temper tantrum. And we settled that,
too. See what we could do. And mind you I’ve had no formal hearing, and no formal
notice.
HT: Because it’s been a year that all of this took place.
ML: Over a year.
HT: Over a year.
ML: It was almost two years when you come right down. It’s been a year and a half. So, I
decided I wasn’t going to fool around with trying to get an answer out of anybody in
Greensboro. And, so, we had a friend who was a reporter for the Scripps papers. And I
called Mary Ann, Mary Ann Means, it was, M-E-A-N-S. And she was tight with the
whole Kennedy bunch. So, I told Mary Ann my sad story. And she said, “What are you
going to do?” I said, “Well, I think that Arnold [Lott]”—that’s my father—“knows
somebody, who knows somebody, who knows somebody over at the White House who’s
got a North Carolina connection. And I’m going to try that and see what happens.” And,
then, Mary Ann said, “Okay, keep me posted. If you go down, you’ll go down flying. I’ll
get you a press conference in Bobby Kennedy’s office.” Bobby was then attorney
general. So, I— you know, if I don’t get back into school I get to make a big stink
leaving. Works for me. Well, anyway, my father called this fellow he knew. And there
was at that time on the White House staff a fellow from Greensboro, from North
Carolina, Henry Hall Wilson. I have no clue what he did or what he had done in North
Carolina. But he was there in the Kennedy White House. And, so, I went and had a
meeting with him. I told him my whole sad story. And he said, “Well, why don’t we talk
to your university president? Why don’t we call Bill Friday and talk to him?” So, I said,
“All right, whatever.” And he asked his assistant to get President Friday on the phone.
And the door was open to her office, and I could hear her say, “President Friday, the
White House is calling.” Boy, you know, that really gets people attention.
HT: I’m sure it does.
ML: It absolutely gets their attention. And, so, Henry Hall talked to Bill Friday for a couple of
minutes. He said, “I’m going to put the young lady on. She’s going to tell you the whole
story.” So, I did.
HT: So, you talked directly to the President Friday.
33
ML: I talked to President Friday. And he said, “Well, as it happens, Miss Lott, I have your
new chancellor right here in my office. So, I’m going to have you talk to Dr. Singletary.”
I hadn’t met the man yet. So, I told Dr. Singletary my whole sad story again. And, God,
he was great. Never missed a beat. He said, “Don’t you worry about a thing, Miss Lott,
you just come right on back to school. Check in at your dorm just as you would have.
And if you have any problems, we’ll certainly have a meeting.” Of course, I had
problems. So, we certainly all traipsed over to Singletary’s office: my parents, me, and
Katherine Taylor, and Dr. Singletary. And he laid down the law that I was coming back
to school and there were to be no repercussions.
HT: Wow. That must have been quite a meeting.
ML: I really don’t think Katherine Taylor liked me. Anyway, so, I went and did my thing. And
took my coordinating class, which was the thing that many of the departments had where
you pile everything you know into one semester and finished and went home, and got a
job, and got married, came back for commencement. And because we had to come—
because my parents had to go to both commencements. My brother was also graduating
and his wife. And first of all nobody remembered to tell me to bring a pair of black heels.
We wore black gowns. It was summer. I took white heels. So, here I am tumbling across
the stage in my white shoes. And when I get to Dr. Singletary and shakes his hand, he
says, “Well, Miss Lott, did you think we’d get here?” I said, “No, sir, not all the time.” I
was the only person who got a personal comment from the chancellor. Oh, Lord. I just—
Katherine Taylor underestimated all of us. And for me to have a successful end run
around her, through the White House, must have been bitter gall. That must have just
stuck in her craw something fierce.
HT: I’m sure you wondered what the chancellor had said to her as well.
ML: You know, there was any gossip about that. Never. I’ll give her that. She kept her
counsel. But she had done her level damndest to torpedo me. This committee that Dean
Mossman chaired was the committee that met and expelled me for which I was not
present. And that’s so uncharacteristic of her that I would rather imagine that Katherine
Taylor put the arm on her for that. God knows what kind of secrets she would have had.
But I’m sure if she had one Taylor knew about it. Because that was very uncharacteristic
of her. I didn’t meet anybody, faculty, or staff, or administration in my whole time down
there that wasn’t both honest and honorable, academic integrity and personal integrity, as
far as I ever saw with one exception.
And when we went down in February for the museum, Betty [Carter] was talking
about some people who might get in touch with me for interviews. And I said, “Well,
when I’m down here I can do it any time.” I said, “But I won’t give an interview with any
room or building named for Katherine Taylor.” And she laughed. She said, “We just have
a garden.”
HT: Right.
34
ML: I wouldn’t. I don’t hold a grudge. But I don’t have to say, “Oh, yes, let’s do it in the
Katherine Taylor memorial compost heap.”
HT: Well, it’s unfortunate we don’t have many records from that period of time, you know,
official records. You sometimes wonder what happens to things like that. Because it
would have been nice to have found out what the proceedings were for that committee
and—
ML: Yeah, because I never got a letter.
HT: That is suspicious.
ML: First thing I get is the phone call from Miss Bush.
HT: And you know they had to be some memos going back and forth between Katherine
Taylor, the chancellor, the committee, and that sort of thing.
ML: Well, and, of course, that would have been interim chancellor—what’s his name?
HT: There was Chancellor [William Whatley] Pierson.
ML: Pierson.
HT: Right.
ML: And what’s so weird is that I have absolutely no memory of him.
HT: Well, in those late 50s, well, after Dr. [Walter Clinton] Jackson retired in 1950, Edward
Kidder Graham became chancellor from 1950 to about 1955-56. And after that it was a
revolving door.
ML: Well, we had Gordon Blackwell.
HT: And, then, Pierson and Singletary, then Blackwell. I can’t even keep them straight.
Because there were acting chancellors, and that sort of thing. And there wasn’t really—
ML: What was odd about Singletary is that he came up from Texas. He was a history
professor. And he was only there for a year. Then he went to Kentucky where he was
president of the University of Kentucky for a long time right up until he retired and died.
And it was like eighteen or twenty years.
But that was a tumultuous year, because that was when they began to talk about
becoming coed—was after ’62. Because we could not justify an all-women’s school.
HT: Well, I think all the whole university system became coed at that time.
ML: Yeah.
35
HT: And I’m sure it was a big controversy, especially at Woman’s College, because the WC
women—
ML: I hate—
HT: —still hold a lot of regrets.
ML: Oh, I—we—Gail Given and I went to an alumni meeting somewhere in the Bomer,
Washington area, some luncheon. And they talked about it. And there was just all this
“over my dead body.” I was furious. I felt as if there was no refuge for an academic
woman if you didn’t have a school that people could afford to go to. And, I mean, Vassar
[College], Bernard [College] were already what they called co-curricular. They had their
separate campuses. But they shared classroom space. And in ’61 when I was at
Edinburgh, I was there from the Woman’s College; there was a gal there who was a
student at Connecticut College for Women. And I think those are the last two state-supported
single-sex woman’s schools in the country.
There were then, and still are, private colleges, primarily church-supported
schools. I think Greensboro College had gone coed. My brother was in the first class that
accepted men. And you could see it was going that way, but, no, I didn’t have to like it.
Because I felt like where does a woman go to learn how to be an academic, to learn how
to be the president of the student body, to learn how to publish a newspaper, publish a
magazine, publish a yearbook? Five years after they went coed, there wasn’t a woman in
student government, duh.
HT: Unfortunately, that’s true.
ML: Yes.
HT: Well, after you graduated from Woman’s College, well, what did you do next?
ML: I married a Republican. I went to work for IBM as a computer programmer.
HT: How did that happen?
ML: I took a test and aced it.
HT: Okay.
ML: And they paid very well. It’s a good place to be a girl.
HT: Because you were an English major, so I would have thought you may have been an
editor of a magazine, or gone into—
ML: It doesn’t pay very well.
HT: That’s true.
36
ML: So, I worked—
HT: Was that in Falls Church?
ML: No, actually IBM was in Bethesda, Maryland at the time. And one day in my training
class—we had a great instructor—and one day in our training class a friend of his walked
in for lunch who was also an engineer with IBM. And I looked at this guy, and I looked
at him again. It was the best algebra teacher I’d ever had in high school. I said, “You
remember me. I’m Marilyn Lott. You taught me ninth-grade algebra in Falls Church
High.” He was great. He was wonderful. He had a bright bunch of kids in that room. And
he split us into five ability groups. And the top group that five or six of us were in, we
had to get everything right. All the groups below us could do their work, and the next
group up to improve their grades. We were supposed to get A’s. And he worked one hour
every day—well fifty-six minutes, with five groups of kids, all of them bright. Some of
them underachieving, one or two idiots, social idiots, not academic idiots. Just wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful. He left teaching.
HT: And so how long did you work for IBM?
ML: Well, I did what everybody in the industry did there. You worked for somebody for a
year, and if you didn’t like your pay raise, you then worked for somebody else who
would give you better a pay raise. Everybody job hopped. But, uh, geez.
HT: You mean you would job hop within IBM?
ML: No, job hop from company to company. Computers and the computer industry was just
exploding in Washington and in the surrounding area. My God. You could just get
annoyed at your boss, call up your friend who was a head hunter, and say, “I’m so sick of
this jerk. Find me something else.” And he’d find me something that would give you 10
or 15 percent pay raise, and they paid his commission, and you’d hop. So, anyway, yeah,
I worked for God knows who all: IBM, Planning Research, Tech Ops, every beltway
bandit that there was. I did a stint at the Federal Highway Administration in their training
department, uh, taught some computer classes, wrote boiler plate for proposals at one
agency. Everybody did it. We just hopped from place to place. God, we were young.
Most of us didn’t even have mortgages yet.
HT: So, this was all in the Washington, DC area?
ML: Yes, Washington, DC area. I stayed pretty much in the DC area until 1972 when I was
just worn out and sick and tired of everything. And went up to Annapolis to stay with my
parents for awhile and just pull myself together. And I got a substitute teaching job at the
Catholic high school there. And then got a job as a typesetter for a local paper. And then I
got a reporter slot. I was such a gypsy. And somewhere in there I got a divorce. And I got
another divorce. And, then, I went—I guess I got a reporter’s job at a local paper. Loved
that. Wrote some good stuff. And married my third Republican. I kept marrying
37
Republicans. I’m not sure why. They had more money. I got married and went to
Vietnam in 1974.
HT: In what capacity?
ML: Fellow traveler. I had a daughter. He was working there for the defense attaché’s office.
He’s a retired army officer. And he was home on leave when we met. And we had a
definite world-wide courtship. And, then, he had to go back. So, we set a date for October
of ’74 and got married and went to Saigon. And I played Majon twice a week at the
American Women’s Association. And I went to the hairdresser every week and had my
nails and hair done. And I drank coffee on the front plaza of the Hotel Continental where
everybody hung out. And I had a housekeepers six days a week. And I helped run the
American Women’s Association library, and our gift shop.
HT: Now, this was right before Vietnam fell in ’75?
ML: We left on the sixth of April of 1975.
HT: Oh.
ML: It was our older daughter, Lizzie’s, tenth birthday. They evacuated us to Clark Air Force
Base in the Philippines. And the Red Cross sang “Happy Birthday” to Lizzie in an
airplane hangar.
HT: What was it like in Saigon and Vietnam during those final days?
ML: Well, it was scary. But we were behind a big wall. I loved Vietnam. I absolutely loved it.
It’s one of the most beautiful countries I have ever been in. And I had a week in Thailand,
but we were there most in Bangkok, because I had to go to the dentist. So, you had to go
to Bangkok to go the army dentist. And I loved Bangkok. And remember I told you that I
had that feeling of being home when I was at college?
HT: Yes.
ML: There’s a temple there, a Buddhist temple, the Temple of the Marble Buddha. That is the
most holy place. I’m not a Buddhist. I’m practically a heathen. And you go in that
temple, and there is such a feeling of holiness, sanctuary, peace. I could have stayed right
there forever, right in that temple. That was a holy place.
HT: Interesting.
ML: Yeah. I don’t understand it myself. But, yeah, we left on the sixth of April ’75. I left with
the girls. We spent a week at Clark getting ourselves sorted out. And, then, we flew home
to Travis Air Force Base, [California] and from there we went down to San Francisco
International and flew home from there back to Washington. And I—you know, I didn’t
38
even—I hadn’t even thought about that in so long. But if you’re present at one moment in
history, that’s more than many people get in their lives. And I’ve been there twice.
HT: That’s right. Because I’m still visualizing the evacuation of Saigon—
ML: Yes.
HT: —people going up to the, I guess, to the top of the [US] embassy—
ML: A bunch.
HT: And the helicopters are—
ML: Did the chopper, yes.
HT: Going away.
ML: Yes.
HT: And they’re dumping helicopters over the sides of the aircraft carriers. It’s just amazing. I
was never in Vietnam, but—
ML: We were glued to the TV when we got—because my husband hadn’t come yet.
HT: Right.
ML: And we were watching the news every night, because we don’t know where he is, and
they’re showing all the refugee centers and stuff everywhere. And we took the furniture
out of storage, got an apartment. I got the furniture out of storage. And Norman [Merrill]
had made for his girls, a big heavy glass terrarium for some turtles that the girls had,
tortoises, actually. And I was moving things from around, and I dropped the damn thing
on my foot and broke my toe. Now, let me tell you that’s seriously excruciating pain. I’ve
had babies, and I’ve had broken toes. I’d rather have babies. Oh, it was terrible. And I got
my neighbor to get me over to the navy emergency room at the Naval Academy, and they
taped my toes together and gave me a pair of crutches, and I was going to hear a lecture
that night. So, I called up—because I couldn’t drive yet—I called up a friend and said,
“Come and get me. I’m walking on crutches, and I still want to hear Father Martin
tonight. And I said, “You know, if you laugh when I tell you, I’m going to hit you.” And,
of course, everybody laughed. I dropped a turtle cage on my foot, and broke my toe.
Anyway, we got home that night afterwards.
That was a Thursday night. And still hadn’t located Norman, didn’t know where
the heck he was. I had taken the kids somewhere. And he had tried our phone number
first. And, then, he called my parents, because his oldest daughter, who lived downstairs
from us, was not home. She was at work. So, he called my parents, and my mother caught
up with me and said, “You had better to get down to the Maryland Inn. Your husband is
39
home.” So, here I am on Mother’s Day on crutches. He laughed. But he had had a very
complicated trip home with two US passports.
He had fathered a child before we met and married in Vietnam. He had his
passport, and a passport for her. With two American passports he brought Nancy
[Merrill], and her mother An. And my housekeeper, and her two kids, and himself. Geez,
I don’t know how he did it. I never asked. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know.
HT: I know people were so desperate to get out, especially the ones who worked with the
Americans at that time. It was just unbelievable.
ML: Well, I thought it was a good idea for Nancy being—
HT: This is his daughter?
ML: This is his daughter, and Nancy not being pure Vietnamese would have had a terrible life.
She would have had a terrible, terrible life.
And Chao [the housekeeper] wouldn’t have had a good life. She was a widow.
She was a Buddhist. Her kids were Catholic. I don’t think that would have gone down
well with the present regime. And she had always worked for Americans, always.
HT: And what was her name, again?
ML: Chao Chi Nga, C-H-A-O C-H-I N-G-A.
HT: And that’s Nancy’s mother?
ML: No, Nancy’s mother is An.
HT: Oh, An.
ML: Our housekeeper was Chao Chi Nga. And Chao. Chao was her last name, because as is
Chinese practice the Vietnamese put the surname first. And she has two great kids. Her
daughter is married to a career navy man, and her son is an airborne officer. Ton grew up
beautifully, a handsome man. Because they were just babies. I don’t know, five—five
and four. Five and six. They were just little kids.
So, twice in history. And you say no, it’s not really. But it is a big deal. But I’m
thinking anybody that is in the middle of something at the time thinks, “Oh, wow, I’m
making history.” Well, you just want to go before the Communist get there. You just
want to make it back to the dorm before the Klan gets you. It’s not history. It’s just life.
HT: Well, how did you get up here in Port Royal?
ML: Front Royal.
HT: Front Royal.
40
ML: There is a Port Royal.
HT: There is, I always confuse those things.
ML: Okay. I finally came to my senses and married a Democrat. My third husband died. We
were separated and getting divorced, and Norman developed a terrible cancer caused by
exposure to—drum roll, please—Agent Orange in Vietnam. And it was awful. Because it
attacked his brain.
HT: Oh God.
ML: Terrible. So, then, I was kind of pretty much on my own. I said, well, yeah. My father
died of, complications of Parkinson’s in ’92. And his obituary was in the Washington
Post, and Philip [Lelle] and I joke that the first thing we do is read the obits to see if
we’re dead. So, there was his obit. And he said, “Marilyn. I think that’s Marilyn.” So, he
called my mother’s house. And I was fielding the phone calls. And he said, “This is
Philip Lelle, and I’m looking for Marilyn Lott.” I said, “You got her.” This was ’92. And
we had known each other since ’62. But you go on different jobs, and eventually lose
touch with people, and he and Mary Ellen [Lelle] broke up. So, I hadn’t seen Philip in,
gee, I don’t know, thirty—twenty-five years. And—
HT: He was—you two had worked at IBM, or one of those—
ML: When did I work—actually, I worked with him—he and my first husband worked
together. And I worked with him in a Department of Labor project doing computer
training in ’68. Oh there was that history too. I’ll come back to that. Anyway—
HT: [Thank you for the interview.]
ML: [You are welcome.]
[End of Interview]