With the Might of Angels Read Online Free PDF Page A

allegiance to perspiration …
    Then came the Panic Monster for the tenth time today, his sharp claws lifting me from the puddly place under my arms. His loud-as-thunder
shaboodle-shake
rattling inside my head.
    Mr. Calhoun announced that I was the sixth grader with the best grades. That throughout my time at Bethune, I showed “very bright promise,” and that I had brought honor to Mary McLeod Bethune’s legacy.
    I made my way to the very front of the stage, still not knowing what I would say.
    I pledge allegiance to perspiration …
    Shaboodle-shake-shake-shake!
    Our school has no microphones or fancy equipment for speaking, so it was just me and all those people.
    Shaboodle-shake-shake-shake!
    Then me and all those people sucked in a loud breath when my too-tight dress busted its seams.
    Mama’s sewing stayed put in the back by the zipper, but the dress had split open on each side! Thank goodness for my undershirt. At least I had no skin showing! But the dress was no-doubt torn.
    Not only did I step
up
at today’s ceremony, I also stepped
over
to the place on the stage where nobody could see the rips in my dress. Then, quick as those Vaseline-y shoes would take me, I stepped
off
that stage and into a far corner.
    Mr. Calhoun didn’t try to coax me back with the other speakers. He just left me to my spot. He came to the front of the stage and started applauding loudly. Everybody joined him, including me. “Thank you, Roger, Yolanda, and Dawnie,” he said enthusiastically.
    And there it was, as it’s been for weeks. No speech.
    Peach Melba from Millerton’s had saved me.
    The Panic Monster started to let go.
Shaboodle-shake
slowed its rhythm. At least I could breathe regular again.
    As the top student in sixth grade, I got a copy of the Webster’s Dictionary, donated by a local chapter of the Delta Sigma Thetas. The dictionary is used, but it’s new to me, and in very good condition.
    I pressed the dictionary under one arm to cover the open place showing my undershirt, and kept my free arm pinned to my other side to conceal the rip there.
    Afterward, for a special treat, Daddy took me, Mama, and Goober to the Woolworth’s food counter.
    There is no colored section at Woolworth’s. That place is “Whites Only” all over. We can order our food and leave, but we can’t sit and eat with the white customers. We can’t even come in the front door. There’s a back entrance for Negroes.
    When the waitress asked what we each wanted, Daddy gave the order.
    We don’t have special treats from Woolworth’s often, but when we do, I usually get an egg cream. But, Daddy said, “For this occasion, Dawnie gets a banana
split.
”
    As soon as we got home, Mama took a seam ripper to the back of the dress, and released me. I don’t know why she bothered to put the dress back on its hanger. I will never wear Peach Melba again.
Saturday, June 12, 1954
Diary Book,
    Our family now owns two big books.
    The King James Bible (Old Testament) and the Webster’s Dictionary, also old. Even though the dictionary is used, it has all its pages as far as I can tell.
    Daddy insists that I keep the dictionary in my room. “Smart children need books around them,” he says. Man, is that book big.
    How many words can there be in the world?
    Tonight I read the article from the New York newspaper a second time. I looked up two words in my dictionary —
segregation
and
integration.
    Segregation: The state or condition of being separated.
    Integration: The act or interest of combining.
    If I wrote my own dictionary, I would call it
The Dictionary of Dawnie.
    Here are
my
definitions:
    Segregation: Negro kids go to Bethune. White kids go to Prettyman Coburn. Colored people can’t try on clothes or shoes they want to buy to see if they fit. We can
pay
for the clothes and shoes, but once we leave the store, we own the stuff whether it fits or not. Negroes can be hungrier than hungry, but we can’t sit down at the food counter to eat at