MAY 2024 - Deputy Security Guard

In the late 60’s, many of the very few Black students at the University of Delaware were football players. Some of us faculty members had written letters to the Board and President urging them to accept and welcome Black students but there seemed to be nothing we could do to change the university’s policy of sending Black student applications to what was then Delaware State College in Dover. 

At the end of one spring semester, an outdoor honors ceremony was planned. A stage and roof covering were built and plans made for students, faculty, and alumni to attend. I don’t know how word of a possible protest by Black students reached the president, but some faculty, me among them, were chosen to become deputy security guards to make sure order was kept and safety provided.

My partner was a chemistry professor, originally from Argentina, who’d seen more than his share of political violence. He found it ironic that the two of us, both pacifists who agreed with the protesters, had been chosen to stand closest to the stage to protect attendees from violence. He was tall and slight. I was short and not particularly muscular. As we watched the administrators and others walk to the podium, we teased each other as to who would protect whom from what.

When everyone who was scheduled to be on the stage was seated, the president got up to speak. Suddenly four tall, powerfully built Black students—recognizable as football players—walked up to the stage, climbed up the two steps and stood with their backs to the audience, hands clasped behind their backs. Silent. Imposing. 

The president said something off mic that I couldn’t hear. The four Black students did not react, standing like statues, continuing to face the people on the stage. There was a long, uneasy few minutes. Clearly something was happening between the officials and the Black students but nothing was audible.

Then the announcement came over the loud speakers: “The program for today is cancelled. Please leave quickly.” The tension among the attendees was palpable. People scurried away.

With that, two of the Black students turned, walked slowly down the two steps, some administrators following closely behind. I heard one of them ask the students, “What do you want?” I guffawed. What they wanted was abundantly clear. More Black students with no obstacles to admission.

The other two Black students heard me and walked over. Menacingly powerful. “What’s so funny?” one of them asked me.

I was more than a little nervous. They towered over me. My partner stood watching, an amused look on his face, letting me know this was my problem. No help.

Trying to appear calm, I told them, “I heard one of the officials ask the two who walked away what they wanted. It’s absurdly clear. They want what they should have. Admission with no racist barriers.”

They responded with a sarcastic chortle. Now it was my turn to ask about their reaction. One of them said, “I figured because you’re a DE-PU-TY, you’d agree with the administration.”

I pretended to be insulted. “I might be a DE-PU-TY, but I thought I was here to protect you.” 

We all laughed at the absurdity of this. I took off my black deputy armband and gave it to one of them. “Here, you might need this.” He rolled his eyes. My partner gave his to the other. As the four of us walked away from the stage I couldn’t help teasing them. “You know, looks can be deceiving.”

Have you experienced someone thinking they knew you based on their assumptions? What was that like?

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MAY 2024 Monthly Stories