LINCOLN UNIVERSITY SAVED MY LIFE

By Gloria Dulan-Wilson
LINCOLN UNIVERSITY - 67

Hello All:

I graduated from Lincoln University in 1967 - and received my EMERITUS MEDALLION at that time.

However, I came to Lincoln University with the graduating class of   1969 - who will be receiving their EMERITUS MEDALLION this week end during the 400th year of Black people's history in America.

I want to say congratulations to them all, and to the new co-eds who,  like myself, took one for the team, in taming the wilds of Lincoln University.  The co-eds who followed the entering class have much to honor them for.  None of us knew what we were getting into; but none of us were looking to turn back, either.  LU Coeds Class of 1969 - YOU ROCK!

LINCOLN UNIVERSITY SAVED MY LIFE 

Lincoln University, my beloved Alma Mater, and the world's first degree granting HBCU, is celebrating its 165^th Anniversary this year. And we couldn't be more proud. When you consider that Lincoln was established in 1854, while slavery was stlll going on in the South, and just a scant 3 miles north from Rising Sun, MD, a KKK stronghold, most would have thought the survival of a University dedicated to the education of Black males was doomed from the beginning.

But not Lincoln – which was originally name Ashmun Institute after one of its original founders. When he and John Miller Dickey came together to establish Lincoln, it was against the law to teach Black men to read or write.  By defying that law, they were literally taking their lives in their hands.  I was only a matter of time someone would stumble upon this school hidden way off the beaten tracks and destroy everything,  and hang them in the process.  

However, they managed to survive, and in 1865, eleven years after their establishment, after the heinous assassination of the abolitionist advocate, President Abraham Lincoln, the name was officially changed to Lincoln University, to honor his martyrdom and sacrifice.

100 years later, in  September, 1965, I "transferred" to Lincoln University – and that's a euphemism for the true story – because I never actually applied to Lincoln.   Lincoln was truly a lifeline thrown out to me via friend.  I had actually been expelled from Hampton Institute (now University) in Virginia, after helping to stage a rebellion against the president and administration for not allowing us to participate in Martin Luther King's march on Selma, Alabama.  I was a junior at the time.  The only Lincoln University I was aware of was in Missouri - and I had no interest in attending there.  

But somehow I have learned over the years, and especially looking back in retrospective, God always has plans of His own - regardless of what it is we've mapped out for ourselves.

Having graduated from Douglass Sr. High School in 1963, I was happily attending Hampton, the school I had chosen, even though nearly every member of the  Dulan family Clan had attended Langston University  - Oklahoma's one HBCU, located  in the all Black town of Langston, Oklahoma (one of the 67 all Black towns in Oklahoma). Being the rebellious one of the family, I had secretly  decided not to follow in my relatives' footsteps, and applied to Hampton instead. 

In August 1963, shortly after the March on Washington, I was headed to my “Home by the Sea.” Hampton was my first experience with life below the Macon/Dixon Line. Oklahoma is in the Southwest, and  though it definitely had issues with segregation,  we took it as a positive thing, not a negative one. All our schools, businesses, homes, recreational facilities were Black owned, operated and supported.  We even had three Black owned movie theatres, four elementary schools, two junior high schools and a Black senior school.  All our books, class rooms, equipment, campus grounds were well kept, top of the line.  Even our custodians were Black.   And, though I had been involved in Civil Rights since age 10, participating in sit-ins, pickets, kneel ins, etc., we never ever felt deprived – or had any real desire to "integrate" with the racists whites who invaded Oklahoma in 1889. We really enjoyed our “separate but equal” lifestyle.

So when I chose Hampton, it was because of two of my high school teachers, Mr. & Mrs. L.O. Alexander who met and married at Hampton,  had done a presentation to us in our senior year  at Douglass High School, our all Black school in Oklahoma City. They regaled us with so many wonderful stories about Hampton, I knew that's where I wanted to go – not Howard University, not Fisk, or any of the other more popular HBCUs – Hampton was my goal.

So how I ended up at Lincoln University was more a case of “be careful what you ask for...” 

I always knew that I was going to attend an elite Black college. There was no way I was going to attend an integrated college and be somebody else's Black experience. Along with several of my classmates, I was an advanced placement student, and thought I would become a cultural anthropologist. Thanks to our teachers, Mr. Buford and Mr. Harris, we were already well informed about our history as Black people in the US.  We even had Negro History Week (now Black History Month) which made it mandatory to present papers and programs about the accomplishments of Black people in history as well as in every day life.  So, subconsciously I was always looking for information on our ancestry and heritage. I later changed my major to Sociology after meeting Margaret Mead, who convinced me that my true purpose was to help Black people. It wasn't a difficult transition, as a member of the NAACP youth council, I always believed that my mission would somehow be to help my people – Black and Indian. And I always thought Hampton would be the perfect place because Margaret Mead was on the board of trustees at the time I attended.

Boy was I wrong!! There were several times during my matriculation at Hampton, I got the sense that the school was not supportive of the activism on the part of the conscientious students who were wanting to take a stand against the blatant segregation that existed in Virginia at the time. However, those details are another story for another time.

The series of incidents that led me to Lincoln University began in March, 1965 when the first march on Selma took place, and John Lewis and others were so brutally beaten. We watched the scenario in horror on our TV in the student lounge of our dormitories. One of our student leaders found out that there was going to be a subsequent march led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and began recruiting Hampton students to go.  So, of course, you know I was one of the first in line.

We put together funds for two buses to take us down to Selma; and found out that one other school was sponsoring a bus to go down as well. They made arrangements to stop in Hampton, and then we would all go together to Alabama to show our solidarity for Black people. That bus came from Lincoln University – mind you, at the time, I thought it was the Lincoln University in Missouri – I was not aware of Lincoln in Pennsylvania.

The buses arrived on campus on March 24, the night before at around 9:00 PM. I was part of the welcoming committee. We made sure they had food and a place to stay overnight. We were scheduled to leave Hampton together the following morning at 6:00AM, and had planned to meet in the dining hall for breakfast at 5:00AM. It was all so exciting! We were on a mission for Black people. We all felt so special, so valiant.

On the following morning, March 25, we were all together, having breakfast:   grits, eggs, biscuits, and laughing about how we were going to make those rednecks in Selma sorry they ever messed with us, when an announcement over the loudspeaker interrupted our conversation. It was from president Jerome “Brud” Holland, who announced that Hampton students were not to participate in the march on Selma, but were to return immediately to our dorms. The final word is what sealed it, “Any Hampton student who participated in the march would be immediately and summarily expelled.”

We were furious – it was not only insulting, it was embarrassing, and it was a betrayal of our right to stand for Black people. One of the coordinators went to the President's office to find out if there had been some error, or if there could be some point of negotiation. He came back about 20 minutes later with a very dejected  and disgusted look on his face, and announced that the president was intractable.  He suggested the Lincoln students go ahead because we would not be participating.

As we watched the Lincoln buses pull off, we were doing a slow burn. Several of us remained in the cafeteria and began to talk about how unfair the whole thing was, not to mention embarrassing. Finally, one of our bolder classmates said, “Maybe our problem isn't in Selma. It looks like we have a problem right here at Hampton. Since when can't we stand for our own people. Maybe we should be marching on Hampton instead.

So on March 25, 1965, while they were marching across the Edmund Pettus Bridge, some 21 Hampton students marched on the Administration building, and locked President Holland and all the administrators in the building, barricading all doors and refusing entry or exit to any one. Wow! What a bold move! We were going to wake these negroes up to the fact that it was all our responsibility to stand up for our people. We caught Holland and the rest of the administration totally off guard. They were not expecting a push back. By the end of the day, we had decided to allow the secretaries to go home, since they had no decision making powers over the students. 

We had presented our list of demands to Holland – expand curfew, change the dress codes, allow access to the waterfront, no more mandatory vespers,  encourage and support for students who participated in Civil Rights activities; and no reprisals against the students who participated in the take over, because we were acting in behalf of the interests of our own people. (There were others, but it's been so long ago). We literally held the administration building for 3 days, until Holland finally signed our lists of demands. But not before he tried to storm the door and got tackled by yours truly, along with  two other much bigger classmates. Needless to say I had become one of his least favorite people on the planet.

So, as far as we were concerned, we had two victories – the successful march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge, and the lesser known march on Hampton Institute.  He agreed to our list of demands, and things took a major change for the better.

From that point forward, things were quite peaceful and a lot of fun. I had pulled a 3.8 average, and had been selected to be an usher for the upcoming commencement of the class of 65. Thurgood Marshall was to be the keynote speaker – what an honor!

I participated in the first ever  voter registration movement in Virginia, since President Johnson had passed a bill making it possible for Black people to vote.  Most people in the area were still too afraid to do so.   We had the privilege of meeting Stokely Carmichael, John Love, and members of the Loundes County movement, which later morphed into SNCC - the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee.  They frequented Hampton's campus, and taught us so many things.  They were impressed with the bold move we made in taking over the Administration building, and were working to help groom our leaders.

 The upside of this was the fact that we partied practically every weekend now that the curfews had been changed. I was totally loving it, and had planned to spend the summer taking courses I could not fit in my regular schedule – including synchronized swimming. We learned from SNCC though, to take care of business first and party after.  The party after gave us even more incentive to take care of business.

When commencement rolled around in June, 1965, as a rising Junior, I was an usher and had the honor of meeting Thurgood Marshall, and holding a conversation with him about Brown v. Board of Education, and our schools in Oklahoma – I was surprised to find that he was aware of the fact that we did not want to integrate. I escorted him to the stage. I was walking on Cloud Nine – I actually met Thurgood Marshall and he  actually shook my hand. You couldn't  tell me anything!! 

After the commencement ended, and we concluded the celebrations, the sh-t hit the  proverbial fan – literally.

I went to my room to change clothes and relax, and found my key would not fit the door. After several tries, I went to the dean's office to find out what was wrong with my key, and was given a letter that basically stated that “You will no longer be allowed to matriculate at Hampton because you do not exemplify the spirit of a Hampton student.” I then found that they had packed all my belongings in my trunks and suitcases and set them on the sidewalk. I also found out that I was not the only one who received such a letter – all but the graduating seniors were expelled from Hampton – and it was done quite stealthily – after all the students had gone home for the summer so they couldn't rally around us. A complete and total coup, and violation of the agreement that had been signed stating there would be no reprisals.

In addition to a blow to my ego, I knew my father was going to kill me – after all, they had not really had the money to put me through school out of state – mother had sold her share of her family estate to put it together; but I was also supposed to be bridesmaid to one of my classmates who was marrying this guy who used to drive down every week end in his gold colored Mustang convertible. We had all gotten to be quite tight as friends, so when he graduated from college, he immediately proposed to her. The wedding was to take place the following week. If I was expelled, I would not be able to be there for the wedding.

As it turned out, the Vicar of St. Ciprians Episopal church made it possible for me to stay at their home while they put through an appeal to get me back into Hampton -the appeal failed.

My last act in Hampton, VA,  was to attend my friend Pat's wedding to Jay Johnson, who had just graduated from Lincoln University in May, 1965. It was a small, simple, beautiful, touching, loving wedding.  I made my own maid of honor gown, and I looked fantastic.  I was so honored to be a part of the ceremony, having never been part of a wedding before.  It was a secret dream come true - of course the ultimate dream was to be participating in my own wedding.

After we had a lovely wedding dinner, Pat mentioned to Jay that I had been expelled from Hampton.  It caught me off guard because I had sworn her to secrecy - besides, what good was it to tell Jay. He didn't have a job, money, or a magic way of getting me back into Hampton.  I had resigned myself to my fate, and didn't want anyone's pity.  I had dug myself into that hole, and it was up to me to get myself out of it.

After hearing the circumstances, Jay asked what I was going to do. I basically said, I had no idea – probably go home and go to Langston. I also remembered saying if my dad didn't kill me first. We laughed, and he did an imitation of what he thought an Oklahoma accent would sound like and began chastising me for caring about other people more than myself.

The next day Pat and Jay helped me put all my belongings on a Greyhound bus to Oklahoma,  hugged me goodbye, and cheerily went off on their honeymoon. I had already resigned myself to the fact that I would never see my friends ever again.

When I got home, my dad was all over my case. I was told I was never leaving Oklahoma City ever again; I was not sent to Hampton to change the world, but to learn. I was the first Dulan ever to be expelled from anything – college, school, you name it. I decided the best thing to do was not respond, but to find a job so that I could pay my way into another college - I did try to get a job – but Oklahoma City was still under the throes of segregation, and the only opportunities were domestic or factory – and I was not suited for either.

September was approaching.  Three months had passed, and I had not been accepted in to another university – not even Langston – and had to face the fact that all of my peers were on their way back to school and I would be the only one left. 

It the end of August,  when I received a long distance phone call in the middle of the morning from a gentleman with a foreign accent – it sounded German. I thought it was my friend Jay Johnson, because we used to prank each other with foreign accents – joking around and making up characters.

He asked me if I wanted to attend Lincoln University – and of course I said “I want to attend any University that I could start in the next two weeks. He asked if I needed financial aid, and I retorted, “I need all the finances I can get.” He then asked how I wanted to travel, and I said, “well, I'm not in that big a hurry, so a train would be fine.” I also remembered stating that I had a 3.8 average at Hampton, and didn't want to have to start over again, since I had been an advanced placement student. He agreed and said every effort would be made to transfer my credits over. He finished the conversation by saying he would see what he could do, and I retorted, “Yes, you just do that.” And I hung up the phone. My feelings were a little hurt because I though Jay was making fun of my situation – and I thought he was being insensitive.

The following day I had to go to take a dexterity test at a Westinghouse factory, where I was supposed to see how fast I could separate nuts from bolts. I failed abysmally.  So, I schlepped back home, and was prepared to face the inevitable.  I was absent mindedly watching TV when I got a knock on the door. There was a package I had to sign for  addressed to me– Air Mail Special Delivery (long before FedEx). I had never received an Air Mail Special Delivery letter before. You had to be pretty special to get one of those. So I opened it very carefully, and when I took the letter out it read, “Dear Miss Dulan: Welcome to Lincoln University.” I was so shocked and dropped it on the floor. After a few minutes I picked it up and read – or tried to read – the words. But they were coming at me so fast, and I realized that my hand was kind of shaking – a lot.

The letter was from a Dr. Paul Kuehner, Registrar at Lincoln University. It was he who I was speaking with, not Jay. Although the letter indicated that Jay had highly recommended me as an exemplary student for Lincoln, and he was offering me the opportunity to attend starting in September. The letter corroborated everything we discussed on the phone, including the fact that I would be receiving financial aid and work study as well. It included train schedules between Oklahoma and Philadelphia, and other pertinent information. 

When I showed it to my mom, I basically told her that I could not go to Lincoln. I told her I would be too embarrassed to show up there after having been so rude to Dr. Kuehner.  She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Oh, you're going. You are not going to squander this opportunity – but you have to tell your dad, because he's dead set against your going away to school.” I was not looking forward to that challenge – because I knew once he made up his mind, it was over.

By the time I did tell him, I had all my stuff packed and ready to go.  I procrastinated telling him until the last minute.  Daddy was the only one in the family with a driver's license.  Mom didn't know how to drive, and they wouldn't let me use the car without supervision.  I had to make the train, and the only way to do that was to have Daddy take me.  Wow - School had already been in session for a week, and the train ride was three days from Oklahoma to Philadelphia – at least it was back then, it was time to fess up.

He was not pleased at the news – at least he pretended not to be (I found out later that he knew about it all along - Mom and Dad never kept secrets from each other.  He lectured me about not trying to change the world.  Eventually he gave me travel money - $25.00 in quarters. Needless to say Daddy did not like it when his word was challenged.

Because most Black colleges had already started, I was literally the only Black person traveling from Oklahoma City to Philadelphia on the El Capitan - a major luxury train of the day.  Back then you had a real chef, who prepared top rated foods, with a dining car that had white table cloths, napkins and first class service - including a wait staff that took your order and brought you back real food.  I remember having a three course meal with a T-Bone Steak, chef's salad, baked potato and some sort of dessert. I tried to get away with ordering wine to go with my food, but they were on to me. LOL

I had 1 trunk and 7 suitcases – and no one to help me. I had to make sure I kept track of everything – I was so skinny!!! -  barely 89 pounds at the time, anwas schlepping all this stuff by myself!!  Ever so often I would count my stuff to make sure I didn't leave anything behind.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven - and my purse actually made eight!   By the time I arrived in Philadelphia, at 30 Street Station,  I had just begin to breathe a sigh of relief and pat myself on the back.  I though my journey was over and I had successfully gotten all that  to LU without a hitch.  But then I was informed I had to  get from 30th Street to Greyhound Bus station – and if I didn't make the shuttle to get there I might be stranded there overnight.   This sent me into a slight bit of panic mode, laced with a growing attitude. This was getting more and more aggravating because I expected there to be someone from Lincoln to meet me the way they did at Hampton.   There was only one bus a day to Lincoln, and I had to make the connection.   Talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire!!  I  lugged all that stuff to the shuttle just as they were closing up, and barely made it to the Greyhound station.   I finally settled in on the bus, only to be taken to what appeared to be farm land and wilderness similar to what I left in Oklahoma. 

I arrived at Lincoln approximately 11:00 AM, and as the bus driver pulled onto the side of the road in front of what appeared to be a vast cornfield – and my heart sank to the bottom of my shoes. I thought, “Don't tell me I came 1500 miles to got to Langston University. 

 I was trying to figure how to get all my stuff down through that cornfield, when I heard a voice from across the highway - “Hey! Are you the girl from Oklahoma?” I turned around and there were two guys standing in front of the gates to Lincoln. I hadn't noticed the campus until then. “Yes,” I responded. “Well, where are your cowboy boots? Joe Reed, on of the students, and now a lifelong friend, asked. “In Oklahoma City,” I snapped back, laughing at the fact that these guys think that we wore cowboy boots in OKC. The other thing that got me as I watched them cross the road to help me with my stuff was how they knew I was even coming. But they told me that there were very few secrets because Lincoln was such a small campus.  

Of course the truth of the matter, as I later learned, was the  intensity of the friendship/mentorship that flourished between the students and the faculty.  Faculty members were pretty much idolized by the students.  The tougher and quirkier they were, the more the students loved them, and the more they bragged on having their class.

Joe Reed, and the other classmate escorted me to the Alumni House, and took my stuff upstairs  to what was to be my room - 2nd floor second door on the left.  My room was the only room with its own private shower and toilet.   

When I reported to Dr. Kuehner's office,  I found this elderly, white haired German with a thick Germanic accent.  I had already had two semesters of German at Hampton, and found him easy to understand.  I was still surprised, because he was in an All Black College.  However, he seemed to be quite at home, as he went over all my documents, and made sure I had the classes I wanted, recapping our entire conversation - much to my embarrassment.  

While I was in his office, Jay Johnson called to welcome me to Lincoln.  He also  told me that Dr. Kuehner had been one of his mentors. He also instructed me to go and introduce myself to Sissy and Bill Wallace, a friend who did not graduate on time; and gave me a ton other things and people to look out for. He also explained that I was the last student to be chosen to attend Lincoln. – Since this was the first year they were going co-ed, they started off with a small number of female students to see how things were going to turn out – one of the students, who had originally intended to attend, had changed her mind at the last minute – hence the miraculous opportunity opening up for me to attend Lincoln.  I can't thank her enough for making that collossal mistake.   Of course, we know that it was God in the mix making things come together the way it needed to happen.

When Kuehner explained that there were 600 male students and 16 females on campus, I kind of felt like I had possibly died and gone to heaven – LOL  Think about it:  When does such an opportunity fall into your lap. How about, Never!!!??? Of course, when I called my parents to let them know I had arrived safely, I did not once mention that Lincoln was almost 99% male.  The less said about that little detail, the better.  Actually, the magnitude of the male population at LU hadn't set in at the time.   

After meeting with Kuehner, Joe Reed took me to the student union building where the book store was located and meals served.  He basically introduced me either as the girl from Oklahoma, or the Cowgirl, or the one who got kicked out of Hampton (like I said, no secrets at LU).   After about the 10th introduction, I finally took over and said my name was Gloria Dulan  - which was immediately shortened to "Glo."  I neither liked, nor disliked the transformation of my name.  Of course, I was later informed that Glo was my rabble name - the unique nicknames given to us by our peers because of whatever characteristics, or caricatuistics we displayed.  I hadn't been on the campus 5 hours, and I already had a Rabble name.

It wasn't until dinner hour that I met some of the other female classmates at the Alumni House:  Maxine "Mackie" Stewart, Cynthia Amos, Cathy Lewin, JoAnne "DASH" Dashiell, Rose Schloopy Ormond, Carol MopTop Patterson,  Brenda Blount, Honey Hastings, Frozena Patrick,  Sandra "OOdie" McGruder, Claudia Peek, Cheryl Brown(?), ---- there were other classmates whose names escape me at the present moment - I'm sure my classmates with remind me of who they were.  At the time, though, Carol Black and I were juniors, while most of the other co-eds were freshmen.  (Carol and I graduated together in 1967)

Even though I arrived in 1965, I was already a Junior, and most of the other co-eds who came in with me were part of the freshman class.  But they had a two week head start on me in terms of knowing their way around campus, and coursework.  Even though it was a small campus, I had a lot of catchng up to do.

For some reason, though, Maxine and I seemed to hit it off almost immediately.  She was always smiling, friendly and tried to see things from the most positive side.   In fact, it turned out that she was politically adept, as compared to my activism.  But somehow, that worked.  It also helped that we both had the great Dr.Charles V. Hamilton's Political Science class - a class that was packed wall-to-wall with students who absolutely idolized the man.  It didn't take me long to understand why.  Talk about charismatic, and drop dead gorgeous!!! Doc Hamilton was the finest man on two legs ever - and an absolutely brain.  You could gain knowledge just by being in the room with him - via osmosis.  Hamilton quickly became my favorite professor.

My second favorite, Dr. Shabby Foster, was a genius on a much more subtle level.  People made fun of him because he appeared to spend more time sleeping, than teaching - but with Shabby Foster, you were always fighting material - His bible was the Goode & Hat - a team of Black sociologists who knew more about the Black condition than any group of sociologists on the planet. 

But the professor who perhaps had the greatest impact on me was H.D. Gunn - a victim of Auschwitz and Dachau, but who knew African Studies inside out.  Professor Gunn had to be at nearly 7 feet tall, but all skin and bones, with hollow eyes and sunken cheekbones, the result of the torture he endured at the hands of the Nazis during the interment of the Jews during WWII.  But what a powerhouse!  A walking encyclopedia on Africa, from culture, to geneology, through technology  - you name it.  Professor Gunn would sit folded up in the window of the classroom and drone on and on in a toneless voice about east and west African ethnology, migration of tribes, etc.  But what fascinated me the most was the fact that he curated an AFRICAN MUSEUM, with all artifacts donated to Lincoln by none other than Ghanian President, Kwame Nkrumah.  After studying with Gunn I went back to Dr. Kuehner and got permission to change to a double minor in African Studies and American History - which opened up a whole new world to me.  I had several African friends at Hampton, but there were no courses offered on their history or heritage; nor were the kinds of interactions fostered at Hampton that were offered at Lincoln.

The connection between me as a "negro" - we weren't Black yet - and our African relatives came alive for me at Lincoln University.  And I began to notice that more than a handful of my classmates were from Africa - In fact, I started noticing that there were classmates from all over Africa - I also noticed that our African brothers and African American brothers did not seem to like each other.  In fact, in so many cases, there was open animosity on the part of my African American classmates against the African students.  They sounded more like racist white southern rednecks than they did those who had descended from African heritage.  You could hear them yelling to African students "Homeboys" as they were called, to go home.Of course, it didn't make them like me too much when I showed that we were friends, and later I exclusively dated student from Kenya.  In fact, Maxine and I both dated Kenyan students almost the entire time we attended Lincoln - and when you only have 16 females and 600 males on the campus, things can get pretty testy. 

Maxine and my affiliation with African students was solidified by Alice Grant, wife of Student Activities Director, Sam Grant, when she made us ambassadors to students who were refugees seeking assylum to the US from South Africa, Mozambique, Angola, the Congo, Namibia, Lesotho, Zambia, Zimbabwe, among others.  They were brought to the US via missionaries, as well as other underground means; and were now being sponsored to attend Lincoln.   In addition to the receptions we gave for the refuges as they came to the campus, we tried to debrief them of the brainwashing they received at the hands of the colonizers - we had students who were devout catholics; those who knew every cowboy song there was, and other things that were taught them at the hands of whites - we even had those who loved Elvis Pressley and country and western music.  Of course the first thing we did was introduce them to the music of James Brown, the 4 Tops, the Temptations, the Supremes, etc...Maxine and I even became soccer cheerleaders in support of our African Varsity Soccer Team -which was number 2 in the nation at the time.

Of course Mackie and I took heat because of our affiliation with African students.  Heschel Bailey used to call us Jungle Bunnies, throw nickels at us and tell us to go back to Africa. Of course, today, he is the number one advocate and exponent of Africa and African culture- and goes back and forth like he's crossing the street. 

While our male students didn't like the idea of our consorting with African students, they totally resented the fact that we were invading their space to begin with.  Most people talk about a man's retreat into his own home to get away from the rest of the family a man cave.  At Lincoln, it was the exact opposite. Our guys had their own cave, and had no intention of giving it up, or becoming civilized.  Black then, in the 60s, Lincoln had no sidewalks - just paths and grass and knolls.  You knew where the classrooms were - or at least they did - and you got there by instinct  - pretty much.  Not only were there no sidewalks, there were no lights on the campus - so at night you got there by feel.  When they started installing street lights and sidewalks, the guys got really upset.  We were invading their turf.

And nowhere was this more evident than when we went to Breakfast on Sundays.  The guys were accustomed to falling out of bed and going into the cafeteria in their PJs.  But, now that  we were there, they had to put on ties and dress accordingly.  They were always trying to figure out slick ways around it, and we were always ready to help them.  When a guy would fall in for breakfast, Ma Renwick - a 5'1' little bit of dynomite who smoked a never ending cigarette - with an ash as long as an inch or more, holding on never falling , no matter what she did - would bust the student about not beng appropriately attired.  We would give  them our belts, sashes, scarves so they could make up for their humiliation. We got slicker and slicker as the days wore on - but Renwick was always on to us, and would threaten to take the food for cheating.

My fondest memories at Lincoln were the shows and forums we attended at Mary Dodd Brown Chapel - Stokely Carmichael's declaration of BLACK POWER; Gil Scott-Heron performing for the first time at the talent show - where Mackie and I told him that he couldn't sing and to stay in school; Sidney Poitier coming to Lincoln at the behest of his nephews, the Burnside Brothers, Muhammad Ali when he told us pork was poison - thus ending my eating pork ever again; the Grandassa Models and Naturally 66 - the first time Black women modeled African styled clothing with natural hair styles - ending years of hostilities between African and African American brothers.  Attending strategy meetings led by Dr Charles V. Hamilton and Stokely Carmichael; Meeting Langston Hughes, Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., Clarence Mitchell.  And working as assistant curator to the African Museum, where I set up displays under the training of Dr. Gunn - and Sam Anderson trying to get me to "liberate" the masks.

Lincoln, I later learned, had a legacy of attracting talent.  We had a home grown steel band comprised of Anthony "Doc" Roberts, Gene Harvey, and other classmates - they even had a female vocalist.  We'd party while studying, listening to them rehearse during break time.  

Learning Swahili so that I could converse with my then boyfriend, Wanyandey - who was an economics genius - when none of our other HBCUs of the time were even thinking about offering it.  Being in the midst of the research by Doc Hamilton and Stokely Carmichael for their book, BLACK POWER.   Attending dignified events as the result of knowing Peter Ndiege, Tom Mboya's brother - and Mackie's boyfriend of the time.  Being at Lincoln U, as humble as it appeared to be, opened so many doors to me.   

But the most important thing Lincoln did was opened my mind and eyes to my BLACKNESS  - and the essential BLACKNESS of my classmates.  Interestingly enough, president Marvin Wachman who was there at the time, did more to foster this than any other president since, and was second only to the great Horace Mann Bond, father of  great brother/friend/activist/leader Julian Bond.  Quietly, Lincoln was an incubator for Black leadership and genius - they were all around me in real time - Sam Anderson, Tony Montiero, Tom McGill, Gil Scott Heron, Brian Jackson,  Randy Cane, Jay Johnson - aka Jah A Jahannes, Hidipo Hamutenya, Alfred Moleah, Vaughn Thomas, Gene Harvey, Leon Dash,  Patrick Henry, Beale Morgan, Naib Iscandari - people I had the pleasure of rubbing shoulder with - and of course our predecessors who are known the world over. 

Perhaps the biggest influence over me, to this day, is my brother/friend, Sam Anderson.  It was because of Sam, who was editor of the student newspaper, THE AXIOM, along with Tony Montiero, Paul Moore (who later became an administrative law judge), Julian Ellison - a genius in economics, and Maxine, that I got my hair natural in the fall of 1966.  That was nearly 53 years ago, and I've never gone back.  We spent all our free time solving the problems of Africa, liberating the continent, and of course with Black people ending up as the leaders we knew we were. 

Lincoln not only instilled in me a life long love of learning, loving my classmates, and loving Black people individually and collectively - but an appreciation and respect for the variety of cultures we have around us - be they African from the Motherland, Caribbean, Israeli, Pakistani, East Indian, Native American, Armenian, Egyptian, Jamaican, Trinidadian, etc.  We brought so much to the table -- we solidified and unified in ways that most would have discounted as being possible.   

Of course, there were those who wanted to see that unity that grew out of Lincoln destroyed - we had several visits on many occasion from the CIA, State Department, and other incendiary organizations  - as well as the KKK - who would threaten to come on the campus and burn crosses - something else that never happened because our guys patrolled the campus with guns and other weapons to prevent their making their threat a reality.  In fact, in the 165 year history of Lincoln, the KKK has never entered our campus - despite their threat - and the first president to let it happen will be fired immediately.

Lincoln Lions knew how to throw a major party - as a result we were partying all the time - whether it was on the campus or at the home of one of our homies.  We were triple threat - we could fight material, throw down, and party.

SO, LINCOLN UNIVERSITY LITERALLY SAVED MY LIFE- AND I'M ETERNALLY GRATEFUL THAT GOD THE LIVING SPIRIT ALMIGHTY SAW FIT TO MAKE ME A PART OF THIS WONDERFUL LEGACY.

HAIL! HAIL!  LINCOLN!!!

Stay Blessed &

ECLECTICALLY BLACK

Gloria Dulan-Wilson

LU 67

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