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Kentucky Civil Rights Oral History Project

Interview with Daisy James

May 5, 1999

Conducted by Betsy Brinson

Kentucky Oral History Commission Kentucky Historical Society

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BETSY BRINSON: This is an interview with Daisy James on May 5, 1999, it takes place in

home in Owensboro and the interviewer is Betsy Brinson.

BRINSON: Thank you Daisy for being willing to talk with me today. Can we begin, please,

would you tell me your birth date, and your birth place, and a little bit about your family growing

up?

DAISY JAMES: Okay. My birth place is here in Owensboro, and, uh, I was borned on

December 24th, Christmas Eve, 1939. And, uh, I’ve lived in Owensboro all of my life with the

exception of three and a half years. My parents, uh, both parents, uh—I grew up in a home with

both parents, which at that time, was not unusual, but today it is. Uh, my dad died in 1993 and

my mother is still living and she’s ninety years old and still lives independently. I mean, she still

lives alone in her apartment with support and assistance from, uh—I’m her primary caregiver. I

have one brother who is still living and I have a sister—well, I had a sister who, uh, died, uh, in

1996 at the age of forty-five from Lupus, complications from lupus. And, uh, she’ll be dead

three years on June the 9th. So there were only three of us and, uh . . .

BRINSON: Where do you fall in the order?

JAMES: Uh, first-born.

BRINSON: You’re the oldest.

JAMES: I’m the oldest and my brother is second-born, and my sister was the baby.

BRINSON: What brought your family to Owensboro? Did your parents come here or do

you, in fact, have grandparents who were here earlier?

JAMES: Uh, my mother is from Tennessee and my dad was born out from Logan County,

Adairville, which is right outside of Logan County, uh, which is here in Kentucky. My parents

came to Owensboro, uh, I guess, by way of work that was going on during that time. And my

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dad started out as somewhat of a, I guess, would be a helper in construction. I remember sitting

and listening to him talk about some of the things that he did when he was younger, and of

course, I wasn’t born, wasn’t thought of at that time . . . but helping to build Owensboro High

School and, uh, helping to build Frederica Street. And I thought, “Oh, this is wild,” you know,

helping to build those streets. But, anyway, there was a hotel here in Owensboro called The

Owensboro Hotel, I believe, and then later it became Owensboro Motor Inn and, uh, there—we

have a picture somewhere of my dad helping to build, uh, that hotel which was the only and

probably the first hotel in Owensboro. You’d probably have to talk to some other people that are

a lot older than I am, but I remember hearing Dad talk about that. Uh, my grandmother, uh, my

paternal grandmother, uh, I only knew her from living here in, in Owensboro, and I was named

after her. Her name was Daisy and I was named after her and I was named by my dad, Daisy

Mae, M-a-e, and, uh, Bryant, B-r-y-a-n-t. And then, uh, my maternal grandmother was, uh,

borned in the South in the Huntsville, Alabama area. I remember Mother taking us there as

children, uh, in the summer, my brother and I. And I remember hearing my grandmother speak

of working at the Redstone Arsenal where they built bombs or weapons for the war, I guess,

back during World War II, and I thought that was very interesting. But, uh, that’s mainly how

we came to Owensboro.

BRINSON: Let me back up because I’m not sure I understood. You said your paternal

grandmother was here in Owensboro. Did she grow up in Owensboro or . . .?

JAMES: Uh, as far as I know, evidently not. I think they all came from the Logan County

area, you know, from that area.

BRINSON: I see. Okay.

JAMES: But I only knew her from living here in Owensboro.

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BRINSON: Okay.

JAMES: But, uh, we called her Granny and, uh, Granny had a large influence, I guess, in my

life. She always thought by me being the first grandchild—my dad had one brother and he was

younger. And my mother had two brothers and my mother was the oldest of those two, three of

them but she was the oldest. One of my mother’s brothers was, uh, blind. I think he was blind

from youth for, from some reason I don’t know. But I remember Uncle Mike and, uh, he used to

baby-sit us. I mean, I don’t know how he baby-sat us but he--we thought he could see [laughing]

because he just knew what we were doing at all times. And then I never knew my mother’s baby

brother who was Uncle J. D., and I think he died at a very young age when he was a child.

BRINSON: Tell me about your education here in Owensboro.

JAMES: My education in Owensboro. Uh, I went to a school called, uh, grade school, which

was called Paul Lawrence Dunbar School, or we broke it down and called it Dunbar School.

That school has since been torn down. It was located, oh, I guess probably in the 700 block of

Jackson Street here in Owensboro. And, uh, there was a schoolteacher by the name of Emma

Edwards and, uh, we called her Miss Emma. And Miss Emma was the principal of that school

plus she also taught, uh, I believe it was sixth grade, uh, at, at the school. And what I remember

so much about my grade school was the teachers were more like a parent away from home. And,

uh, [little laugh] I remember one year I won the good citizenship award, and it was a $25.00--I

think it was a savings bond or a check for $25.00 for being a good citizen. I think I received that

when I was in the sixth grade and that was for, uh, being a good citizen and what they said had

the potential of contributing to the community and doing all those things. Evidently, that

probably had some influence.

BRINSON: And this was an all-black school?

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JAMES: Yes, it was an all-black school at that time. And then, uh, when you got to the sixth

grade and you went into the seventh grade, uh, you went to a school known as Western High

School. And it was like a junior high and a high school, and you finished your education there.

And that, too, was an all-black school. And, at the time of my senior year, uh, I guess it was

when school integration started and . . .

BRINSON: You graduated which year?

JAMES: Uh, 1959-60, that, that era.

BRINSON: Okay.

JAMES: And, uh, before, uh, I graduated from high school, during my senior year, for some

reason or other, I was chosen as one of very few students to go to Owensboro High School to

take a class. And we were allowed to take any class that we chose, uh, and I chose something

that we were not offered at our, at our school and I took Latin, uh, as one of my classes there. I

can’t remember taking anything else. I think some of the guys—there were one or two guys in

my class and, uh, they chose to, uh, take ROTC because we didn’t have that at our school.

BRINSON: Okay. I’m, uh, looking at an article that was done here about desegregation of

the Owensboro schools, uh, and published in the Daviess County Historical Society magazine

and that—in ’55 I believe it was, the Owensboro Board of Education did exactly what you said.

As sort of a transition period, they said to the black students: If we don’t offer a course in your

school, you can come to the white school to do that. That’s very interesting. That wasn’t very,

didn’t happen like that in many other places, uh, to provide that kind of transition. Uh, I wonder

how many students would you estimate took advantage of that? And what other kinds of courses

besides those that you identified you took do you recall students took?

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JAMES: Oh, gosh. I can’t remember exactly how many, but it was very few. And I think we

were chosen to go there because they felt that we would adjust better. Uh, we were classified as

students being in the top ten of our class, and I guess they felt that academically we were

prepared somewhat to transition and not, you know—they said what I guess at that time, and I’m

kind of reluctant to say this because I didn’t feel that way and I still don’t feel that way: students

were selected that they felt would excel and be able to, uh, meet the grades, you know, make the

grades that . . .

BRINSON: How was that experience for you? Was this the first time—because now you

were probably a minority in the new school setting where you’d been the majority before. How

was that for you?

JAMES: To me, it was—it wasn’t—I didn’t feel different because, maybe, it was where I

grew up. I spent a great deal of time literally living in one of the homes. At the age of twelve I

had a job, supposedly “a job,” and lived in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Owensboro

on Griffith Avenue. And I worked for a Jewish family, the Levis, and my job was just to make

sure that the children did not get into any mischief and sort of entertain them. I was a child

myself and there was probably maybe three or four, no more than four years probably, difference

in our ages. So, I had had exposure to the white race. And then across the street from us—we

lived in a real poor neighborhood. As a matter of fact, J.R. Miller Boulevard, where it runs

through the center of Owensboro, used to be the L & N Railroad track. And I lived on the east

side of the railroad track, and there were white children that lived on the other side of the railroad

track and we played together. I mean, it was just a small pocket of, of black families that lived

within maybe two or three block, four-block area. And, uh, we lived on what was called Lewis

Street at that time so I didn’t feel uncomfortable around white children, you know, in that time.

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BRINSON: Growing up in a segregated South, were you aware of that segregation in any

way?

JAMES: There again, [clears throat] my exposure, I guess, growing up and probably some of

the things that our parents taught us which was: you can do anything if you apply yourself. And

even some of the things that some of the older teachers in the black schools—I never will forget,

there was a, there was a math teacher, well, he was my algebra teacher, and there was a poem

and it’s always been somewhat of my motto. And he said, “If a task is once begun, never leave it

till it’s done. Be the label great or small, do it well or not at all.” So, I kind of like grew up that

way. And my father always said that we could do anything that anybody else could do, and they

encouraged us to do our best in whatever we did and that we first had to respect ourselves in

order for others to respect us. And my parents were not educated but these were some things that

just came natural to them and, uh, they really demanded that we used, that manners—I mean

even sitting down to dinner, or supper as we called it then, you did not get up and reach across

the table. You sat at the table, you put one hand in your lap, and you ate with one hand. If you

wanted something passed to you, you would ask that it be passed to you. Very strict parents, uh,

parenting, I guess. They demanded a lot. And honesty, uh, was high priority. I was a Brownie

Scout and a Girl Scout. They believed in those types of organizations, uh . . .

BRINSON: Real core values.

JAMES: Right. Very strong.

BRINSON: Was your family active in a church?

JAMES: My grandmother was. Mom and Dad were really not. They encouraged us to go to

church, and there were certain things that we could not do if we didn’t go to church. Like, we

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liked to go to the movies on Sunday afternoons, but if we didn’t go to church then movies were

out.

BRINSON: Which church did you go to?

JAMES: I went to Tenth Street Baptist Church, uh, which is still here in Owensboro. They

have a new church now. But my grandmother took me there; that was her church.

BRINSON: Tenth Street?

JAMES: Yes, Tenth Street. And my, uh, grandmother sang in the choir, and I got to sit in the

choir-stand right next to her, had my books and sang and—well, stood up when she stood up, and

I was so naïve. I just cannot believe—I always get goose pimples when I think about it, but I

guess she taught me also that I could do anything, you know. And I remember one Sunday

morning--she evidently told the minister that I was going to sing a song, a solo in church--and I

was maybe about four or five. And I hopped down out of that choir-stand and went down and

sang her favorite song. [laughing] And I even--I still cannot believe I did this. I cannot play a

piano; I’m not musically inclined. Now, I can--I know harmony, you know, and I love to sing.

As a matter of fact, I’m president of my church choir now, so it’s kind of, that kind of stuck, but,

uh . . . they said I was going to sing and play the piano, and I, as a child, went down, got up on

the piano stool and banged on the piano, ‘cause I know I could not play, and sang, I’ll Fly Away -

-it’s an old gospel hymn. And I sang that song and my grandmother came home and she told my

parents, “Oh, you would have been so proud of Daisy Mae.” All of the older people, they put

both names together, first and middle name. And, uh, said, “Daisy Mae, she sang, oh, she sang

and, oh, played that piano.” I thought, “Oh, my goodness.” I mean, at that time I really thought

it was hot stuff but it wasn’t.

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BRINSON: Well, growing up, though, in Owensboro, which did have its segregated places,

uh, I understand there were restaurants that refused to serve African Americans, movie theaters .

. .

JAMES: Uh-huh. They were segregated.

BRINSON: . . . local transportation, uh, parks and swimming pools . . .

JAMES: Uh-huh, that’s true.

BRINSON: Were you—did you ever experience that segregation in a personal instance that

you can recall, feeling that this is not right?

JAMES: Well, I guess, perhaps, maybe there is a point in your life when you’re so naïve it’s

as though it’s a natural thing. But as I grew older I could see injustices and I started to question

why. Why do we have to go to, uh, it used to be called Douglass Park, I believe, to that

swimming pool? Why can’t we go to the Sports Center swimming pool? Because at that time

there was a swimming pool at the Sports Center. Why can’t we go to that pool? Uh, I remember

there was--my mother’s uncle was, I guess at that time they called them a porter, on the L & N

Railroad. And I remember the train station, which it’s still here, the old L & N depot which

they’ve made office spaces out of, and it’s been used as a restaurant and all of those things.

They had a black waiting area for the train and a white waiting area. And they had white

restrooms and water fountains even in there, and then the blacks had their part. And I remember

when Mother would take us to Alabama or down to Chattanooga, Tennessee that, uh, you know,

we boarded the train from that area. And I guess we probably sat in a segregated part of the

train. I don’t remember too much about buses, you know, city buses being a part of segregation

there but, as a child, but I guess you’re so naïve it all seems a part of just being a natural thing.

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And then, like I said, when you’re older--and I guess my first experience of what I considered

real segregation are, was when my husband was in the Air Force. And it was in maybe about

’66, ’65, somewhere in that area, we went to Texas, Laredo, Texas. And it was our first time

ever being away from home, and, uh, they sent us to an apartment complex, uh, to apply for an

apartment. The military sent us. And when we got there, uh, the lady told us—and she was

about seventy years old—she said, “I’m sorry I don’t have a place for you to stay.” Well, we

told them, told her that the Air Force had sent us there and she said, “Well, I’m sorry. I don’t

have a place.” So, we left and went back to the Air Force base and we told them she didn’t have

a place for us to stay; and I guess we wanted them to give us a list of some other places to go. So

they said, “She almost always has a place.” So they telephoned and then they sent us back over

there. And when we went back, she made the comment that, “I have a place, but if I let you all

have this place, I do not tolerate cussing and getting drunk and fighting and that type of thing.”

And we looked at her, you know, and I said, “Well, I don’t like that either.” And, uh, I said,

“We didn’t grow up like that.” And, uh, I decided that woman did not want us there, [clears

throat] and, but we had no other choice, you know, but to live there. But I thought, “Well, if she

feels that way, she won’t have to worry about us. I mean, we’ll just mind our own business and

just live here.” Well, the apartment was right next to hers and for some reason or another she

just fell in love with us; and she became our mother away from home. And she was the first

cousin to President Johnson, at that time. So that was kind of [clears throat] neat, and the

apartment that we lived in was, uh, the apartment that James Stewart, Jimmy Stewart the actor,

had lived in back during World War I, I believe it was. So that was kind of neat and different.

But that was my first real experience which is coming head-on with, you know--this person is

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going to deny you a place to live because of the color of your skin and because of stereotyping

of, of color, you know.

BRINSON: So that was an instance where you recognized discrimination. So, so many

people that I talk with tell me that they grew up in a segregated society, and they recognized that

that was just the way it was. There didn’t seem to be a way to challenge it until a particular point

in time, and that they lived within their community which was by and large their school which

very frequently functioned as the community center for the black . . .

JAMES: Exactly.

BRINSON: . . . population. Their church, their own little business district . . .

JAMES: Uh-huh, which was the West Fifth Street area and we, we were not allowed to go on

Fifth Street. I mean, we didn’t grow up in that end of town . . .

BRINSON: Your parents didn’t allow you, is that . . .?

JAMES: Right. Our parents did not allow us and that was a large community of black

people. And there was the H. L. Neblett Center, which is still there, and it’s called the H. L.

Neblett Community Center, uh, named after a doctor, a black doctor. And his wife organized

that, uh, which was an old tobacco warehouse and we used to go roller skating down there. And

that was the only place that we could go . . . well, the park. Sometimes we could go to the park,

but it was very rare because they had a lot of people that drank and cussed and, you know, they

would fight and they would have shootings and actual killings, you know, on West Fifth Street.

And it was a way of our parents protecting us from that type of environment. And even in the

neighborhood that I grew up in, there were people that would fight and they would get drunk and

really hurt, or try to hurt, each other. And I remember my mom and dad, they would say, “You

all have to come inside now.” They’d never let us stay outside. [laughing] We wanted to stay

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outside and see what was going on, but they did not want us to be exposed. But they didn’t have

money enough for us to live anyplace else, you know, and we had no other choices but to live

there. And I remember some of the well- to-do people that my parents worked for, uh, my dad

worked for some doctors. My mom worked . . .

BRINSON: This was different from his construction . . .

JAMES: Right. I mean, because when they were bringing us up, after Dad and my mom got

married, uh, they started doing what is called domestic work. And they worked for some very,

very wealthy people here in Owensboro so we got kind of like, uh--what would you say? Nice

books, you know, they would send books, you know, nice story books and things. Nice toys,

you know, that their children no longer used or wanted, and even some of their children’s

clothes, you know, we got. And we were so happy with those types of things. And they would

say, “We don’t know how in the world that you were able to, or that you can bring your children

up, in this type of neighborhood, and they’re such well-mannered children.” But we didn’t say,

“Yeah” and . . . you know. We were taught to say, “Yes ma’am.” Black or white. “No,

ma’am.” “Yes, sir.” and “No, sir.” It did not matter whether you were black or white, but that

was considered good manners and . . .

BRINSON: I believe you told me when we talked on the phone that your . . .

END OF TAPE ONE, SIDE ONE

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BEGIN TAPE ONE, SIDE TWO

JAMES: . . . in some instances, yes. In some instances, uh--there is a well-known family

here in Owensboro, uh, Flynns, and my dad worked for them and then my mother worked for

them. But she may have worked, you know, like maybe for one of the daughters of the family;

and then my, uh, dad may have worked, you know, doing what they called “heavy” housework.

Now I don’t think my mother worked for Dr. Wofolk but she worked for—Dr. Wofolk was a

eye, ear, nose and throat specialist, and that was wonderful because I had terrible earaches when

I was a child so, I mean, Dr. Wofolk took care of me. My mother worked for, uh, I guess what

you would call a family doctor at that time, Dr. Fred C. Reynolds, and he’s dead. Of course, Dr.

Wofolk is dead. Then the Field Packing House people, uh, that family that organized the Field

Packing House, which they have all kinds of bacon and hot dogs and all of that. And it’s since

been sold but they kept the name. Uh, my mother worked for them also. She also worked for

the Hagers--well, I guess Mrs. Fuqua was a part of the newspaper people that had the Messenger

and Inquirer . She worked for that family so, you know, it was through those—and it is so . . . I

guess only in America this could happen. Don’t you know that there are people—we haven’t

lived in this neighborhood but about two years, a little bit over two years, and it’s only in

America and through an act of God that this could happen. There are people that live on this

next street over here that knew my mother, and my mother helped to raise them, and worked in

their families and where else? I mean, here I am--my mother worked for them, and here I am a

black person living in this neighborhood. The Hagers lived back here. The bridge that goes over

from Third Street here in Owensboro, over to Indiana, the Carys--it’s called the Glover Cary

Bridge; they live right almost exactly behind us. And they knew my mother when I was just a

little baby, you know, growing up. And to live in a neighborhood like this--but I believe that

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people should be able to live, to work, uh, to do anything that anybody else should do. I didn’t

feel that just because that the color of your skin—it had nothing to do with it. It had nothing to

do with it. Now, don’t get me wrong. I was exposed to name calling, you know, here in

Owensboro, but we would get upset and, you know, maybe go home and cry. Or someone

would pass on the street and call us nigger and that type of thing. But my parents had a way of

saying, “you know, those are the type of people that act a certain way, and your name is Daisy

James; it’s not nigger. And you don’t—it’s, you know, a nigger acts a certain way. You don’t

act that way, you know. And because someone calls you a name, it doesn’t, it doesn’t do

anything, you know, it doesn’t matter.”

BRINSON: Were there, uh, family or friends or, uh, in the black community whom you

recall were victimized in some way because of race?

JAMES: Oh, as it relates to . . . anything in particular. Let me think. I was trying to think of

how I got into, you know, positions that I did. Uh, I guess probably from just speaking out and

being level-headed in what I felt, um, not—to look at things from a persuasive standpoint,

reasoning with people, uh, why can’t this person have a job? Why can’t these people be able to

go to certain schools? Why can’t these people be able to live in certain neighborhoods? I guess

I was the first black apartment manager, uh, which it was an outside company. No one from

Owensboro gave me the opportunity. It was the Kentucky Limited partnership. I don’t know

how I was recommended for that job. Then again, it goes back to a former mayor here in

Owensboro; his name was Whiteman Taylor and, as a matter of fact, city hall is named after him.

Uh, very influential person and my dad worked for his, for Whiteman’s mother- in-law; he

worked for that family, let’s put it that way. And that was how, uh, I met Whiteman, and

Whiteman got me on at General Electric. That was my first quote real job.

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BRINSON: And that would have been about when?

JAMES: Uh, that would have been in 1962-63, somewhere. Almost out of high school.

Right out of high school. And I worked there until my husband went into service, and my

husband was working there also.

BRINSON: Okay. So, did you know your husband growing up?

JAMES: Yes! Yes, I did. We went to the same church. My parents let—after my

grandmother got sick—she had a stroke—and she came to live with us, and lived in our home

and I was in the ninth grade when she died. I never will forget. They called me and said, “You

need to come home.” And we walked home and, uh . . . but, anyway, my grandmother, after she

died, my parents let us go to any church we wanted to. We went to, we went to the—we didn’t

go to the Seventh Day Adventist Church. We went to the Jehovah Witness; we went to

Pentecostal churches. My mother was a Methodist; my daddy was a Baptist so we went to the

Methodist Church, we went to the Baptist churches before we actually joined church, you know,

became Christians, and, uh, I chose Sweeny Street Baptist Church. That’s where I go to church

now and that’s where I met my husband. He sang in the junior choir there plus he went to the

same schools that I went to which was Dunbar School and also Western.

BRINSON: In your graduating class then—and that was 1960, did you say?

JAMES: Well, ’59, ’60.

BRINSON: Okay. How many students were there? I’m just trying to get a sense of the size

of the high school.

JAMES: Let me think. Somewhere around here I have my high school yearbooks [laughing]

if you can believe that, uh, or either they’re at Mother’s. I would say there were probably maybe

forty-five, fifty students. It wasn’t—that was a big class when you compare that this was a

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school that went from seventh all the way to the twelfth grade, you know. So it was about

maybe fifty students or something like that, somewhere in that neighborhood that graduated in

my class.

BRINSON: In a number of Kentucky communities, um, I’ve talked to individuals who

attended all-black schools or maybe were teachers in all-black schools, and they tell me that even

now, you know, years after integration that these schools have reunions.

JAMES: They do.

BRINSON: And I wonder if that might be true for, for your school.

JAMES: True. But they more or less combine classes, you know, now; and there’s people

there that graduated years before we did, but they went to that same school. And every year in

July is when they have—it’s around the Fourth of July that they have the, well, they call it a

reunion. Western High School Reunion.

BRINSON: Do they hold it here in Owensboro?

JAMES: Yes, they do and individuals come from--I have classmates that live in California

and Connecticut, places like that, and they all come back.

BRINSON: Are any of the teachers still living and do they participate?

JAMES: Yes, there are some teachers that are still living. Um, um, Harry Fields is still

living, and I don’t know if he was from Owensboro or not, but I know that he was a teacher at

Western. Still very active. Sometimes I see him at the symphony because he went to some of

the symphony performances. Uh, who else? Oh, about a couple of or three weeks ago, we went

to a little community called Maceo and there was a church, there is a church up there—it was

one hundred twenty-nine--twenty-seven; one hundred twenty-seven; one hundred twenty nine

years old--and they had a church anniversary and our church was invited to go. And I saw one of

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the teachers that taught me at Paul Lawrence Dunbar School. Her name is Theodora Jackson

Smith, and she lives out in the Pleasant Ridge area. And she remembered me, and I was so

thrilled to see her. I had not seen her forever. So she was very, very . . .

BRINSON: That’s neat.

JAMES: It was. It really was. She had someone with her that assisted her and she was on a

walker. But I remember her.

BRINSON: And eventually the, the crowd is going to get smaller and smaller . . .

JAMES: Oh, it does because . . .

BRINSON: . . . in time, as people begin to die off.

JAMES: I’ve had several classmates to, to die, uh, you know, for, you know, illnesses or

things of that . . . nothing violent, you know. It was just different illnesses and things like that.

BRINSON: Well, that—talking about violence . . . listen to the thunder . . .

JAMES: I know.

BRINSON: . . . makes me think—in some of the Kentucky history books about Owensboro

you read about episodes of racial violence, and I think the most recent one actually was like in

1938 before you were born where there was a . . .

JAMES: A hanging.

BRINSON: . . . a hanging.

JAMES: My mother, my mother and father told me about that. They remembered that, and

my mother probably still remembers that.

BRINSON: A man who was actually taken out of jail . . .

JAMES: And hanged.

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BRINSON: . . . against the protests of the sheriff, and I think the sheriff lost his life in all of

that, and then, obviously, so did the man. They hung him.

JAMES: Right. They hung him at the courthouse Mom and Dad said. And it was, it was a

racially motivated thing. Supposedly, he had—I don’t know if he raped, or was accused of

raping . . .

BRINSON: He was accused.

JAMES: . . . accused of raping a white woman and they hung him and it was the last public

hanging, I believe, in the United States.

BRINSON: That’s . . . I’ve read that, too.

JAMES: Uh-hmm.

BRINSON: Uh, were—why in Owensboro though? Was that sort of racial violence here in

some way or was it just that it was everywhere?

JAMES: I guess it was everywhere and it was so strange that, you know, that--maybe it was

here in Owensboro. I guess if you would say the South; Kentucky would be probably the

northern most state, uh, of the South, and I think, if history serves me well, it was like a division.

Kentucky was divided between the North and the South as it related to the Civil War because

part of Kentucky was, was Confederate and—as a matter of fact, there may be a Confederate

soldier that’s a statue on the courthouse lawn here in Owensboro.

BRINSON: Uh, I’ve heard Governor Patton talk about the history of the Civil War and he

always says, you know, talks about, just as you’re saying, that there were both supporters for the

Union and supporters for the Confederacy. And he says after the war, though, the South—

Kentucky went with the South. It sort of cast its lot with the region, and that that, in his mind

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anyway, meant that the state didn’t progress in some ways as well as it should have. Uh, I

wonder, though, Daisy, what happened to you when you finished high school?

JAMES: When I finished high school? I received a scholastic scholarship to Kentucky State,

which was an all-black college, and, uh, at that time, and it was a four-year scholarship. And I

could go and do anything I wanted, you know. But my dad was ill and with my mother not

having very much education, little or no education--I think my dad may have had a ninth grade

education but . . . gosh, Daddy was smart to have only had a ninth grade education, you know.

Uh, but anyway, Mother couldn’t read or write, and I just thought with Daddy being sick and,

you know, Mother just could not handle it, you know. And so I turned down the scholarship to

stay here, you know. And then later, uh, Mrs. Brannon, who was one of the people that my dad

worked for, she thought that I needed to go to school. I mean, I needed to go to college, so she

took me to Brescia College, took me in and introduced me to the nuns and [laughing] and says,

“I want her to go to school here’, and registered me into college, and I started taking some

classes there. And I first wanted to be, uh, elementary school teacher, uh, working with

exceptional children, you know, very, very bright children. And I took a lot of the psychology

for exceptional children and a lot of those courses and then, later on, I decided—I got married

and everything was just like, oh, I think it rearranged my priorities. And I thought, I can’t work

and be married and go to school at the same time, and I was just kind of really feeling at that

time, didn’t realize—stress was not the common word that we use now so loosely. But I just felt

I couldn’t handle everything so I dropped out of school. Then, later on, I decided that I would go

back to school but it was years later, you know. And . . .

BRINSON: And then what did you study when you went back?

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JAMES: I decided that it was—there was such a deficiency among black people about

business. They didn’t and they still don’t—and especially if they’re older people—they don’t

know business, you know. I mean they don’t know about leases, you know, if you rent a place

and you sign your name on something what that really means, you know, what you’re actually

committing to. Uh, they just did not know business, and everything has to be run like a business.

I mean, business is there. So I chose to study business, so I lack nine hours of having my degree

in business administration, so that’s my dream one day is to go back and finish that.

BRINSON: You will.

JAMES: And, uh, the reason why I didn’t finish was I became the primary caregiver of my

sister who had lupus for about fifteen years, and there were periods of time when she was really,

really bad. And, uh, my dad was very ill with diabetes—as a matter of fact, he died from

complications from diabetes—and Mother just, she just could not handle everything. She took

care of Dad the best she could. I took care of the major things that needed to be taken care of.

BRINSON: [thunder] And you work for the Health Department now I believe.

JAMES: I do. I do.

BRINSON: How did that come about?

JAMES: Uh, my job at the Health Department—I first worked for a community action

agency. And when I worked for the community action agency they, uh, gave me the assigned

duty as the Equal Opportunity Officer. So that meant that I monitored all of the affirmative

action, uh, any grievances that dealt with unequal treatment of employees and keeping the

agency straight and in line as far—and that, that was something that I thought was quite unique.

Me, doing that? But I was brave enough to do it, but I was the Equal Opportunity Officer there.

And, uh, this was at ( ) Community Services, plus I also was the area services coordinator for a

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seven-county area, and I coordinated staff and services for those persons aged sixty and over.

So, for the senior citizens, and those services ranged from outreach services to—I even had the

senior employment program too. I think they refer to it now as Green Thumb and Title V, and

you know, all these government titles, and I coordinated that to where we gave older workers an

opportunity to work. And I was the 504 handicap coordinator, but they’ve got a different name

for that, too, now.

BRINSON: Right. I want to go back to the early sixties in Owensboro because, um, I know

that primarily out of the local NAACP chapter there were some sit- ins, some demonstrations.

Um, I don’t know that they got a lot publicity or a lot of attention.

JAMES: Uh-hmm.

BRINSON: Do you have any recollection of those at all? Did you know anybody who

participated or . . . ?

JAMES: I, I was a member once of the NAACP and I can remember maybe not only being a

member of the NAACP, but also a part of what at one time was called the Mayor’s Human

Relations Commission. I was on that. And I can remember cases where that there was police

brutality, or accusations of police brutality, uh, that was inflicted upon blacks. And I can

remember demanding that we meet with the police chief, and going in and—when I say

demanding, not in a demonstration-type thing but calling and saying, “We’ve got to meet. We

cannot tolerate this.” You know. “We’ve got to sit down and talk. These officers need to be

disciplined or there needs to be a change.” And this type of thing. And not only saying, there

has to be a solution. We had some options that we wanted them to explore, such as sensitivity

training and that type of thing. And we were actually involved in things like that.

BRINSON: That would have been about what time period, do you recall?

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JAMES: That would have had to have been maybe in the seventies, somewhere in that area.

BRINSON: Okay.

JAMES: And we even . . .

BRINSON: Go ahead.

JAMES: We even met and talked about issues of the park, uh, which was the black park, and

issues that came out of that even though it was a black, primarily black park, but it was run by

the city. Uh, there was a lot of inappropriate behavior that was going on in the park by adults,

you know, drinking and gambling and this type of thing. There were small children that played

in that park, and it was not right for those children to have to be exposed to that. And we called

for a meeting one time with city officials, the mayor and those individuals. We sat down and

made some changes there, told them they had to get rid of that type of thing in the park. What

were the rules of the city parks? Quote. They said, “The parks closed at ten-o’clock; they did

not allow drinking in the parks.” My question to them, and I mean I sat up on the edge of my

chair and asked them, “Well, why do we tolerate this type of action in the black park, you know,

or the park where the blacks go? Those children, those little children, they do not need to be

exposed to that. If you don’t allow drinking and gambling and that type of thing in the other

parks, and if those other parks close at ten o’clock, that park should close at ten o’clock.” So it

was those types of approaches behind closed doors, you know, where we would get together and

get in and we would hammer out these things, you know. That was my way and my solution. I

mean, it wasn’t, it wasn’t okay just because it was a black park, you know, to let these people do

this thing because it was not, quote, their park. It was a park in a black community that was paid

for by taxpayers’ dollars. There were little children that were growing up in that neighborhood.

They did not have the right—they should not have been exposed to that.

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BRINSON: Uh . . .

JAMES: That’s where? I came from and the kind of, the ways that I . . .

BRINSON: Very important question. I’m going to ask you about the period when you were

a member of the NAACP here and a little bit about the NAACP. If you can recall approximately

how many members were there? How many came to meetings or . . . ?

JAMES: Oh, at one time I believe they had anywhere from, oh gosh, maybe seventy to

seventy-five members. It was a large group because it was the only black group like that where

you paid a membership.

BRINSON: Was there a youth chapter?

JAMES: Yes, they had a youth chapter also. I did not participate in that part. I participated

in the adult part of it.

BRINSON: Can, can you think about, uh, the members at that point. Would you say there

were more men than women, more women than men, maybe an equal balance?

JAMES: If I think about it, there may have been slightly more women. Women seem to be

more active as it relates to leadership, uh, membership drives, you know, that type of thing.

They were the ones that went out and, you know, encouraged individuals to become members.

Uh, I remember there was a group that was formed, and I believe they still have it. Oh gosh, I

can’t think of the name of it, but it’s where that, they go out and solicit from, I guess, businesses

here in Owensboro. And they’ve set up a scholarship fund and it’s where that they give a

scholarship away every year to . . . oh, I’m trying to think. I can’t remember the name of the

group, but it’s a part of the NAACP; and it’s where they encourage young people to go on to

school and, by doing that, they give them scholarships.

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BRINSON: When you look at the leadership of the NAACP, have there been women who

were an officer?

JAMES: President of NAACP? Yes, there was some women that have been. There have

been men, uh, that have been president. Ministers, black ministers that have been president.

END OF TAPE 1, SIDE B

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BEGIN TAPE TWO, SIDE ONE

BRINSON: I wonder particularly . . . again, back during the time, both locally and nationally,

of the sit- ins and Martin Luther King’s march on Washington and whatnot, were the local

ministers involved in any of that that you’re aware of?

JAMES: I could not—I’m sure that they were, but I could not give you anything in particular

that, you know, any one particular minister or ministers that may have participated in that. Uh . .

BRINSON: Okay. In 1968 I understand that there was a, a race riot here, that . . . around an

ice cream store, uh, and that’s, that’s all I know about that. Do you recall anything as to why that

happened or . . .?

JAMES: Uh, at that time we, we lived in Texas, but we did hear about it, as a matter of fact.

It was on the news and that was during the time also that they had the big Democratic National

Convention and things were going on in Chicago at that time. And we were reading and hearing

everything that was going on. And, of course, our families kept us informed of what was going

on, but we were not actually living in Owensboro at that—that was during the time that we were

living in Texas, in ’68.

BRINSON: Okay. Who were your civil rights heroes in the sixties?

JAMES: Ooh. I loved, uh, Julian Bond, um, Andrew Young, uh, those people. And prior to

that, uh, of course, everybody—I mean he just made you feel wonderful and it was kind of based

on the way I grew up, of course, Martin Luther King. The other thing, the other person that

was—of course, the Kennedys, Bobby Kennedy and John F. Kennedy. I mean, these were all

people that said, “Hey,” you know, “we need to recognize these individuals. There should not

be any difference.” You know. Those were some of my civil rights heroes. The Kennedys and

Martin Luther King, Jr. and those individuals.

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BRINSON: Okay. So you, you were out of the state and then when did you actually return to

Owensboro?

JAMES: In 1970.

BRINSON: Okay.

JAMES: We came back in 1970, ’70, ’71, somewhere in that area.

BRINSON: Um, in, in the time that you came back, did you notice any differences in the

community in terms of race relations from when you’d left?

JAMES: No. That was so disappointing because we thought that things would have changed.

But maybe it took us going away in order to come back to see that things had not changed, you

know, as it related to acceptance of black people and appointments of black people . . . is it

getting wild out there? Is that just . . . I think it’s just a car. [thunder]

BRINSON: It is lightning . . . yeah, it is . . . lightning and thunder but . . .

JAMES: Just need to make sure if we need to fly to the coop, we’ll, we’ll go. [laughing]

But, anyway, uh, when, when I came back, I thought this is just, you know--nothing’s changed

and it was so disappointing. And I think during that time was when I decided that I need to

become involved, you know. I need to, to get involved and there’s got to be somebody out there,

or individuals out there that will listen to reason and say, you know, “This is what needs to be

done.” You know. You know, why should we make a difference, you know. So . . .

BRINSON: And how did you decide to do that? You joined the NAACP?

JAMES: Well, yes, and then I guess through some channels and talking to people that I felt

had some influence and that would listen. And that’s how I became involved. I need to check

the shutter. [interruption]

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BRINSON: Uh, so you, you shared some examples of how you, uh, were a very skillful

negotiator, I imagine, on some of these issues, both through the NAACP and the Commission on

Human Relations. Uh, were there any other ways that you sought to address these issues?

JAMES: Um, that was when I guess I decided that I needed to run for public office and . . .

which I, which I did. I guess I was the first black, uh, first black female, first black period, to run

for city commission, and there were some very, very strong candidates. It was more women than

ever before in the history of Owensboro that ran. And I survived the May primary and made the

cut and I almost won. I missed the last position by 500 votes. And, uh, that was in 1991 and, uh,

that somewhat paved the way, um, because it let other blacks know that they could run and make

a difference. Oh, the light’s going to go out.

BRINSON: I think it’s important that we enter into the transcript that we’re sitting here in a,

a very bad storm the day after the tornadoes in Oklahoma, and there is indeed a tornado warning

up in western Kentucky.

JAMES: Yes.

BRINSON: So. Otherwise, anyone who is reading the transcript will wonder what in the

world we’re talking about.

JAMES: Yes, and all of the noise. But I ran for city commission and then after I lost,

evidently someone felt, or they felt that I had made quite an impact, and they felt that I needed to

be in a position where that I could influence and even get the experience to run again. But not

the next time, you know, because they said if you run twice—these were seasoned people—that

if you run twice, and you know, if you lose the second time, you should forget it, you know, or

you might as well forget it, that type of thing. But anyway, that was when I was appointed as the

first black to the powerful Utility Commission here, with assets in excess of five hundred million

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dollars, and I served a record thirteen years on that commission. Very, very influential

commission and they had no blacks employed, and uh, before I left there we had made some

dramatic changes in trying to get minorities hired as, in meaningful positions. I think they may

have had like janitors that were older people that swept the floors and that type of thing, you

know. Probably were not even under civil service—these were civil service positions, you

know. Very, very good paying jobs, but no blacks. And no one could pass the test. That was

what was the story. Nobody could pass the test. If we could get them here, they could pass the

test, there’s got to be—I said we’ve got to have, I mean, we can get you somebody. So we

formed a coalition which was very, very, uh, it was a very good group. Schoolteachers, uh—we

had to have those educators because there were black teachers in the Owensboro school system,

and we wanted those people on there and some other community leaders that were black. And

we sent them out to recruit—I mean that was one of my goals was to get some blacks on it,

Owensboro Municipal Utilities. And we sent them out to go and find some people to take these

tests. Well, we had some that took tests, made a hundred on it, still did not get positions. Well,

they had to answer to me after that because—I believe they became disenchanted because they

just kind of, you know, “They don’t want us and they’re not going to hire us,” you know. And I

really felt bad about that, but what we ended up doing was—they said there were others that—

how did they have it? Said that they, there were others that were before them because they

made like a hundred and three point five and—I said, “How could that be, you know? How

could they make more than a hundred?” But it had something to do with points—if you were in

the military and if you made a hundred . . .

BRINSON: Right. You get extra points.

JAMES: You get extra points, and I thought this is not a level playing field, you know.

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BRINSON: I remember when that worked against women, uh, as well as minorities seeking

jobs . . .

JAMES: Right.

BRINSON: . . . because of those extra points.

JAMES: Right. And my, my speech was not just for minorities but also for women to be

placed in nontraditional roles with Owensboro Municipal Utilities because they had—and I guess

the first thing that we did that was different was . . . [interruption]

BRINSON: Excuse me. We’re being a little distracted here with the weather a little bit, too.

So we were talking about the Public Utility Commission and your efforts to open up

nontraditional jobs for . . .

JAMES: Women

BRINSON: . . . women and minorities.

JAMES: Exactly. The first thing, I guess the first step was to go through all of the job

descriptions and change them from, rather than lineman to line technicians. You know, all of the

job descriptions. This was my pushing, you know, where they cannot be gender, you know.

They have to be across the board, I mean, where it could be anybody. Then, that was one of the

first steps, and then the second step was, after we had done everything that we possibly could,

uh, locally I said, “There’s got to be a way. There has got to be a way.” So they came up with

the idea—I said, “You all bring me something. Bring me something. Let’s put some proposals

on the table. We’ve got to do this. We’ve got to get some minorities on.” So, uh, what we

ended up doing was, they, we hired a technician—not a technician, a consulting firm out of

Chicago because they laid it on the Civil Service Commission. They said, “The civil service

commission,’ uh, ‘says this is the way the testing has to be done.” And we were not sure. I

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didn’t see the test. We didn’t know if the tests were validated tests, you know, if the tests were

job-related, that type of thing. We wanted an outside company to come in and, and tell us how to

get around the civil service thing. And I think we paid—we okayed up to five thousand dollars

to bring in consultants. They came in and they went through, uh, this with us. And they came up

with the idea of what they called banning, meaning that they would go through the first group,

and they would go down to the second group and even down to a third group until they found a

female or a minority in that group. Well, it, it did work for a little while. And then we asked

them if they would do special testing, but we knew that we couldn’t do the special testing, you

know, like prep tests where they would come in and—this is what to expect: we’re going to have

positions for meter readers, you know. This is how you read a meter, you know, and this is what

we’re going to be looking for and that kind of thing. But we could not have these tests and could

not advertise these tests and say, “These are only for women” or, “These are only for minorities”

because that wasn’t right either. So when the announcements went out, they mainly went out—

there were some white males that came, but for the most part, you know, it was done mainly

through the black churches in announcements. And then we made them even send out for every

job, uh, that was—this is recent, though, and I still get these—uh, it was where they send and

they tell us what positions were available and . . . so that we can the word out, you know, that

these positions are available and, uh, try to get people in there. So those were some of the things

that we tried.

BRINSON: Did you ever run for office again?

JAMES: No, but I’m going to. But I couldn’t, uh, again--and there’s a lot of people that still

remember. They say, “When are you going to run again?” You know. “We, we voted for you.”

I mean, people will walk up even now and say that, but . . .

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BRINSON: Do you have a specific office and . . ?.

JAMES: Oh, if I run again, I’m not going to run for city commission. I’m running for mayor.

[laughter] I’m going to the top.

BRINSON: Okay.

JAMES: So, I mean, you know, you’ve got to move up. We opened up the door. We have,

right now we have a black female city commissioner. I believe she’s in her second term. And

prior to that it was, uh, a minister, a black minister here in Owensboro. He was the first black

elected and he actually got in. And so we’ve accomplished that, but we’ve never had a black

mayor nor have we had a female mayor so it’s about time. Even Henderson, Kentucky, which is

a smaller community, they have a female mayor. So it’s time, it’s Owensboro’s time. I haven’t

publicized that too much. I don’t want to give anybody else any ideas. But my hands are tied

now because I work for the health department. We’re under the state through, oh, it’s under the

state merit system and you got all these rules and things about—even though it’s a nonpartisan

thing, rather than the health department having to make a decision on partisan politics they just

go with a blanket statement that they prefer that we don’t get involved. So it’s about time for me

to, uh, move on to a second career so I think, you know . . .

BRINSON: Maybe as mayor.

JAMES: Yes. [laughing]

BRINSON: Uh, do you have children?

JAMES: No, no children.

BRINSON: I want to tell you what I’m finding as I interview primarily women right now

and, and have you react to it because, interestingly enough, most of the women that I’m

interviewing, who’ve been active either out front or behind the scenes even, do not have

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children. And even back in the fifties and the sixties . . . some of them were newly married, they

were young, they or they stayed single throughout their life . . .

JAMES: That’s interesting.

BRINSON: . . . but there were no children. And as I think about that, it’s surprising to me a

little bit. But I guess it makes sense that it’s the women who may have a husband, um, to pay

some attention to, but, uh, that’s not as demanding as having small children to have to take care

of; and, therefore, they’ve had maybe the time, or they’ve found the time in a way they couldn’t

with small children or even larger children, you know, to be as involved.

JAMES: You know, perhaps, you may be right about that. I had no idea but, you know, my

husband is very supportive, uh, of me. And I remember when I received the Humanitarianism

Award, and that is a very prestigious award that is given to people that have gotten out there on

the front lines and look at what is right, you know, for everybody . . .

BRINSON: Is that a local award here in Owensboro?

JAMES: Yes, uh-hmm. I have that plaque downstairs. It’s a very nice plaque. But, anyway,

I remember thanking my husband because he was there and saying to him that he was the wind

beneath my wings because, I mean, he always stood in the background and just let me go. And,

uh, he has been probably as much a part—I mean, he wasn’t there saying, “Go, Daisy, go! Go,

Daisy, go!” but by allowing me to spread my wings, you know, and get out there and to get

involved, you know. And there have been times I would just really get so wrapped up in projects

or something was going on and I would have all these night meetings. And sometimes it would

be a whole week of night meetings, you know, just night after night. And just working and

coming in and getting dinner and then heading out, you know, and just hammering out until

about ten o’clock at night. Those were long days and he would say, “Now, Daisy, I think you

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need to slow down a little bit.” You know. Telling me I was getting a little bit too much

involved, you know. Not saying, “Drop it” but, “Just draw back a little bit, take a breath.”

BRINSON: Take care of yourself.

JAMES: Right. Because once--if I make a commitment, if I tell you I’m going to do

something, I’m going to do it or I’m going to die trying, you know. Um, I believe if I tell you

something, you’re expecting that out of me and I’m going to do it.

BRINSON: Well, uh, I still have a number of other women yet to interview so I don’t know

how accurate this is going to turn out to be, but it’s just been very interesting to me, you know,

as I listen to women tell their stories that this is the case for most of them. But . . .

JAMES: It’s very interesting.

BRINSON: Well, is there anything else you’d like to share about this whole topic that we’ve

been talking about tonight to—I guess in a very broad sense, how would you evaluate the

movement during the fifties and the sixties? Did we succeed? Do we still have a way to go?

JAMES: I think we succeeded in some areas, but we still have a way to go. We still have a

way to go. We’re just not there yet. We have come a long way but, in my opinion, we still have

quite a way to go, and when, when we arrive—I don’t think we would even have to sit and talk

about, you know, black and white. It will be Daisy James; it will be, uh, Betsy. And that’s,

that’s my dream, you know, that—and I remember, I used to get so upset--and they would do

newspaper articles about different stories on things we were doing in the community. And I

hated it when they called me a black leader, you know. I hated that. Or if I--if you came into

town and somebody said, “Oh, have you met Daisy James? She’s that black lady that . . .” you

know? I hated that. I hated that because I felt that—but, I mean, I didn’t lose it over it, but I

always felt in my heart when are we ever going to say a community leader--not a black

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community leader, but a community leader--made this statement or this quote. Or, “Do you

know Daisy James? She works for the Green River District Health Department.” Or, “She lives

out on Wesleyan Place.” You know. That type of thing. When we do that, that’s when we’ve

arrived. That is when we’ve arrived is when we look at people and we don’t have to tag them by

race. I think we have arrived when we reach that point.

BRINSON: Okay. Thank you very much.

JAMES: I’ve enjoyed talking to you.

BRINSON: I’ve enjoyed . . .

END OF INTERVIEW