By Alleen Brown
Contributing Writer
Betty Ellison-Harpole moved to the Midwest in the 1950s from segregated Memphis, Tennessee. For 37 years she taught kindergarten through third grade, as one of few African American teachers in Minneapolis schools. She piloted the cityâs first all-day kindergarten class at Bethune school in the early 1980s.
Although sheâs retired now, Ellison-Harpole is still active in education circles, and age has not diminished her personality. If you give her the opportunity, she will talk to you for hours about early education, Minneapolis politics, and growing up poor and African American in the South.
Hereâs an edited version of a Daily Planet interview with Ms. Ellison-Harpole.
Growing up poor in segregated Memphis
âAfrican American people are very creative. We are creative by necessity, okay?
âIâm number seven of eight children, so the experience that I had of being in a large family, being poor, was learning how to make due, learning how to

Photo courtesy
of TC Dailey Planet
substitute, learning how to go out of the box to survive, learning to share with many people, there in the house with eight children.
âMy mother cooked everything green except leaves on the tree. I thought, âLord, Iâm going to come home from school one day, and someone would have explained to her the nutritional value of leaves, and weâre going to have a pot of leaves.â
âYears later, they had an article in the paper about greens. I cut it out and sent it to my mother and said, âOh hereâs some things that you might not know.â
âMany of our teachers have not shared those kinds of experiences. They cannot relate to what this child brings to the table. They donât know how to go beyond the box. I know I can bring my life experience, my common sense and combine it to my education.â
From segregated Memphis to the White Midwest
âAll of our teachers [in Memphis] were African American. They could be your support system. It gave us the strength.
âThere used to be a commercial for Gleem toothpaste that said Gleem put that invisible shield on you that protected your teeth. [Our teachers] gave us that shield. They would tell you some of the kinds of things you might encounter when you are out there.
âMy people had moved to Kenosha, Wisconsin. I graduated that June, came to the University of Wisconsin. There were about 15 African Americans there.
That first semester, I was the only one in all of my classes. The counselor was never cognizant of that. They never tried to be sensitive to us. In fact, they never even said anything that let us know that they knew we existed.
âThat Christmas [1954], I integrated the lingerie department at a store that was similar to Gimbels, called Boston Store. Iâve always been a person that I refuse to allow you to stop me. My mother said, âCanât nobody get on your back unless itâs bent over.ââ
Racism then, racism now
âMy son-in-law was an electrician at that building down on Ninth and Hennepin, I think. He was working there, and he was the only [African American]. When people passed by, the workers, they would do the little catcalls, and then theyâd make derogatory remarks about African American women. Then theyâd look at him, and he didnât laugh.
âThese are the kinds of things that we had to endure in Memphis. My son figured, âI hadnât done anything.â You donât have to.
â[In Memphis] we lived through it in the sense that we had the cohesiveness of our neighborhood and the support of our neighborhood. All of us had had similar experiences, so there were some things we just wouldnât do. We knew what the rules [were]. We knew to expect it, and so we had that shield.
âA lot of our young people here think, âWe just doing something, and we havenât violated no law, so we donât have to worry about it.â But theyâll stop you. The police will stop them in a minute.
âHere in Minnesota, I must say, itâs really one of the most racist places Iâve been. This is my biased view. They smile, but theyâve already decided which box youâre supposed to be in.
âA man told me when I was talking about jobs for people of color, he said, âOh youâre so passionate.â They used to call us âthe angry Black womanâ or âthe troublemakerâ or whatever. The signal is, âOh, sheâs not one of those whoâs going to fit into our box.â
âThey use the word tolerance. Weâre not talking about tolerance. Weâre talking about respecting my right to be different.â
The first all-day kindergarten class
Judy Farmer was the president of the school board. She made the statement that the children in the housing project did not know how to hold a book, so [Supt. Richard Green] asked me if I would pilot the program for the all-day kindergarten.
âAt the end of the year, when the children had to be tested, I said to the principal at the school, âNo, have a cadre from central office test them, because theyâll swear we did something.â They tested higher than Bryn Mawr.
âA child is born learning ready. You take what that child brings and help that child to develop. And you listen to the child, and you try and understand what it is thatâs impeding that child from understanding a particular skill. And you hopefully can find a way to help that child over that hurdle.
Recipe teachers and substituting ingredients
We have too many what I call ârecipe teachers.â Weâre going to make gingerbread. Youâre looking at the recipe, and it says one cup sugar. We donât have any sugar, so we canât make it. We canât do this. But if you understand what the sugar did to the consistency of the ingredients, you might be able to substitute it with honey or syrup and get the same results.
âI had nine boys who just didnât seem to be interested in the math worksheet in the math book. I took the nine boys, I said, âHey letâs go back to the back.â I had bought some Hot Wheels cars. We got on the floor; I took just a handful, and gave them just a handful.
âThey go, âYou gave him more than you gave me!â
âI said, âOh? How many more does he have than you? Can you count them? Do you see that number on one of these number cards that you have?â
âIt was meaningful to them. It wasnât just the numbers.â
On working with African American boys
âYou find a lot of our children, especially our African American young men, when they get to like the third or fourth grade, thatâs when they start to have trouble with it. Thatâs because their persona is kicking in. They donât want you to know they canât read, so they start clowning. Itâs a pride thing.
âThey say something about me being an old lady as I get older. They call me some name. I say, âMy mother told me when I was a little baby what my name was, and she said, âItâs not what they call you, itâs what you answer to,â and I only answer to my name.â They look at me like Iâm crazy, but I refuse to allow them to push my buttons.
âYou have to be very creative, and you have to love children. If you love children they pick up whether you love them or not. You can get blood out of a turnip if they know you love them.â
On why itâs important for kids to have teachers that look like them
âLetâs say it like this: youâve been gone from home for three months and lived in a hotel. You might have all of the amenities that the hotel can give you, a high-scale, 5-star hotel, but when itâs time to go home you say, âWhew,â and you can relax. You donât have to fight all of the barriers.
âThe children need to get used to all kinds of people, but there needs to be enough people that look like you, a variety of people, where that comfort level exists, and you know that thereâs somebody.â
On being an African American teacher in Minneapolis schools
âYou bring to the classroom whateverâs in you. If youâre a person that looks at people as individuals, you bring it. And if you have that narrow view, you bring it. You teach who you are.
âThis lady told me, âOh, you walk in like you own the school.â
âI said, âOh is it for sale?â Theyâre not saying it as a compliment.
âThey watch what you have on. My middle son was a probation officer. He worked part-time at Wilsonâs [Leather] when it was in City Center, so youâd get discounts. One of my coworkers asked my education assistant, âHow much leather does she have?â
âSo I said, âOh I understand you want to know about my leather,â I said. âWell Iâll tell you, Iâm going to the beauty shop Thursday, and the three-fingered man â thatâs what they call the people who shoplift â the three-fingered man will be there. So if you want to go with me, Iâll get him to hook you up with something.ââ
âShe just turned red.
âThis is me!â
Thanks to the TC Daily Planet for sharing this story with us.
Reach the MSR staff at msrnewsonline@spokesman-recorder.com.