The day began with this puzzling insight: I had awakened that day indifferent to the nomenclature of our household, but by the time of the evening’s ceremony, I was confirmed in the belief of who I was — a graduating member of the class of 1974.
There was a lot of pomp and circumstance about the class. We marched into the venue prepared to show the world who we were. The marchers walked down the aisles ignoble to what our lives had become. Still, we sat down and awaited further instructions or until the master of ceremonies stood at the podium:
The first speaker was called to address the audience that had gathered.
The speaker serenaded the audience with an arousing welcome: “We greet you in the name of whom our school was named . . . and our community founded — The Reverend Henry T. Blythe.
He was also the founder of our community; a man of Methodist persuasion.
Blytheville, Arkansas was founded in 1879 and incorporated in 1889. It became the county seat for the northern half of Mississippi County (Chickasawba District in 1901).
The 1880’s had begun in a sense of gayety: It was a time of frivolousness yet greed was beckoning the American consciousness.
Still, the black intelligentsia desired to offer America a cure-all for the ills that had plagued the country since we had become a Democratic Republic.
Yet, America didn’t heed the message; and so, we continued to grip into this nadir of chaos: Americans were becoming enmeshed in a crisis of national proportions. This was obvious in how the nomenclature of the way things were gave black people second-class billing or status.
It wasn’t until the latter part of 60’s that blacks begin to formulate a new paradigm. By then, my hometown was safely cemented in the annals of history as a migrant community for droves of transients who viewed Blytheville as merely a stopping off point until they could move on to more prosperous climes.
Blacks began calling themselves African Americans through the thought leader of a unique lifestyle — Afro-American centrism.