Last Autumn I began outlining a talk with the intention of presenting it in the Saturday Evening Adult Session of our October 2020 Stake Conference. The conference has been cancelled due to COVID-19, so I thought I could share a portion of the talk here.
When I was young, segregation was still in effect in my little hometown of Foreman in Little River County, Arkansas. As I entered 1st grade in 1965, there were two schools in town – Foreman and Unity, with Black students primarily attending Unity and white students attending Foreman.
Though a few students had begun transferring from Unity over to Foreman School in the preceding years, full integration in our particular school district didn’t occur until I entered the 5th grade in 1969. Unity School was merged into Foreman School and what had previously been the Unity School campus became the Foreman Junior High campus. We were then all in one school district together.
When I entered the 6th grade, Mr. Buford Williams became one of my teachers. Mr. Williams had come from Unity School. He was a large middle-aged man, and always wore dark slacks, black leather dress shoes, a short sleeved white shirt and a thin dark tie in class. In my memory, he looked like those classic photographs of civil rights leaders in the 1960’s.
He was a good teacher, very patient and quiet natured. He was quick to smile, quick to laugh, and quick to discipline when needed. He believed that the pen was mightier than the paddle. He would discipline by requiring students to write their full name a few hundred times on sheets of paper and turn them in. This may seem mild, but it really did have the desired effect – most would have rather taken the licks. And he could tell if a student had enlisted the help of friends, mothers, or others to help write, and the perpetrator would have to do it again.
There was a group of about a dozen of us boys in this class – Black and white – who sat together on the right side of his classroom. We were a little unruly at times but were not mean or disrespectful – we were good boys overall, good friends with one another, and good students. We’d get in line if he shut us down, which he did not have to do very often. He handed out encouragement and discipline in an even-handed manner, regardless of the race or community standing of the family of the perpetrator.
Mr. Williams did not address us by our first names. Instead, he called us each “Doctor,” like a title – girls and boys both. For example, I was not Alan – I was “Doctor Gauldin.” Even then, we understood this as his subtle and unique way of addressing us as he saw us – our potential. He was the first to ever suggest such was a possibility for this dysfunctionally shy, introverted small-town Arkansas boy. I have often reflected on this since the day I received the Juris Doctorate degree in 1988.
He had a personal library – a cabinet full of books – that he offered to lend out to encourage us to read. I was not inclined toward reading chapter books when I was young. I had in fact only read one such book on my own at that point (and that had taken me two years). Even so, I borrowed a book, written by a Black author, about a young Black boy in a family of migrant farm workers.
I don’t remember the name of the book, and I have searched the internet in vain to identify it and obtain a copy. I remember that I really enjoyed it and read it through quickly. It was a very optimistic and uplifting story that ended with the boy’s family finding a home of their own and the father finding a good job, so they did not have to move from place to place any more. The book gave me some small insight into a totally different type of lifestyle from my own.
It was not until I was much older that I learned my own Daddy and grandparents had been farm workers for hire, somewhat as described in the story, to keep a step ahead of poverty. Daddy was held back one elementary school grade in the 1940’s because he had missed too much school picking cotton over in Oklahoma. He had to do double assignments the following year to catch up with his age-group. I did not know at the time that I was reading about some of his experiences. This boy in the story was not very different from my own Daddy.
After we were promoted out of 6th grade and into junior high, my buddy Donald and I often rode our bikes around our rural neighborhood. Mr. and Ms. Williams were our neighbors, so Donald and I rode over there from time to time to visit with Mr. Williams. He would always stop what he was doing (even though it was an inconvenience) and take time to talk with us. I remember he had a picture of Dr. Martin Luther King on the piano in the home.
Mr. Williams was always at every home football game, standing in his customary spot, intently watching every play, and available for a chat with the many who would stop to visit with him. He was deeply religious, kind, gentle and dignified in his manner and in his personal deportment. He had a quiet strength and goodness much like my own Daddy. He was faithful and active in his church and in our little community. He was universally loved and respected by all of the children who went through his class over the years, and by the entire community.
I am confident Mr. Williams had opinions on events as they existed in his day, though he did not express these openly to his young students. He may have been, at varying times, very active in local efforts to overcome segregation, racism, poverty and other societal problems. I don’t actually know to what depths his public and political involvement may have extended. I regret now not being more curious about these things during his lifetime, as I could have discussed them with him and learned even more from him.
And Mr. Williams was not “magic.” I am sure his wife or his son could have told us of his imperfections. I know he was not a flawless person, though I never personally witnessed any failings of significance.
I don’t remember any deeply profound, philosophical or quotable thing he may have said. What I recall is that he was the first teacher I felt I could talk with. He gave us personal attention when we needed it, and his responses to us were kind and uplifting. He encouraged us in our best efforts and in developing our potential and our nobler virtues.
He frequently complimented our scholastic efforts. He corrected us with clarity and soberness if he observed any inappropriate behavior. In spite of any ordinary human imperfections he may have had, his basic goodness and inherent worth as a man and as son of God are what endure in my memory these many years after his passing.
When Sister Gauldin and I were to be married in June, 1986, I sent Mr. Williams an invitation to attend our reception at the Texarkana Ward Meetinghouse. I had not seen him or spoken with him for many years, so I was very gratified when he walked through the door. My classmates who attended were happy to visit with him as well, since we all had been in that group of rowdy boys so many years before. It was a great reunion; I was honored he could meet my new bride.
When Mr. Williams passed away a couple of years later, I was saddened and yet grateful to have had one last chance to talk with him and thank him for his good influence. I loved and admired him. I’ve had many very good teachers – Mr. Williams was my favorite. I will never forget him. His life most definitely matters.
Whenever I hear of racism or bigotry, I think of Mr. Williams. I am certain he must have, in his lifetime, endured many instances of segregation, injustice and discrimination. These experiences could have made him bitter and angry. Instead, he chose to become more and more like the Savior. In doing so, he became an influence for good with hundreds of children and for our small community as a whole. He had a lot to teach me, and I had and still have a lot to learn. I can yet draw from his example and become better for it.
All of us have known persons who, through personal integrity, have taught and can still teach us to be better than we have been. When in doubt, we can draw on their examples to guide us in our actions. I can ask myself, when confronted with a situation, “How would Mr. Williams view my conduct or the things I say? How would he answer this question differently?”
When we do so, we may be surprised at the answers we will come to – the changes that may come over us, and the increased understanding we might achieve. You and I may sometimes allow uncharitable thoughts or feelings to surface in our minds or hearts for those who are different from us. We may discover within ourselves biases and prejudices that we thought we didn’t have. We may think that we do not know how to relate to or converse with those of a different color, nationality, language or other characteristic, and so be inclined to refrain from even trying. Or, we may try and have the efforts come off so awkwardly that we are discouraged to try again.
When such times come, I recommend we follow the example and memory of Mr. Williams and the many others like him. I hope that, before we resort to giving up, or to anger, unrighteous judging, prejudice, accusations, insults or just plain indifference – before we say or do things we will likely come to regret – that we will choose rather to turn to kindness, dignity and respect.
Though he was a mentor to me, Mr. Williams was and is in eternal reality my brother and a fellow son of Heavenly Parents. I am in no hurry to leave this world, but when I do, I look forward to my reunion with him.
My hope in this life is that, through following his example and those of so many others, you and I can successfully walk along the path to becoming more like the Savior Jesus Christ.
Sincerely,
Pres. Alan Gauldin
Stake President, Springdale Stake