Freda Andrews - On poetry she would always read to her students (clip)

Freda Andrews: I realized that for my children to feel what I felt, I had a couple of poems that I remember the most. I would have them learn and recite.
Poems like “Harriet Tubman”.
Harriet Tubman
Didn’t take no stuff
And wasn’t afraid of anything either.
Didn’t come into in this world to be no slave
And wasn’t going to stay one either.
Farewell, she sang to her friends.
She was mighty sad to leave them.
She ran away that dark hot night,
Ran looking for her freedom.
When I would do this poem to my students, they loved it. That is how I taught history to my children. It used to be Black history but it’s history. They would learn these poems. In fact, in my church I served as a Sunday School teacher. I would utilize them to instill proudness in our children. When we grew up, you have got to realize, things weren’t the same as they are now. Black folk didn’t feel like they were worthy of anything or worthy to have the same advantages as others.

So I had them to learn “Hey Black Child”
Hey Black Child
Do you know who you are, do you know who you really are?
Do you know you can be what you want to be, if you try to be what you can be.
Hey Black child.
Do you know where you are going, where you are really going?
Do you know you can learn what you want to learn, if you try to learn what you can learn.
Hey Black child.
Do you know you are strong, I mean really strong?
Do you know you can do what you want to do, if you try to do what you can do?
Hey Black child, be what you can be, learn what you must learn, and do what you can do.
And tomorrow your nation will be what you want it to be.

This was our civil rights movement. Oh, I have so many [poems]. They knew Mrs. Andrews was the poetry lady. They had to learn every one of these. That’s the thing about it. I have children coming to me today saying Ms. Andrews, “Do you remember when you taught me that poem.” I say “I sure do. You better never forget it!”

The other one I used to love, because I wanted to make sure my children were able to feel like they were somebody. The music like James Brown [was important.] Hey and I’m Black and I’m proud [was his message.] We needed to know those things, they needed to be instilled in our children. We would go to museums. They would display us as ugly dolls. Creatures that always had the slavery mentality. They didn’t show the beauty of us. I wanted the children that I touched to have those [positive] moments thinking “Hey I don’t have to look like somebody else. I can be who I am and still be great.”

This next one was by a little fellow. He was only 11 years [old] when he wrote this poem. His name was Curtsy Thompson. I never met him, of course. He was from Gary, Indiana. His poem was “I Want to be Somebody.” My children would recite this.
I want to be somebody, somebody real bad.
So, if I can’t be the movie star, then I’ll write the script.
(They needed to know you don’t have to be out there, they can do other things.)
I want to be somebody, somebody real bad.
So, if I can’t be the President, then I’ll be his wife.
I want to be somebody, somebody real bad.
So, if I can’t live in the big house on the hill, then I will be the architect.
I want to be somebody, somebody real bad.
So, if I can’t be the shoemaker, then I’ll wear his best shoes.
I want to be somebody, somebody real bad.
So, if I can’t sing the song, then I’ll write the lyrics.
I want to be somebody, somebody real bad.
I would have the children add their own stanzas--their own expression of what it means to be somebody.

This is how through the movement…at one point I got in a little bit of trouble. I don’t know if I should say that or not. I was one of those militant teachers. I brought a big afro. I was told I looked like Angela Davis. In fact, if you saw a picture of her you might say, “yes she did.” I recall my principal wasn’t used to that. I had gone to an integrated school. I was hired in Person County for 11 years. The first time I went to interview there at the school I had my hair pulled back. After I got the job, I came there with a big afro. The principal didn’t know who I was. I often teased him about that afterwards. I was in a place called Helena in Timberlake, North Carolina. In those days they didn’t have a movie theater.