Atticus Finch came alive for me on the beach a few miles down Highway 90 from Biloxi.
So, it kinda struck a nerve when I read last weekend that the Biloxi School District had deleted “To Kill a Mockingbird” from the eighth-grade reading list. This decision, as you can imagine, sparked a firestorm. In my view, this book should be required reading for every literate Southerner.
Why would anyone think it makes sense to deprive eight graders in coastal Mississippi? They live only 150 miles from Monroeville, Alabama, the town whose stories inspired Harper Lee to write.
In 1970, my dad’s company moved us to Gulfport, a few miles down the beach from Biloxi. I’d grown up in the Dallas/Fort Worth area – mostly Fort Worth. I was 16. If you would briefly consult your 16-year-old self, then I will spare you several paragraphs of hormone-poisoned misery.
I retreated to a world of music and books. One day, I was scanning the shelves at the local TG&Y (we believed that stood for Turtles, Girdles and Yo Yos) when I saw a paperback copy of “To Kill a Mockingbird.”
Until that moment, I’m not sure I knew the movie was based on a book.
When I was in second grade back in Fort Worth, my family packed us in the station wagon and headed to the drive-in for our weekly movie. Through the smoky haze floating from Mom and Dad’s cigarettes in the front seat, I watched the story of kids – who seemed like me — growing up in a small town.
Mostly, I remembered Atticus Finch. Nothing against my dad, a reserved World War II vet who worked himself numb for us, but this father seemed beyond brave, wise and smart. So decent. His kids called him by his first name. He shot dead a rabid dog. It was hard not to want to replace Scout on his lap, rocking on the front porch and listening to his stories.
After buying the book, I sat on the beach across the highway from our house, reading and brooding. One of my many discoveries in coastal Mississippi was a much more in-your-face brand of racism. Looking back now, it is painfully clear that the wonderful life I remember as a kid in Fort Worth was insulated by segregation. We spoke gently if not condescendingly of black people, even if there were none in my schools.
Things were different in Mississippi. Black kids did attend my school in Gulfport. We had black teachers. And white students spoke of them in the coarse, racist terms using language I had never heard at home.
This was the backdrop as Scout told me about Atticus Finch. In a place not so different from this, he found the courage to stand on his own principles and break from his own people. He risked himself – and his family. At that moment, I also was spending an absurd amount of time cruising in my 1966 Mustang singing along as the eight-track blared Neil Young’s “Southern Man?” You get the picture. My life changed on that beach.
The Biloxi school district isn’t saying much about its decision. Based on what officials there have said, they seemed to be appeasing parents fretting over some words in the book. You can guess the words. It’s no wonder that parents were shocked to discover these words; they’ve only been there for about 60 years now.
Kenny Holloway, a school board member, explained it this way to a local reporter: “There is some language in the book that makes people uncomfortable, and we can teach the same lesson with other books.”
I don’t know Mr. Holloway, but I have my doubts about the assertion that art is so interchangeable. No Beatles song, as great as most are (particularly John’s), can substitute for Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” or Beyonce’s “Lemonade.”
There’s something singular about the way a great writer can insert characters, places and their stories in your soul. Please let me know if you know a good substitute for “To Kill a Mockingbird” that an eighth grader can manage.
This is not the first time the incendiary language of this book has shocked educators into banning it. In 1966, a Virginia county’s decision to declare the book “immoral” prompted Lee to write a letter to The Richmond Times-Dispatch.
“What I’ve heard makes me wonder if any of its members can read,” she wrote. “ ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ spells out in words of seldom more than two syllables a code of honor and conduct, Christian in its ethic, that is the heritage of all Southerners.”
School officials carefully point out that the book in question is still in the library and that students are free to study it independently. They just don’t have to any more.
I can only conclude that Biloxi’s educators either had not read the book, or, if they had, failed to grasp its portrayal of principled courage.
Most troubling is the idea that anyone should worry that great literature might make children uncomfortable. Setting aside the fact that the world of an eighth grader in 2017 is filled with truly offensive experiences beyond the imagination of a writer in the 1950s, who says it’s a good idea to protect our kids from the world’s ugly truths?
Learning should be uncomfortable. Growth hurts. Our job as parents is to produce tough, independent adults who can take over this democratic society (soon?). Believe me, when these kids become adults, they’ll have to contend with far coarser stuff than Harper Lee can throw at them.
Folks in Biloxi speculate it was the “n-word” that caused so much discomfort. It is indeed an ugly, powerful word, one we use rarely in the AJC. Nevertheless, we need to prepare kids to confront it – particularly in the South.
I can confirm that the word does appear in the book from time to time, mostly in dialogue.
Caution: If you are an eighth grader in Biloxi, stop reading here. This might upset you.
At one point Scout, the six-year-old protagonist, asks Atticus to explain what it means to be an “(n-word) lover.”
“Scout,” said Atticus, “(n-word)-lover is just one of those terms that don’t mean anything. …
“It’s hard to explain — ignorant, trashy people use it when they think somebody’s favoring Negroes over and above themselves. It’s slipped into usage with some people like ourselves, when they want a common, ugly term to label somebody.”
“You aren’t really a (n-word)-lover, then, are you?”
“I certainly am. I do my best to love everybody … I’m hard put, sometimes — baby, it’s never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name. It just shows you how poor that person is, it doesn’t hurt you.”
OK, Biloxi kids, please resume reading.
Kate Dungan French, a retired librarian from Texas, has the right idea. She told the Biloxi Sun Herald that this flap would only booster the book’s readership.
“The school board has dangled sweet forbidden fruit in book form and the kids will eat it up” French said. “Kudos to the Biloxi School Board for pulling ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ from their shelves and making it a must-read.”
About the Author
