Hi, I'm Dave Isay, founder of StoryCorps.
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In 2017, a couple years after the StoryCorps mobile tour started, we added another
air stream to the fleet.
Atlanta, Detroit, Chicago, Newark, Oakland.
We went to about 22 places.
So for example, some way down south we went.
Two hours away was this place called Mount Bayou.
Mount Bayou was the first time incorporated in America by Black people.
That's Melvin Reeves.
He designed and launched StoryCorps Grillo.
That's the initiative we're talking about in this episode.
You're hearing excerpts from a conversation I had with him a few years back.
So the name Grillo.
Can you talk about what that means and why you chose it for this?
Sure.
A Grillo in West African culture is the holder of a community's history.
And some of them are able to recite the history going way, way back to the present day.
So it just seemed sensible to use it as a way to frame what we were trying to achieve.
StoryCorps Grillo set out to ensure that stories of African Americans are preserved and presented
with dignity.
Were people eager to work with you?
People were eager to work with us because they understood the importance of being included
in the American narrative.
I felt like what we were doing is important.
And I had confidence that we were going to do it reasonably well.
Well, I would say you did.
I mean, where was 1867?
That's a copyright.
Yep.
In one year.
Right.
And StoryCorps Grillo continues to this day.
Anyone who identifies as Black or African American can choose to have their interview included
in the collection.
It's housed at the Smithsonian Museum for African American History and Culture.
But in this episode, we're going back to one of the very first people to ever record a
Grillo interview in the very first city the Grillo booth ever stopped in, Atlanta, Georgia.
Hi, I'm William Lynn Weaver.
I'm 57 years old and I'm here with my daughter for StoryCorps Grillo.
Dr. William Lynn Weaver ended up recording seven interviews over the years and actually
holds the record for the most StoryCorps broadcasts.
My name is William Lynn Weaver. We're an Oxford Tennessee.
William Lynn Weaver.
I'm 67 years old.
It's good to be doing another StoryCorps.
The date is August.
He told stories about family, his career in medicine, his children, and shared his memories
of growing up in the South during the Civil Rights era.
I don't remember a date that a teacher did not tell me that I didn't belong.
The school's mascot was a Confederate colonel.
At football games, there were always racial comments, banners with the inward.
I remember the last day I had class at West's walking out the door and I consciously refused
to look back.
What happened after this story aired was something no one saw coming, especially not Lynn.
I'm Jasmine Morris.
And I'm Michael Garoflo.
From MPR, this is StoryCorps then and now celebrating 20 years of StoryCorps.
Let's start with the interview that Lynn recorded during the very first week of the
Gryotor.
He spoke with his daughter, Kimberly, about his own father, Ted Weaver, who made a living
as a janitor and chauffeur.
My father was everything to me and it's actually kind of difficult talking about him without
becoming very emotional.
Up until, you know, he died, every decision I made, I'd always call him.
And he would never tell me what to do, but he would always listen and say, well, what do
you want to do?
And he made me feel like I could do anything that I wanted to do.
I can remember when we integrated the schools that there were many times when I was just
scared.
And I didn't think that I would survive and I'd look up and he'd be there.
And whenever I saw him, I knew that I was safe.
You know, I always tell you that your mama is the smartest person I've ever met.
But I think my father ranks right up there as brilliant.
When I was in high school, I was taking algebra and I was sitting at the kitchen table trying
to do my homework.
I got frustrated so I just can't figure this out.
I'm just, so my father said, what's the problem?
He came by.
He said, what's the problem?
And I said, that's just algebra.
And he said, well, let me look at it.
I said, they didn't even have algebra in your day.
And I went to sleep and around four o'clock that morning, he woke me up.
He said, come on son, get up.
He sent me at the kitchen table and he taught me algebra.
But he had done it set up all night and read the algebra book.
And then he explained the problems to me so I could do them and understand them.
And till this day, I lived my life trying to be half the man my father was.
Just half the man.
And I would be as success if my children loved me half as much as I loved my father.
Lynn shared a lot of memories over the years of his childhood growing up in Mechanicsville,
a black working class neighborhood in Knoxville, Tennessee.
In that first interview, he briefly mentioned integrating his high school in the late 60s.
He was 14 at the time and about to start his sophomore year at West, a previously all-white
high school.
And he came back to story core to tell that full story.
As soon as we got into the school, the principal was calling the role.
He said, Bill Weaver.
And I said, my name is William.
And he said, oh, you're smart.
Inward.
I'd been in school maybe 30 minutes.
But he suspended me.
I don't remember a day that a teacher did not tell me that I didn't belong.
We'd have a test and it stand over me then to snatch the paper after months of times
up.
The first report card, I got all F's, including Fizzette.
So I've gone from being a good student to starting to think, well, maybe I don't belong.
Maybe I am dumb.
I was home one evening wondering what I'm going to do.
Then there's a knock on the door.
And it's my seven great science teacher from the black school, Mr. Hill.
He said, you know, I understand that you have instrument trouble.
Then I said, yeah, Mr. Hill, I think they're trying to run me away.
And he said, what I need you to do is to come back to his junior high school after school
every day and serve the mornings.
He said, can you do that?
That's it, yes, sir.
And so every day waiting for me would be Mr. Hill with a sorted of the teachers, the English
teacher, the math teacher, and they tutored me.
And once I got past those F's, I stopped downing myself, but learning became almost a
spiteful activity to prove the teachers at the high school wrong.
And no matter what I did, academically or athletically, I was never recognized at that
school.
I never had a conversation with the counselor about going to college.
But doing my senior year, I got a letter saying you've been awarded a scholarship.
So I ended up going to Harvard University.
And 37 years after I left high school, I met my older brother's funeral talking to Mr.
Hill.
And I said, you know, Mr. Hill, if I had not gotten to a scholarship, I don't know what
would have happened.
And I don't know how I got to scholarship because I'd never even applied for it.
And he said, I know because I filled in the application and sent it out for you.
So Mr. Hill stepped in and I believed saved my life.
And at the time, I didn't realize how much I was being helped.
And that's the ignorance of youth and the wisdom of age when you look back on it and you
say, how did I get here?
How did I make it?
Because people helped you, whether you knew it or not.
Lynn went on to have a long career in medicine, performing and teaching surgery at hospitals
and universities across the country, including the Morehouse School of Medicine.
But it wasn't just in school where Lynn had to fight to belong.
In addition to integrating West, Lynn and several other Black students, including his older
brother, also integrated the school's football team.
Here he is again, describing what it was like playing for the West High School Rebels.
The school's mascot was a Confederate colonel.
And at football games, when you came out on the field, the crowd would be hollering and
the dixie would be playing and they'd hold a paper flag up and the team would burst
out through the Confederate flag.
The Black players made a decision to run around the flag.
We had teams who refused to play us because we had Black players.
There were always racial comments, banners with the inward.
And at one point in time, it was even a dummy with a new surrounded snake hanging from the
goalposts.
I remember we played an all-white school.
The game was maybe only in the second quarter.
Our brother tackled their tight-end and broke his collarbone.
And when they had to take him off the field with his arm in a sling, that's when the crowd
really got ugly.
We were on the visitor's side line and they were coming across the field.
So we backed up against the fence.
I remember the coach saying, keep your helmet on.
So I was pretty afraid.
And then my hand reached through the fence and grabbed my shoulder pads.
I looked around and it's my father.
And I turned to my brother.
I said, it's okay, dad's here.
The state police came and escorted us to the buses.
The crowd is still chaining and throwing things at the bus.
And as the bus drives off, I look back and I see my father standing there and all these
angry white people.
And I said to my brother, how's daddy going to get out of here that might kill him?
We get to the high school.
And the most incredible feeling I think I've ever had was when my father walked through
the door to locker room and said, are you ready to go?
Is there nothing that happened?
And I wanted to tell him that I don't come to any more games.
But selfishly, I couldn't.
I needed him there for me to feel safe.
Normally, when you were a team, you feel like everybody's going to stand together.
And I never got that feeling that the team would stand with me if things got bad.
I think a number of the white students who were there with me would say, now, if I could
have did something different, I would have said something.
But that's what evil depends on good people to be quiet.
Lynn graduated from West High School in 1967.
He took his diploma, left Knoxville, and never looked back.
I think West defined me.
Once I'd finished West, I said, OK, I can finish college.
I can do medical school because I've been through worse.
But I have PTSD from West High School.
And in 50 years since I graduated, I've never even driven by West High School.
So I don't regret it.
But I've come away with a lot of scars.
There are stories about integrating West, aired on MPR.
Lynn got hundreds of responses from listeners thanking him for sharing what he went through.
But there was one email in particular that caught his attention.
We'll find out what it said right after the break.
Stay with us.
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In August of 2017, after Lynn's story core interview about his first day at West High School
ran on MPR, he received an email with a subject line, Greetings from West High School.
It was written by the school's principal, Ashley Jessie.
She wrote, I heard your segment on MPR this morning.
Thank you so much for sharing your journey, including the hard times.
It is a chapter in life that we are not proud of at West.
If you are ever in Knoxville, we'd love for you to come talk to our students about
your journey through life.
Without hesitating, Lynn declined her invitation.
But she got him on the phone and told him how much his alma mater had changed.
So Lynn decided it was time to go see for himself.
That story core producer Judd Esty Kendall.
Well, for me it's kind of to release some of that anger and bitterness that I've held
for 50 years.
Is that West?
No?
That's right, then arrive at your destination on the right.
Oh my gracious, this is West High School.
This is extremely different.
Look, there's black students walking.
Come to school, amazing.
As Lynn stepped out of his car and headed inside the school, he noticed how much it had
changed.
The Confederate flag that once loomed inside the school's entrance was gone.
In fact, he didn't recognize very much at all.
Still, there were some familiar faces.
Family members and former classmates who joined Lynn on his journey back to West, including
friend and former teammate Fred Downs.
During their first year at West, Fred stood up to a white upperclassman who was harassing
him in the school auditorium.
Afterwards, Fred was not only expelled, but also began to receive threatening calls from
the Ku Klux Klan.
And he called me on the telephone several times, saying stuff that they were going to do
to me.
Basically, they was going to kill me.
And I gave my address, I don't come on up.
That's one of the reasons why I consider you the bravest man I've ever known, because you
were a 15-year-old kid.
With help from the NAACP, Fred returned to West, and graduated alongside Lynn in 1967.
And since then, Lynn had always wanted to ask Fred one question.
Why did you decide to stay at West High School?
I think it was my call to the Tuesday.
Regardless what the pain was, or my wheel was growing in derrers.
I didn't let them break me.
It was just something in me that I didn't quite understand myself.
Every day that I walked through those halls, I thought about leaving.
All during that time, I was afraid, but you were the person who showed no fear.
I'm just a guy that had a lot of faith.
And I only did I have faith in myself.
I had faith in a lot of you guys.
We had this love for each other.
Most people wouldn't understand.
And I don't think you could really define it.
I'm like a war zone, who are you in the trenches with?
And that person is lifelong.
Yeah.
We became true brothers, then.
You know, I'm a little slower, a little tired, but Lynn weaver, I would always have you back.
And I've just been honored to have you as a friend, Fred.
I just want to thank you.
And the two old friends walked the halls of West together for the first time in five decades.
Another first came later that day when the principal welcomed Lynn into the school auditorium.
Students, faculty and honored guests.
We are extremely honored to have a very special guest with us today.
Please help me welcome home to West High School, Dr. William Lynn Weaver.
And Dr. Weaver, there's something I want to tell you.
We only welcome one way around here.
We are.
If you couldn't tell the students were shouting the words, one West.
This is not the West High School I attended 50 years ago.
But I would say to you, look to your left, look to your right, somebody next to you, somebody
in this auditorium.
It's been harassed.
It's being excluded because of the race, the religion, the sexual orientation, or the
economic status.
You can change that.
And I want everybody at least to think about how can you make a difference in somebody's
life.
You're never too young to stand up, to walk out, to kneel for those who are not as well
off as you are.
So make West proud and make yourself proud.
And as Lynn finished his speech in the school auditorium, something occurred to him.
This was the first time he had ever stepped foot on that stage.
As a student, I remember sitting in that auditorium when they announced the scholarships for
students who were going to college the next year.
But none of the black students were called.
I was not recognized, freed down to it, gotten the scholarship to not for college for football,
was not recognized.
So to stand on that stage, the auditorium full of students and teachers to have them positively
respond to me was a great feeling.
At this point, Lynn has finally been recognized by his alma mater.
On his visit there, the football team presented him with a personalized jersey.
Lynn also learned that the schools foundation had started a scholarship in his name.
The mayor of Knoxville, even proclaimed March 27, 2018, Dr. William Lynn Weaver Day.
The lesson I learned in science was that for every action, there's an equal and opposite
reaction.
So the reaction to hate should be love.
But the science doesn't work for human beings.
I always consider West High School hell and I haven't changed.
Those three years were hell.
I don't think you can do evil of people and expect them just to forgive.
I mean, I'm not a saint.
My experience at West High School taught me hate, but my return to West High School taught
me that in spite of the hatred, there can be change.
And that change can be one that's loving.
Just a little over a year after he made that trip, Dr. William Lynn Weaver died on May 25,
2019.
He was 69.
This episode is dedicated to Lynn and to Melvin Reeves, the mastermind behind story
court gringo.
Next week, stories from beyond the recording booth recorded using the story court app.
Grandpa, tell me about your parents.
Tell me what you were like as a child.
Do you have any advice about getting older?
Don't fight.
It's all with it.
It's wonderful.
Thank you, Grandpa.
This episode was produced by Judd Este Kendall and me with Max Young Rice, Garrett Floyd
is our technical director.
Liz McCarty created the art for this episode, special thanks to Elaine Davenport and Katie
Simon.
We wanted to let you know it's time again for Story Quar's great Thanksgiving Listen.
Honor loved one by sitting down together over the holiday.
To ask them questions, listen to their stories and preserve their memories in the story
court archive.
And you don't even have to be in the same place.
You can record virtually as well.
Find out how at thegreatlisten.org.
We'll be back next week.
I'm Jasmine Morris.
And I'm Michael Garofalo.
Thanks for listening.
Thank you.
