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Relentless Struggle

by Edmund H. Dale PhD.

266 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #99-0059; ISBN 1-55212-308-1; US$24.00, C$27.50, EUR19.50, £14.00

RELENTLESS STRUGGLE clearly reveals what ambition, determination, and perseverance can accomplish. In part the story is vexing, in part humorous, in part serious. It makes for interesting reading for all ages, especially for young readers, many of whom tend to give up easily when faced with difficult problems.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book Born into indigent circumstances and circumscribed by debilitating, depressing conditions, he refused to succumb to them and fought resolutely to lift himself up out of them. He joined the Royal Air Force, served in Britain during the war, and after the war, gained admission to the University of London, but humbug by colonial administration forced him into teacher training at the British Teachers' Training College. Obtaining a Teacher's Certificate, he sought and gained admission again to the University of London, and once more the intervention of the Colonial Office compelled him to take a teaching position in Jamaica. He taught in Jamaica for a specified period, and for the third time gained admission to the University of London (Birkbeck College) where by studying at nights and teaching at a boys' school by day, he obtained the B.Sc. Honours degree in Geography, followed by the M.Sc. degree -- a great feat for him, won only by determined perseverance, heartaches, sacrifice and loneliness. Securing a permanent teaching position in a boys' school in London in his day proved to be a decidedly arduous task, largely because of stereotype views help about the Negro, a prejudice he was soon to demonstrate was hardly more than gross stupidity. Invited to teach in Canada, he taught in two high schools in Alberta for a few years, then returned to university (University of Alberta) to work towards the Ph.D. degree. Even before he could complete the programme, he was asked to teach a course in the Department of Geography. Immediately after he was awarded the Ph.D. degree, he was rushed to the University of Victoria, there to fill a faculty position which had suddenly become vacant. The beginning of the next year saw him as Head of the Geography Department at the University of Regina, a position he had been invited to fill. Promotion to the rank of Full Professor followed soon after. RELENTLESS STRUGGLE clearly reveals what ambition, determination, and perseverance can accomplish. In part the story is vexing, in part humorous, in part serious. It makes for interesting reading for all ages, especially for young readers, many of whom tend to give up easily when faced with difficult problems.

About the Author Edmund H. Dale, Canadian citizen, was born in Jamaica where, with considerable difficulty, he obtained his early education. During World War II, he volunteered for active service in the Royal Air Force and served in England. Determined to continue his professional and academic training, which he had begun in Jamaica, he sought and gained admission twice to the University of London, but intervention by a colonial administration prevented his going there, and directed him instead to a Teacher Training institution. After successfully completing the normal two-year teachers' training course, he applied a third time to enter the University of London and was again admitted. He obtained first, the Bachelor of Science Honours degree in Geography, the second, the Master of Science degree at Birkbeck College while teaching in London in a boys' school by day and studying at Birkbeck College at night. Next, he was invited to teach in Canada and was provided with Canadian Landed Immigrant status. He taught in two high schools in Alberta before entering the University of Alberta, Edmonton, to begin the Ph.D. programme in Geography. Even before he could complete the programme, he was required to teach in the Geography Department, where a problem had arisen, subsequently at the University of Victoria, B.C., where a similar problem had occurred. No sooner had he calmed the "troubled waters" there, he was invited to head the Geography Department at the University of Regina, which was also experiencing student problems. His mandate was to plan and initiate a sound programme of studies in that Department, leading to the B.A. and B.Sc. Honours, and M.A. and M.Sc. degrees. His promotion to the status of "Full Professor" came shortly after. He remained as Head of the Department for ten years, and as senior faculty member in the Department for another ten years. On his retirement, the University of Regina conferred on him the title "Professor Emeritus." In addition to teaching in Jamaica, London (England), and Canada, Dr. Dale has also taught in China. He accepted a on-year position offered to him by the Shandong Teachers' University which, at the end of the year, elected him "Honourable Model Teacher of the Year" (1990). He has travelled widely throughout Europe, Southeast Asia (North Korea, Japan, the Philippines, Malaysia, Thailand, Indonesia, Brunei) and the Americas. Dr. Dale has published his research in (a) Journals, including the Canadian Geographer, the Scottish Geographical Magazine, the Annals of American Geographers, Plan Canada, and others, and (b) Books, Monographs, Proceedings of the International Symposium on the Physical and Human Resources of the Tropics, among others. He has been editor and co-editor for a few publications on Saskatchewan and the prairies, and he has given invited papers at conferences and universities in Canada, the United States, Jamaica, and China. Besides, he has evaluated manuscripts and research proposals for the Royal Geographical Society of Canada; the Research Council of Canada; the Institute of Urban Studies; the National Science Foundation, Washington, D.C; and materials considered for recommendation for Full Professor status.

Excerpt

from Chapter 3

As we were told before leaving Jamaica, immediately the boat docked in Tampa, British officials boarded it and sought us out. The officials saw to immigration and customs formalities, and took us to a hotel in the city where we would stay for two days, "getting our feet," so to speak, before boarding the Pullman for Connecticut. The group was pleased to have this time to explore Tampa and see something of the vaunted American way of life.

To the shock of all of us, everywhere we looked we saw signs with 'White only 'and 'Colored only '. Coming from Jamaica where economics rather than race decides where people live, where social mixing of the races is common place, and where the colour of one 's skin is not a barrier to entry to shops and other public places, we were greatly astonished by what confronted our eyes. If we had felt little national sentiments before, now we began to feel proud that whatever may be said of our homeland, at least segregation of the races there was not as strikingly obvious or blatantly ridiculous.

Soon, all the recruits were to meet this absurdity head on. As the American spelling of 'coloured 'omits the 'u', I wondered at first if the word meant something other than what it purported to mean. At any rate, I ignored the signs and walked about as freely as I would in my native Jamaica. I had a few American dollars in my wallet and, passing a shop advertising peanuts, I thought I would pop in and buy a few boxes to take with me on our forthcoming train ride. I walked into the shop and realized by the large number of expensively-dressed customers busily shopping that it was indeed an exclusive place. The chatter and general buzz of the customers, though inordinately surprising to someone unaccustomed to the general tempo of American life, failed to capture my attention. Not so the decor of the place which immediately fascinated me!Everywhere I looked, I saw peanuts in the husk, in geometric patterns, in various colours, cleaving to the ceiling and the walls, and hanging from trellises. Always touched by things beautiful, I stood, on entering the shop, and ran my eyes from ceiling to walls, in delightful admiration. Gradually, the noise and chatter of the shoppers ceased. There was a marked silence which drew my attention away from the decor. I looked around and saw all eyes focused on me. The stares were ugly, decidedly wicked, unquestionably hostile, intensely charged with anger. It was the look of hatred, which spoke louder than words, once seen or felt, never forgotten. Suddenly, I realized I had entered a 'white only 'shop. Strangely, I was not one little bit afraid. Youth is often fearless. Well, I thought, if they thought I was going to make a dash for the door, they were going to be disappointed. I held my ground, smiled and walked boldly, but calmly, up to the girl at the cash desk, whose make-up effectively made her appear, I imagined, like Jezebel of the Old Testament. With withering scorn, she looked at the young man facing her. Still smiling, I advanced closer as she almost shrank into the wall, her eyes seemingly spitting fire and essaying the words, "dare you to come closer!" I smiled even more sweetly and in modulated cadence, said for all to hear, and all in the shop could hear, for the loud chatter had ceased,

"What a beautiful place!The artistry! The designs!It is exquisite!Everything is so beautifully harmonized. Indeed, it is unique!" And I meant every word of it.

The sincerity of my words, together with the sheer delight that shone from my eyes, obviously brought about a change in the girl 's face which now mirrored considerable curiosity.

"But you are not an American, "she said, descending from her lofty heights of assumed superiority.

Before I could reply, the manager of the shop, apparently hearing the silence in the place, rushed out of his office at the back to see what was going on. When he saw me, a black man in his 'lily white shop ', he rushed to confront or assault me. But, still smiling and looking calm and confident, I blocked his speech with:

"Presumably, you are the manager of this beautiful shop. I was just saying to her, pointing to the cashier, how splendid the decor is. If you are not an artist, you certainly know what good taste is. Where did you get the idea to do this place so effectively?" The tightened face of the man slackened.

"But you are not an American, "he said dubiously. "Are you?"

I laughed outrightly and, pointing to the girl again, said, "She has just asked me the same question. Does it matter if I am or am not an American?"

Ignoring my question, he asked,

"You are a tourist?"

"Well, "I said, "I am just passing through your city. My first visit!"

"So you are a tourist!" his manner completely changed. He held me by the hand and led me to his office and said, "Please sit down," offering me his chair. He sat on another chair and proceeded to tell me all about his shop, how he started with only a few dollars, and how he sacrificed and worked hard (the credo of the American dream)to make it into the business that it became. At the end, he loaded me with boxes of peanuts, without accepting a cent, some in candy form, wished me an enjoyable 'holiday, 'and expressed the hope that I would visit Tampa again.

I was still laughing and chuckling to myself over the incredulityof what I had just experienced when I mounted a bus of the local transit system which would take me back to the hotel where we were staying ‹a 'colored only 'hotel. I climbed in at the front door, walked mid-way to where the conductor sat collecting fares, paid the fare and walked to a seat at the front so that I could see where I was going. I sat beside a passenger, a white woman, who made a suppressed scream and fled to another seat. I thought the boxes I was carrying had accidentally poked her, so I began to tie them up more securely. I was thus engaged when the conductor, of brownish complexion, not black and not white, came and stood before me, looking menacingly, and rudely thundered,

"You can 't sit here. You must go to the back. "

I shot a glance quickly to the back and saw only black people, all with wild eyes staring at me. In my pre-occupation with the boxes of peanuts I had in my hands, I had not taken note of the segregation on the public bus when I climbed into it (and even if I had, it would have made no difference). Loudly, clearly, slowly, emphasizing every word, I shot back to the conductor,

"I have not the slightest desire to sit at the back. May I know why you want me to sit there?" There was general laughter in the bus.

"You (emphasizing the word) must sit at the back, " he said. "Why?" I demanded vehemently. "I do not want to, and I have no intention of doing so. "

The conductor stood looking helpless and I sat looking defiant. The atmosphere in the bus had suddenly become tense. The Negroes at the back looked terrified, apparently thinking that a lynching was inevitable. Just then, I felt a poke in my back. With a dramatic, if not regal, turn of my head, I looked at the woman who had poked me and said,

"Madam, you are actually assaulting me. Can I be of some help?"

She, laughing (I could not tell if she was being supportive or sarcastic) said,

"I take it you are not an American. "

"I am not. "said I, with delight, "nor do I want to be one, nor to be treated as one. I am a visitor and expect to be accorded the civility and common courtesy that any civilized country shows to visitors. I was under the impression that these niceties were practised in your country. Perhaps I am mistaken. Any more questions?"I asked.

"No, thank you, "she continued laughing but this time more heartily, clearly extremely amused.

While all this was going on, the bus had stopped. The driver turned round in his seat and looked at me, his eyes almost shouting "murder. " And I looked steadfastly into those grey, , murderous eyes, my eyes belching fire, and stared him down. Finally, he turned round again and continued driving the vehicle.

I was not sure of the stop where I should get off the bus for my hotel, and would not ask. At last I recognized a large advertisement board which I had seen from the hotel that morning. I rang the bell; the bus stopped, and I dismounted. Then I looked back and saw the eyes of all the passengers on the bus staring at me. I shook my head with a disdainful smile and heard myself asking myself, "Is this the United States to which so many Jamaicans want to migrate?Surely the darkness that exists here is much thicker than that in Jamaica. Certainly in race relations Jamaica could teach these people a useful lesson or two. "

On my second day in Tampa, I decided to look up a pen-friend, Ben Sutherland, with whom I had been corresponding for over two years. I consulted a city map and located the street on which he lived. It was some distance away. I decided to walk so that I could see and observe more of the city. My walk turned out to be most interesting. Eventually, I reached the address, a large house with a decorated iron gate. I pressed the bell and a black maid admitted me. Ben was out but his mother was at home. She came forward to receive me mostwarmly. She told me that she had heard about me through her son, and that he would be home shortly. She appeared unaffected, genuine, very kind, and without pretence. But how could this be in a city so steeped in racial prejudice?I thought my powers of judgment might be failing me. Yet, I told myself that if the family was prejudiced, I would know. Cold drinks were served, and Mrs. Sutherland entertained me graciously until her son returned. On his arrival, he was told in the hallway that his Jamaican pen-friend was paying him a surprised visit. Ben dashed into the room and, seeing me, gleefully extended his hand and shook mine forcefully.

"You look very much like your photograph but more handsome. Why didn 't you tell me you were coming?"he asked.

"I did not know myself until four days ago and then not until just before we departed, "I said.

"We?"asked Ben.

"Volunteers for the Royal Air Force. I suppose I can tell you that 25 of us, all Jamaicans, are on our way to Canada, thence to Britain, to join the RAF. We are spending only two days in Tampa. "

Ben whistled and said, "Boy, oh boy, you have taken the war to heart, all right. But why do you want to leave your beautiful, peaceful Jamaica to go to be shot up by the Gerries?"

Mrs. Sutherland answered for me, reminding her son that Jamaica was a British colony and had been British since the 17th century. That much she said she knew, and that when Britain declared war in 1939, not only Canada and Australia but the whole British Empire, including colonies like Jamaica, threw their weight behind Britain. From his looks, it was clear that Ben did not regard Jamaica 's action rational. He quickly changed the topic and proceeded to tell me about the university to which he had been admitted a few months before. Fortunately, he had come home for the weekend, otherwise he would have missed seeing me.

Noon arrived and I was about to leave but was invited to stay to lunch with the family ‹Ben, his mother, his elder sister and younger brother. His father was a Colonel in the Army and was away. The lunch was good and the conversation agreeable and convivial. I liked Ben 's repartee and did more laughing than eating. He had a care- free attitude which, with his peculiar mannerisms and boyish humour, made every one laughed. He was really an attractive young man, clearly idolized by the Negro maid.

After lunch, Ben decided to show me about the city. I was hesitant to go, knowing full well what was likely to take place. However, I went at Ben 's insistence. He took me first to a public park, then to a museum, and the City Hall. It was a very hot day and both of us became thirsty. Ben insisted on having a cold drink or ice cream soda, and reluctantly I agreed to go to a nearby soda fountain parlour with him. Ben led the way and I followed. As I was about to enter the building after Ben, a white commissioner in an elaborate red uniform and gold trimming and tassel blocked my way and said in tones decidedly unfriendly, "Are you sure you know where you are going?"

I looked up and saw the sign 'white only '. I felt insulted, and anger flared up in me, but I shook my head with a scornful smile and began to retrace my steps when Ben came running to me and asked,

"Why didn 't you come in?"

He could see that I was angry. I pointed to the sign above the door and to the commissioner, and said,

"He wouldn 't let me. "

Ben 's face flushed red. So accustomed to his society 's privileges, and seemingly indifferent to its treatment of black people, he suddenly felt ashamed. He held me by the hand and said.

"Come, we will see a movie and have a cold drink there. "

At the cinema, Ben was allowed to go in but I was not. The'white-only 'sign was there also. Now utterly frustrated, Ben apologized to me for the restrictions.

"You have come to my city and because of racial stupidity I cannot show you around freely. I am sorry, very sorry, Edmund. "

"Never mind, "I said. "Look, there seems to be a quiet avenue along there, " I pointed. "Let 's walk along there for a little while. "

The avenue ran past a cemetery, for 'Whites Only ', and I began to laugh uncontrollably.

"Ben, "I said, "even over there in the cemetery, stupidity has gone stark mad. Do they think that they are not going into the same ground?Do they think that on the other side they will be received by a 'white 'God who will usher them into a 'white 'heaven?This is more than laughable. It is madness. Really, Ben, this is gross stupidity, and in 1943, almost the middle of the 20th century!"

Both of us stood, looking at the 'White-only 'cemetery, and we laughed, laughed, laughed. At the end, Ben held me and said,

"We have a lot to do, haven 't we?I mean our generation. "

I agreed wholeheartedly.

Finally, we said good bye to each other, and I returned to the hotel with extremely mixed feelings. I was pleased that I had met Ben and his family and that they revealed no obvious signs of racial prejudice. True, their black maid seemed to fit, painfully to me, the stereotype black maid of former days. Could it have been that because I was a visitor, the family was hiding their real feelings?I wondered about this. But surely I was, I thought, quite able to detect insincerity. Ben seemed sincere enough, though apparently lacking the fighting spirit, that is, seemingly unable to stand up fearlessly for what he believed in, and seemingly insensitive to the insulting treatment of the black people around him. He seemed also to be comfortable with the privileges he enjoyed as a white member of his society and obviously insensitive to the 'colored only 'signsaround him. His eyes appeared to focus mainly on the 'white only ' signs.

I was acutely disturbed, indeed, indignant about the way Negroes were treated in Tampa, more so because they appeared to accept the treatment without much obvious resistance, possibly because of the fear of what would happen to them if they actively resented it. Everywhere in the city were manifestations of the contempt with which they were held. I wondered how I, a Negro, could possibly survive in an atmosphere which, in 1943, was so charged with bigotry and racial hatred, and which had a penchant for lynching what they call the 'uppity 'Negro.

I went to bed, feeling very troubled in spirit but I could not sleep. I got up, paced the floor, and began a dialogue with the Almighty.

"Dear God, "I said in the darkness of the room, "why do you allow this wicked thing?How can you allow this?If you are a God of fair-play, justice, love and mer y, if in you there is no east or west, no north or south, as the hymn says, why do you allow this injustice, this, this, this terrible thing?"

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