When Orval Faubus set the South on fire with the Central High School Desegregation Crisis, the loudest questions were the obvious ones. Scholars and those with a casual interest alike have sought to find answers to achieve some deeper understanding of those events. After the Supreme Court of the United States ruled on Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Virgil Blossom, superintendent of the Little Rock School District, released a plan for the gradual desegregation of Little Rock schools. The School district chose seventeen students from the city's all-black schools, Horace Mann High School and Dunbar Middle School, who sought to transfer to Central. All but nine changed their minds. The resulting crisis brought international coverage of Little Rock, scrutiny from the American people, and the eventual intervention of President Dwight D. Eisenhower. Since then, the benchmark of a successful tenure in public office was to avoid another Little Rock.
From books to journal articles, to documentaries, to snapping a photo of Central High School and sharing through social media, no one quite figured out why it happened in all of its convoluted aspects. Many attempted, perhaps an unreachable goal, to connect some redemption narrative to the crisis and declare how race relations have improved over the decades. Much effort went into honoring the legacy.
Keeping the Memory
The act of not finding absolution but to remember and share what happened drove the organization of commemorations. During the 30th commemoration, then Governor Bill Clinton hosted the Little Rock Nine at the Governor's Mansion where Faubus had once schemed to keep them out of Central. "You'all ought to think about coming on back home now," Clinton told them, "Things are different now."
The next decade, President Clinton, the Little Rock Nine, and other dignitaries gathered at Central High School. They noted the historical significance of the moment, reflected, and reminded others that there can be no disconnect from the past to the present. It was a moment of rising up to the legacy that influenced President Bill Clinton, Governor Mike Huckabee, and Mayor Jim Dailey to symbolically open Central’s front doors to the Little Rock Nine. Emotion overcame those on the steps and among the crowd watching on the front lawn.
That moment was a stark contrast to previous years. For many years, nothing stood at the site that offered tourists or locals any interpretation. At one point, the school board and the city discussed building a wall around the campus —to block off the legacy, according to local activist Annie Abrams. In 1998, President Bill Clinton designated the building and the visitor center across the street as a National Park Service Historic Site. The high school, still in operation and renowned in subsequent years as one of the best academic institutions in Arkansas, is a daily reminder of the past. People go there to come to terms with it.
"Central is an Icon."
Nancy Rousseau, principal of Central High School since 2022, was reminded of the power and prestige of the building. "Central is an Icon," she said in an interview, "I don't see this school ever not being connected to the history. How can it be?"
The legacy of the desegregation crisis is daunting. It is best explained with the chilling feeling when one walks up the front stairs of Central High School, the same where the 101st Airborne escorted the Little Rock Nine as segregationists waived Confederate battle flags and chanted, “Two...four...six...eight...we don’t want to integrate.” The feeling heightened when entering the front lobby to glass cases full with materials related to the crisis, along with posters from events held at the school that hangs overhead.
Some are content to resign and let the unhappy history fade away. Most took great care of the legacy. Rousseau carried the unusual role of running the most famous high school in the country. Along with her duties as administrator of a school larger than those of 400 towns in the state, she participates in panel discussions and speaks to tours connected with the visitor center about the school. National Park Service rangers lead groups into the building throughout the year, while they work around class schedules and take care not to interrupt the over 2,000 students.
The high school and National Park Service are inseparable collaborators. "We even get their mail," Rousseau said, "They get ours."
The 1927 building demanded great attention over the years, and the National Park Service helped to maintain the historical integrity and never let it go into disrepair. The Park Service provided money to refurbish the front doors, replace the roof, and reinstall the reflecting pool.
For years after the 1957 desegregation crisis, out-of-towns crossed the Arkansas boarder and at first glance of a welcome sign they reminded themselves, "that disaster happened there." Some communities have the luxury of paving over the appalling moments of their history, with new buildings different from a questionable era in any possible way. Little Rock did its best to honor what happened at those eighteen acres of Central High School, the subsequent Lost Year, and the legacy of segregation. The high school, with tan-brick walls standing upright, is a permanent feature of Little Rock. It is a chapter of American History.
Beals, Melba Pattillo. Warriors Don't Cry: Searing Memoir of Battle to Integrate Little Rock. New York: Washington Square Press, 1994.
Devlin, Erin Krutko. Remember Little Rock. Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 2017.
Rousseau, Nancy. Interviewed by Jared Craig, June 30, 2017.
Jared Craig serves as virtual exhibit coordinator for the UA Little Rock Center for Arkansas History and Culture. He received an MA in Public History for UA Little Rock and a BA from the University of Central Arkansas. His research interests include political movements in the American South, crime, and the media.