Digging for Details about a Little-Known Civil Rights Protest During Jim Crow

In August 2022, the University of Massachusetts published a deeply researched book providing an authoritative account of the Library Sit-In of 1939: Public in Name Only: The 1939 Alexandria Library Sit-In Demonstration. Brenda Mitchell-Powell, the book’s author, spent years in the library where the sit-in had taken place more than 80 years before. The sit-in was the topic of her dissertation as she completed her doctorate from Simmons University in 2015. In fact, Mitchell-Powell, an African American scholar, spent much of her professional life in libraries and in service to the library and education community.

We sat down with Mitchell-Powell on November 2, 2022 in the same building where she conducted her research and where the five young men climbed the steps to demand library access in 1939. We asked what propelled her to write Public in Name Only and probed what lessons she thinks can be learned from this historical event and what happened afterwards, including the building of a segregated library in 1940 and the decades-long struggle to desegregate the public libraries and public schools in Virginia and across the South. The conversation below, on video and as a transcript, is an excerpt of a longer interview and has been edited for clarity.

Tell us how you came across the story of this protest in the first place. What was it that brought you to the story?

It was actually quite serendipitous. My husband and I decided that we would eventually retire to the DC area. So I was doing research on surrounding communities of the District of Columbia. We had been to Alexandria on our visit several times, and we liked it. So I put other communities aside and started focusing on Alexandria as a retirement community. I was reading about the city’s demographics and social history and other issues. And I learned from the Alexandria Black History Museum's website that there was a library sit-in protest in 1939, on August 21. In effect, my dissertation topic found me.

I was fascinated by the story and didn't understand why it wasn't addressed in Black history books on the history of protests. And I didn't understand why it wasn't taught in library school, being the monumental event it was. So I was determined to tell a thorough, scholarly history that would also appeal to general audiences.

What was the research process like for you? Describe how you came to learn more.

History, more often than not, is recounted by those who are empowered to recount it. The empowered frequently dismiss the voices of the less empowered and those they feel are subordinate. I was determined to tell a full story of the sit-in and to [fill in] the missing accounts of the sit-in. So I continued to do research at the Alexandria Black History Museum and the archival collections at the Alexandria Library. I also did research in several other archives and universities here in Virginia [and DC] and was determined that this was going to be a story with national implications.

You were also able to interview people who grew up in Alexandria and who knew the story. Tell us about those interviews.

I spoke with the director of the Alexandria Black History Museum, Audrey Davis, who was a wealth of information, and she gave me a few leads. Those leads led to other indirect or direct witnesses. And on my own, I found relatives of the sit-in protesters. Most importantly, I found a relative of Samuel Wilbert Tucker, who was the architect of the demonstration. Including those interviews meant that the voices that had been silenced, because they were missing in the authoritative accounts, would now be heard.

I was fascinated by the story and didn't understand why it wasn't addressed in Black history books on the history of protests.

Did you come across any dead ends in your research?

Absolutely. I hit a dead end when I was trying to get information on the lives and careers of the sit-in protesters after the sit-in demonstration. There is much written about Samuel Tucker, because he spent the balance of his career in efforts to integrate Virginia's school systems. But I ran into dead ends with the protesters. I got leads. I searched historical newspapers, both Black and White. I researched in databases for people. But even the obituaries that I found were very sparse and essentially gave only name, date, place information. So I eventually turned to the Alexandria City directories, which gave me limited information, but did provide some material to include in the book. I didn't want the protesters to simply drop from the scene since they were such a central part of the story. They were all, unfortunately, deceased by the time I was conducting my research.

What are the implications of the story for educational equity and raising the significance of libraries in the education system?

[America’s earliest libraries emerged in the 1740s, but most were established between 1790 and 1850.] From the beginning of library creation, Blacks, as a rule, were excluded from access to these facilities, just as they had been excluded from the educational systems in Virginia. Alexandria, like many Southern communities, only provided Black students with an elementary school education until 1932. It was only because of parents beseeching the city that they added an eighth grade, which was their accommodation. Then, in 1932, the segregated [secondary] Parker-Gray School was built for Black students. Before that time, students had to travel to Manassas, which is 30 miles away, which means it was really out of reach for most people, or they essentially bootlegged an education in the District of Columbia school system by using addresses of relatives, family, friends, or colleagues to enroll in the school system. Parents were determined that their children would get a complete education and they were undaunted by the fact that educational equity did not exist in the community.

After the sit-in, the city built a separate library for Black residents instead of desegregating the library that already existed. You’ve written that the construction of this other library, the Robert H. Robinson Library, was really only a “partial victory,” because what it provided for Black residents was so entirely separate and unequal.

That's true. And the segregated Black library, which operated as a branch of the Alexandria Library, exclusively for Blacks, was constructed as the city's response to the effort to desegregate the White library. [Library and city council administrators] were adamant in their refusal to integrate the library. So they constructed this Black library, this separate and very much unequal library, to serve Blacks because even the library's meeting notes acknowledge that Blacks had a need for a library. They weren't willing to provide one, but they acknowledged that the need existed.

One of the things that I think is so important is that there were racialized differences in the two libraries. For example, when it was constructed in 1937, the White library contained 10,000 books. Three thousand of them were rare, valuable editions amassed from the original subscription library. Seven thousand books were new.

In 1940, just four months after a judge's ruling, the city built a library for Blacks but it was very, very much inferior to the Alexandria Library [where the sit-in occurred]. It, for example, only contained about 1,500 books. And the vast majority of those books were cast offs from the Alexandria Library, books that were either well-used or outdated that the library felt were no longer suitable for the White patrons. So they shipped them over to the Robert H. Robinson library, the Black library.

In 1937, the White library contained 10,000 books. In 1940, the city built a library for Blacks ... it only contained 1,500 books.

The distinctions in the way the facilities were maintained is also an example of these racialized policies. The White library, from its inception, was well maintained and well established in the totality of the community. When the Black library was built, it was reluctantly built by the city officials and library board members and not at all maintained. For example, in 1956, less than 20 years after the construction of the White library, that library was dramatically renovated. In 1964, another renovation occurred [with an additional 14,600 square feet of space added].

By contrast, the Black library was not renovated at all until 1988. In 1956, the Black library underwent cosmetic, interior improvements, but not exterior or structural improvements. The shrubbery, that was very pronounced and very beautiful at the Alexandria Library, the White library, was non-existent at the Black library. The city felt that the fact that they built a library for Black residents was sufficient support for the community, and it essentially [absolved] them of any further responsibilities for supporting the city’s African Americans.

How do you see this story helping to deepen the conversation about equity and access in education?

Black parents were always concerned with educational equity—as far back as the days of enslavement. They were denied this opportunity but secretly learned to read and write (some of them) and taught other enslaved Blacks to read and write. After so-called freedom came, and more Blacks began to move to the northern parts of the country, southern libraries continued their quest for states’ rights, which meant they supported individual states making decisions about educational equity and library equity.

I think the fact that Black parents pursued educational equity for their children, and the fact that the sit-in undertook library-access efforts, proved that Blacks were determined not only to get an education, but also to enhance their opportunities for self-directed learning opportunities and recreational reading. Samuel Tucker realized that it wasn't enough just to have access to a library. What was also necessary was a library with a full complement of resources, so that patrons could also explore recreational reading that enabled them to actualize personal agency. And that personal agency contributes significantly to the development of individuals' and communities' collective growth and development and to the establishment of the library as an important institution that was a complement to the educational systems’ infrastructure.

In your book, you describe libraries as critical places for learning. Did the organizer of the sit-in, Samuel Tucker, see that too?

Samuel Tucker realized at the beginning of the process of organizing the sit-in demonstration that his self-directed law education had been gained at the integrated Library of Congress. He wanted similar, local opportunities for Blacks who could not afford the time or the financial expense to travel to the District of Columbia to get that kind of learning experience.

He also realized the importance of agency in individuals' lives. As far as national implications are concerned, from their onset, libraries were understood to be important community centers, but they were not necessarily recognized and acknowledged as critical complements to the educational infrastructure of the community. Tucker wanted that for Black citizens. And some Black citizens, although they were disappointed, greatly disappointed, with the construction of the Black library, still patronized it because they were grateful to have a library of any sort.

It wasn't enough just to have access to a library. What was also necessary was a library with a full complement of resources, so that patrons could also explore recreational reading that enabled them to actualize personal agency.

I think the reason there isn't a more general national conversation about libraries as part of a community’s educational infrastructure is that libraries, though they've increasingly added special programs that target certain audiences in their operations, have not been broadly perceived as essential learning spaces that complement traditional education resources.

What do you want other people to take away from the story?

I think the significance of the library sit-in is contained in very few accounts of the event. It was the first known and recorded direct-action sit-in protest for Black access to a library. Sit-ins had occurred as early as the 19th century, so they were not new phenomena. But this was the first time an effort was made to integrate libraries, recognizing their importance as learning spaces for all citizens.

Another is the fact that this library protest challenged established authority and the functioning of the city by its White residents. Whites at that point controlled virtually every aspect of Black lives—remember, now, we're in the Jim Crow era, when virtually everything is segregated, and Blacks had very few rights because segregation was codified through Jim Crow legislation. The Whites at that time believed that they were the exclusive receivers of literacy, education, culture, and power. [That these] belonged exclusively to them. They disempowered and subordinated Blacks because they believed Blacks were inferior and didn't need much education at all.

Another reason is that the library protest was also the first instance in which protests were lodged directly against the issue of segregation. Prior to that time, there were boycotts and pickets for integration of other public facilities, such as movie theaters, and recreational venues like parks [but those demonstrations were for greater allocation of service provisions, rather than for overt challenges to segregation].

The library protest was also the first instance in which protests were lodged directly against the issue of segregation.

You write about libraries as third spaces for social equity and as cornerstones of educational opportunity. Can you elaborate?

The library [protest] was an important symbol, because it was a challenge to existing authority and normative standards in which Whites believed that library access was reserved exclusively for them and that Blacks did not deserve admission because they were incapable of critical thinking and would always remain ignorant, so there was no need to provide them with library access.

I think the involvement of a larger number of individuals in social equity has led to greater interest in equity of public library access. I think there's greater motivation coming from Black [and other underrepresented] communities now. Libraries are officially integrated, but de facto segregation continues because of de facto segregated housing—so those communities receive the short end of the stick in terms of library facilities, resources, access, and community funding.

I think part of the implication is that public libraries, just as the American Library Association has not done, have not developed a national conversation on why libraries are so essential and why they are tied into a community's educational infrastructure.

People turn now to libraries more than ever, for example, for newspapers where they find jobs, houses for sale, homes for rent, and services to hire. [Libraries] also provide opportunities to develop recreational reading skills that enable [communal and individual growth and development] for underserved communities. I don’t think this has translated yet into a national conversation for the powers that be. In many instances local communities are still reluctant to provide sufficient funding to libraries.

Is there anything that you want people to know?

The thing that strikes me is that there was so much resistance to educational equity, and that includes equity of library access. Although Brown versus Board of Education was passed in 1954, many southern libraries, for example, didn't really embrace equitable library access until the 1960s. [In addition, the 1966 Supreme Court ruling on the constitutionality of a sit-in in Brown v. Louisiana helped pushed libraries to desegregate.] Even then, however, pockets of resistance remained. Protests were still being conducted, and protesters were still being jailed for demonstrating for their right to use the public library. I came away from that saddened.

In Virginia, particularly, Harry Byrd, Sr. established the concept of Massive Resistance, by which he meant decisions about education should be left to the schools, not to [the federal government]. Communities in Virginia and many library systems in Virginia refused to support integration because Byrd swore that their funding would be cut if they integrated. Of course, this meant White parents who had resources to send their children to private schools were fine. And White private schools were still supported with student vouchers. Makeshift schools for some Black students were supported by the Black community, but not by cities as a whole. Many Black students whose schools could not be financially supported were denied an education for four or five years. That, too, appalled and shocked me. In the 1960s, Black students and their allies protested to desegregate libraries. Criticisms of these demonstrations by city leaders and citizenry in Petersburg, Virginia, and Danville, Virginia, in particular, drew considerable, negative, international, as well as national, media coverage. Now we're talking about just a little more than 60 years ago. That's not so far in the past.

History repeats itself, and change only comes, as Frederick Douglass said, when it's demanded. And so protests continue to this day for consistent and sufficient support of libraries for all members of the community.