Taking the Lead (page 3 of 4)

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This has been my dream since freshman year ... I think other people wanted to do this before, but no one was ready to get behind it and push forward.

More Than Breaking Tradition

Frances Office, a member of the Board of Education since 2003, was the first black woman to be elected to anything in Turner County. "We wanted a black homecoming queen," she remembers, "but the queen was always white. So we led a walkout. We just walked right out of class -- and stayed out until they gave us what we asked for." From then on, two homecoming queens -- one black, one white -- were elected each autumn. The practice ended last fall after three decades when a letter from the Department of Justice, which continues to monitor the desegregation process, expressed concern about the two queens. Shortly thereafter, Aniesha Gipson, a popular and accomplished cheerleader who is biracial, was elected to reign alone over the homecoming festivities and to ride on a float in the annual Christmas parade.

"It was time to have one queen," says Office, "as it's time now to have one prom. These kids go to school together every day and are going to live in the same world." She knows that not everyone supports the event. "We've got good people in Ashburn, but we've also still got people who live in la-la land. But the prom will stay."

This is not, technically, Turner County's first integrated prom. Eight years ago, Roy and Lisa Sears, along with parents of both races, organized a private event at a local Holiday Inn after their daughter, a class officer, pushed for an integrated dance at school and was told not to rock the boat. The kids who attended had a good time, but white support was minimal -- and there was no effort made to hold the event again.

James Hall and his fellow officers believed their class was different. Mandy Alberson, a white senior, agrees. "It seems like our class is closer than others," she says. "We've known each other for 18 years, not just in school but playing kickball in summer programs, going on band trips and all that stuff. Why divide us for the prom? I never understood that."

Hall and his team worked tirelessly to promote Breakaway. They hung fliers all over the school. A poster in the cafeteria proclaimed "The First Ever! Got Your Haircut?" Excitement was building, and 100 tickets at $25 each were sold.

There was a setback. A week before the prom, about 40 white students, some of whom had already graduated, held their own dance at a marina on Lake Blackshear in Cordele, 20 miles north. They claimed it was a private party, not a prom. But, as in other years, the kids hired limos and a bus, rented tuxes and had souvenir portraits taken by a professional photographer. Fewer than half of the 91 white students in the junior and senior classes attended. Still, it hurt.

"It was just wrong," said Sakiya Terrell, James Hall's date. "It made it look like they don't want to have a prom with us."

Josh Boney was equally disappointed. "They said they were doing it because it's always been that way and they didn't want to break tradition. Well, I think there was more to it than just not wanting to break tradition."

Mandy Alberson did not go to the white-only affair. Neither did Sarah Baggett. Both are getting coiffed at His & Hers Hairstyles on Posey Lane on Saturday afternoon. Alberson watches intently as ringlets are carefully arranged atop her head by hairdresser Luana. "I didn't go because of all the drinking," says Baggett. "There are a lot of kids who don't like the school prom because they want to drink and go wild. But you know what? I'd rather go have fun with black people and remember my prom."

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