Editor's note: This article originally appeared in 2013.
By the time the hot sun rose above this iconic university town on June 11, 1963, history was already playing out nearby and far away.
In Birmingham, Vivian Malone and James Hood -- descendants of slaves -- awoke and prepared for the drive to Tuscaloosa and a confrontation with Gov. George C. Wallace.
Alabama's 43-year-old governor that morning woke at a downtown Tuscaloosa hotel where he had spent the night waiting for Malone and Hood and the television cameras and reporters that would record his promised stand in the schoolhouse door and, he hoped, his unquestioned ascension as the South's leading politician.
U.S. Attorney General Robert Kennedy rose that morning to have breakfast with his family in their Virginia home before leaving for the Justice Department. There he would spend much of the day on the phone with his deputy, Nicholas Katzenbach, who was escorting Malone and Hood into harm's way in Tuscaloosa or watching the grainy black and white television images of unfolding events at the University of Alabama.
Just 185 miles from Tuscaloosa, in Jackson, Miss., Medgar Evers was waking for what would be his last day of life. An assassin would murder Evers in the wee hours of June 12th, just hours after Wallace had made his stand defending the system of racial inequality Evers had spent his life fighting against.
Also waking that morning in Tuscaloosa and determined to make their way to Foster Auditorium to watch history were four students. Two of them, Bob Riley and Robert Bentley, would become Alabama governors. Another, Student Government Association President Donald Stewart, would go on to be a U.S. senator. The fourth, William Stewart, would become in the years ahead a distinguished professor of political science at the university.
Like Riley, Bentley and the two Stewarts, Archie Wade was also a young man with a great interest in what was happening that morning at the university. But unlike the four white students, Wade, who is black, did not go to Foster Auditorium that morning. Instead, Wade made his way to Stillman College, where he was a teacher. He could not have known that the events of that day would lead him to be the first black to break perhaps even tougher racial barriers at UA.
And, by the time all of them were awake, history had already rolled out half a world away in South Vietnam where a Buddhist monk had poured gasoline over himself and set himself on fire, dying to protest the religious persecution of Buddhists by American-backed president Ngo Dinh Diem. The self-immolation, caught on film and shown around the world, became its own terrible iconic moment in a place the U.S. would soon find itself embroiled.
June 11, 1963, has been remembered most often as the day Wallace fulfilled a campaign promise made more than a year earlier as he kicked off his run for governor.
"And when the court order comes, I am going to place myself, your governor, in the position so that the federal court order must be directed against your governor. ... I shall refuse to abide by any such illegal federal court order even to the point of standing in the schoolhouse door, if necessary."
But Wallace's stand in front of Foster Auditorium was not how Vivian Malone, later to become Vivian Malone Jones, wanted history to remember those events. Jones, who died in 2005, said 10 years ago, on the 40th anniversary of their successful enrollment, that she hoped people would remember doors opened, not blocked.
"For so long, it's gone down in a negative way, it's gone down in the way we portray that event as a 'stand in the schoolhouse door.' The press picked it up that way, which to me was a negative," said Jones. "What I was hoping and hoping will happen .... is that we celebrate the opening of the door, not the stand, not the attempt to close the door."
E. Culpepper "Cully" Clark, whose 1993 book "The Schoolhouse Door: Segregation's Last Stand at the University of Alabama" is the definitive account of the history of the event, said that in the long run Jones' hope has been realized.
"There is no debate that because of what Vivian and Jimmy Hood did that June day fifty years ago that Alabama - the state and 'The University' - became better places to live and learn," said Clark, who spent 30-plus years at UA teaching and in senior administrative positions before leaving in 2007 to become dean of the University of Georgia's Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communication.
"We celebrate what Vivian and Jimmy did that day, not what George Wallace did that day, although we certainly remember what he did," said Clark. "I believe today you will find at the university places named in honor of Vivian and Jimmy and Autherine Lucy, but not George Wallace, and that is as it should be."
While Malone and Hood are credited with successfully breaking the color barrier at Alabama, they were not the first blacks to attempt it. Dozens, if not hundreds of African-Americans had sought admission to UA before Malone and Hood in 1963. All were rejected because of the color of their skin.
That changed in 1956 - just two years after the U.S. Supreme Court in Brown vs. Board of Education struck down segregated schools. That year a federal court order forced UA to accept Autherine Lucy as a graduate student. But Lucy's attempt to earn a master's degree in library science was short lived. Riots by whites protesting Lucy's admission broke out on her third day in school and the university suspended her, saying it could not protect her. That suspension was followed by a quick decision to expel her.
"In 1956, Autherine Lucy faced insurmountable odds trying to attend the university," said Clark. "Both the president (Oliver Carmichael) and the board of trustees were segregationists. The crisis in Little Rock (the court ordered desegregation of Central High School and President Eisenhower's order to send in 1,000 U.S. Army paratroopers to enforce the order) had yet to happen. Lucy was so alone, and the fact that she tried at all is a testament to her courage."
But, by 1963 things were changing, said Clark. By then some of the South's leading public universities had enrolled their first black students, including the University of Georgia, Tennessee and Clemson University. At UA conditions had changed too, with a new president, Frank Rose, and new trustees who accepted the inevitability that the university would have to desegregate.
"By 1962, 1963 the question was no longer 'if' the university would desegregate but 'when' and who would do it?" said Clark.
The "who" turned out to be Mobile native Malone and Gadsden native Hood. The two were among many blacks who had applied for admission to UA. Their selection came at the end of a long vetting process conducted by civil rights lawyers and organizations looking for young black men and women who possessed unquestioned academic credentials and a willingness to meet the challenge of doing what almost no black had been able to do - successfully break the color barrier at Alabama.
The "when" was answered in May of 1963 when a federal court in Birmingham ordered UA to admit Malone and Hood.
The next move was up to Wallace who, in addition to his vow to stand in the schoolhouse door, had in his infamous inaugural address promised the people of his state "segregation today, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever."
Clark writes that while many were in the dark about Wallace's intentions, including the Kennedys, Wallace never doubted his next move. Clark writes that in a closed-door meeting with university trustees in March of 1963, Wallace spelled out exactly what he intended to do.
"Wallace began his remarks knowing that a majority of the trustees and President Rose were in support of desegregation of the university," said Clark. "That didn't stop Wallace from declaring that he was against integration of any school or college in Alabama. I believe it was a position that if he had not always believed it, he did by 1963 with his whole being. He then told them he would carry out his campaign promise to stand in the schoolhouse door."
Clark said if the first two things Wallace told trustees alarmed most of them, two additional things calmed and reassured them.
"Wallace pledged to do all he could to secure the university and stop any mob or KKK violence from happening," said Clark. "Finally, after one trustee was moved to say he would support opposing the court order to desegregate, Wallace said something unexpected. He turned down the offer and told the board that if the court order came to integrate, the board must follow the order."
Clark said Wallace's advice to the trustees and commitment to stop any mob violence stemmed not from any secret support of desegregation but from his own desire to elevate his political standing - not only in Alabama, but also across the nation.
"Wallace saw what happened at Ole Miss when it desegregated (mob violence, a loss of control by state officials) the year before and he understood that violence at the university would only show he had no more control of the situation than the Mississippi governor," said Clark. "Wallace was determined to make his stand, but do it in a way that it would take the place of any mob action and do it as the representative of all those people out there in Alabama and watching on TV who were fed up with a strong central government - he almost never used the term federal government - telling them how to live their lives. He was tapping a nerve, a nerve that was growing more sensitive by the day, and using it to advance his own career."
Former Gov. Bob Riley, who was 19 in 1963, recalled June 11 vividly. Riley and his brother, David, had gotten up early and made their way to Foster Auditorium to find a large crowd, mostly students attending summer classes, already on the scene.
"I remember the atmosphere was electric," said Riley. "State troopers were everywhere and TV cameras were all over the place. I remember the couple of days leading up to Tuesday that the Klan leader at that time, Robert Shelton, was making a show driving this big car with fins and high gain antennas on the back, so high that they whipped around as he drove, making a show for everybody to see."
Bentley, who was 20, remembers going with two other students to watch the day unfold.
"There must have been a thousand mostly students there when we arrived and the crowd just kept growing," said Bentley. "I remember we took up positions across from Foster Auditorium to watch and I remember this state trooper came by and told us we would have to move. We were not doing anything but watching and so I said something to that effect back to him. He looked at me and the other guys and I remember he said, 'Boys, if you don't move I'm going to arrest you.' I'd never been threatened with arrest. It made an impression, and I think it made me mad, but we moved down the block but just a little."
In the meantime Riley made his way inside Foster and made it up to the third floor of the building and to a window where he could lean out and watch the show unfold.
"I guess everybody was wondering exactly what would Wallace do? Would he refuse to move and be arrested or would the feds back down and would anything really crazy happen," said Riley. "We know now it was all a kind of show, but back then nobody knew that and everybody thought almost anything might happen."
Asked what he remembered about his personal views of what was happening, Riley paused.
"I think I was probably like 90 percent of Alabamians. I thought, 'why are they making us do this? If they want to have integrated schools in Massachusetts or New York, well fine. But that's not how we lived in Alabama.' "
Riley then shook his head.
"It's almost impossible to believe now that so many of us once thought that way," Riley said. "I didn't want anyone to be hurt but I didn't understand what was really at stake. For so long we denied people, based on the color of their skin, the right and opportunity to seek a better life for themselves and their children. That pursuit of happiness and the fundamental right to vote we denied to our fellow citizens for years just because of the color of their skin."
Riley summed up June 11, 1963, in this way:
"On that day, Vivian Malone and James Hood began the job of helping Alabama become a better place for all people. They also caused a kid from Clay County to start to question his assumptions," said Riley, a native of Clay County.
Bentley remembers asking himself why Wallace was doing this.
"I really think most of the students didn't have a problem with black students enrolling for class," said Bentley. "Now, I know you will say that it was Alabama and it was 1963 and a lot of people resisted desegregation and you are right. But, I think the younger generation is always ahead of the older one in accepting change, and on that day I think most of us were ready to see Malone and Hood be accepted."
William Stewart, the future political science professor, remembers what he thought as he watched that day.
"It was shameful what Wallace was doing and it was a stain on the university just as the suspension and expulsion of Autherine Lucy was shameful years before," said Stewart.
But, despite his view of Wallace, Stewart said Wallace's stand that day probably kept UA from exploding in violence as had happened at the University of Mississippi.
"Wallace told people to stay away, let him represent them and the state, and he made sure that happened by bringing in hundreds of troopers who locked the campus down beginning that weekend. I do think Wallace prevented violence, but it came at the price of the university's reputation."
On that day, at a little before 11 a.m., United States Deputy Attorney General Katzenbach and two aides walked toward Wallace, who stood in front of the doors to Foster Auditorium, where Malone and Hood were to enter to register for class. It was already 95 degrees when Katzenbach reached Wallace and said:
"I have here President Kennedy's proclamation. I have come to ask you for unequivocal assurance that you or anyone under your control will not bar these students."
Wallace's response was a one word "no."
After Wallace accepted the presidential proclamation, Katzenbach folded his arms across his chest and began again. "I have come here now to ask you for unequivocal assurances that you will permit these students who, after all, merely want an education in the great University ...
Wallace interrupted, telling Katzenbach, "Now you make your statement because we don't need your speech."
When on the third attempt Katzenbach had finally finished, Wallace began a five minute denunciation of the central government, saying in part, "I stand before you today in place of thousands of other Alabamians whose presence would have confronted you had I been derelict and neglected to fulfill the responsibilities of my office" Wallace then called the actions of the central government "unwelcomed, unwanted, unwarranted and force-induced intrusion upon the campus of the university."
Wallace finished declaring "I... hereby denounced and forbid this illegal and unwarranted action by the central government."
With that Wallace stepped back and blocked the door. Katzenbach asked Wallace to reconsider his actions but Wallace said little else. With that Katzenbach returned to his car where Malone and Hood had been waiting. Katzenbach ordered that the two students be taken to university dorms to eat and rest. Katzenbach then called Robert Kennedy to tell him it was time to take the next step to force Wallace out of the way: a presidential order federalizing the Alabama National Guard.
At the White House President John F. Kennedy, who had been watching events unfold in Tuscaloosa, gave the order to federalize the Alabama guard. By the time Kennedy issued that order he had also made up his mind to address the nation that night on events that day in Tuscaloosa, regardless of the outcome.
All this time, university President Rose and the trustees lurked out of sight in Little Hall in the office of head football coach Paul Bryant, who was out of town but whose office windows provided a view of Foster Auditorium.
"Essentially they were hiding," said Clark. "Most of them wanted Vivian and Jimmy to register, wanted to finally see the desegregation barrier crossed but they could not be seen doing it so they stayed out of sight."
As Malone, Hood and Wallace ate lunch in separate places, President Kennedy's order to put the state National Guard under his command was carried out, including a critical order to place an Alabamian in charge of the guard - Gen. Henry V. Graham of Birmingham. Two other more senior generals to Graham were ordered to "other duties" that day by Washington for fear they would not follow Kennedy's order to remove Wallace, by force if necessary.
"Henry Graham joined the state guard in I think the mid 1930's and when the war started, he enlisted early, advancing to the rank of brigadier general. He served again during the Korean War. Later he started a real estate business in Birmingham," Clark said.
"General Graham was a man trusted to do his duty. He knew if he was forced to physically remove Wallace that his business would probably be ruined, but he never hesitated."
In preparation for the possibility of having to physically remove Wallace, the guard had practiced various ways of lifting Wallace out of the door way and carry him off, said Clark.
But it didn't come to that. Shortly before Graham was to confront the governor, Wallace sent word that he was prepared to step aside but asked to be given one more opportunity to make a statement. Katzenbach agreed.
At 3:30 p.m., already having ordered 100 guardsmen with M-1 rifles to take up positions at Foster, Graham marched toward Wallace, saluted him and said these words: "It is my sad duty to ask you to step aside, on order of the president of the United States."
Wallace then spoke, calling the federalization of the guard unwarranted. Wallace asked that citizens remain calm and restrained. Wallace closed his remarks and ended the confrontation saying this:
"Alabama is winning this fight against federal interference because we are awakening the people to the trend toward military dictatorship in this country. I am returning to Montgomery to continue working for constitutional government to benefit all Alabamians - black and whites."
A little while later Malone and Hood enter Foster and in 15 minutes completed registration. That night student leaders, like Donald Stewart, the school's SGA president, made Hood and Malone welcome. Hood and Malone slept in separate dorms that night but in the same dorms as white students.
In the lobby of Malone's dorm Gen. Graham spent the night on a sofa keeping watch while Malone was in her room at one end of a hall. At the other end of the hall was Graham's daughter, a student at the university as well.
A bomb threat came into the dorm where Malone slept that night, but nothing was found.
A few days passed when Donald Stewart saw Hood eating alone. He got up and walked over to him and asked to join him. Eventually others joined as well.
"You know, I didn't remember that until James reminded me of it years later," said Stewart.
Asked why he did it, Stewart said he and other leaders had been asked to make Malone and Hood feel welcomed, but he didn't think that was the reason.
"I really don't know. But I know I wasn't raised to hate people because of the color of their skin or their religion or because they were short or tall or worked in a bank or in a factory," said Stewart. "I think all I did was just go over to eat with another student who happened to be black."
Hood, who died earlier this year, only spent about eight weeks at UA before leaving after a series of what Clark calls poor decisions, among them his decision to write a piece for the student newspaper where he appeared to criticize the civil rights movement and called on blacks to meet certain standards and hold certain values in order to be accepted in white society. When the statements made headlines statewide and in his hometown, Hood initially denied he wrote it.
"Jimmy Hood was a remarkable man in many ways but I think he became caught up in the moment of those days and said some things that just probably should not have been said, and it made it difficult for him," said Clark.
Eventually, years later, Hood returned to finish his Ph.D. at the university. Malone graduated in 1965 becoming the first black to receive a degree from UA.
Archie Wade thinks about that June day 50 years ago and how it changed his life. Wade, now 73, became among UA's first black faculty members in 1970, seven years after Malone and Hood made history.
Wade was asked to break a different barrier in 1964 when, sitting in his office at Stillman College in October, he was approached by an emissary of UA President Rose and offered several tickets to attend the Georgia-Alabama football game that weekend.
"I think I didn't much think about it. I said, 'Sure,'" Wade said. "I had always wanted to see Alabama play in person but never had the chance, given segregation and all."
Wade doesn't know much about why he was chosen. "I had a reputation as a good athlete and maybe Stillman might have said good things about me or maybe recommended me but I'm not sure."
On the day of the game Wade found his seats directly behind the Alabama band.
"Now, we started hearing some stuff, some catcalls and ugly names when some around us noticed we had taken seats, but we tried not to pay them much attention. After all, this was Alabama versus Georgia and Joe Namath was the quarterback."
Then came halftime and the band left their seats, leaving Wade and his friends exposed for the whole stadium to see.
"At first it was just cups of ice they threw at us," Wade said. "Then came some bottles and of course the N-word never stopped. After a few minutes we figured we better get out of there. I remember we asked a security person for help getting out. They said we were on our own. And that is how I and my friends happen to be the first blacks to desegregate at least half an Alabama football game.
"We called that progress around here 50 years ago," added Wade with a chuckle.
Six years later Wade was in Louisville, Ky., in a management training program run by General Electric when he was approached by the same UA administrator who came on Rose's behalf in 1964. This time, the man came with an offer: become the first black UA faculty member.
"They recruited me," said Wade.
He said he has no idea why he was approached either about the tickets or the job, but believes the university must have at least watched his reaction to the experience at the game.
Later, after he was hired by the School of Education, Wade was asked by Bear Bryant to help him recruit some of the school's first black players. He agreed to do it.
"It was really an unbelievable time," said Wade. "Before June of 1963 there were no black students. Before 1970 there were no black faculty members. Before 1964 a black could not go into an Alabama football game without having bottles thrown at them. There were no black football players either. That all changed so fast but none of it was easy, none of it happened without someone having to risk their very lives.
"But because of what Vivian Malone and James Hood did, we got that chance to risk something to gain something better. That's why we should remember them and what they did. It was to make it better."