I watched as she sometimes closed her eyes to remember
By Kendra Rich
June 25, 2001

As I sat back in a chair at the table that had been cleared for me, I watched as Sandra Flagg, 76, got organized and finally relaxed in her blue recliner. It was early afternoon, and I was ready to gain knowledge.

I was intrigued by the possibility of stories this woman might share with me. I intently listened and hung on to every word as she poured out events she recollected from the past. I watched as she sometimes closed her eyes to remember. They often sparkled with the memories, and her face lit up with the most radiant smile as she reflected. Together, we re-embarked a journey that began seven decades ago.

At the time, the '30's, my father worked for the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad, and as teenagers, we could go to concerts downtown in the city auditorium when the big bands came to town - Count Basie, Jimmie Funfoud and Cab Calloway. We had to sit in the balcony because of segregation. In 1943, I married Robert Sr. I have two children, Angela and Robert Jr. I was a nurse at Monroe Regional Hospital for 29 years. I retired in 1985. I am a member of Blessed Trinity Catholic Church.

Kendra Rich: So, you were a child of the Depression?

S.F.: Yes, I believe I was nine . . . . It was pretty good because my father worked for the railroad, and that was high pay at the time, so we lived pretty good.

S.F.: You had to be in by the time the street lights came on. You wore that they (your parents) brought home. I remember burying some shoes because I didn't like them, and I acted as if I never knew what happened to them.

K.R.: As you grew up and began to experience segregation, what was that like:

S.F.: Savannah had a lot of places to go, but we went on alternating white days, black days, and we sat always in the back and during concerts, in the balcony. We had a few black theaters, colored entrances, doctors' offices, water fountains and restrooms. In Savannah, there were lots of black-owned things; everything that they (whites) had, we had too, but black-owned. Crab, shrimp and fishing were abundant.

K.R.: Did you accept this? Why not try to fight it?

S.F.: Well, at the time we accepted it because it was the law of the land. But when the Constitution changed, that's what the uproar was.

K.R.: Did it anger you?

S.F.: No, because it was the way of life. What we expected . . . .We had to pass the white schools to get to high school. The white kids were let out early so when the black schools were let out, there would be no conflicts.

K.R.: When did you move to Ocala?

S.F.: When I got married. I was 19. It was a little after a year, and we moved. It was after my husband went to war (WWII), and I came here and stayed with his family.

K.R.: I've heard a lot of stories about Broadway. What was Broadway?

S.F.: Broadway was downtown Ocala, but not the downtown you know. It was different back then. It was where the black businesses were. You had Mrs. Pearl's soul food kitchen and other dinners and groceries. I can remember people coming from surrounding towns dressed up in their best attire on a Friday or Saturday just to stroll and socialize on Broadway. We also had Paradise Park. This was for blacks only; it was the black Silver springs. We would have picnics on Sunday, open swimming and baptisms. They had a place for the teens to go and dance in a gazebo with a jukebox. We had the Paradise Park bathing beauties. Now, the most exclusive place to go, and you got all dressed up, was Club Valley. It was exclusive! Parties, dances and dinners were held there, and the annual Ebony Woman's Club fashion show was held there. It was the only black-owned club, owned by Earnest Lamb, another prominent physician in the area.

K.R.: At the time you worked at the hospital, it was segregrated, right?

S.F.: Yes, we had separate building, the white building and a red brick building. Say a black patient needed surgery. . . they would wheel them from the red brick building all the way to the white building for the surgery. Then they had to be wheeled back, with no intensive care, no nothing.

K.R.: Did you ever get involved in protesting against segregation when you were in Ocala?

S.F.: No, but I can remember my son had approached me about protesting against a store that didn't allow blacks, and I remember telling him, 'No.' He ended up going anyway. I remember chasing him because I feared for him with the way they had been treating the marchers and protesters, but he convinced me it was for a greater cause.

K.R.: Did we have an activist of this era?

S.F.: The Rev. Pinkston.

K.R.: So he was like our Martin Luther King Jr., right?

S.F: Yes, he was exactly like that. I remember they used to have to stand guard outside of his house during the night to make sure he would be safe.

K.R.: When did they begin integration?

S.F.: It was in 1965, I believe, because I remember my daughter had just started middle school. It was like it had happened overnight.

K.R.: You're not angry or spiteful? Why not?

S.F.: Because, in the midst of it all, we were for each other and supported each other. It wasn't like we didn't have . . . No, we had a whole lot, and it was great. Where we weren't allowed to go, we had were we could go, black-owned. What they had, we had, too.

K.R.: Do you think it's important for the kids now to know their history?

S.F.: I think that it is very important for the generations to know their history so they know where they're coming from, but I think parents should tell their children about how we pulled together and how we had it good, even when it seemed very bad. You know, now that I look back, I've led a pretty charmed life.

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