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Transcript for Overcoming Stigma: Ryan White’s AIDS Education Advocacy

Recording of Ryan White: It was my decision to live a normal life, go to school, be with friends, and enjoy day to day activities. It was not going to be easy. I became known as the AIDS boy.

Beckley: Thirteen year old Ryan White was diagnosed with acquired immune deficiency syndrome in December, 1984. While the presence of the new disease had been detected over 2 years earlier, it was still a terrifying enigma. Especially in the mid-west, where less than ½ of 1 percent of all national AIDS diagnoses had been made. AIDS seemed like a distant nightmare – something that happened to other people in other places. The little understood, highly deadly disease was surrounded by fear, misunderstanding, and misinformation. Stigma and discrimination almost invariably accompanied an AIDS diagnosis. On this episode, we recount the story of Indiana teenager Ryan White and Hamilton Heights High School’s campaign to use education to combat this stigma.

I’m Lindsey Beckley and this is Talking Hoosier History.

AIDS is the late stage of infection of human immunodeficiency virus, or HIV. HIV attacks the cells within a body that help fight infection, making the infected person more vulnerable to other infections and diseases. While the HIV virus existed in humans as early as the 1920s, it wasn’t until 1981 that the medical community began noticing a rise in rare infections and suspecting a new immune deficiency disease to be the cause. By that time, up to 300,000 people on 5 continents had already been infected.

News audio: Federal health officials consider it an epidemic, yet you never hear anything about it…national Center for Disease Control in Atlanta today release the results of . . . disease, which most affects homosexual men . . . 1/3 have died and none have been cured the best guess is that some infectious agent is causing it.

Beckley: When we think about the early years of the AIDS crisis, we often think of the catastrophic effects the disease had on the gay community of the United States, and for good reason. By 1995, a full 10% of all adult men who identified as gay in America had died from the disease, a literal decimation. Of the 125 original members of the San Francisco Gay Men’s Choir, all but 7 died within the first decade of the epidemic. Before the term acquired immune deficiency syndrome was coined in 1982, it was referred to as “Gay-Related Immune Deficiency,” by health officials or “Gay Cancer” by the media. Much of the stigma surrounding the disease came from its link with the gay community and homophobic attitudes of the government, the media, and even medical professionals during the epidemic. There was another, smaller group which was also deeply and irreversibly affected by the AIDS epidemic, though: people with hemophilia.

Hemophilia is a rare disorder in which your blood lacks something called a clotting factor, meaning that it will not clot normally on its own. This leads to uncontrollable bleeding from cuts or excessive bruising form everyday activities. Up until the late 1960s, hemophiliacs had short life expectancies due to a lack of treatments for their condition. In 1965, Dr. Judith Graham Pool of Stanford University discovered a way of isolating the clotting factor in human blood, known as Factor VIII. This innovation allowed people with hemophilia to live relatively normal lives compared to their historical counterparts.

That changed dramatically in 1982 when the first cases of AIDS in the hemophiliac community were diagnosed.

News audio: At first it seemed to only strike one segment of the population. Now, Berry Peterson tells us, this is no longer the case.

Beckley: As a blood based product, Factor VIII was susceptible to contamination by blood borne illnesses, including HIV and AIDS. As first hundreds and then thousands of Americans were infected with AIDS, the risk of receiving contaminated treatments rose dramatically. Factor VIII, which just 20 years before had been the saving grace of those living with hemophilia, was now killing those same people.

This put people living with hemophilia and their loved ones in an unimaginably difficult position. Either continue using Factor VIII and risk infection or stop using it and risk bleeding to death. Ryan White, who was diagnosed with hemophilia soon after his December 1971 birth, was one of the many Americans faced with this decision. In his autobiography, Ryan White: My Own Story, Ryan describes this time in his life.

Voice actor portraying Ryan White:  “Aids was kind of lurking around in the background for all families of hemophiliacs, but back then nobody I knew except Grandpa seemed to take it very seriously. Grandpa and I had read everything we could find about it. We heard about older hemophiliacs who had gotten AIDS from the Factor that they needed as much as I did. That upset Grandpa. He started telling Mom not to give me Factor anymore.

Beckley: Ryan’s Grandfathers misgivings, in the end, were realized. Just before Christmas 1984, Ryan was hospitalized for pneumonia and after having a lung biopsy taken, was diagnosed with pneumocystis pneumonia. This, in turn, led to the realization of his and his family’s worst nightmares – an AIDS diagnosis. But from the start, Ryan decided on a unique approach to the illness.

Audio of Ryan White: I – from the very beginning, I said I was gonna fight this disease and I was gonna win.

Beckley: He wrote about his mother, Jeanne, telling him the news.

Audio of Jeanne White: From the very first, you know, he asked me, “Am I gonna die?” and this was when he was very first diagnosed, he said “Am I gonna die?” And I thought, “Gosh, how am I gonna answer this? And I said, “We’re all gonna die someday, we just don’t know when.”

Audio of Ryan: My mother told me we’re all gonna die someday so, just to step up to it.

Ryan White Voice Actor: I thought a minute. So what was the big deal about AIDS? I was a hemophiliac, so I already had my limits. But I’d been having an okay time, anyway. I certainly wasn’t about to die yet. Why not just get back to being a normal kid? “Tell you what, Mom,” I said. “Let’s just pretend I don’t have AIDS.”

Beckley: Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be possible. He couldn’t have known it, but he would soon be known around the world as the “poster boy for AIDS.” Making his diagnosis even more tragic, if that’s even possible, is the timing of it. Throughout 1984, scientists at the Center for Disease Control were developing a method of treating Factor VIII to kill any HIV virus lurking within. In October, two months before Ryan’s diagnosis, the method was endorsed and recommended by the CDC. The hemophilia community quickly implemented the method but, unfortunately, it was too late for Ryan – within just weeks of his diagnosis, all Factor VIII in the United States was being treated and hemophiliacs who had avoided infection thus far were spared.

For several months after his diagnosis, Ryan was too ill to return to school, but in the spring of 1985 he began voicing his desire to return to his normal life by resuming classes at Western Middle School. When his mother met with school officials to talk about this possibility, she encountered with resistance. Concerns about the health of other students, and that of Ryan himself, whose immune system had been ravaged by his illness, gave officials pause.  In one of the earliest news articles about the issue, Western School Superintendent J.O. Smith asked:

Voice actor: You tell me. What would you do? I don’t know. We’ve asked the State Board of Health, we’re expecting something from them. But nobody has anything to go by. Everybody wanted to know what they’re doing in other places. But we don’t have any precedent for this.

Beckley: He was right – there wasn’t much precedent for the situation they were facing. While a few schools had faced similar situations, the issues surrounding a child living with AIDS attending school – namely, the risk this posed to the other students – were far from settled. At this time, new and conflicting information came out at a dizzying pace.

News audio: . . . an epidemic of a rare form of cancer . . . a mysterious newly discovered disease . . . new deadly sexually transmitted disease . . .

Beckley: When the AIDS crisis first started, there were three risk groups identified: the gay population, intravenous drug users, and, strangely, Haitians. That based on misunderstood data indicating a higher rate of infections among Hattian Americans. Then, infants born to those with AIDS were added to the risk factor list. Next came those with Hemophilia and people who had received blood transfusions. Women with bisexual male partners were identified as a risk group in 1983. Then, women who had been artificially inseminated were being diagnosed.

Basically, the average person watching the evening news didn’t know who would be named next.

News audio: A weird, mutant virus, deadlier than the plague, suddenly appears on earth. People start dying, first by the score, then by the hundreds. Doctors are baffled. All the resources of medical science can’t help them find the cause, let alone the cure for the epidemic.

Beckley: There was fear in the air.

In 1985, when Western School Corporation was weighing its options, studies suggested that the AIDS virus may have been found in the tears and saliva of patients, which could have indicated that the virus was even more infectious than previously believed. Media reports on the studies muddied the waters further. For example, two newspaper headlines, both reporting on the same study and both published within 1 day of each other, read:

Voice actor:  “AIDS probably can’t be transmitted by saliva.”

Beckley: and

Voice actor: “AIDS virus found in saliva raises new questions.”

Beckley: With so much information—and misinformation—in the news cycle, the desire to hear from health authorities on the topic was understandable.

In July, three months after Ryan was told he could not attend school until the Indiana State Board of Health weighed in, a document titled “Guidelines for Children with AIDS Attending School” was released by the Board. Guideline number 1 read:

Voice actor: “AIDS children should be allowed to attend school as long as they behave acceptably . . . and have no uncoverable sores or skin eruptions. Routine and standard procedures should be used to clean up after a child has an accident or injury at school.”

Beckley: Despite this recommendation, Western School Corporation officials continued to deny Ryan admittance to class. Instead, they set up a remote learning system. From the confines of his bedroom, Ryan dialed into his classes via telephone and listened to his teachers lecture. He missed out on visual aids, class participation, and sometimes the lectures themselves, as the line was often garbled or disconnected.

Audio of Ryan White: I don’t want anybody else to get it. And I can see where they’re worried, but I mean, if my doctor says it’s okay to go back, I don’t see no reason why I can’t.

Beckley: A November ruling, this time by the Department of Education, confirmed the Board of Health’s assertion that Ryan should be admitted to class.

A series of rulings, appeals, and other legal filings followed, ultimately ending when the Indiana Court of Appeals declined to hear further arguments and Ryan finally got what he and his family had fought so hard for—he was allowed to return to classes on April 10, 1986. This victory was tarnished by ongoing discrimination from his classmates and other community members.

News audio: I don’t think he should be here. If people with chicken pox and measles can’t come, why should he? There’s been a lot of rumors that when he gets mad he spits on people.

Beckley: Addressing the Presidential Commission on the HIV Epidemic in 1988, Ryan recalled some of the more poignant moments from his time in Kokomo:

Ryan white audio: They call you queer and stuff like that. Then you get people who throw away your dishes. I mean, I wouldn’t want to eat off of someone else’s dish either. I mean, it’s been washed so that’s all there is to it.

Ryan White Voice Actor: “I was labeled a troublemaker, my mom an unfit mother, and I was not welcome anywhere. People would get up and leave so they would not have to sit anywhere near me. Even at church, people would not shake my hand.”

Ryan White audio: They don’t know what else to do, so they’re cruel.

Beckley: Because of these experiences and his desire to escape oppressive media coverage, Ryan asked his mother if they could move out of Howard County. When the family decided to settle in Cicero, a small town about 30 miles to the south east, they couldn’t have known how drastically different their lives were about to become.

Tony Cook, the Hamilton Heights High School principal in the 1980s and now a State Representative, heard through informal channels that Ryan’s family was moving into his school district in April of 1987. The degree of media coverage surrounding Ryan’s battle to attend classes meant that Cook was well aware that his community’s reaction would be heavily scrutinized. In order to prepare his students, teachers, and neighbors for Ryan’s arrival, Cook and his staff set out on an AIDS educational crusade the likes of which had not been seen before.

With the backing of his superintendent and school board, Cook quickly made the decision that Ryan would be admitted to the school. This was really no surprise since Ryan’s cases had already set the legal precedent for children living with AIDS having the right to attend school.  What was more revolutionary was the decision that there would be no restrictions placed on what Ryan was able to do in school. During his time attending classes while in class in Western Middle School, he was not able to attend gym, used a separate restroom and water fountain, and ate off of disposable trays using plastic utensils. Cook’s decision to forgo such extreme measures signaled to the rest of the community – and to Ryan – that Ryan wasn’t some accident waiting to happen. Once that decision was made, it was time for Cook to take action.

After gathering AIDS-related materials from the Indiana State Board of Health, the Center for Disease Control, major newspapers, and scientific journals, Cook turned what was supposed to be his summer break into a months-long educational campaign.

Throughout the months that followed, Cook, armed with scientific sources, combated misinformation in his community. He spoke about AIDS at Kiwanis groups, Rotary Clubs, churches, and, really, any group that asked. He sat in living rooms and at kitchen tables throughout the community, personally addressing concerns of fellow citizens.

The school developed a collection of AIDS education materials that could be checked out. Cook contacted members of the student government, asking them to act as ambassadors, advocating on Ryan’s behalf with their fellow students and the media. School staff went through additional training to prepare them for the possibility of a blood or other biohazard spill. By the time the school year came around, Cicero, Arcadia, and the surrounding area had some of the best informed populations when it came to AIDS.

[Classroom sounds, bell ringing]

Beckley: The first few days of the 1987-1988 school year at Hamilton Heights High School were peppered with convocations in which Cook addressed each grade level to assuage any remaining concerns over sharing classrooms and hallways with Ryan. Students were encouraged to ask questions and support was provided for any feeling uncomfortable with the situation. In short, education was used to address stigma.

On Ryan’s first day of class, which was about a week after school started, the campaign seemed to have been relatively successful – all went smoothly, especially compared to the mass walk-outs and protests that had occurred when other children with AIDS began attending a new school.

Media presence, however, was a problem for the Hamilton Heights staff. Heights was an open campus, meaning students traveled between different buildings throughout the day. This would have made having members of the media on campus both distracting and potentially dangerous. But restricting access all together also wasn’t possible, as Ryan was a nationally-known figure by this time. The compromise was to have weekly press conferences during which Ryan, student ambassadors, and faculty could answer questions and update the press about the goings-on at the school.

On that first day, though, there was no formal press conference. Rather, as Ryan left the building the press surrounded him, asking how things had gone. He smiled and said:

News audio: Where you nervous at all this morning? “Oh, yea, I was terribly nervous.” What do you feel like now? I feel really good about this school. I like it a lot.

Ryan attributed his positive experiences at Hamilton Heights directly to the education campaign:

Ryan White Audio: When I went home that night, I just, I couldn’t believe they were so . . . I said, “Mom, they were really nice.” And it was all just so amazing.

Later, when speaking in front of the presidential commission on the HIV epidemic, he said:

Ryan White voice actor: I’m just one of the kids, and all because the students at Hamilton Heights High School listened to the facts, educated their parents and themselves, and believed in me . . . Hamilton Heights is proof that AIDS education in schools works.

Beckley: I had the opportunity to interview Representative Cook about his experiences during this time. During our interview, Cook spoke to the power of education to overcome even the most intense fear,

Cook:  “Yes, there were some folks that were uneasy and nervous, but we did see education overcome. And we saw a community that allowed us to do certain things, and again, they understood that we had delved into it a lot, and we had gathered stuff for them, and they trusted us to do it and carry it through.”

Beckley: That trust, built up over months of hard work, enabled the community to do what others could not – welcome Ryan and his family with open arms.

The first time Tony Cook met Ryan, Cook asked why Ryan wanted so badly to attend school. During our interview with Representative Cook, he recalled that the fifteen-year-old Ryan, who by that time had been in the middle of a media storm for nearly two years, replied

Ryan White Voice Actor: “’I just want to be a normal kid . . . I may die. So, for me, it’s important that I try to experience the high school experience as well as I can.”

Beckley: At Hamilton Heights High School, Ryan was able to do just that. He went to football games and high school dances. He had friends and a girlfriend. He was able to get his drivers license and a job working at a skate shop. In short, he was able to experience many of the same things other teenagers experienced, although his life was far from normal.

Ryan’s AIDS education advocacy had started before his move to Cicero, and it continued throughout the remainder of his life. He traveled the nation speaking in schools, on television, and before the Presidential Commission on the HIV Epidemic. Cook also traveled, speaking to fellow educators about his experiences preparing Hamilton Heights for Ryan’s arrival. As more schools faced similar situations, Hamilton Heights High School was used as a model on which they could base their programs.

Tragically, five years after this initial diagnosis, Ryan died on April 15, 1990 after being admitted to Riley Hospital for Children with a respiratory tract infection.

News audio: Funeral services for Ryan will be held on Wednesday . . . the last five years, he lived with AIDS. He got it . . . Indiana Governor Evan Bayh has ordered the flags throughout the state to be flown at half staff . . . Ryan White attracted nation-wide attention and sympathy . . .

Beckley: Celebrities such as Sir Elton John and Michael Jackson attended his funeral, such was his impact on the nation.

Elton John audio: This one’s for Ryan.

Beckley: His legacy of AIDS advocacy lives on in the Ryan White CARE Act, which was passed just months after his death and continues to provide funding for HIV and AIDS community-based care and treatment services.

This year,  2019 the Indiana Historical Bureau dedicated a state historical marker to Ryan White’s AIDS education advocacy and to Hamilton Heights’ role in the story. Over seven hundred people attended the ceremony – the largest we’ve ever had. In that way, Ryan’s legacy is cemented in our history – people remember the courageous, well-spoken young man who faced the stigma of AIDS with equanimity.

Ryan White audio: Yea, I think a lot more people are not afraid of AIDS now, and they’re not afraid of someone who has it. And I think they’re more willing to accept people who have AIDS.

We can still learn much from his story. Between 2010 and 2015, Scott County, Indiana experienced the state’s worst HIV outbreak to date. 215 people – nearly all intravenous drug users – were diagnosed.  Despite being in Ryan White’s home state, the students at the local high school knew little about the illness. When diagnosis rates began to rise, rumors very similar to those seen in the 1980s began to swirl, rumors that you can catch AIDS from water fountains, toilet seats, and from second hand contact. This came, in part, from a lack of AIDS education. The AIDS information standard from the Indiana Department of Education reads:

Voice Actor:  “The state board shall provide information stressing the moral aspects of abstinence from sexual activity in any literature that it distributes to students and young adults concerning available methods for the prevention of acquired immune deficiency syndrome (AIDS). The literature must state that the best way to avoid AIDS is for young people to refrain from sexual activity until they are ready as adults to establish, in the context of marriage, a mutually faithful monogamous relationship.”

Beckley: Some schools, of course, have robust AIDS education curriculum. But it is possible, with the current standards in place, to only teach that abstinence is the best way to avoid contracting AIDS. Setting aside the controversy from the issues surrounding abstinence first sex-ed, this method is inadequate in that it ignores the various other methods of transmission, and by framing AIDS as a purely sexually transmitted disease, and linking it with morality, we further stigmatize those living with AIDS.

As the Scott County HIV/AIDS outbreak was coming to light, students at Austin High School took AIDS Education into their own hands, much as Ryan had done 25 years before. They came together and wrote a special edition of the school newspaper – the Eagle – dispelling myths about the disease. They brought health officials in to talk with students about the realities of living with HIV. They even set up a group called “Stand Up,” which focused on AIDS education. These teenagers saw a problem and they addressed it, even though it wasn’t necessarily their job to do so, much like it wasn’t necessarily Ryan White’s job to educate the nation on the same issues in the 1980s.

Over 700,000 Americans have died from AIDS related illnesses since 1981. Treatments such as highly active antiretroviral therapy and Combivir, along with the preventative medication PrEP have resulted in an 85% drop in death rates since 1995, which is considered the peak of the epidemic in the U.S. This is the story in America – each nation has its own story and is in its own stage of dealing with the HIV crisis. Today, approximately 36.9 million people are living with HIV or AIDS globally, but new breakthroughs are promising and the Joint United Nations Programme on HIV/AIDS has announced a targeted strategy to end the AIDS epidemic by 2030.

Ryan White audio: You know, it’s given me a more positive attitude, of course. And, just to feel like you’re not fighting it alone – that you have other people fighting it with you.

[Talking Hoosier History theme music]

Beckley: Once again, I’m Lindsey Beckley and this has been Talking Hoosier History. Talking Hoosier History is a product of the Indiana Historical Bureau, a division of the Indiana State Library. If you would like to see my sources for this episode, visit blog.history.in.gov and click “Talking Hoosier History” at the top to see a full transcript and show notes. Talking Hoosier History is written by me, Lindsey Beckley. Production and sound engineering by Jill Weiss Simins. Thank you to Justin Clark for voicing several parts on this episode. And a very special thanks to Ollie Banker, who gave voice to Ryan White throughout the episode. Check back in two weeks for an interview with Jeremy Turner, director of the HIV, STD, Viral Hepitius division of the Indiana State Department of Health, who will talk about the steps the state and the nation are taking to end the AIDS epidemic by 2030. Find us on Facbook and Twitter as the Indiana Historical Bureau, and remember to subscribe, rate, and review us wherever you get your podcasts.

Thanks for listening.

As a historical researcher, I spend much of my time thinking about what the world was like one hundred years ago. Remnants of this world are seen particularly in the institutions that have survived throughout the decades. One such institution is Indiana University, which will celebrate 200 years in 2020. In my work as a researcher for the Office of the Bicentennial, I have come across many stories that add vibrant details to the seemingly-distant world of one hundred years ago.

Hoosiers in this world faced adversity, rose above challenges, and broke glass ceilings. This was the case at the School of Commerce and Finance (today’s Kelley School of Business), which was formed during IU’s centennial in 1920. The school was founded during a time of transition. World War I had just concluded, the “roaring twenties” were on the horizon, and economic catastrophe loomed on the periphery. Blanche McNeely Wean, the first woman to be admitted into the School of Commerce and Finance, witnessed this transition. She navigated through it as a widowed working mother of three during the Great Depression.

A Bloomington native, McNeely bridged “Town and Gown” by enrolling at Indiana University in 1919 to study education. She grew up in an entrepreneurial family. Her father ran a grocery store in town, where McNeely worked throughout her childhood. She would later consider this to be a core experience that sparked her interest in business. Her duties ranged from “driving the cow home and back from Dunn Meadow at 10^th street for milking” to cold calling residents who might buy overstock peaches from the store. In 1919, McNeely’s father, Homer Clark McNeely, opened and operated the Yellow Cab Co. of Bloomington.

Although McNeely studied education at IU, she took nearly all of the preliminary business courses she could without being a business student.  She shared with a male professor that she had ambitions to join the business world, stemming from her work experience. The professor told her that business was a “man’s world” and suggested she stick to education. Following this rejection, she turned to School of Commerce and Finance  secretary Sarah Kirby, who encouraged her to ask Dean Rawles for admission into the school. In her memoir, published in 1996, Blanche Accounts, she credited her 1922 admission to the school to Kirby. She recalled “In his very formal way he [Dean Rawles] looked me over as if he had not seen me before and said, ‘Well Blanche, you have taken all the preliminary courses. I cannot see why not.’”

After that exchange, McNeely became the first woman admitted into the business school. Anna Hasler and Athleen Catterson transferred from the University of Chicago and were admitted concurrently. The three women graduated together in 1923, making them the first women to graduate from the Indiana University School of Commerce and Finance—and McNeely was the first female graduate to have completed all of the degree requirements at IU. Notable classmates included: Herman B Wells, first chancellor of Indiana University; Ernie Pyle, Pulitzer Prize-winning World War II journalist; and Hoagy Carmichael, famed singer and songwriter. McNeely wrote later in her memoir that she did not “remember that the men in our classes treated us differently. We studied together and served on committees together.” When not studying, McNeely played tennis, served on the YWCA board, and went on walks with a friend.

The female graduates’ success would likely not have been possible without women like Lulu Westenhaver and Sarah Kirby, who had been instrumental to the education and administrative efficiency of the school. Kirby had been a secretary when the school began and served under six different deans throughout thirty-eight years at IU. She would go onto make history in 1942 when she became the first woman to be elected an honorary member of the school’s honor society, Beta Gamma Sigma. Westenhaver came to IU in 1920 as a stenography instructor in the new business school. She served alongside Kirby as a secretary during several of those years and was a key sponsor of student groups, especially for female students. Two such groups were Omicron Delta and Chi Gamma, both of which were sponsored by Westenhaver and Kirby, as well as Professor Esther Bray.

After graduation, McNeely moved to Lafayette to begin working as a teacher, and married Francis Wean in 1926. In 1930, Francis unexpectedly passed away, widowing McNeely Wean and leaving her to raise three daughters under the age of three at the onset of the Great Depression. McNeely Wean wrote in her memoir about the time:

The shock of his death was almost more than I could bear. I found it hard to make decisions, except one, and that with emphasis. Friends without children asked whether I would consider giving one of my children to them. I was indignant and answered, ‘Why? I have my education and ability to work. I can take care of my own children.’

Instead, McNeely Wean moved back to Bloomington to substitute teach for Lulu Westenhaver, who was on medical leave. In Blanche Accounts, she describes that moving back to Bloomington was like a homecoming: “It was a time to renew old friendships with Herman Wells, Mr. Pritchett, Joe Batchelor, Esther Bray, and Miss Kirby.”

While teaching at IU, McNeely Wean worked on obtaining her master’s degree and was offered a trial position as the head of the business department at Central Normal College in Danville (later renamed Canterbury College). Rather than uprooting her family, she woke up every Monday morning at 2:30 a.m. to drive to Danville and teach a 6:00 a.m. class. In 1932, McNeely Wean received an official offer from Central Normal College to head the business school, serve as the dean of women for the college, and serve as the student newspaper’s advisor—with the expectation that she would first graduate with her master’s degree from Indiana University that same year. She graduated with a Master of Arts degree in May 1932, and then moved her family to Danville. She continued at Central Normal College for fifteen years while also working as an accountant for outside businesses.

In a 1982 interview with The Indianapolis News, McNeely Wean recalled how she worried and cared for Central Normal College students during the Great Depression: “We ate lots of hamburger, Spanish rice, and ‘hot dog gravy.’ I diced up the hot dogs to make it go further in milk gravy. That’s what the students called it. I had to do it because we never knew how many would show up.”

In the meantime, all three of her daughters earned their undergraduate and graduate degrees at Indiana University. In 1947, McNeely Wean left Central Normal College and started her own accounting firm out of her home. She ran the business on her own with a few employees until her grandson, Ted Andrews, joined the firm, which was rechristened Wean, Andrews, & Co. in 1980.

After McNeely Wean passed away in 1999, Andrews described his grandmother to The Indianapolis News, noting “She was a workaholic. She’d scold clients who were retiring [saying], ‘What do you mean you are retiring, you are only 75!’” McNeely Wean shattered glass ceilings for many women aspiring to careers in business, and contributed greatly to the education of business students at Central Normal College. In an interview with The Indianapolis Star in 1987, McNeely Wean expounded on the importance of ability rather than appearance, stating “I judge an individual on his or her merits. It’s not a matter of color or race, of women or men. It’s a question of ‘the job has to be done and let’s do it.’ If you can do it better than the other fellow, fine.”

Although McNeely Wean was instrumental in proving that women could succeed in the business world, even without the support of a husband, business was not yet a widely-accessible career choice for many women, especially in the world of higher education. Some women who pursued business careers turned to teaching the subject, such as business professor Esther Bray, who graduated from Indiana University in 1925. She returned to IU in 1937 to teach in the business school, where she would prove to be a force of nature and a fierce advocate for her students. Bray was the only woman on the business school faculty for many years, as instructors were not considered “faculty” throughout the university at the time. In later interviews, Bray recalled that departmental meetings were often opened with “Mrs. Bray and gentlemen, shall we come to order?” She was active in her community as a volunteer for nonprofit and political organizations. When Bray passed away in 1999, a faculty memorial resolution was approved in her honor, calling Bray a “role model for women” and “had the time been right, she would have been a congresswoman.”

Both McNeely Wean’s and Bray’s lives are testaments to the growing options for young, ambitious women who came of age during the 1920s and 1930s. Without the context of supporting figures such as Sarah Kirby and Lulu Westenhaver, the story of Blanche McNeely Wean may have been very different. Their trajectory highlights how women built communities for themselves in the male-dominated world of academia. The roots of these communities are visible today at IU through groups organized for female business students.

* While business classes had been offered at the university for years, they were dispersed throughout different departments. The creation of the School of Commerce and Finance placed business courses into the school instead of departments.

FURTHER READING

Indiana University Arbutus, 1923, 1937, 1941, and 1971.

Esther Bray, Indiana University Memorial Resolution, Bloomington Faculty Council Circular, Indiana University.

Blanche McNeely Wean, Blanche Accounts: A McNeely Family Story (Danville, IN: self-published, 1996).

Lulu Westenhaver, Indiana University Memorial Resolutions, Bloomington Faculty Council, 1959.

NEWSPAPER ARTICLES:

“Honored at IU,” The Indianapolis News, May 9, 1942.

“Instructor at IU for 28 years Dies,” The Courier-Journal (Louisville), April 23, 1959.

Mary Ann Butters, “Dinner to Focus Spotlight on Mrs. Bray,” The Indianapolis Star, March 2, 1972.

Ruth Chaney, “Congressman’s Wife has Life of Varied Interests,” The Daily Journal (Franklin, IN), October 6, 1964.

Mike Ellis, “Book to Be the Keeper of the Fate,” The Indianapolis News, September 9, 1987.

Lynn Hopper, “Awash in Fond Memories,” The Indianapolis Star, February 27, 1998.

Jean Jensen, “She’s at Home in Business,” The Indianapolis News, December 29, 1982.

Suzanne McBride, “An Education in Higher Learning: 21-Year Board Member Sees Progress,” The Indianapolis News, June 22, 1992.

Claude Parsons, “Esther Bray is Serving 16th Year on Higher Education Commission,” The Indianapolis News, April 9, 1987.

Beth Rosenberg, “Blanche Wean, 86, Still Accountable,” The Indianapolis Star, September 24, 1987.

Beth Spangle, “Blanche McNeely Wean Left a Legacy for Town and Family,” The Indianapolis News, June 9, 1999.

Lotys Benning Stewart, “They Achieve,” The Indianapolis Star, June 30, 1946.

Bill Strother, “Esther Bray Recalled as Leader, Teacher,” The Herald Times Online, December 23, 1999.

Jodi Wetuski, “Her Varied Life Adds Up,” The Indianapolis Star, July 17, 1996.

Transcript for Giving Voice: Mike Jackson

I’m Lindsey Beckley and this Giving Voice, from Talking Hoosier History.

Beckley: During each segment of giving voice, we’ll feature a different discussion from someone who, in some way, we hope will add to your understanding of a topic we’ve covered in the main podcast. We may talk to industry experts, historians, or people personally connected with the main story. It’s our mission to allow a deeper understanding of the topic, while providing a platform for those in the communities we cover in our work.

Our last episode focused on a group of families in South Bend, Indiana who came together to rise above housing discrimination in the city through their housing Co-op Better Homes of South Bend. A couple of weeks ago, I had the privilege of talking to someone who grew up in the neighborhood developed by Better Homes – Mike Jackson. Today, we bring you that discussion. If you haven’t listened to the episode, called “From Redlining to Better Homes: The Better Homes of South Bend Housing Cooperative,” I’d suggest doing that now, as it gives some great context on the discussion.

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Jackson: My name’s Mike Jackson. Funny thing: when I say I’m Mike Jackson, they don’t realize my real name’s Michael Jackson. It’s such a slight little thing but people don’t notice. And then, finaly they…they realize.

I grew up – I was born living on Prairie Aveneue. Prairie Avenue was right next to the Studebaker plant, where my dad, who had returned from World War II in France, started working. And the thing I remember about Prairie Avenue is that it was kind of like a housing project but it was pretty much for returning military people. I just remember all the families that were there and all the kids that were there to play with and I remember my grandmother also lived in the same neighborhood too. And the circus train – which I didn’t say before – the circus train pulled up behind our Prairie Ave neighborhood every year too. Ringling Brothers! And that was a real adventure and there was – you’d hear all the sounds of the elephants and the lions and all of that kind of stuff. So, I remember them coming several different times.

My family was on – in – in this Prairie Avenue neighborhood because my mom and all the ladies – my aunt, my grandmother had come up from Mississippi and the south while my dad and the other men were off to war. And so there were a number of other men in the neighborhood that had returned from World War II.

We were the first house built on Elmer Street – completed. There were other housed to come, and they came real fast. But we were on Elmer Street all by ourselves for a little while and as a little kid, I just remember going from our neighborhood on Prairie Avenue to Elmer Street. There we were, all by ourselves and we were the only new house on the block. There was just maybe one or two other houses. There was a basement house straight across from us where a white family lived and my brother and I, my brother Greg, we were the first black students to go to Marquette Elementary. And so, I really got consumed in my kindergarten year and my first year school at Marquette as that got going and everybody else from the prairie avenue neighborhood was going to build houses – I think 22 families built houses  – started getting their houses complete and coming to Elmer Street.

Beckley: And what was the integration process like for you? Was it an easy process as far as entering into the school? Were you accepted?

Jackson: Now, I didn’t really know. I kinda didn’t really know I was integrating the school but as I think – as I thought about it, my mom always took great, great, great pride and care to make sure we always went to school clean. We’d have on some blue jeans and the t-shirt was kinda what the style was in those years – ’52, ’53. But she always made sure we were looking good and there was no reason to look down at us. She took big pride in that. And me, though, the teachers, and the principle, and it seemed like everybody always was so nice. So, they may have been making an extra effort to be nice to us. Pretty much didn’t run into any problems that I saw as a little kid in my first years at Marquette.

Beckley: Even as more and more children came, it seems like it was a pretty smooth process, both through growing the community and everybody being accepted and – aside from the Little League story, which I think you referenced in Gabrielle’s book.

Jackson: Right. And that little league story: we were baseball players. We’d play stickball out in the street and in rocks and whatever and finally we got to play organized baseball and of course we wanted to play in the little league with the shiny stadium and nice uniforms and everything but they cut off the boundaries to the little league two blocks before Elmer Street. And, I mean, after Elmer Street, we realized there were only two more blocks with no houses on it. They could have taken up that whole are and, you know, been that area for the little league. But they cut it off. You know they cut it off. Eventually, we realized that they cut it off, you know, we were little black kids. And we were pretty much hurt by that. But we had great baseball cuz we played in the park league, but all we got was the shirt and cap. In the little league, you go the whole uniform. And in the little league, there was a fence where you could hit home runs over the fence and all those kind of things. But we, you know, we missed out on that. We have to ride our bikes to the different ball parks to play in the park leagues, which we loved – there’s just great memories, riding to all the different parks and playing the different teams at all the different parks. We were representing the Marquette school park on our baseball team.

Beckley: So, when you were growing up on Elmer Street, did you realize in the moment that you were living in a bit of a unique community?

Jackson: Ummm… I, yea, pretty soon I did. Because, when we went to Marquette, we were the only black families going – walking, we walked to school, we walked home from lunch, I mean, it was the good ol’ school days. But we were the only black families – we were the only 2 blocks of houses that had minority families going to Marquette and we knew…we realized that. Yea, we realized we were different at Marquette and so we did – and then, too, I mean, there’s always Jim Crow and all those things going on but you know, my mom and dad, we realized that they had little things that was thrown in their face. The little prejudices and this and that. We knew those kind of things were going on so we knew we were a different group.

Beckley: Did you realize while living there, like, did you guys discuss how you got there and did your parents bring that up much and did you discuss that amongst the other children? And did you talk much about Better Homes of South Bend itself?

Jackson: Eventually, we did. Eventually, we realized that the way the houses had come about was that our dads, and moms, and dads, had gotten together and they had kinda – we were that sure how, but they had built these houses. They had built our street in a place that normally we couldn’t build. So we knew they had done some different things and some special things to get our houses built so, yea, we talked about that all the time.

Another reason we talked about it, too, though, is, like, when we eventually got into high school, you know, here we are still these same two blocks, but on the west side, you know, we weren’t living on the west side, but we were going to school with all the kinds from, you know, the west side of South Bend. So, even they realized on the west side that, you know, there’s two blocks of black families over there on Elmer Street. So, we were kind of like tagged the Northsiders or whatever.

Beckley: Do you think that your, I don’t know, your childhood and growing up on Elmer Street and in that community had a big impact on your life and do you think that it affected the way that you grew up in any significant way?

Jackson: Well, we saw that our parents – our moms and dads – all got along and our moms and dads, you know, they had gatherings on Elmer Street and they had picnics and they had cookouts and we saw them always together. And of course, when they’re together, we’re there with them too, so we’re all hanging out and this and that. So, there was just this unsaid something – feeling – that we were all more family because we were all kind of isolated. So that just kind of, you know, from our observations, you could just kind of feel something different about the whole thing.

Beckley: They went through something together and that kind of created a bond that might not have been there otherwise?

Jackson: Right. Sure. And, you know, since we’re in and out of everybody’s house, whatever Keith had or whatever Charles had, whatever I had too, was like my stuff. And, you know, my mom’s baking us cooking and bringing them out while were playing stick ball in the street. We’d go to somebody else’s house and they’re giving her this and that. It was kinda like what the times were like to. Cuz, you know, you could stay for dinner sometimes, stay for dinner. But sometimes they say you go home and eat dinner. But sometimes, you’d stay and it didn’t matter. It was just like, we were all related. And we were related because we were all Elmer Street. So that stuck with us as, you know, we branched out and went to high school and this and that. We were Elmer Street.

Beckley: So, I think to wrap it up, do you have any favorite stories of your time on Elmer Street or something that’s just kind of quintessentially your childhood that you’d like to share? Just a brief story?

Jackson: As far as stories, it’s like on Saturdays – I mentioned that in the book – you’d get up on Saturdays and you’d hear all the lawnmowers running. And, you know, everybody’d be cutting their grass. All the dad’s would be cutting their grass.

The houses, and the places, and the neighborhood and the blocks all just looked so good and everybody would be going by complimenting each other on how their yard looked. And they’d be buying – some of the dads would be buying hedges or their getting different things to make sure the houses looked good and there was just a big pride and, you know, I’m proud of how the neighbors houses look, and our house too. But it wasn’t like a jealousy – it was a pride. Cuz – it was kinda like we felt like I guess we were in the spotlight or under a microscope. What are those families doin’ on Elmer Street? So that’s one thing I really remember too.

And then, eventually, I became the person cutting the grass at my dads, you know, at our house, too. Which was – oh wow! Now, he’s giving it over to me to let me cut the grass. Ya know, and keep that same pride going.

Beckley: I’m not sure many teenagers felt that way.

Jackson: I know, I know. But we did. Cuz we were always seeing them doing that.

Beckley: Do you feel like, perhaps, you on Elmer Street were held up to a different standard from other families in the surrounding areas? Cuz you were different.

Jackson: Oh definitely. Yes. Definitely. We were – and we met that standard, too, though. And surpassed it. And a lot of times, as we walked to school. So we walked, you know, we walked like…blocks and blocks to school. I won’t get into how far we used to walk to school in the snow and all that, but we always knew our block looked as good as and better, often than other blocks looked. You know, and were proud of that too. We were proud to say we lived on Elmer Street.

Beckley: Mike, I want to thank you again for coming onto our show today and for talking a little bit about your childhood and South Bend. We really appreciate your time.

Jackson: I really appreciate you paying attention to us and recognizing us.

Beckley: Of course. It definitely is a story worth telling so we’re happy to tell it.

Once again, I’d like to thank Mike for taking the time to talk with me about his experiences growing up on Elmer Street. If you want to learn more about life on Elmer Street, I highly recommend Gabrielle Robinson’s book Better Homes of South Bend, which was referenced a few times in that discussion.

We’ll be back next month with another episode of Talking Hoosier History. In the meantime, follow the Indiana Historical Bureau on Facebook and twitter for daily doses of Indiana History tidbits. Subscribe, rate, and review to Talking Hoosier History wherever you get your podcasts.

Thanks for listening.