In press conferences, TV appearances and proclamations, Governor Orval Faubus tried hard last week to keep segregationist passions aboil. The presence of federal marshals in Little Rock, he cried, is more serious than the presence last year of federal troops. The marshals "will be met in many situations with a cold fury that did not exist before." When a group of Arkansas' Presbyterian ministers protested the closing of Little Rock's four high schools (TIME, Sept. 22), Southern Baptist Faubus accused them of being leftists, "brainwashed by left-wingers and Communists." Not even a stern protest from Methodist clergymen could make him change his mind. He heated up the air waves of an Arkansas TV network with the charge that the Supreme Court decision promises "the risk of disorder and violence that could result in the loss of life—perhaps yours."
Closed Circuit. But such fulminations could not hide the fact that Faubus, like Virginia's Governor Almond, was having his troubles with citizens who simply wanted the high schools open again, Negroes or no. The first bursts of indignation came when the Little Rock school board interpreted his school-closing order as automatic cancellation of Central High's cherished football schedule. Faubus got out of that by accusing the school board of being integrationist, and the hapless board, already threatened with recall by petition, gave a green light to football practice and the game between Central High and Tilghman Trade School of Paducah, Ky. (Central 25, Tilghman 14—Central's 35th straight victory).
In a countermove, six staunch segregationists chartered "the Little Rock private school corporation" with Faubus' public blessing and the announced aim of leasing the empty public schools to segregated—and state-subsidized—private schools. But it would be a long legal battle before such a scheme could ever work out. The school board tried to bridge the gap by starting TV classes. ("I wonder," snapped Presbyterian Minister T. B. Hay, "whether they will have a closed circuit for black faces.") Faubus even advanced the date of his referendum on segregated schools by one week to give the appearance of progress.
Open Complaints. But the quiet rebellion continued. Sixty-five students of Hall High School signed a petition demanding the reopening of their school, even if it meant integration. A student-run poll of 501 junior and senior high school pupils (Little Rock's total: 3,698) showed that 71% wanted schools reopened, even if integrated. A mothers' committee of 50, organized by matriarchal, Vassar-educated Mrs. David D. Terry of one of Little Rock's first families, went to work campaigning for acceptance of limited integration as the only means to keep public education alive in Arkansas. "It is almost more than I can bear," said Mrs. Terry, "to have the name of my city, which has been a good city, used by the Communists all over the world as a tool against our type of government. We have given them the best tool they have had in 20 years." And 220 Little Rock students quietly applied for copies of their grade transcripts—a sign that they intended to transfer soon to other cities.