Breaking the Color Barrier

Joann Henderson Forbes has strong memories of the days when Baton Rouge hospitals were segregated. 

Inspired by her mother Ida Henderson, one of the first African-American nurses to work at the Baton Rouge General Hospital on Florida Street, Forbes is pushing hard for recognition of the women she calls “trailblazers” and “pioneers.” 

In 2010, when her mother turned 83, Forbes hosted a large party, inviting all the nurses she could find who had once worked at the General’s fourth-floor “black wing,” then known as 4-South. Many hadn’t seen each other in years. 

Her mother died in 2011, but Forbes kept pursuing her cause to persuade the General to honor the women who cared for patients—and each other—through the hard times of the Jim Crow era and beyond. 

Inspired by her mother Ida Henderson, one of the first African-American nurses to work at the Baton Rouge General Hospital on Florida Street, Forbes is pushing hard for recognition of the women she calls “trailblazers” and “pioneers.” 

Recently she gathered a small group of former nurses to share their stories of those times—Catherine Jackson, Earl Dean Joseph, and Ethel Rucker, accompanied by her daughter Saundra Clark. 

In the 1940s and ‘50s, there was no place for black nurses to go for training in Louisiana. “They had to go to St. Louis or, ironically, Mississippi,” recalled Forbes.

But in 1953, the Capitol Area Trade School opened at 1500 South 13^th Street, offering courses in carpentry and practical nursing.

“Mary Harris, a registered nurse [RN] was the first black nursing instructor in Baton Rouge,” said Forbes. “Women came from all over the state to attend the school because there was nowhere else for them to go.” 

Earl Dean Joseph, now 83, was one of the school’s first students. She worked in food service at Germaine Laville Hall on the LSU campus while she studied nursing. “That income really helped, because my husband and I were raising a family,” Joseph said.  

While learning theory at the trade school, the nurses acquired practice through an affiliation with the General. Under supervision, they got hands-on experience in taking temperatures, making beds (both occupied and unoccupied), and charting their work. 

The first graduation ceremony was held on July 23, 1954, at the Israelite Baptist Church on Texas Street. Twelve women were awarded LPN (licensed practical nurse) degrees. They later celebrated with a banquet at the Chicken Shack restaurant on Lettsworth Street.   

Ida Henderson graduated in 1955, when ceremonies were held in the auditorium at McKinley Junior High School. Jackson graduated in 1960. 

Ethel Rucker, now 93, was a stay-at-home mom when she enrolled at the trade school. “I had six children,” she said. “All of a sudden I had to do something. I needed a job. I think that was when I bloomed out.”

Ethel Rucker, now 93, was a stay-at-home mom when she enrolled at the trade school. “I had six children,” she said. “All of a sudden I had to do something. I needed a job. I think that was when I bloomed out.”

At 4-South, RNs could dress incisions, insert catheters, give injections, prepare patients for surgery, and relay doctor’s orders to patients. LPNs could bathe patients, take vital signs, and do some treatments. 

Joseph amazed the others with her memory of exactly how 4-South was laid out. 

“There was only one wing [for African-Americans] on the fourth floor,” said Joseph. “The west and east wings were for whites. 4-South had Room 450 for seven obstetric patients. Room 451 was for seven women patients. Room 453 was a male ward with seven patients. Rooms 457, 459, 460, and 465 were semiprivate rooms. Room 464 had three beds. Across the hall was the pediatric [ward] for people of color up to about twelve years old.”

When all the rooms were filled, patients were put in the hallway, with screens for privacy. “We even had obstetric patients on the hall,” recalled Jackson, 75. “Surgery patients, isolation patients, gunshot wounds.”

Black women gave birth in the third-floor delivery room. “Then they’d scoot ‘em up the steps to the chocolate nursery,” said Joseph. “The mothers were in a ward with screens.” 

“When the nursery filled up, the babies had to be put at the nurses’ station,” Forbes said.

Bathrooms were in short supply, with one for men and one for women. “They each had one lavatory, one tub, and one commode [toilet],” said Forbes. 

Black nurses were accepted at the General years before black doctors could practice there. “We had a lot of excellent black doctors,” said Joseph. “But they weren’t given hospital privileges until about five years later.” 

Black nurses were accepted at the General years before black doctors could practice there. “We had a lot of excellent black doctors,” said Joseph. “But they weren’t given hospital privileges until about five years later.” 

Joseph first worked in the polio ward, 4-West: “The patients were mixed, black and white, because it was federally funded. Some were in iron lungs. They were all ages—children, teenagers, grownups. I hadn’t worked with polio patients, but they took me on anyway. A white nurse, Ann Auter, took me under her wing, and we became the best of friends. It was an enriching experience. 

“We had to exercise good precautionary methods to be sure not to catch the virus,” said Joseph, who spent about a year on the polio ward before going to 4-South. “But we did that with all patients, and we had very little cross-contamination.” 

Joseph said black nurses were not allowed to chart their own patients. “I could not document what I did,” she said. “So I used my time to study pharmacology. I could study all the medications I was not familiar with.” 

When either white or black wings were short staffed, nurses had to pitch in where needed. Most white nurses made it clear they weren’t happy on 4-South, and many white patients resented being assigned black nurses, said Joseph.

“They weren’t used to seeing people of color,” she said. “They’d want to know what this little black-and-white pill was and what was this long green one. I always knew. I was well versed.”

She recalled a white patient who refused to allow her to administer a pre-surgery injection. The white head nurse gave the patient his shot. “One thing [such discrimination] did was make you seek almost perfect performance,” said Joseph.

She recalled a white patient who refused to allow her to administer a pre-surgery injection. The white head nurse gave the patient his shot. “One thing [such discrimination] did was make you seek almost perfect performance,” said Joseph.

Forbes recalled that her mother, Ida Henderson, was light skinned, with red hair and blue-green eyes. “When they had a [recalcitrant white patient], they called my mama because she looked white,” said Forbes. “One patient refused to let black nurses work with him, so they called my mama. He said, ‘How can you work with those people?’ She brought him his medicine. At the door, she turned and said, ‘By the way, I’m a Negro.’ He turned red and almost had a heart attack. Whenever things got out of hand, Ida was called. The other nurses called my mama Miss Domingue. That was her ‘white’ name. They called her Ming for short.”

Jackson recalled horrific experiences with white patients, including being spit at and being slapped by a woman with feces in her hand. “She slapped my glasses off,” said Jackson. “I walked out of the room and passed out.”

In a telephone interview, Lucinda Clark recalled a patient who objected to her presence but ended up impressed with her work. 

“My first white patient, the family went to the administration office and were told they didn’t have any more rooms [in the white section]. They put him in a private room on our unit. When he left, the family gave me a beautiful gift and wrote to the administrators how pleased they were with my work.” 

Clark, an RN trained in Mississippi, went to work at Our Lady of the Lake hospital around 1948. Although it was the first hospital in Baton Rouge to hire black nurses, the Lake confined black patients in a separate building, St. Martin de Porres Infirmary. The two-story brick building with fifty-five beds was separated from the main hospital by a covered driveway. If a patient needed surgery, he was wheeled over on a gurney, often in bad weather. Some patients had to walk. 

For that reason, said Clark, many black nurses left the Lake to work at the General, where they were housed under the same roof as the other patients and staff. 

Supplies at 4-South were handed down from the white wings, usually broken or worn. Carts with missing wheels and chipped bedpans were common. 

Rucker became the fix-it person. “I’d take the good parts and put them together,” she said. “We learned how to remodel blood-pressure cuffs, stethoscopes. We had to learn the hard way. But we had to have something to work with.” 

Rucker became the fix-it person. “I’d take the good parts and put them together,” she said. “We learned how to remodel blood-pressure cuffs, stethoscopes. We had to learn the hard way. But we had to have something to work with.” 

The nurses clearly recalled the breaking of the color line in the General’s basement cafeteria, which served only whites. Black staff were confined to a small room, about twelve feet square, with one table and a few chairs. If they were lucky enough to get a chair, they sat. If not, they ate standing up. 

“Anybody black could not go into the cafeteria,” recalled Clark. “One day, a black nurse broke the line. She got her tray and her food and sat down and ate. I guess it could have happened before, but nobody had the guts to do it. The barrier had been broken and nobody said a word.”

Gwendolyn Miller, 78, was the second person to brave the stares and eat in the “white” cafeteria.

“I don’t remember the other nurse’s name,” said Miller in a telephone interview. “We were both RNs, and we were relieving each other on shift that day. After she ate in the cafeteria, she came back and said, ‘I sat with everybody else. I expect you to follow through.’ 

“So I went down the line. The eyes were definitely on me because I was the only black in the cafeteria, but I don’t recall any comments. The next week they knocked down the wall [of the separate room for black nurses] and from that day on the cafeteria was integrated.” 

“We were both RNs, and we were relieving each other on shift that day. After she ate in the cafeteria, she came back and said, ‘I sat with everybody else. I expect you to follow through.’ 

Another standout memory is the day they staged a “sick-in” or strike. 

“A bunch of the black nurses got together and had a sick-in,” recalled Jackson. “One by one we called in to say that Grandma broke her toenail, or my baby bit his lip, or the dog fell off the steps.”

They laughed about the deliberately frivolous excuses, but Joseph added, “We couldn’t afford to lose the job, but sometimes you get sick and tired of being sick and tired. We all got together and had a little party and talked about, ‘I wonder what they doing now.’”

The point, they said, was for the white nurses to experience the obstacles black nurses faced every day. 

Miller recalled a painful time. “I graduated from Dillard University [in New Orleans] in 1959 and moved to Baton Rouge. That was my very first job. I had never experienced such turmoil and segregation. I used to cry many a night because of what we had to go through. The work was extremely hard. We never got off on time; we’d get off an hour or two late. There was no compensation for overtime. I’d get home at night and I’d just cry. I’d call my daddy and he’d say, ‘Baby, that’s an experience you’ll never have again.’”

Transportation was a problem for many, especially those who worked the 3 pm to 11 pm shift. A few lived close enough to walk home. Rucker’s husband picked her up every night. Clark recalled catching the last city bus on North Boulevard behind the hospital. “I lived on Fig Street [in Old South Baton Rouge],” she said. “I would ride the bus to the stop at Stroube’s drugstore on the corner of Third and North Boulevard and transfer to another bus that would drop me off about a block from my house.”

Although the Civil Rights Act outlawing discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, and national origin was enacted on July 2, 1964, it took months, if not years, for the new law to be fully applied at the General. “[President Lyndon Johnson] signed the act, but it was not done right away, especially in Louisiana,” observed Forbes.

Since Forbes brought them back together, the women have enjoyed each other’s company, a camaraderie that was established early.

“That’s one of the things that helped bridge the gap of despair,” said Joseph. “Our friendship was therapy that kept the wounds from becoming overwhelming.” 

Ruth Laney can be reached at ruthlaney@cox.net.