Paul Ortiz: You were born and something about the area that you grew up in? 

Euless T. Hunt: Yes. I was born May 10th, 1924, Braswell, Arkansas. At an early age, I attended Richard B. Harrison Junior High School. While there, I guess the most first Black and white for me, we were extremely poor. We had to walk about three and a half to four miles of school every day. I would walk to school and put newspaper in my shoes to keep the snow off my feet. 

Euless T. Hunt: I remember that we were so poor, because one teacher sent me home, Mrs. Tolliver. I was in the fourth grade. Told me to go home and tell my mother to keep me at home because they had every kind of patch on me except an Oakley Patch, and it had slipped off. I went home and I told my mother. My mother came over there and raised all kind of hell in the school. But because she raised hell in the school, the principal took me to town and bought me a pair of shoes and some trousers, and gave me a job sweeping the hallway after school. 

Euless T. Hunt: In the fifth grade, I displayed the model airplane in the state fair and won first five. The following year, we moved to Memphis. Can you turn this off a second? After we moved to Memphis, I hated school so bad till a bunch of us got together and set the school on fire. Fortunately, the teacher saw us and beat the heck out of us. 

Paul Ortiz: Which school was that? Harrison High? 

Euless T. Hunt: That was Manassas. 

Paul Ortiz: Manassas. 

Euless T. Hunt: Mm-hmm. I attended Manassas and what changed my life around, because we're not into segregation right now. But what changed my life around, I met a teacher that gave me some attention. From that, I began to do better, because I started running with the wrong gang of guys. They were stealing and I never stole anything, but I was with them. Teacher named Mrs. Bingham talked to me and became pretty close. She turned my whole life around. 

Euless T. Hunt: Two years later, or three years later, I was in the ninth grade. I went out for football. Then the 10th grade, I made the football team. 11th grade, I was all in Memphis. In 12th grade, I was captain of the football team and had about seven, eight scholarships waiting. Unfortunately, I was drafted and didn't get any of the scholarships. 

Euless T. Hunt: Spent the next three and a half years in the Army, from [indistinct 00:04:07] to New Guinea, [indistinct 00:04:10], Gili Gili, Waga Waga, Luzon. Philippines, Luzon. I was coming out there, but that's when I really, I guess, kept segregation more because I was in the dirt. 

Euless T. Hunt: I knew the situation in the south because I lived through it. I was primed to the point that I didn't want to be hit. So, I couldn't go with the Freedom Riders because if I was hit, I was going to hit back and I knew it. So, I evaded most of the things that I saw in terms of segregation, because Memphis was a town that the White man in Memphis wanted you to be subservient. He would go to any extent, even to murder if it took that, to make sure that you were subservient and in your place, which is two or three notches below him. I don't care whether you was a minister or a policeman, a fireman or whatnot. That that was just the structure of Memphis. And they came from Mr. Crump. 

Euless T. Hunt: Well, I started there, the area of Memphis. Some of the plots of Memphis in the early days, Coach Square was guarded by negro because the yellow fever academic had killed approximately 80% of the Whites. Well, negroes had to guard downtown. But not too long after that, they were all fired because they were negroes. Where the light company stands on the corner of Bill and Maine, 1776 and negro Methodist Church stood there. Then the Ku Klux Klan burned the church while the people were having service. That taught them that if the people in charge wanted something, you were supposed to stand back and give it to them. It took the Black guy that you might not like what's going on, but you didn't have the power to change what's going on. 

Euless T. Hunt: One of the first acts after Henry Park was established, a negro was accused of raping a White woman. 

Paul Ortiz: What year was that, sir? 

Euless T. Hunt: That was around 1879. I could be two or three years off on that now. But anyway, his head was cut off and set on a stump in Henry Park. Following that, the first college in Memphis was the Stanley Steamer, but a negro was tarred and feathered and drugged down to Lindon Boulevard to teach the negroes to lesson. That was just prior to the old middle Lamar College, about 1882, '81. Which is opened as a Lamar Norma School at that time. 

Euless T. Hunt: Knowing that, and trying to not be hit, you had to conduct yourself in a manner for your own safe conduct. If you got on the bus and nobody was on the bus, it'd behoove you to moved to the back because that's where you're supposed to be. If White was on the bus, even though it's not women and you were in the back, you would have to get up and let the White men sit down. Those are just rigid rules that were in place and nobody was going to change it. 

Euless T. Hunt: But there was two or three Blacks that had influence with Mr. Crump, and that helped to curb a lot of atrocities that would have happened. One of them was Blair T. Hunt. Well, they called him Crump's right-hand man. We used to hate him because we said he was a snitcher. And in a sense he was, but I worked on him and I got to know him. He told me, he said, "Prof, I could do a lot of things to make your people feel better. But if a big wind comes and a tree is standing there, you either bend with the wind or you're plucked out the ground." Now, that made pretty good sense, which he was telling me. What he was doing, was helping his people but he either had to be subservient or else he was going to be destroyed and nobody left to help. 

Euless T. Hunt: Now, those are some of the things that made real impressions on me because I followed his advice as best I could. I never got into it with the police because I always went around them. Black and White, because Black ones weren't high enough and weren't no better than the White ones because the people you have. Put them on Bill Street, they couldn't arrest the White person, and they couldn't arrest nobody but on Bill Street. If a White person was wrong, they had to try to get over to a White police to arrest that White person. Incidentally, the first Black police that arrested a White person on Bill Street is Ernest Willis. He's in the photographer business now. He was fired because he arrested a White man. 

Euless T. Hunt: So, what happened is we kind of built-up a country within a country. This Black country existed within this White country, and that way you didn't run into too many problems. Now, I spent most of my life going to school and working during the summer. I'd get jobs on the railroad during the summer, and I always try to get a hard job because I was playing football and trying to stay in condition. I get in condition. I worked on the railroad one summer and it was a hell of an expense because railroad work is hard. And had a boss that would stand right over me. Sometimes I'd tried to hit his foot. I was sweating because he didn't think it was intentional and it wasn't completely intentional, but I was sure trying to get so close enough to move him back. You don't like nobody just standing over you when you're working. At least I don't. But I was a good worker so he put up with it. 

Euless T. Hunt: He would tell me, "Boy, ain't you trying to hit me?" "No, sir, White folk. I ain't gon hit you. I got better sense than that." I been trying to hit him all the time. 

Paul Ortiz: You were wielding a hammer? 

Euless T. Hunt: Sledge hammer. 

Paul Ortiz: Sledgehammer. 

Euless T. Hunt: Yeah. Next year, I worked at the Arrow [indistinct 00:12:03] Company. But In working, the minute you leave work to go to in school again, but I wasn't exposed to too much of it except what I saw on other people. Now, I saw plenty of that because I tried to look at things objectively. I saw plenty of it. But half the time, the person that was beat, cuffed was breaking the law. Now, it might have been a minor infraction but he was still breaking the law. They had a guy go down and get drunk. They might beat him to death for being a drunk person, but he was still drunk. 

Euless T. Hunt: Those are kind of things that, all right, you drank out of water fountain that says White. You might get beat till you can't stand up, paralyzed the rest of your life, but you were still disobeying an established law. Whether the law is right or wrong, doesn't matter. Those are the things. I know I went to buy, in 1956. 

Euless T. Hunt: Now, I've been fortunate enough to keep a job. I went and bought a brand new packet. But in '50, I graduated from Lamar in '50 and had an art teacher named Verdys Hayes. I was an art major. We went together and we established Hase Academy of Art, 1964 Florida Street, because we couldn't go to Memphis State and there was no art available for negroes nowhere in the south. We went to the mayor of Memphis and asked that we be given a $10,000 endowment for this art school. Of course, we were turned down. We figured we would be. But we got approved by the federal government as a trade school for art. 

Euless T. Hunt: After we got approved as a trade school for art, that gave us a push to go ahead. In doing so, we put art first on the map in Memphis. I painted a picture of the police traveling down to Memphis by me. During that time, a negro woman was raped out in Overton Park, and she said by the police. Well, so what? Well, if it's a Black woman, she's just raped. That's the attitude that took about it. So, I painted a painting of a police car and a negro woman with legs hanging out the window. You know, you show that to police. And boy, I got in trouble about it. 

Paul Ortiz: What happened? 

Euless T. Hunt: They literally they threatened me, but they never do anything to me. 

Paul Ortiz: Did they call you? 

Euless T. Hunt: Yeah, they called me. The last time I got in trouble, I was running for councilman. Of course, I told them there wouldn't be any more secret meetings. Everything we discussed in secret meetings, I was going to put it on the radio, or put it in the paper because the public is paying us. What's supposed to be secret? So, I got in trouble about that. 

Speaker 1: Hello, hello, hello. 

Euless T. Hunt: Hello. 

Speaker 1: How you doing? 

Euless T. Hunt: Fine, how are you doing? 

Speaker 1: [Indistinct 00:15:45]. 

Euless T. Hunt: Can you cut that off there? [INTERRUPTION]. 

Euless T. Hunt: Because I had a sundry store at that time. I guess, what, eight nights, that store was broken into. The neighbor would tell me, "Well, the police car. How you get broke with police because it was out there 20, 30 minutes. How did anybody break in your store?" 

Paul Ortiz: What year did you run for council? 

Euless T. Hunt: In '72. 

Paul Ortiz: '72? 

Euless T. Hunt: So, I started staying in the store. I said police, whoever come in here, they going to [indistinct 00:16:23]. The telephone rang at three to seven. "I'm a police officer and I'm not going to tell you my name, but you've been staying in your store for the last five nights. And if you stay in that store another night, you will be dead. Your life is worth more than that store. So, you're running for councilman. We know what you stand for. And if you say you don't know who you're talking to, do not stay in that store." He said, "You think and you have said the police are breaking in here and stuff, and it might well be. But remember this, if he's breaking in there, he got all the police force behind him, so you will never get out alive," and hung up. I took his advice. I didn't stay there no more. But I lost. I didn't win the election. 

Paul Ortiz: What happened to the store? 

Euless T. Hunt: They kept breaking in until the election was over. They didn't put me out of business, though, because what I did, my cigarettes, which was probably most important thing, I just load them in back of my car. If they break any machines, they're just machines. That there business. Sometimes, it wasn't that they were taking so—they would always take a lot of cigarettes, but it was the breaking and the damage. I just had to put up with it until the election over, and then and it stopped. They stopped all that right after the election. 

Euless T. Hunt: The thing that scared me to death, I tell the truth, the day Martin Luther King was here, the day he got killed. Well, I was politically active then and Cornelia Cranshaw was an activist. We had advised him, those people in charge, that Martin Luther King should not return because we felt that he would be killed. But he did return and he was killed. But immediately after he was shot, it was announced on the radio that a Black man was seen with a red shirt and a pair of dark pants, about 180 pounds. But I'm over there in my store and I'm about 180 pound, I got on the red shirt and a pair of Black pants. And I'm standing out there in front of my store. I said, "Let me go inside and change." Something like that hits you because if they see you, they just up and shoot you right on the spot. 

Paul Ortiz: Your store was by Lorraine Motel? 

Euless T. Hunt: No, it was a pretty good piece of the land right there. That didn't matter where it is, as long as it's in Memphis. Because they was running the station all over Memphis at that time, particularly in this area in here. My store was approximately 212 blocks from the Lorraine Motel, so that's not too far. That was one heck of an experience. 

Euless T. Hunt: My other experience is when I worked for the park commission. I got my job because we were raised in the devil because negroes didn't have any decent recreation. But they hired me, and they had 11 playgrounds for all the negroes in Memphis. There was nothing like them now. So, I started arguing with them, put in more playgrounds, organized softballs, also organized semi-pro baseball, organized WDA baseball. Then I wanted drama and dance. "The young negroes don't need drama and dance." Yes, they do. Look at Bill "Bojangles" Robinson and see how he danced. I said, "Yeah, he danced." I said, uh-uh. But you look at E.T. Hunt because I can't dance at all. 

Euless T. Hunt: We kept exchanges like that, then I finally convinced them. They said, "Well, go find us a negro that can teach dancing." Took me six months to find a negro that they considered good enough to teach dancing. His name was Peggy Gibson. He had danced professionally, and I got a hire. 

Euless T. Hunt: Then I wanted crafts. "negroes don't need no crafts, Hunt." "Yes, they do too. We were making crafts before you folk come here. When we was in Africa, we were making crafts. How come we don't need crafts?" Took me a year. I got that in. 

Paul Ortiz: What year did you start? 

Euless T. Hunt: First, I started working for park commission around 1954, but I worked as a playground director. In 1960, I went full-time and I resigned from teaching. I was teaching the book of Washington up until time. Teaching in courts and football and basketball. Then I went full-time with the park commission and I stayed there until 1963. 

Euless T. Hunt: That's Supreme Court made the decision to integrate. The superintendent asked me to go on radio and TV and say negroes and White should not swim together. I said, "Mr. Lewis, for 100 years, negroes has obeyed laws that they knew weren't just. We sit in the back of the bus because it was a law. Now, we're supposed to be a law-abiding nation. Now, if you want to say it, you go on TV and say it, because I'm not." He used to come in my office about twice a year. For the next two months, he come in there twice a day. Yeah, I could tell he was harassing me. I just got tired of it. I said, "Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it." I said, "Because I told you, I work but I don't take harassing." 

Paul Ortiz: That was after the Brown versus Board decision? Or around the same time? 

Euless T. Hunt: Right. 

Paul Ortiz: So, he was trying to get you to say we'll still have separate pools? 

Euless T. Hunt: Mm-hmm. So, I just resigned because I was going to get in trouble. I was going to get put in jail. Then, I went to the county to get a job and I was Blackballed. I went to the school system, I was Blackballed. I haven't had a job since, come to think about it. 

Paul Ortiz: Mr. Hunt, I wonder if we could move back for a moment. Your brother told me about your family's early life in Blytheville. I was wondering if you could tell me how your family originally got to Blytheville, and then why you moved? 

Euless T. Hunt: Most of the family was born in Crawfordsville, Arkansas. My dad worked on the railroad track and his work was terminated, and then he went to farming for a year or so. But you farm this year and you end up, if you owed $100 when you started, you're at 300 when it was over. You never did get out of debt. So, he left and went to Blytheville and worked at the saw mill. Since [indistinct 00:24:45] came back and got us and got us to Blytheville. That's how we got there. 

Euless T. Hunt: While we were there, we was just the average family there. He worked at the saw mill and we would go fishing and do everything everybody else did. The relationship in Blytheville were far better than relationship in Memphis. Far better. We were segregated but with—I guess about like the segregation in Memphis now. Some certain things you could get away with in Blythe that you couldn't get getaway was Memphis. Blythe was far more liberal. 

Euless T. Hunt: Then, he got an offer for a job at a fishing company. At that time, fishing was part of General Motors, I guess. Anybody's building automobiles. That was a much better paying job, so he came to Memphis and then got us and brought us to Memphis. From there, it's been—now originally, he was actually from Memphis originally. His father was from Marion, Arkansas, which is back in probably 1840. Because he owned land in Marion, Arkansas and he supposed to drowned in high water under mitigating circumstances in 1903. 

Paul Ortiz: What kind of circumstances? 

Euless T. Hunt: He had about 100 acres of land that he sold, and it was in high water and he got in the boat to go home. He never made it home and they never saw the money. I tried to find out as best I could. Now, I might try to find out again, but up until the last few years, you couldn't find out nothing in Arkansas. That's the way of holding the books to you. Now, you might can now, because I told my niece to try to work on it. I'd help her work on it. But I told her, you could probably get it best by trying to follow your family tree back. That's what I told her to do. At least he owned land in Arkansas and he sold it. We heard all kind of tales about the money. Some said he buried it, some said somebody murdered him, some said—don't know. Just don't know. 

Euless T. Hunt: But he was real down here on cancers and cast deck in South Memphis, as a boy. During the early days, now we had Memphis Red Sox baseball team, which well, Bankhead was on there and he went to the Dodgers. They had good players on it. But it was just the negro society was in the society. We did all our own thing and we were satisfied with it. Ed Lamar in 1949, made negro All-American in football. So what? That was in the negro society. But now, you got to—well, it's just not that way now. You got to compete with everybody. 

Euless T. Hunt: But the amazing part about within the negro society, when you got good enough to make it there, you can make it in the pros if you had an opportunity. Because most of them that got the opportunity, did make it in the pros. Buddy Young was one. 

Paul Ortiz: What were some other things, Mr. Hunt, talking about culture within a culture and the strength of a Black culture during those days, what were some of the other major points? 

Euless T. Hunt: The strength of the Black church then was that it looked like every parent taught his son is cheering. That your glory is within your race. Consequently, you didn't have the prostitution as you have it now. From the beginning of the war, you had prostitution, but you didn't have it on a wholesale basis like you have it now. Because he looked at this woman as potentially his mother, his girlfriend, his wife. And he cherished the negro woman for the most part, when she carried herself right. Rather than down her like they do now. He wanted a wife like his mother. He wanted to be like his dad. I heard a story about my grandfather, that I don't know whether it's true today or not, but I idolized him because of that story. 

Paul Ortiz: What was the story? 

Euless T. Hunt: It was supposedly taken place in Arkansas, supposedly in Blytheville. I don't know where in Blytheville. Anyway, no, it wasn't Blytheville. It was out from Crawfordsville, because that's where my mother came from. But anyways, there's a sheriff there and his name was Mr. Wilson. Well, everybody's Guinness, chickens, get out and get on his land, he kept them. If they got in his fence, they were his. You just didn't get them. 

Euless T. Hunt: So, my grandfather's Guinness got out. He went over to Mr. Wilson's and said "Tell what you're going to do. What you going to do?" Mr. Wilson got your Guinness. So, he looked around and looked up and got his 32-gauge Winchester and walked over in Mr. Wilson's yard and started shooting his Guinness out. But Mr. Wilson came out. "What you doing, Terrell?" "I'm showing my Guinness home, Mr. Wilson. Showing my Guinness home." He and Mr. Wilson became friends after that, where he kept everybody else's Guinness and turkeys and chickens before that. 

Euless T. Hunt: I guess that inspired me that if you're right, just if you're right, hell, just go ahead on. For the most part, well, I have. Right now, I will back up. I'll do anything as long as there's any doubt whether I'm right or wrong. If I'm wrong, I'm going to stop and apologize and try to get it right. But once I know I'm right, to the hell with everything else. I'm gone. 

Paul Ortiz: Mr. Hunt, what were some other early important formative experiences for you in terms of your development? 

Euless T. Hunt: Beyond what I've said, I guess hard work has been the hallmark. Most people that I've seen abused were not good workers. They work a while, they rest a while. Usually, I give a man a day's work, I give him a day's work. So, I always had to—I guess the advantage of saying that, saying I was a good worker. I've never been friendly and I've never liked a lot of friends and I'm not friendly now. I don't like a lot of friends. I've always been loner because I guess I'm more satisfied being that way. 

Euless T. Hunt: I've seen abuse, excessive abuse. Half of it, you don't know who's right, who perpetrated it from the beginning. You just know it's abuse and to the point that that much abuse is not justified. Well, here lately. Down the last year, year before that, down here at one of their projects. There was a guy that was mentally disturbed and the police stopped him. They shot him eight, six times. He didn't have a gun. They said he had a knife but they never found a knife. But if he had a knife, that doesn't justify shooting a man six times. So, those are the kind of things you look at and shake your head on. 

Paul Ortiz: Mr. Hunt, when you were growing up as a young man in Memphis in the forties, did you see African Americans pushing back against segregation? Say, maybe challenging occasionally the buses or downtown? 

Euless T. Hunt: Oh yeah, yeah. You always had that. Even in the thirties, you have it. 

Paul Ortiz: Thirties? 

Euless T. Hunt: Sure. Mm-hmm. We'll get on the bus, you going to sit in the front. You know you're going to get arrested and you know you're going to get fined. You know you'll probably get time in jail. But what have you done? You've broken this code of tyranny. I'm going to sit on this front seat because I can sit here and they're not the only one that can sit there. I've done it. Fortunately, I wasn't arrested. 

Paul Ortiz: What led you to do it? 

Euless T. Hunt: Because I think I was good as anybody God ever made and everybody can't sit somewhere. Sit on the front seat of the bus. They'll make you get off. They made me get off two or three times. "Boy, get off bus. You can't sit there." Well, if you put up a fight, you know what's going happen to you. Just get on off the bus. But at least you'll sat down the road two or three blocks. And you'll find all White people are not bad. You'll find some say, "Boy, somebody get on the bus, you know you got to get up now." Well, you just hope don't nobody get on the bus right away, hope the police don't pass. 

Euless T. Hunt: But as I tell them, when Abraham Lincoln signed proclamation emancipation, weren't no negro up there to vote it in. All was White. They didn't have to do it, but they had conscience. So, we can't think that all White people are bad. Some are good, else we wouldn't be around. We wouldn't be around. 

Euless T. Hunt: In the south, it just so happened it's very few of them can speak up because they're going to ostracize themselves when they speak up. But if they can do you a favor, they'll do it. I let people do me a favor. I know a White lady who used to want me to drive her everywhere, and she wanted to sit in the front seat with me. I'd tell her all kind of lies to keep from driving that lady, because there wasn't a rule. She was rich, I was poor, she was White and I was Black. She was old and I was young. That's a perfect setup for a hanging and I wasn't about to get hung. 

Paul Ortiz: Mr. Hunt, were there lynchings in Memphis in the thirties? 

Euless T. Hunt: No, I think the last—no, there was no lynchings in the thirties or the forties. Closer to the last lynching in Memphis has been, Ida B. Wells had a newspaper here on Mississippi and they burned it down. She escaped because they had said they were going to lynch her. Next closest thing to a lynching was the Martin brothers who had the Memphis Red Sox. I don't know the inside of it, but anyway, they were run out of Memphis. They said they would have been lynched had they remained here. Now, of course that was in the sixties. But as far as I know, I don't know of any lynching in Memphis in the thirties or the forties. 

Paul Ortiz: Earlier, Mr. Hunt, you spoke about excessive things happening to Black people during those years. Can you tell me about some of those excessive things that you witnessed? 

Euless T. Hunt: I'm trying to think of one in particularly. One thing was if an negro wanted to vote, well he just couldn't vote. That's all. Unless he voted the way the Crump machine said vote. They would give a party and give watermelon. If you go and say I'm a vote Republican, uh-uh. And if you did vote Republican, you were beat. That was the measure of controlling the vote. 

Euless T. Hunt: Intimidation and harassment was a thing. I know I used to get tickets because I had a new car, which was rode. Same like I tell you about the car hit. I went to court once, police give me a ticket. I was going down the parkway and the minister named Blunt blowed at me. But I saw the police, so I wasn't going to blow. So, police pulled me over, give me a ticket. I went to court because I was right. Because Reverend Blunt went to court with me. He said, "Sir, he didn't blow at me. I blow it at him." Jerry looked at me and said, "Well, you're down here for $25 in cost." I guess for the next month, I got a ticket almost every week. 

Paul Ortiz: Every week? 

Euless T. Hunt: Plain harassment. Didn't break a single law. Well, see I had bought a packer, and in those days you didn't drive packers if you were Black. I drove it to Mississippi, guy wouldn't sell me no gas. You know, those kind of self pumps? 

Paul Ortiz: Yeah, yeah. 

Euless T. Hunt: So, I changed over, I bought a Chrysler. I drove it to Mississippi. First guy says, "Boy, this car runs on his reputation." I said, "What you mean reputation?" He said, "Black folk ain't supposed to drive this car." Most of time I look in the mirror, but I didn't know where I was. I didn't. I said, "Well, can I get some gas?" He said, "No, you can't buy no gas." I said, "Well, I haven't stolen anything. What have I done?" "We don't sell niggers gas in this kind of car." All right. I went on down further. He can call me a nigger, but he wouldn't sell me no gas. I went on down the outskirts of town. I finally got a guy who would sell me some gas. When I got back to Memphis, I said, "I don't want to drive down there no more." 

Euless T. Hunt: But past the thirties, there hasn't been a lot of lynching. It's been beating and intimidation. Intimidation. If I can intimidate you enough, you'll stay in your place. If you look like you're trying to get beyond where you ought to be, I'm going to find some means. If it's giving you a ticket every day, embarrassing you or whatnot to keep you in your place. That's been the pattern. 

Paul Ortiz: Mr. Hunt, who would you say were the agents of enforcement for segregation in Memphis? 

Euless T. Hunt: E.H. Crump. Everybody know that. He was elected for 1927, 1929, somewhere in there. Late twenties. His first act was to get out of his car and kick a negro on Bill Street, as the mayor of Memphis. From that point on, he controlled Memphis until, really, his control is still in power now. His machine still working there, still is as powerful now. 

Euless T. Hunt: But until 1960, he run Memphis with an iron hand, Black and White. Whatever Mr. Crump said, that was it. If you were Black, whatever Blair Hunt said was it. Because Blair was going to Mr. Crump, and Mr. Crump going tell him what to do and that's what he was going to do. Oh, when I went to the school system, I ain't go to no board of education. Blair said, "Prof, you a good artist, you got an art school over here and you're talking about the city schools don't have art. I'm going to offer you a job. I want you to establish art in the city school system." At first, I said no. Then he said, "Well, what you talking about it for? You got an opportunity to put it in there. Why don't you put it in?" Said, "Okay, I'll take the job." I worked a year. He said, "Prof, you've been working a year. Don't you think it's about time you go down to see Mr. Bald and get hired right?" 

Paul Ortiz: Now, what did that mean? 

Euless T. Hunt: Legitimately. See, I'd never been to the board. I just went to Booker [indistinct 00:45:03] and went to work. No contract or nothing. So, that means I had to go down to the Board of Education and sign up, and give her, write out a resume and fill out that contract and get hired right. But I learned to love that man because he did a lot of folk a lot of good. 

Paul Ortiz: Mr. Hunt, how did you meet him initially? 

Euless T. Hunt: Really, the first time I actually met him was when he come and offered me the job. I'd heard of him and I'd met him occasionally before then, but I naturally just actually met him. First time I actually saw him was when we played, Manassas played Booker Washington football when I was a captain of the team, because he was out on the sideline. I saw him. But we had heard that this is Boss Crump's head nigger, and if you want something done with Mr. Crump, you go to Blair Hunt. And I was right. You might as well call the spade a spade. That's the way it was. 

Euless T. Hunt: They tried to get foreign language in the negro School. They went down to see Mr. Bald at the board of education. No, no, no, no, no. So, Mr. Blair, I want to see Mr. Crump. Said, "Blair, how come you want Latin in Black school?" I wanted that, Mr. Bald, because it's in the White schools. And if it's good for the White, it's good for the Black." The next year, Latin was in the Black schools. That's the one negro that-