Alice Dilworth Peacock: —that Blacks do vote, but they don't go back the second time. Now you, as a candidate, might get them there the first time. But if you in the runoff, well, I'm sorry for you, you have to pray real hard because they're not going back, too much, the second time to vote. You really have to coerce someone. Go pick them up and tell them call you and say, "Please come tomorrow." "Well, I'll come if you pick me up." But they'll make an effort to get there themselves the first time around. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: But the experience is that when Blacks run, the groups will get, if this a strong Black, somebody will encourage another Black to run against that person to split the Black vote. Keep that person out. I ran in '78 and I said to John Burke, over there at FSU, that I'm planning to run. I was being honored, and Reverend Steele at Florida A&M that night received a plaque. And so, I said to John Burke, "That I would like your support." And he was over the student body, Black student body, BSA at FSU. And so, he said, "I may run myself." And that Sunday he announced in the paper. See? And so, he did run against me, which split the vote. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: So I'm glad I didn't get it because there's too many problems in it. And I'm glad the Lord stepped in. And you got to be dirty to be in politics. You got to be a lawyer, and you don't tell the truth. Because you talk to this group and say one thing, you talk out both sides of your mouth and the middle. It's according to who you're talking to. And you talk up to this group and talk down to this one, and then you just talk at the other group. So I'm glad I'm a realist. I don't like that kind of thing. 

Paul Ortiz: Mrs. Peacock, who were considered to be the Black political leaders in the forties and fifties in Tallahassee? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: I'm not much on years, but Reverend C.K. Steele. Oh Lord. If you hadn't asked me I might be able to tell you. Oh, we had a lot of people. Mr. Eaton perhaps could help you with that. I never dabbled in politics a whole lot. But Reverend Gooden, R.N. Gooden. Ooh, yes. R.N. Gooden. He's pastor of St. Mary Primitive Baptist Church. Reverend C.K. Steele, at that times. The bus station is named for him, is C.K. Steele Plaza. He was pastor of Bethel Baptist Church at that time. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: And Reverend Hudson was on the campus. He was the chaplain at Florida A&M. He had one arm. Father David Brooks of St. Michael's Episcopal Church. Father D.H. Brooks. And these were ministers and they were in the forefront. And they led, you just had to get in with them and they had a lot of influence with their congregations. So that kind of thing. And if they didn't support you, you could forget it. Forget it. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: I remember going to Philadelphia church, when I was running, and Reverend Miles say, "Well, Ms. Peacock, I'm glad you came to service." He said, "But we don't allow candidates to talk in this church." He said, "I'm just glad you here. You shake hands with the people and tell them what you're all about." He got up and preached. He said, "Now, I told Mrs. Peacock that we didn't support candidates." He said, "But as I look out at her and know her, I'm going to change my sermon this morning. I had selected something else, but I'm going to preach about full service." And oh, what's this other service you get? Self-service. Self-service and full service. He said, "As it applies to her life." And then he went on to tell about my activities in the community and the things I had done, he preached about me. So Reverend M.G. Miles. Okay. Those were leaders. 

Paul Ortiz: Who were the— Back during those years, where would you get your news from? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: From the radio and from church and from, well, you'd talk to your neighbors and things. It was more or less secondhand when you got it and it didn't sound like what it really was, because everybody added their little bit to it. You didn't get a firsthand. Just like the news media now, you can take it as a grain of salt and pick off a little piece, because everybody going to put what they think about it on there. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: We had radio. And most Blacks had radios in their homes. They didn't have the shows that we have on TV, but they had these stories on the radio. So people listened to the radio and things. And you didn't have all this raunchy stuff. You had facts and music. 

Paul Ortiz: Were there good newspapers in the area you could—? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: A few. We had Black papers in Florida. We had the Tampa Tribune, not the Tampa Tribune. Tampa? Oh Lord. It was a Black paper from Tampa, I can't think of the name of it. And the Jacksonville Journal had a Black section. And the Times Union had a Black section. And the Tallahassee Democrat had a Black Reporter and a Black section in it. And different cities had some Afro-American. Miami had the Miami Herald. One of those was a Black paper and that kind of thing. So in different cities they had different Black newspapers. 

Paul Ortiz: So would you have subscribed those papers during those years? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Well, yes, but it was basically news about what happened among Black people, which you knew already. Basically. You knew who had a party, you knew who got married, you knew who was dead. Because Blacks lived together then. Now, they're in apartment buildings. You don't even know where your students live, because they're all over everywhere. See? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: You had neighbors and you knew your neighbors. You see? Now, I know the lady across there in the green house, but I don't know the lady next to her. And I live right here. You see? And I don't have any other neighbors. 

Paul Ortiz: During those years, Mrs. Peacock, what was the relationship between Florida A&M and the Black community here? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Great. We went out there every Saturday night to the movie. They had the movie theater that you could go to without hearing peanuts being cracked and all that kind of stuff. And walking in peanuts to get to your seat. That was every Friday night they had the movies. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: And every Sunday afternoon they had vestibule service. And people went from over town. You got there the best way you could because you went before the buses were running. And you went to vestibule, it was just something that you did every Sunday. And at that time, they had baccalaureate services on Sunday for graduates, and the commencement. And people were there. Now you have to get an invitation to get in the commencements. You see? 

Paul Ortiz: So back then you could just go? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Yeah. Y'all come. They were glad to see you. But now, each graduate gets so many invitations and everybody in the family can't go. Just those got the four invitations that were allocated, because they don't have the space. Because they have thousands of graduates now. Then, they had 1,780. Lincoln High. If we had 185 graduates, that was great. When I taught at Leon High, we'd have three and 400 graduates. You see? So it's a different day, different era. 

Paul Ortiz: I see. Now, you mentioned the theater, at the Florida A&M theater you didn't have to worry about peanuts being cracked. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: What I'm saying, you had a different clientele there. Over here it was anybody. You'd just walk in off the street. And they come in with a bag of peanuts and a Coca-Cola, a sandwich, and sit there and eat. Where at Florida A&M, you in a different type of setting. So you didn't go there with a [indistinct 00:08:50] bag or something like that, you see. And I'm just talking about, it's just a different thing. 

Paul Ortiz: I see. And that would've been the other theater, that would've been on Macomb, was Mrs. Yellowhair's theater. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Maggie. M.A. Yellowhair. She was estate woman in the Eastern Star in [indistinct 00:09:09] estate secretary. 

Paul Ortiz: And she owned that theater. Did she—? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: She owned it. 

Paul Ortiz: Was involved in other activities? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: It was her. No, she just had money and she opened up the theater. She and Joe Franklin pooled their funds. He ran a pressing club. And they went in together. And had a Black theater there. And around on Macomb Street, there was a Black theater called the Lincoln Theater. And if you went anywhere else, you had to sit in the balcony. But these, you could sit on the main floor. If you went downtown, to the two theaters, to Florida and can't think of the other one that was on College Avenue. But you had to sit in the balcony. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: And a lot of people went to Quincy if they wanted to see a show. A Man Called Peter was in Quincy. And I went over there to see A Man Called Peter, because I don't remember it being in the Black theater here. And so, then— 

Paul Ortiz: Oh, there was a Black theater in Quincy? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: No, it was White. But you could go, the Blacks could go, and you sat in the balcony. But I didn't remember that show coming here, and I wanted to see it. It was by Catherine Marshall. Peter was the captain for the United States Senate. A Man Called Peter. And I had read the book, so I wanted to see the movie. 

Paul Ortiz: Now, when you were going to school, were there teachers that you remember as really standing out? As outstanding? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Oh, yes. Effie Toola Sutton was a math teacher in high school. And I always wanted to fix my hair like Ms. Sutton. I wanted to be like Effie Toola Sutton. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Well, I had a lot. Mrs. Mordlong was my first grade teacher. And I happened to see her about 10 years ago. She was still living. She hardly knew she was living, but I visited her in West Palm Beach. And she was my first grade teacher. And she stood out in my mind because her husband used to be my pastor, and her son and I grew up together, see? And like that. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: I had lots of teachers that I remember fondly. Mrs. Walker was the principal. Principal was C.C. Walker Sr, and Mrs. Walker was my literature teacher. And she made us commit to memory poems. Every day she put four lines. "Hearts like doors will open with ease to very, very little keys. And don't forget the two of these are thank you, sir, and if you please," that kind of thing. We had to commit it to memory every day. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Then on Friday, we didn't have lessons. We gave back to her these poems that she had written on the board. And I'm a public speaker now and I use them every day. That was in eighth grade, ninth grade, tenth grade. And she stands out like that with me because she helped to mold me. 

Paul Ortiz: And that was at Florida A&M? 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: No, no, that was in high school. In Palatka. Oh, at Florida A&M, I had Charity Manse and Mr. Efferson. H.M. Efferson in math and Charity Manse in history. And Mr. Parks in History and Irene Decorsey in Children's Lit. Oh, there were a lot of them there that were super teachers. 

Paul Ortiz: If you had to sum up your life and thinking about what have been the most inspirational things for you to help you get through life— 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Mrs. Bethune was my mentor. I loved that she spoke, she worked with President Roosevelt, if you remember hearing about her. So I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be able to speak publicly like Mrs. Bethune. I didn't want to look like her, of course, I thought she and Ms. Eleanor Roosevelt were about the only people. But I wanted to be like her. I just wanted what she had to offer. So she is the one person that I wanted to shape my life after. All right? And there were other people that I admired, but she just stands out with me. Mary McLeod Bethune, founder of Bethune-Cookman Institute. 

Paul Ortiz: And you have memories, personal memories. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Personal memories with Mrs. Bethune. I surely did. Because she always called me her little girl. And she always talked about the Black boys and girls. And I fitted the bill. I was a Black person. And she said, "You could always be anything you wanted to be." And I believed her. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: And I'm living here now. I stay here to keep Frenchtown straight. I could move, like everybody else. But I said, "If all the good people move out of this area, the place will go to pot." So I'm here. I live and I look out and I see something going wrong, I call 9-1-1. I said, "Now listen, don't call my name. Don't say the lady in the big green house, because I live alone. I don't want to wake up dead." I say, "But so-and-so-and-so is going on. They're gambling under the tree," or, "Somebody over here is not supposed to be over here at this business this time of night." Or "So-and-so, there's a fight brewing over here." See? Somebody got to keep it straight. And all these people down here, I taught them or their mamas or their daddys, so they don't bother me. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: And I have lights all around my house. Sensor lights come on if you walk in the yard. You drive in the yard, the light come on. I got lights all around and I'm not afraid. And they don't let anybody come in my yard and pick up nuts. "Come out that lady's yard." See? I taught them or their mamas, so they know me. "Hey, Mrs. Peacock." I say, "Hey." So I speak to them. I don't try to [indistinct 00:15:11] on them. So I get along. And I just feel like I don't think I ought to have to leave the comfort of my home, let these people run me. 

Alice Dilworth Peacock: Now, the people that are hanging around are the people from the shelter. I worked with the Coalition for the Homeless. And they have to get out at seven o'clock in the morning. Then they can't go back till seven o'clock. Well, what are they going to do? Stand up in the sun? So they get up under the trees, in the shade all day long. But seven o'clock at night, there's nobody. They go on. Had to go back to the shelter. See? And so, the few people you find strangling out at night, well, they were going to be out anyway. So that's the way it is.