Marshalyn Yeargin ’68 was not an activist. Until the national press started calling her at home, she had no idea that she was going to be Sweet Briar College’s first African-American student. Her motive, she explained, was far more personal and practical. She wanted to be a doctor. At Sweet Briar, she would get the solid science background she needed to continue her education.

Marshalyn was surprised to hear reporters use the words “test case.” Her family had a strong tradition of academic achievement. Her great uncle, Dr. Benjamin E. Mays, received his undergraduate degree from Bates in 1920 and his doctorate from the University of Chicago in 1935. Her mother and father were college-educated school administrators and teachers. At the age of 18, Marshalyn had already successfully completed two years at Bennett College. Her brother was about to begin his freshman year at Morehouse College.

Growing up in a middle-class family in the segregated South, Marshalyn never questioned her academic abilities and professional goals. Only later, long after she had graduated from Sweet Briar, would she come to fully appreciate the power of her self-esteem and the African-American community that fostered it.

Marshalyn’s parents, Grady and Willie Mae Yeargin, had the means to shield their children from the most demeaning aspects of segregation. Direct contact with whites was practically nonexistent. Three cars in the driveway assured that Marshalyn would never have to move to the back of the bus. Long-distance travel was made comfortable with stopovers at the homes of family and friends. Up-to-date encyclopedias at home compensated for the fact that Marshalyn’s schoolbooks were stamped "discarded" and she was not permitted to use the public library downtown until she was a junior in high school.

“Black parents understood the rules,” says Marshalyn. "And they avoided situations where their children would have to confront the ugliness of segregation. We were sheltered. I didn't have any negative experiences.”

At the age of 16, Marshalyn’s test scores qualified her to enter a whole handful of historically black colleges — a not uncommon practice in the black community at the time. At first, she thought it would be better to wait and graduate from the segregated high school in her hometown of Greenville, S.C. She quickly changed her mind, however, after completing an intense summer program in Knoxville, Tenn., aimed at preparing black students to enter integrated schools.

“The summer program was really demanding,” recalls Marshalyn. “At the end of it, I thought, ‘Boy! Why would I want to go back to high school after this?’ On the spur of the moment, I accepted one of the offers I’d received and entered college in the fall of 1964.”
Marshalyn chose Bennett, a black women’s college in Greensboro, N.C. The transition was easy. Over time, she began to realize it was too easy. She was gaining a firsthand understanding of the phrase “separate and unequal.”

“We didn't have all the chemicals we needed in chemistry class; we had to imagine what would happen,” explains Marshalyn. “The college simply did not have the resources. It was clear that, if I wanted to get into medical school, I was going to have to transfer.”

The summer after her freshman year, Marshalyn’s mother died. For months afterward, unremitting grief doused her ambitions. She returned to Bennett and went through the motions. The comfort of close friends and the familiar routine made life bearable.

“I woke up suddenly near the end of my sophomore year,” recalls Marshalyn. “I thought, ‘Gosh, if I’m ever going to transfer I'd better do it now.’ I consulted my uncle, Dr. Benjamin Mays. He gave me a list of schools, but he was not sure which ones were accepting black students. Sweet Briar was on the list.”

Dr. Mays, the sixth president of Morehouse College and mentor to Dr. Martin Luther King, was a highly sought-after speaker on the university lecture circuit. He had been a guest at Sweet Briar and knew President [Anne Gary] Pannell. With her uncle’s recommendations in hand, Marshalyn composed a brief, polite letter to SBC admissions inquiring about the possibility of transferring. The office wrote back that it was too late.

Panicked, Marshalyn phoned her uncle and broke the bad news. “I read him the correspondence,” she remembers. “He said, ‘Write them back and let them know you're my niece’ — i.e., tell them you're black.”

The timing was flawless. Sweet Briar had recently been granted a temporary restraining order, preventing the state from enforcing the “white girls” clause in its charter. For the first time in 65 years, the board was seeking to admit a student exactly like Marshalyn.

Marshalyn boarded the train to Sweet Briar alone. Her father had faith that she would be safe. He also could not imagine taking a day off to accompany her. “I don't think my father ever missed a day of work,” says Marshalyn. “Both my parents were hard working, educated, churchgoing, law-abiding people — and I'm not exaggerating.”

During the trip, Marshalyn thought about Autherine Lucy, the University of Alabama’s first black coed. Just 10 years before, in 1956, Autherine was welcomed to the Alabama campus with a cross burning. She was pelted with eggs, bottles, and bricks and suspended for her own protection.

“I was a little concerned,” admits Marshalyn. “But I consoled myself, thinking: Well, the people at Sweet Briar are well-bred. And well-bred people will not throw things at me. We’re all past that stage. My father and my uncle would not let me go to a dangerous place.”

Sweet Briar greeted Marshalyn with open arms and promptly pelted her with a series of intellectual and emotional challenges. “Sweet Briar had an outstanding science program,” she recalls. “In my upper-level biology class, if I remember correctly, each student had three different types of microscopes. We were given assignments and told to get to work. I had never set up a microscope. At Bennett, groups of students took turns using scarce equipment. I had no hands-on experience. It took me a month to summon the courage to admit I didn't have a clue where to begin. I was so embarrassed.

“It was like joining a conversation in midstream. It took a while to figure out what people were talking about. I remember looking at my first biology exam thinking, ‘This is from another planet!’ I was used to rote, reading the material and spitting it back, multiple choice and short answer. At Sweet Briar, I was being asked to take learning to the next level, to think analytically about the material.”

Two biology professors went out of their way to help Marshalyn make up for lost time. “I was in Guion days, nights, and weekends, studying and praying, ‘Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?’ ” laughs Marshalyn. “Professors Jane Belcher and Elizabeth Sprague were so supportive. They would invite me to their homes. After I graduated, they stayed in touch with me. They were remarkable ladies. I know I would not have made it without them.”

Socially, Marshalyn arrived at SBC feeling like an equal. She, too, was a debutante who had taken her share of ballet, tap, and piano lessons. If there were problems regarding her race, she was too naive to notice.

Her room was a single with — and this was surprising at the time — no telephone. When she needed to make a call, she sometimes used her classmate’s across the hall in Dew. “She was from Virginia,” recalls Marshalyn, “and we became good friends. Close enough, in fact, that she eventually felt comfortable telling me how, in the beginning, she used to clean off the phone after I used it.

“She grew up being told that black people were dirty. I had no idea. It was a learning experience for both of us. My parents were so protective, I really didn't know anything about those types of images and attitudes. I came from an all-black world, from a community that told me I was wonderful and convinced me I could do anything — reach for the stars. That encouragement carried me a long way. A very long way. If there was a positive aspect of segregation, that was it.

“I can't say I had the time of my life socially,” continues Marshlyn. “And that was probably for the best. Let’s face it, I had a lot of work to do. I did buy tickets and invited my boyfriend up for Fall Weekend, only to find out that the country club would not let us attend. Of course, Sweet Briar didn't have years to anticipate situations like that and neither did I. It was an awkward moment. There was no plan. We were all winging it.”

Given the choice, Marshalyn would do it all over again. “I would never portray the College in a negative way,” she says. “There were so many good people there who wanted me to succeed and who did their best to make me feel welcome. It would be unfair to fault the College for things like country club policies. So much of what happened was a reflection of the times.

“I prefer to focus on the outcome. I left Sweet Briar very well prepared for the challenges I was about to face in medical school at Emory. I also left with a tremendous sense of faith — faith not only in myself and my family, but faith in others.”

Pediatric specialist, Dr. Marshalyn Yeargin-Allsopp, graduated Phi Beta Kappa from SBC in 1968. She was the first African-American woman to enroll in Emory University’s School of Medicine, earning her M.D. in 1972. For 26 years, Marshalyn has served at the Centers For Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta, where she is Chief of the Developmental Disabilities Branch, National Center on Birth Defects and Developmental Disabilities.

This story was reprinted from the March 2001 Alumnae Magazine.

– By Mary Molyneux Abrams ’86