I Am Scout (6 page)

The year Alice left college, A. C. Lee purchased a partnership in the
Monroe Journal.
As a smart business move, he cut Alice in as the fourth of four partners, giving the Lees half interest. Alice was only
18
, but her father had every faith in her. He put up the cash, completed the legal paperwork, and appointed her associate editor.

He needed her there while he went off adventuring in state politics. Three years earlier, in
1926
, he had been elected Democratic representative to the state legislature. Politically, he was a centrist, a “states' righter” (meaning he was wary of federal power), and a fiscal conservative (meaning he was against big government). He was required to be in the state capital regularly.

In addition, A. C. Lee's business interests were expanding. Since
1923
, he had been pivotal in helping the town council electrify all of Monroeville. As a result, in
1929
—the year he and Alice became newspaper owners—Riviera Utilities Corporation moved its headquarters to Monroeville and appointed Lee as its corporation counsel for the entire state. If that weren't enough, he also accepted a post as director at the Monroe County Bank. Alice was the obvious choice to be his representative in Monvoeville.

Alice had her work cut out for her on South Alabama Avenue, too. Her job was “keeping the home fires burning,” as she later put it.
15
Her siblings, Louise, Edwin, and Nelle, were then
13
,
9
, and
3
, respectively. The stress of raising them added to Mrs. Lee's mood swings. Black housekeepers could straighten up, do laundry, and make meals, but Mrs. Lee required attention, too. Alice had to take over.

She stepped into all these roles for the sake of helping her father, to whom she was devoted. If she were to entertain any thoughts of marriage, she would almost certainly require a larger pool of smart, eligible men than Monroeville could offer. But for the next seven years, from
1929
to
1936
, she put her young life on hold while she worked side by side with her father at the
Journal
and helped him manage at home.

Meanwhile, A. C. Lee toiled away in the Alabama legislature on a career that was not exceptional: his convictions were too rock solid for politics. During his
12
years in the state capital, he was proudest of making good on a campaign promise to push through a budget bill that put county fiscal systems on a pay-as-you-go basis, thus reducing deficit spending. He also sponsored a bill that substantially raised the pension amount awarded to several thousand Confederate soldiers and their widows still living in Alabama in the
1930
s.
16

As the
1938
election approached, he decided he would not run again. Ten years shuttling back and forth to Montgomery were enough. His personal life offered greater rewards. After more than
20
years on the public scene, he was one of the most prominent figures in south Alabama. In his hometown, he was unquestionably a guiding spirit: a highly regarded attorney, newspaper publisher, bank director, civic leader, and church deacon. His children Louise and Edwin were then
19
and
15
and responsible young people; Nelle was in middle school. Also, there was the other side of the ledger to consider: he was coming up on
60
years of age, and feeling he should concentrate his energy. For a man with many responsibilities, some of them no longer necessary, it was time to take stock.

Alice moved away from Monroeville at age
26
in April
1937
to begin a delayed life of complete independence. She found work as a clerk in the newly created Social Security division of the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) in Birmingham. Given time, and her talent for running things, it's likely she would have moved up quickly, especially since Social Security, as a governmental agency, was destined to grow into a huge bureaucracy.

But then, suddenly, Mr. L. J. Bugg, of the law firm of Barnett, Bugg & Lee, died. With L. J. Bugg departed, a once-in-a-generation slot for an attorney opened up. A. C. Lee discussed with Alice the idea of returning to Monroeville, conditional on her completing law school, of course, as a new partner. She hesitated.

She asked him if folks in town would view her as Mr. Lee's “little girl,” or as a person with an identity in her own right. He answered that by the time she completed law school, she would be older than
30
. Who would think of her as someone's “little girl”? This mollified her. But she was also concerned that folks might not take a female lawyer seriously—there were fewer than two dozen or so in the entire state, and most practiced in Montgomery, Birmingham, or Mobile, where professional women were not unusual. To this, A. C. Lee had no direct answer. Instead, knowing Alice as he did, he appealed to her love of a challenge: “You won't know unless you try,” he said.
17

So in
1939
she enrolled in night classes in the Birmingham School of Law. It was a demanding regimen she set for herself: working full-time during the day and sitting through lectures at night. Nevertheless, attending school part-time, she completed her last semester at the end of four years. Then, in July
1943
, during World War II, Alice and three “
4
Fs”—men who had failed the physical examination for active duty in the armed forces—presented themselves as candidates for the legal profession at the Whitley Hotel in Montgomery.
18

The complete battery of examinations,
16
in all, lasted four days. On the fifth day, the phone in Alice's apartment rang early. She had passed. Her father was elated when he got the news.

Thus Alice assumed her place as a second-generation attorney in the law offices of Barnett, Bugg & Lee, eager to begin. As a country lawyer just starting out, she was prepared to accept practically any case that came through her door.

However, there was still the question of whether people would take her seriously—someone fit to give advice on weighty issues of law. On this score, she faced a real challenge. In the beginning, few clients brought her cases of any consequence, and her fellow attorneys in south Alabama treated her as a curiosity. She looked too delicate for contests in a courtroom; but more to the point, she was a woman in a small town. None of the leading civic organizations in Monroeville—the influential Kiwanis Club, for example—accepted women. Church and school committees were all that were open to her. Hence, she was shut out of the higher circles of power in Monroeville, and in the whole county, for that matter.

Then one day she received a call from a Mobile attorney with an exceptional reputation. He told Alice that he had a wrongful death suit in the docket for the next session of the circuit court in Monroeville. Would she assist him? She was flattered; of course she would.

As it turned out, what he really had in mind was using Alice as a legal assistant. During the trial, she sat quietly at the table watching the old pros in action. Presiding was circuit judge Francis W. Hare, a Monroeville native and a Lee family friend. With testimony taken, and both sides having made their arguments to the jury, the trial was clearly winding down. Alice had not said a word. Then Judge Hare made a statement to the jury.

“It is customary in cases like this for there to be two speeches on each side. However, we have with us the youngest member of the Bar. And if this young lady would like to address the jury, I will grant her that privilege.” Alice rose, walked to the jury box of
12
men, and gave a memorable speech for her side. “Judge Hare had paved the way for my acceptance,” she said later, “and I was treated as a member of the Bar and not as an aberration.”
19

*   *   *

Thus, as Nelle approached graduation from high school in
1944
and was faced with making a decision about college and a career, her sister Alice presented an example of a woman who had overcome challenges that would have discouraged anyone less determined. To someone of Nelle's spirit, who always enjoyed a good tussle, physical or verbal, her sister's quietly combative style and choice of law was an inspiration. As far as Nelle's love of literature and writing, and the example of Miss Watson, was concerned, perhaps she could find a way to write, too.

Since Alice had started off at the Women's College of Alabama, that's where Nelle decided to enroll. By now it had been renamed Huntingdon College, for the Countess of Huntingdon, a sponsor of the Wesleyan Movement (the foundation of the Methodist Church) in England. Wasting no time, Nelle signed up for summer classes in June.

A. C. Lee viewed this latest development with undisguised pleasure. Around town, he started telling a little joke. With Mr. Bugg taking his eternal rest, and Mr. Barnett running the Monroe County Bank, the firm of Barnett, Bugg & Lee might have to be changed one day to “Lee & Daughters, Attorneys”!
20

*   *   *

Actually, there couldn't have been a less appropriate school than Huntingdon College for a young woman like Nelle. Perhaps she was trying too hard to imitate her sister, or maybe she was also trying to please her mother by enrolling in a college that resembled the exclusive Alabama Girls' Industrial School. In any case, it was a poor match.

Huntingdon's
58
-acre campus was located off East Fairview Avenue in one of Montgomery's loveliest neighborhoods, Old Cloverdale. The area still felt like the country in those days. Each house was large and quite Southern-looking, with wide aprons of lush green lawns. Sprays of mums, coneflowers, columbines, irises, and day lilies looked glorious in the sunlight. Beneath the heavy trees lay camellias, hostas, jasmine, and impatiens. Husbands parked their automobiles off-street, in garages at the end of private drives.

As the freshman girls arrived with their families through the front gate of Huntingdon College, they saw directly ahead the administration building, Flowers Hall. To the left and right, extending along a low, semicircular ridge, were all the other important buildings that new girls needed to become acquainted with: the library, the student center and its tea room, two dormitories, and the infirmary. These overlooked a natural amphitheater called the Green, which served as a park, playing field, and the site of an annual May festival, complete with a maypole and May Queen.

Huntingdon was traditional. Experienced educators taught such subjects as composition, the history of Western civilization, philosophy, and theology. By and large, the Huntingdon faculty was made up of graduates from selective northern institutions: Columbia, Cornell, Northwestern, and Syracuse. Many of the female instructors were unmarried, and some gallantly said that the students were their family.

The students' Christian education was priority at the start of every day. Chapel was at
8
:
00
A
.
M
. Missing services was inexcusable, unless the offender made up the absence by attending church elsewhere.

Another important component of a Huntingdon girl's education was becoming adept at the social graces. Dinner was never a haphazard affair. The girls ate at tables of eight. At the head was a female instructor. As the food was passed, everyone was expected to take at least a small portion out of politeness. The proper piece of silverware had to match the course of the meal. Now and then the instructor would peek under the table to make sure none of the girls had their legs crossed—feet flat on the floor. Once a month, on a particular date, the girls were expected to come down to dinner in evening dress.

Off campus, Huntingdon girls were required to abide by a dress code that included hats, gloves, dresses, and high-heeled shoes. An appropriate outfit for a day in Montgomery consisted of a skirt, a cardigan worn backward, a string of pearls, a black Chesterfield coat, white gloves, and a white scarf worn in blustery weather. (“We must have looked like a bunch of penguins,” one of the fashion-conscious students later said.)
21

On weekends, young airmen from Maxwell Airfield, located just outside of Montgomery, made a beeline for the Huntingdon campus. The ones who could get their hands on a car whisked away girls to Hilda's on the Atlanta highway, a lively restaurant with dinner and dancing. There were organized dances, too. During
1944
, Maxwell Airfield hosted
18
dances featuring popular big bands, including Glenn Miller's. Usually there were three airmen for every girl, and with those odds, the young ladies could have a different date every weekend night, if they wished.

Harper Lee (far right) poses with fellow students during her freshman year at Huntingdon College. She felt out of place at the school. (Photographer unknown)