By Dave Racer
James Phillips, a black man, taught Ninth Grade Civics (called CORE class) at Cleveland Junior High School on the East Side of St. Paul, Minnesota in the early 1960s. I first walked into his class during September, 1961. When I matriculated from his class in June, 1962, even though only in ninth grade, my life had changed.
Mr. Phillips (he earned his PhD later in the 1960s) taught in a community in which the population of blacks was near zero. Our junior high may have had 12 black students. Most of us were from white working-class families.
The Civil Rights Act wouldn’t pass until 1964.
Perhaps it did, but I don’t remember, the color of Dr. Phillips’ skin meant nothing to me. How he expressed what it meant to him, though, was unique – and it’s what had such a huge effect on my life.
Dr. James Phillips is the best teacher I’ve ever had. And I tell his story every fall to my new American Government students. The fall of 2023 marks my 25th year teaching it.
Dr. Phillips taught me two critical lessons.
First, he taught me to love the U.S. Constitution. He had us parse it word by word, take it apart, put it back together again, and then had us write our own for our class. Then he held an election for Class President. It was my first election loss in a string of many.
I fell in love with the U.S. Constitution. Dr. Phillips made it come alive, and you can imagine why it was so important to him.
The second critical lesson he taught me was this – love education. “Because that is our ticket,” I can still hear him say.
The Constitution and education.
When I tell this story to my new students each fall, I end by saying, “So how’d that work out?”
Do you have a teacher that had a great effect on you? If so, you, like me, are fortunate. Never forget.
Fun Fact: Dr. Phillips retired as Superintendent of Schools in Evanston, Indiana. When he was 83, I tracked him down and we talked on the phone for a while. I told him my story (teachers love it when you do that).
I told him that, due to his influence and my love of politics and government, I had served as the National Campaign Manager for Alan Keyes for President. Keyes was the first black Republican to run for President.
“Oh my, I am sorry to hear that,” he said.
I told him it was his fault.
