Larry Roeder’s journey to learn about Black education in Loudoun County had its origins in his exposure to combat as a child.
He and his mother were evacuated under fire during a war in Egypt, then transported under fire to Naples by the U.S. Navy. His father, at the time stationed at the U.S. Embassy in Cairo representing American interests, joined them later.
Only then could Roeder ask his father why people were trying to kill him and his mother. “Both my parents were veterans of World War II and tried to explain that war, as well as violence in our own country, was born out of greed and hate, and that hate often derived from an unwillingness to understand others, which led to a lack of empathy,” he recalls. “My parents encouraged me to learn about others who are different than myself.”
He met his writing partner, Barry Harrelson, in graduate school in the late 1970s. Over the years, they worked on several projects together. Harrelson, a retired intelligence officer, grew up in the rural South in a family of modest means, attending white-segregated schools during the 1950s and ‘60s where his mother taught. “I witnessed the civil rights movement’s impact on my communities and the violent reactions of many whites against integration,” Harrelson says. “During those years, I developed what became a lifelong interest in Southern and Black history.”
The two teamed up for “Dirt Don’t Burn: A Black Community’s Struggle for Educational Equality Under Segregation,” which tells the story of a community that overcame the cultural and legal hurdles of systematic racism.
The book describes how Loudoun County, which once denied educational opportunity to Black Americans, gradually increased the equality of education for all children in the area. It sheds light on the history of segregation and inequity in America, providing new historical details and insights into Black experiences based on research through thousands of previously lost records, archival NAACP files and records of educational philanthropies.
Some of the most interesting research materials Roeder uncovered were a package of forgotten petitions written by parents of both races looking to improve their children’s schools. Although quite similar, the Black parents had to overcome enormous political hurdles to make their wishes heard anywhere in Virginia.
In Loudoun, Black people could not speak directly to the school board unless registered to vote, and that was hard to accomplish. “But Quakers during Reconstruction convinced Black people that as citizens, they had a right to petition for change,” Roeder says. “And written pleas were hard to ignore.”
Early on, Roeder’s efforts were incorporated as the Edwin Washington Project, now known as the Edwin Washington Society, named after the first Black youth the authors could document as wanting to go to school while working. To research the book, they interviewed scores of people and studied records on Loudon County at Howard University, Hampton University, Clark University in Atlanta, and Virginia State University. “That takes time and money, but we pay our own way,” Roeder says. “We also developed tools to help us with research and have offered to share those tools for free with other counties.”
The duo also worked hard to physically preserve documents, paying for preservation themselves. Profits from selling the book help, as do donations. When they discovered a ledger from the early 20th century, its pages were covered with opaque newsprint. “Ordinarily, we would have had to pay thousands to use multi-spectral imagery to reveal lost text,” Roeder says. “But in this case, the Library of Congress helped for free, saving us over $50,000.”
The book’s title, “Dirt Don’t Burn,” paraphrases a line written by Black schoolteacher Ethel Rae Stewart Smith in a letter to the school superintendent requesting coal to heat the schoolhouse’s pot-bellied stove after they ran out. “Please send some coal right away. All we have left is dirt and that doesn’t half burn,” Smith wrote matter-of-factly. “My hope is that that book will convince readers that denying people resources because they are different is cruel,” says Roeder. “Whereas providing equality builds a vibrant, strong society.”
Roeder should know, having personally seen the impact of racism and hatred around the world. In Albania and other countries, he recalls seeing hatred of Romani, aka “gypsies.” He says nomads are often disparaged, pointing to the Bedouins he knew in Egypt as a child and with whom he worked as an adult.
“Anti-Semitism kills, whether in Europe in the 1930s and ‘40s or today and the same for people who attack gays and trans people,” Roeder says. “That last word is important. We’re all people, all deserving of respect and understanding. A history like ours is important to read and share because it shows the value of learning about people who are different. Doing so can reduce violence and show that beneath our skin color and personal practices, we’re all human beings.”
“Dirt Don’t Burn: A Black Community’s Struggle for Educational Equality Under Segregation” book talk and discussion will be held Thursday, Nov. 14 at 6 p.m. in the Library of Virginia, 800 East Broad St. Registration required at www.lva.virginia.gov/public/weinstein.
