<Narrator 1> The South Carolina Hall of Fame was founded in Myrtle Beach in 1973 to recognize and honor contemporary and past citizens who have made outstanding contributions to South Carolina's heritage, history and progress.

♪ <male speaker> She was probably one of the most influential African American educators and civil rights figures during the first half of the 20th century.

<Narrator 2> Mary Jane McLeod Bethune was born on July 10, 1875, on a cotton farm in Mayesville, South Carolina, a rural farming community located near Sumter.

Mary was the 15th out of 17 children born to Samuel and Patsy McIntosh McLeod, former slaves.

<male speaker> There is little about her beginnings that would suggest that she would go on to be one of the most powerful women in America.

And Bethune tells the account in her autobiography, that at some point, she developed an ability to read and to write, and not many people knew it.

And she was visiting a home where her mother was taking in wash, and she picked up a book.

And someone ridiculed her immediately and said, "Put that down.

You can't read that," when in fact, she could.

And she knew that that... that moment was a suggestion to her that there's something perhaps powerful about literacy and perhaps powerful about education that she wanted to master.

And I think from that very beginning, she realized that one could not be fully free until you're educated.

♪ <Narrator 2> Young Mary had dreams of becoming a missionary, first studying at the Scotia Seminary for Girls in North Carolina, then at the Dwight Moody Institute for Home and Foreign Missions in Chicago.

Upon graduating, there were no openings for missionaries, so she became a teacher, then met and married fellow teacher and minister Albertus Bethune.

Her teaching positions in Georgia and South Carolina gave Mary McLeod Bethune the burning desire to build a school of her own.

She moved to Daytona Beach, Florida.

And starting with just $1.50, she founded the Bethune Institute for Girls, which today has become Bethune-Cookman University.

And she used Bethune-Cookman as her base to be involved in women's work, to be involved in politics, to be involved in civil rights.

<Narrator 2> Bethune was influenced by leading educators of the day and was a skilled fundraiser.

During World War Two, she was invited to the White House by Eleanor Roosevelt and became instrumental in organizing a group of influential African American political leaders.

President Franklin Roosevelt's Black Cabinet.

<Donaldson> He needed strong, persuasive voices to sit at his table, to offer advice and consultation about how to make the Democratic Party more responsive to African Americans.

And one of the most powerful, persuasive voices at that time was Mary McLeod Bethune.

She was a brilliant woman, a brilliant person.

Anyone who understood anything about race and politics of that period knew that if there were going to be anyone at the table to really set an agenda, she had to be there and, in fact, lead it.

<Narrator 2> Future politicians would also be influenced by Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune.

>> My mother thought she was just the greatest person in the world.

And she made me just learn stuff about Mary McLeod Bethune, because I was growing up in Sumter, and of course, she was from Mayesville, eight or nine miles away.

Now since that time, I've grown to appreciate not just who, but what she was, and the kind of stick-to-itiveness that she had.

<Narrator 2> Congressman Jim Clyburn led the effort to have Bethune's portrait displayed at the South Carolina State House in 1971.

<Clyburn> It was a tough fight, but we prevailed.

<Narrator 2> Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune has been honoured in many ways, including a South Carolina Historical license plate introduced by her great grand-niece Jereleen Hollimon-Miller and her husband, Ed Miller.

<Ed Miller> When you think about a license plate in her honor, in her memory, one of my main purposes is to make South Carolinians and the world aware of such a great lady and her accomplishment.

<Jereleen> She had a journey and a story that she had to tell.

And the license plate, it has a story, and the story would add to her legacy.

<Donaldson> I think she, for me, was a powerful symbol.

But it seems to me that she was also a window into a time.

Here was someone born during Reconstruction, someone who witnessed segregation, someone who witnessed racial violence, but also someone who from the very beginning wanted to transcend that, and had the wherewithal and the ability to navigate and to circumvent tremendous obstacles from her days in Mayesville, South Carolina, to heights of influence from Washington DC to New York.

<Clyburn> To grow up a sharecropper in rural Sumter County, and to become an advisor to several presidents, I mean, that, to me, is her greatest legacy.

<Donaldson> If there were a Mount Rushmore for African Americans, she would definitely be on there.

♪ ♪ ♪ blues guitar ♪ <Narrator 3> In the early 1920s, for many South Carolinians living in Pineville and the surrounding countryside, finding adequate health care was a challenge due to its virtual non existence.

One courageous woman would single handedly answer that challenge, becoming their "Angel in Twilight," changing healthcare in Berkeley County forever.

Maude Evelyn Callen was born in 1898 in Tallahassee, Florida.

One of 13 sisters, she was orphaned at the age of six and raised in the home of her uncle, Dr. William Gunn, Tallahassee's first Black physician.

She studied Nursing at Florida A&M University and Tuskegee Institute in Alabama.

In 1923, she was called to Pineville, South Carolina, as a medical missionary, creating makeshift clinics wherever she could.

Maude Callen was one of only nine nurse midwives in South Carolina at the time.

>> Mrs. Callen was very instrumental in bringing healthcare to this area.

For some people, she was their doctor.

>> Very important to the whole community.

She was everybody's friend, helping everybody, giving you free shot, what you couldn't pay for.

She was more than just a nurse.

She was a doctor too.

Because you didn't have to go to the doctor after you left her.

>> She was not only a nurse, she was a doctor.

A lot of people that couldn't go to the doctor in St. Stephen, Ms. Maude Callen was our doctor.

<Narrator 3> In 1936, Maude Callen joined the Berkeley County Health Department as a public health nurse providing vaccinations and examinations, keeping records on children's eyes and teeth, and training midwives.

>> I've always said that she is the Mother Teresa of Berkeley County because she gave so much.

<John Wiggins> She trained a whole lot of midwives that helped others.

Her legacy were passed on.

I am a product of one of her midwife.

Me and my brother and sisters are products of Maude Callen's midwife.

>> I do remember my grandmother just telling me the night in which my mother went into delivery, it was like, I guess a little chaos there, but my grandfather went - I don't remember if it was horse and buggy or with the truck - and picked up one of the local midwife that she had trained.

<Narrator 3> In 1951, Life magazine published a 12 page photo essay by prize winning photographer, Eugene Smith.

This article generated thousands of dollars in contributions.

Nurse Callen would use this money to support a modern health clinic next to her church in Pineville.

<Twiggs> The article in this magazine really took her out of Pineville.

Smith was an award winning photographer, and he captured the essence.

When I look at these pictures, I see he just captures the essence of the area, of the personality of Maude Callen.

This is a classic shot here: the delivery of a baby.

And this is at 5:30am.

The way Smith does this with the series of delivery, the pain of childbirth, the baby born, the mother comforting the daughter.

And finally the baby arrives, and then Maude looking out, holding what looks like a coke and resting a while after more than 27 hours.

These two pages tell a story about a childbirth.

Here, she has her bag and she has her lantern.

She used to carry that lantern around with her, because in many places sometimes when she arrived, she had to have light because they had to go and find the lamp and light the lamp.

What's interesting is that shot where she's walking over a branch where the water is high after the rain, and you had to walk from one puddle, one high piece of dirt, to another, then to a log and then to something else before you got over it.

That was always the problem.

And I noticed she had that old Chevrolet that she drove, and I can imagine that many times she got in bogs, because I've seen so many of those cars, and they'd have to put hay and stuff under them and to get them to rock them out.

So it was really an ordeal that she handled so well.

>> This was the first baby she delivered.

And he now is 86 years old, my brother in law.

>> When I was born, I was a sickly little baby, a little baby.

But some people say I'm gonna live.

[indiscernible] "You're not gonna do good, you're so little."

But I lived.

I surprised them, because I didn't die, and I lived, and I live from then up to now.

And Maude Callen was my doctor.

<Narrator 3> Today at Claflin University in Orangeburg, South Carolina, Maude Callen's niece, Juliette Dean Satterwhite is a registered nurse at the Student Health Center.

She recalls helping her Aunt Maude at the tender age of five.

>> I can remember a time even at that young age, her husband was sick, Richard Callen.

We affectionately called him Uncle Dick.

And she would allow me to give him medicine, his heart medication.

I would have to check his pulse at that young age.

She taught me how to do it.

With this being her alarm clock, I would watch for 60 seconds, count his pulse, and if it was 60 or greater, then I could give him the tablet, and that's exactly what I would do.

And she would say, "Great job!"

"One day you're going to be a good nurse."

And I was like, a good nurse... She told me that so many times, I actually believed it.

Following in her foot tracks!

<Narrator 3> Maude Callen retired from her clinic in 1971, but continued to serve the community as Manager of the Senior Citizen Nutrition Council in Pineville.

She delivered Meals on Wheels five days a week, as shown here in the 1983 CBS News segment "On the Road with Charles Kuralt."

[Kuralt narrating "On the Road"] S he says she works part time.

Part time to Mauden Callen is from early in the morning until the middle of the afternoon.

[Maude speaking to patient] Miss Carry, I want you to get your other plate, dear.

<Maude> I've seen people in need so much, and there's so much to be done, I decided within myself that I was going to make some effort in order to help them to live a better life.

<male speaker> I can see.

I can see in the spirituality and the Christian way of life that Maude Callen passed more than just medical help to this area.

I have a wonderful congregation of Christian, loving people.

And I think...

I know Maude Callen had a lot to do that.

>> I visited when she did the nutrition center, and she was wonderful with those elderly people.

She was just phenomenal.

>> I'll always remember her for her kindness.

You know, in my neighborhood, she did a lot of things for people.

And she always said to me, don't give to the people that have, always give to the needy.

>> She really stepped up to the plate.

She had that compassion to deal with people and she saw the need and she didn't let nothing turn her back.

Nothing stopped her.

<Narrator 3> Maude Callen died in 1990.

It is estimated she delivered between 600 and 800 babies, trained some 400 midwives and brought health care to thousands.

To them, Nurse Maude Callen was their "Angel in Twilight."

<Harriett Wiggins> She loved people, she would do anything for you, and she was just Maude Callen.

♪ church choir singing ♪ ♪ Amen ♪...♪ Amen ♪...♪ Amen ♪ (applause) ♪ Amen ♪ ... ♪ Amen ♪ ♪ Amen ♪...♪ Amen ♪...♪ Amen ♪ ♪ <Narrator 1> Septima Poinsette Clarke was born in Charleston, South Carolina in 1898.

She was the daughter of a laundry woman and an illiterate former slave.

>> Her father was a very docile man.

And I can understand that, under the conditions that he lived under being a black man in the time he lived in, you know, when you were raised and being told that you're nothing all your life and don't you dare look me in the eye at the same time as I beat you, you have to learn patience.

That's what she learned from him.

But from her mother, she learned strength.

<Narrator 1> Septima Clark was a teacher.

In 1916, she graduated from the Avery Normal Institute in Charleston.

Her first teaching assignment was a Black school on John's Island.

>> It was a poverty stricken area.

It did not have any of the amenities of Charleston.

Septima Clark's method of teaching was very innovative.

It was progressive.

It was ahead of its time, and she learned this method from John's Island and that is essentially meeting her students where her students were, but also treating her students, particularly adult students, with tremendous respect.

<Narrator 1> During Clark's 30 plus years of teaching experience, she learned the value and role of education in the community.

In the 1950s, Clark was invited to lead summer workshops at the Highlander Folk School in Monteagle, Tennessee, a grassroots education center founded by social activist Myles Horton.

>> One of the things that made the Highlander Folk School unique and also made it a target is that it had integrated workshops with white and black people living and working together, and it operated on the philosophy that oppressed people know the answers to their own problems.

Septima Clark believed that the most important thing was to develop local leaders, people in their communities who could assume a leading role in getting things done and solving community problems.

And she was concerned with developing women in particular as leaders.

<Narrator 1> Rosa Parks attended one of Clark's seminars months before the Montgomery Bus Boycott in 1955.

Esau Jenkins was a John's Island farmer and bus driver, who was teaching the passengers on his bus how to read.

Jenkins attended sessions at Highlander where Clark was developing the concept of citizenship schools.

These were designed to help African American adults pass the literacy test required for voting.

Jenkins proposed the idea of a citizenship school on John's Island.

All they needed was a local teacher.

<Hale> They wanted to find someone in the community who was well respected, well known, that people could talk to and not feel ashamed that they're illiterate.

And Bernice Robinson came to mind.

She was a beautician in Charleston, she was popular among African Americans in Charleston and John's Island, and really had a gift of speaking to anybody and everybody at their level.

<Charron> As people learned to read and write, something inside of them changed.

They got more confidence, and that confidence allowed them to act; to stand up against the white power structure in their community.

<Narrator 1> When Highlander School closed, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference established the Citizenship Education program modeled on Clark's workshops.

By 1970, two million African Americans had registered to vote, yet Septima Clark and others of her generation remain largely unsung heroes.

<Charron> We have a narrative of the Civil Rights Movement that's built around national media reports.

There aren't any dramatic images that were captured and broadcast on television or reprinted in the newspapers of people learning how to read and write and become citizens.

But the people who do show up in those national images are people who pass through the citizenship schools and got the confidence to act because of what they gained from that citizenship education.

<D.

Michael Clark> Because see, without Septima Pointsette, you have no Martin Luther King, you have no Rosa Parks, you don't have a President Obama.

♪ ♪ <Narrator 4> Elizabeth Evelyn Wright founded one of the first institutions of higher education for African Americans in a time and place that was incredibly hostile to her and everything she stood for.

Lizzie grew up in poverty in rural Georgia.

She was recognized by her teachers as a bright student and pursued every opportunity that came her way, >> I believe at the age of 12, a flyer, an advertisement, just happened to blow by and land at her feet, and it was an advertisement for Tuskegee Institute.

And so she was intrigued by that idea of going to learn; to be educated.

She was reared by her grandmother, her maternal grandmother, and an uncle.

Of course, that wasn't an idea that they entertain: a young lady in the South, in a rural area, not only leaving that vicinity, but to go to another state, but she was convinced that that was her calling.

Her teacher saw the promise in her, knew that she was an extraordinary individual, and so the teacher and Elizabeth Evelyn started working on Grandmama and Uncle and made it happen.

When she got to Tuskegee, not only did Booker T. Washington, the President, take an interest in her, but Mrs. Washington became that rock, that support system, for her and saw that here was someone in need.

Here was someone that she personally took an interest in molding and shaping, and they were able to provide the assistance to her.

<Narrator 4> Upon leaving Tuskegee, she followed in Washington's footsteps and started a small school in Hampton County, South Carolina to educate African Americans.

Local white supremacist groups did not take kindly to her efforts.

They burned down her first two schools.

But Elizabeth Evelyn Wright refused to give up and planned to establish her next school in Bamberg County near the town of Denmark.

<Evans> Our founder, Elizabeth Evelyn Wright, was not a huge woman, a very frail, a sickly individual.

And she spent many miles traveling not only from Bamberg County, but Hampton County, Colleton County, trying to raise money.

Someone mentioned to her about this philanthropist, Ralph Voorhees, and so she actually had written him, and he finally responded.

And so he wanted to hear more about the school and her idea, and she thought it would be best not to just continue writing him, but to go visit, and that is what she did.

She came back knowing that God had answered her prayer.

She was convinced that Mr. Voorhees was going to assist, and assist is what he did.

One of the pieces of land that she wanted, some 280 acres, a Mr.

Guest had owned it, and he had given her a price of $3,000.

And so that was what she had asked Mr. Voorhees for.

Unfortunately, as she got close to having secured the money, that price changed to $4,500.

And if you think that's a lot of money now, and people do, you can only imagine what it was like in 1892, 1895, 1897.

But it was Ralph Voorhees and his wife who chose to invest, and not just the $3,000, but the $4,500.

Ultimately, the school became Voorhees Normal Industrial School.

<Narrator 4> The new school focused on giving African Americans practical skills they needed to succeed.

Emphasis on trade skills showed the influence of Booker T. Washington, who sought to use the accumulation of material wealth as a way for the Black community to gain acceptance in American society.

This differed from the philosophy of W.E.B.

Du Bois, another prominent African American intellectual at the time.

Du Bois wanted to see blacks receive a classical education so they could become political leaders who could advance the Civil Rights Movement and break down institutional racism in America.

While Du Bois and Washington seemed to be at odds, their goal was the same: to provide opportunities for success for young African Americans.

<Evans> The institution, it just metamorphosed as it grew, as the the mission itself expanded.

So did the name, and so now we're a college, and there is the talk, the hope, that soon we will be a university.

We thank Elizabeth Everlyn Wright for the dream.

We thank her for never giving up, even in the face of obstacles and difficulties.

She rocks!

♪