A high school graduate was denied valedictorian title. 38 years later, she gets the honor.

SPRINGFIELD, Ill. — A State Journal-Register article previewing Tracey Meares' keynote speech at the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. Breakfast in Springfield in 2019 referred to her as "the 1984 Springfield High School valedictorian."

But Meares, now a top legal scholar at Yale College of Law, was denied that honorific for 38 years until Saturday when she was given the official recognition.

Meares was presented with the title after the screening of the documentary, "No Title for Tracey," made by filmmaker Maria Ansley.

The current school district superintendent, Jennifer Gill, was a freshman at Springfield High School when Meares was a senior, and personally dug through student records to verify the ranking. She gave the documentation to Meares, some of which Meares hadn't seen.

"My first reaction is that it's incredibly gratifying, but it's also a lot to process," Meares said after the presentation. "There are a lot of different things that happened. It's the metaphor of a dry sponge. When you pour a bunch of water on a dry sponge, it takes a while (to soak it up).

"I had a lot of trepidation about coming back here and meeting my 17-year-old self and a lot of the emotions I have about this whole incident are emotions I had when I was 17."

Many, including Meares' parents, Robert and Carolyn Blackwell believe systemic racism or institutional racism, which pervades the laws and regulations of education and other institutions, was behind the snub.

"In terms of getting the record straight," Robert Blackwell said, "and making people whole and helping the community understand what the right thing is or was, how do you make things right? What is justice in this situation? I think it's an important gesture.

"It's like reconciliation in some way."

'It made no sense'

While in high school, Meares was on her way to being Springfield High's first Black valedictorian.

She was taking advanced or weighted classes. All along, Robert Blackwell recalled, a school secretary meticulously had been calculating numbers and grades. Meares' counselor, Pauline Betts, told her she had the No. 1 rank.

"(The secretary's) records indicated that given the requirements of the titles of valedictorian and student rank, Tracey had the highest rank in the school and had therefore earned the title of valedictorian," Blackwell said.

At some point, Blackwell added, a school dean had been in Betts' filing cabinet, rifling through Meares' records. Afterward, Betts put a lock on the cabinet so no one could gain entrance.

Springfield High had typically had a valedictorian and a salutatorian, but nearer to graduation, it opted for "top students" for Meares and Heather Russell, who was white. The school didn't start naming valedictorians and salutatorians again until 1992.

"It was not an individual act," Blackwell allowed. "That's what makes it systemic."

"Who would do that to a young person?" Carolyn Blackwell asked. "Why would you do that? We didn't dwell on it because at that time we were, like, let's celebrate this girl. But who would do that to a young person and every person after that until 1991?"

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Nation: She helped integrate higher education in the South. And her classmates wanted her dead.

The Blackwells made inquiries of the school but didn't get past "the top student" argument.

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Meares said there were all sorts of ways her life and growing up in Springfield were idyllic.

"My parents are great. My maternal grandparents were pillars of the community. I was always loved and supported which is why, I think, that particular incident was just so shocking. It kind of made no sense. I couldn't understand what someone's motivation could be for that. It just made no sense."

Telling the story

Enter Maria Ansley.

A photographer with Southern Illinois University School of Medicine, Ansley and Dr. Nicole Florence, Meares' sister, were part of a girls' weekend in Illinois last year.

"With everything that happened with George Floyd, it had us talking about lots of different things," Ansley said. "Dr. Florence proceeded to tell us the story about her sister. It was the first time I had heard it. I was like, this story needs told."

When the project didn't gain traction, Ansley decided to tackle it herself.

Ansley got one filming session with Meares in Springfield last fall. She had the cooperation of the Blackwells, who supplied some photos and appear in the film.

"The fact the story is being advanced by a young white woman," Blackwell said, "says it all, that her sense of this being so incredulous, that this was happening in her city to someone who did not deserve this and the only reason that it happened that (Tracey was) Black.

"Nicki didn't ask Tracey's permission to do this. Nicki was like, this is my sister, I love her. I didn't appreciate what they did to her, and I have a partner here who is willing to tell the story."

The film has been empowering on a couple of levels, Florence admitted. For her sister, it's a chance to be able to tell "her truth and hopefully for her to process," Florence said.

"As much as we are in 2022, I believe, and I know that these events still happen," said Florence. "I think if we have the courage to have conversations and tell these truths, then we will hopefully be closer to undoing some of the systemic racism we still have even in our community."

Asked why she signed on to the project, Meares said it was important for her sister.

"I think she thinks that bringing this to light is going to matter for other people," Meares said. "She's not doing it for me, per se. That is sort of the point of racial justice, that when people engage in projects like this, they actually aren't doing it for themselves.

Meares, who was not told about the presentation of the valedictorian title until it happened, admitted there was a lot to think about from Saturday.

"Walking back here is like walking back in time. I've seen people I haven't seen in decades because when I left, I left. But I'm a little sad, too, because this thing which I did not do has kept me from having connections to people. The people who did this to me did that, too.

This article originally appeared on State Journal-Register: Black Illinois high school valedictorian given title decades later