- My name is Raffini, V. Raffini.

And I'm gonna tell you about when I went to Prospect Street School for the first time.

It was '68, right after Martin had been assassinated.

- I just wanna do God's will.

- So I was around nine, 10.

(soft dramatic music) We were moved to the projects and we were finding out the people that lived in the projects didn't really want these Black families that were now living up there.

No one from my family was in my school.

There was only one other Brown girl that was there.

When I got into the class, the students were there but the teacher wasn't there.

I looked around, I saw an empty desk.

There was nothing on the desk to identify if it was someone else's desk or not.

I sat in that desk and a young kid came in and said to me, "Get out of my chair."

He called me the N word.

"I'm sick of you niggers coming to the school and thinking you're taking over."

And I remember being shocked and thinking, he's gonna get in trouble for saying this and wondering why no one is saying anything.

They're just looking at me and looking at him.

And he said it again.

"I'm sick of you niggers," and he pushed me.

And when he pushed me, I felt like my dress went up and people saw my underwear.

And so I was embarrassed and I fought him out of embarrassment.

While I'm hitting him, the teacher walks into the room and she smacks me on my head from behind.

And I just pushed my hand back like that and continued to fight the kid in front of me.

And when I heard her start to scream, as I thought, "Oh my God, I've just hit an adult.

My mother is going to kill me."

But at the same time, I'm still punching him because I don't know how to act or react to what's going on.

And I'm just scared and embarrassed and thank God one of the young kids, who when this first started to happen, ran out of the room to go get the principal.

The principal's name was Abraham Asermely.

So as he returns with the principal, the teacher's standing there screaming, "Get her out of my class!

I don't want her in here.

She's a troublemaker.

She can't come back in here."

And the principal's saying to me, "Tell me what happened, what's wrong?"

And I can't, I can't talk, because I'm too busy crying, I'm (pants) trying to catch my breath.

The principal just puts his hand out and takes my hand and brings me to the hallway.

But somehow, in my heart, I knew that this was a caring hand.

We got to the end of the corridor and he stopped and he said, "Please, tell me what happened."

And I told him the whole story and I could see his face just feel so bad.

And he said, "Unfortunately, this is the only fourth grade that we have here.

But don't worry about it.

I'm gonna take you to my office.

We have a secretary there and a receptionist.

We'll teach you."

I felt like I was just saved.

So he brought me down and introduced me to them and told them the story and they said, "Don't worry about it.

You just come here when you come to school and we'll have your work ready for you."

Taught me my schoolwork.

But they also taught me how to answer a phone properly in the office.

(bell rings) I had the privilege of ringing the bell to send the kids out for recess and bring them back in.

I learned how to use a copy machine, which back in that day, was called a ditto machine.

Sometimes I'd go home with ink blots on my shirt.

But I was proud of the work that I was doing.

And I graduated from the fourth grade without being in the fourth grade and went on to another school.

I became an educator.

I was actually a teacher for 25 years.

(soft inspirational music) I think we need the shovel for that.

It was up to me to hire the worker who was going to work with me in the youth garden.

Thank you.

And so I saw somebody's resume and I called the number and I started speaking to this young woman named Ellen.

And we get to the final question and I look at the top to address her by her first and last name, and it says "Asermely."

And I'm thinking, "No way."

(laughs) Because it's 50 some odd years later.

"Ellen, I have to ask you something.

Do you have anyone in your family who was in education years ago?"

And she said, "My grandfather.

My grandfather Abraham."

I told her the whole story about it and she's got tears and I've got tears 'cause I can't believe I'm speaking to the granddaughter of a man who made a difference in my life.

A big difference when you stop to think about it.

If Abraham Asermely had not taken me out of that room and I had to deal with the teacher not wanting me there and a child who did not want me there, I'd have been a very angry Black girl and I'd have grown up to be a very angry Black woman.

(soft bright music) - They're all, we're gonna plant them all together.

Sound good?

- It's a blessing working with Ellen.

I say, "How do you think your grandfather feels, you know, us working together, doing stuff together?"

He's beautiful.

Pollinate, baby.

And I'm like, "I think that your grandfather is looking down and very, very pleased at what he sees."

Thank you, Abraham Asermely.