Eddie Bernice Johnson is a champion of minority and women’s rights representing Texas in the United States House of Representatives. Not only that, she fights to support the sciences and women in STEM (science, technology, engineering, medicine) fields.

Though a public servant of the 30th district in Dallas County, Eddie started her life in Waco, Texas. Born to Edward and Lillie Mae Johnson in Waco on December 3, 1935 (her childhood home pinned below on map), she attended A. J. Moore High School, the only school in Waco for African Americans at the time, where she graduated in 1952, third on the honor roll. Just as she would be very active in the community later in life, she participated in many organizations at A. J. Moore as well, including the Dramatic Art Club, J. A. Kirk Chorus, Book Lovers’ Club, National Honor Society, Student Council, library staff, Elm Wood Y-Teens, and editorial staff of the Moore Highlight.

Eddie came to her love of learning and community involvement naturally, as her parents emphasized such values. Her parents stressed education and culture, reading novels to their children from a young age and taking them to plays at Baylor University. These options were more limited, though, as the family could only attend plays on the designated “black days” at the theater. Both Edward and Lillie Mae then became activists after African Americans succeeded in breaking the state’s white primary system in 1944. Committed Democrats, they worked hard to educate fellow African Americans on the importance of voting and helped to get them to the polls. Eddie affectionately referred to her mother as a “little crusader,” fighting to better the rights of African Americans in Texas and in Waco. Her parents’ dedication to hard work and views of progress led Eddie to believe neither her race nor gender should ever hold her back.

Eddie then attended St. Mary’s College at Notre Dame and received a nursing degree. She would follow this degree with two more, a bachelor of science in nursing from Texas Christian University, and two decades later a master’s in public health from Southern Methodist University. Eddie was hired right out of St. Mary’s as a psychiatric nurse at the Veterans Administration (VA) hospital in Dallas. Little did she know, the administration did not realize she was black when they hired her. Upon her arrival, she had to fight to keep her job, and she was not allowed to live in the dormitory with the other nurses. She endured extreme racism from her colleagues and was continually denied the ability to help with projects. But soon her work spoke for itself, and a year and a half later Eddie was promoted to chief nurse, a position she would hold at the VA in Dallas for sixteen years. Early in her tenure at the VA she also met and married Lacy Kirk Johnson and had one son, Dawrence Kirk.

After the birth of her son, Eddie had her hands full with her job, her husband, and now a child, but she soon added activism to the list. While shopping in Dallas, she was barred from trying on a hat in a store because of her race. She discovered that as a rule black women were not allowed to try on certain clothing items in stores before buying them, and this infuriated her. She immediately organized a boycott of the department store and others with fifty other African American women. The boycott worked quickly, and soon those stores were allowing black women to try on items before purchase. Eddie had her first taste of activism, and she turned next to ardently supporting African American politicians. She would famously push young Dawrence, who goes by Kirk, in a stroller while passing out campaign materials for various African American candidates in shopping center parking lots.

Though this involvement was a far cry from running for office herself, circumstances soon changed for Eddie. After a painful divorce, a friend suggested that Eddie run for the Texas House. She originally rebuffed the idea, worried about caring for her son and maintaining the stability her career as a nurse provided, but the seed had been planted. The final push came in 1972 when Stanley Marcus of Neiman Marcus offered her an executive assistant job if she would run for office. Kirk even took cooking classes at school to be able to help his mother at home during her campaign. Eddie Bernice was officially set to run for House District 33.

Eddie was clearly the underdog with only $5,000 and no manpower. She set up shop in her own dining room, making campaign calls herself and going door to door with Kirk. She emphasized to the African American community that she was ready to fight for their rights, campaigning on her prior role as president of the National Council of Negro Women among other civic organizations. She also emphasized her career as a nurse and her service of veterans, wanting to fight for better health care if she were elected. She said of her campaign, “I [was] interested solely in the people and in reflecting the needs of the constituency.” Reflect her constituents’ needs she did, and she won in a landslide to became the first black woman to serve in an elected office in Dallas. From there she was the first African American woman vice chair of the Texas State Democratic Convention and helped to form the Black Legislative Caucus. She was also chosen to chair the House Committee on Labor, the first woman to ever hold this position. Her main issues of focus were health care, education and science, public housing, and women’s rights. Eddie’s work in the legislature did not go unnoticed, and after three terms in the House she was called up by the Carter administration in 1977 to be regional director of the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, the first woman and first African American in this position. After serving faithfully, her tenure ended with Carter’s defeat and she took a hiatus from politics.

But the call to serve came again in 1986 when Eddie ran for and won the senatorial position for the 23rd district of Texas. She was the first Dallas woman and first African American elected to the Texas Senate since Reconstruction. Her concerns continued to be people oriented, as she focused on issues of health care, housing, race, gender, economic development, and employment. She served in the finance and education committees and chaired the subcommittee on health and human services. Opportunity then came knocking once more in 1991 when Eddie was chair of the subcommittee of congressional redistricting. The committee’s efforts created a new 30th district, one composed of mostly minority voters, for which Eddie decided to run in 1993. She again scored an astounding victory—107,830 votes to 37,853 votes—becoming the first nurse elected to the US Congress. Her work in Congress mirrored her work in the state legislature and her focus remained on equality and advancement for all people. Even after accusations of gerrymandering led to a Supreme Court ruling against the Texas legislature, Eddie continued to win her seat for the redrawn 30th district. She has served on and led several committees, and she is currently in her thirteenth term at the age of eighty-three.

Eddie Bernice Johnson has lived a life of many firsts and paved the way for many women and African Americans in politics. Her emphasis on STEM education, women and minority rights, and more have changed the face of Dallas County, and Waco is proud to claim her as one of its own.

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James Andrew Harris shook the science world in 1969 for two reasons. First, he co-discovered elements 104 and 105 on the periodic table, a massive accomplishment. Second, he was the first African American in history to discover an element. James Harris was a true pioneer, and he worked hard his entire life to make room for African Americans in the sciences.

Harris was born in Waco, Texas, on March 26, 1932. He attended A. J. Moore High (pinned here) in Waco until middle school (despite the nature of the name, the school served Kindergarten through twelfth-grade), but after his parents divorced, Harris moved to Oakland, California, with his mother. There he graduated from McClymond High School. But Harris did not stay in California for long. After graduating from high school, he moved back to Texas to attend Huston-Tillotson College (HTC) and pursue a degree in chemistry. After graduating in 1953, Harris served two years in the United States Army. After his short career as a sergeant, he married his HTC sweetheart, Helen, in 1957.

Upon entering civilian life in 1955, Harris set out to find a job and use his degree, but that proved much more difficult than he would have liked. Most employers not only refused to hire Harris, they were shocked he would even apply as an African American for a job in chemistry. Harris remembered one such experience vividly, recalling in a 1973 interview, “I was even given a job test simple enough for elementary school kids— basic addition and subtraction. I told the secretary I didn't need a job that badly.” Other secretaries simply assumed he was applying to be a janitor or suggested that he did so when he mentioned chemistry. Despite these setbacks and the culture of Jim Crow America, Harris did not give up, and his perseverance was rewarded when he landed a job at Tracerlab in Richmond, California, where he worked in commercial research. After five years at Tracerlab, Harris decided to move on and joined the Lawrence Radiation Lab (Lawrence Berkeley Lab), an affiliate of the University of California’s Department of Energy.

This lab would prove to be the theater for Harris’s success. He was teamed up with a renowned scientist of the Manhattan project, Albert Ghiorso, and the men set to work to see if they could discover (i.e. produce) new elements. The process by which they did this was complex. The basic method was to bombard certain atomic targets with different elements in an accelerator. This would allow the men to isolate and identify individual new elements at the atomic level. Ghiorso was largely responsible for creating the machines and Harris became the master of making the atomic targets. The atomic targets had to be pure, and, because of this, making them was a tedious and precise process. Harris’s colleagues declared that he was undoubtedly the best target-maker they had ever and would ever work with, making his contribution instrumental. With Ghiorso’s machines and Harris’s targets, the two men identified element 104 for the first time in 1969. They named the element Rutherfordium after British physicist Earnest Rutherford. Harris was officially the first African American to discover a new element, and he did it as the only person in his lab without a PhD as well.

After changing the bombarding element from carbon to nitrogen in 1970, Harris and Ghiorso discovered element 105, commonly referred to today as Dubnium. However, this was not the original name chosen by the two men. They had chosen the name Hahnium after German chemist Otto Hahn, but they had to cede the naming right to Russian scientists from the town of Dubna, from where the element received its official name. The reason was because both Harris’s lab and the Russian lab had identified elements 104 and 105 around the same time. After the naming controversy had been raging for over twenty years, the teams were required by the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry in 1997 to divvy up the naming rights: 104 was given the American choice of Rutherfordium and 105 the Russian choice of Dubnium (though the original Russian choice had been Neilsbohrium after Danish nuclear physicist Neils Bohr).

After catapulting to the forefront of scientific innovation because of his discoveries, Harris worked to ensure that other African American children could enjoy the same opportunities. He was awarded an honorary doctorate from his alma mater in 1973, and he did not want to waste the chance to do something good with his acclaim. Harris traveled to schools and universities across the nation to talk to young African American students, especially those from disadvantaged communities, and recruit them to the sciences. His dedication led to awards from the Urban League, the National Organization for the Professional Advancement of Black Chemists and Chemical Engineers, the City of Richmond, Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Black Dignity Science Institute, and the National Organization for Equal Opportunity in Education. Harris was even part of the "Black Pioneers" exhibit at the Oakland Museum, and he was inducted into the Black College Hall of Fame in Atlanta.

Harris retired early in 1988 at the age of fifty-six. In his retirement he kept up with his community service efforts, along with many rounds of golf and spending time with Helen and his five children. He passed away on December 12, 2000, from an unknown but sudden illness.

James Harris started his education and his life here in Waco, and he went on to change both the scientific community and the black community. Harris is still remembered today as an African American innovator and hero who not only blazed the trail himself, but who worked hard to make sure other black students could follow in his footsteps. Nuclear scientist Darleane Hoffman said of Harris, “From the first time I met him in the early sixties to the last time on the day he passed away, he was upbeat, cheerful, and a pleasure to be around.”

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Known throughout the nation for his pitching prowess, Andy Cooper made a name for himself at a time when segregation placed limits on black baseball.

Now known as the nation’s pastime, baseball has captivated Americans since the early nineteenth century. But prior to the 1940s, blacks could not play in either of the major leagues or their respective farm systems. African Americans instead formed their own teams and eventually created their own leagues. The Negro National League (NNL), formed in 1920, lasted until 1931 and was soon followed by the Negro American League in 1937. Andrew “Andy” Lewis Cooper had a successful career in both of these leagues, playing for both Detroit and Kansas City.

Born in Waco in 1898, Cooper grew up in the city and attended A. J. Moore High School and Paul Quinn College. The date of his birth is often debated, since his draft certificate states that he was born in 1897, while his birth certificate reads 1898.

Cooper first played for the Dallas Black Giants in 1919 before making the jump to Detroit. He made his debut with the Detroit Stars in 1920 and played for them until 1927, after which he was traded to the Kansas City Monarchs. Known as one of the best pitchers in baseball, Cooper was traded for five players. He played one season with the Monarchs before rejoining the Stars in 1930. In 1931, he returned to the Monarchs and continued to play there until 1939.

Cooper was known as one of the best pitchers in baseball and was recognized for his absolute control over every one of his pitches, including a fastball, curveball, and screwball. His knowledge of batters’ weaknesses gave him one of the best records in the business. Cooper eventually transitioned from a starter to a successful relief pitcher. By the end of his playing career he posted a 116-57 record and held the NNL record for saves with 29. Cooper became player manager of the Monarchs in 1937, when they joined the Negro American League, and by 1940 he had led Kansas City to three championships. Cooper’s last appearance as a player in 1939 was with the Monarchs.

Andy Cooper did not always play in a Negro league. During the early twentieth century, many African American ballplayers turned to barnstorming—the practice of traveling around the world to play exhibition matches—instead of professional baseball. In 1927, financial difficulties led to pay cuts in Negro baseball and a contract-jumping ban was put in place to prevent players from switching leagues or leaving their team. Cooper decided to test the ban by joining the Philadelphia Royal Giants, a traveling team. His first barnstorming trip took him as far as Japan and Honolulu. When he returned to the NNL, he was assessed a thirty-day suspension and a $200 fine for contract-jumping. Cooper’s second barnstorming trip occurred during the off-season while the Monarchs played in an independent league following the dissolution of the NNL. That trip took him to Japan, the Philippines, Korea, and China.

Cooper continued to coach Kansas City until 1941, when he suffered a stroke during the preseason. He went home to Waco to recover but died from a heart attack on June 3rd of that year. He is buried in Greenwood Cemetery in East Waco.

Cooper died only a few years before the beginning of the integration of baseball with the signing of Jackie Robinson by the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1946. Although he never saw integration, Cooper left a lasting legacy on the sport, eventually recognized by the Baseball Hall of Fame. In 2006, a special committee selected Andrew Cooper and several other African American players for induction into the Hall of Fame, ensuring that his legacy as a phenomenal player, smart manager, and inspiring mentor continues on.

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Among the names of the many individuals who served valiantly during World War II, Waco’s own Doris Miller was a hero of national and international acclaim. Although many noted the valor he displayed during the war, some argue he still has not received the honors due him.

Born as the third of four sons to Connery and Henrietta Miller on October 12, 1919, Doris, named for the midwife present at his birth, grew up on a small sharecrop farm just outside of Waco in Speegleville, Texas. Years later, Henrietta Miller admitted that she had hoped for a baby girl, and her wishful thinking led to the feminine name, despite her husband’s protests. 

Along with his siblings, Doris worked to support the family farm from an early age. In his youth, he became an excellent marksman as he hunted for small game with his brothers. Doris also had a successful school career at A. J. Moore High School. His tall stature gained the attention of the football coach at the school who recruited Doris as a fullback on the team.

However, as Doris became older, and as war loomed on the horizon, he longed to join the armed forces much to the chagrin of his parents. After several attempts to join different sectors of the military, Doris Miller enlisted in the US Navy in Dallas, Texas, on September 16, 1939. Unfortunately, at the time of his enlistment, discrimination limited the areas of service for African Americans in the military. After training, his assignment was as a mess attendant, third class. It was from this station that Miller answered the call in extraordinary circumstances.

Assigned to the USS West Virginia anchored at Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941, Doris was collecting laundry in the hull of the ship when the attack began, according to some reports. As the air raid sirens started, Doris Miller burst into action. When he ran to the deck of the ship, he saw his captain sprawled, fatally wounded, on the ground. Miller pulled the wounded captain to safety before racing back to an unmanned antiaircraft gun in the midst of low-flying planes and a rain of bullets. Despite discriminatory policies that forbade Miller or other sailors of color to man heavy artillery, Miller seized control of a .50 caliber machine gun to fire at attacking Japanese planes. He committed his efforts to the defense of the West Virginia until superiors ordered all to abandon ship. Conflicting accounts exist of Miller’s actions that day, but the most widely circulated reports won him quick and international attention. 

After the attack, the military awarded Miller with an unprecedented honor. He became the first African American recipient of the Navy Cross, the highest decoration the navy can offer besides the Congressional Medal of Honor. The navy leveraged Miller’s new status by returning him to the home front for a short time to act as a recruiter. In 1943, Miller received a promotion to petty officer, ship’s cook third class, and was assigned to the escort carrier USS Liscome Bay. That November, in the Battle of Makin Island, a Japanese torpedo struck the Liscome Bay and the ship sunk within minutes. Miller did not survive the attack.

While awarded the Purple Heart posthumously, Doris Miller never received the Congressional Medal of Honor, which many believe he deserved. Those who fight for his legacy still lobby for its award.

Though his life was cut short due to the call of active duty, Doris Miller lives on in public memory. Throughout the nation, streets, schools, and parks bear his name. In Waco, his hometown, stands the Doris D. Miller Park and the Doris Miller Family YMCA, active reminders of one African American man’s willingness to serve his country despite its discriminatory practices. Cultural Arts of Waco is currently raising money for a Doris Miller Memorial to be located on the east bank of the Brazos River.

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Since 1894, the Methodist Children’s Home has provided a home and family for needy children in Central Texas. Though its role in the community has changed over the years, its devotion to helping the most vulnerable in society has remained constant.

In the late nineteenth century, Methodist Bishop Joseph S. Key saw the profound need for an institution to care for the plight of orphans in Texas. He enlisted the help of Dr. Horace Bishop, the pastor of Waco’s First Methodist Church, and drew up plans to present at the Northwest Texas Methodist Conference in Abilene. In November of 1890, the conference unanimously voted for the creation of an orphanage, proclaiming that “practical religion cares for the helpless.”

A Methodist committee met in 1893 to determine a suitable location for the home and elected Waco after the city donated a ten-acre estate, including a sixteen-room residence. Dr. W. H. Vaughn, the first superintendent of the home, and his wife Pauline, moved in at the beginning of 1894. By the end of that year, twenty-six children lived at the Northwest Texas Conference Orphans Home.

The home’s primary source of support during its early years came from special offerings collected at Christmas by the five regional Texas Methodist conferences. Despite the generosity of the congregations, these funds did not fully support the rapidly growing orphanage. By the end of 1895, forty-three children resided at the facility and homes in the local community cared for twenty-one others. Moved by the orphanage’s important work and financial struggles, Methodist evangelists Abe and Louisa Mulkey pledged the proceeds from one night of each of their revivals to the home. This money funded the construction of an administration building in 1899, and in 1901, leaders dedicated the new building and the remainder of the orphanage at an official ceremony. When the Vaughns left the home in 1905, the debt-free institution resided upon 28 acres of land supported by a 173-acre farm on the Bosque River.

The orphanage continued to thrive and develop over the next several decades. New directors changed the home’s fundraising methods, inviting Methodists to contribute to the welfare of the orphans year-round. Individuals’s contributions soon became the largest form of support for the orphanage. Decreased funding brought by the Great Depression hit the orphanage hard. To make ends meet, director W. F. Barnett cut staff and used his own salary to fund the institution. The economic hardship eased some in 1934 when philanthropist Joe J. Perkins became a large donor to the home after meeting several of the children residing there.

During the early twentieth century, the Mulkeys’ support allowed the orphanage to construct additional buildings, such as a dining hall and a few dormitories, to meet the needs of the growing orphanage. Dr. Hubert Johnson later changed from the dormitory model to provide a more homelike atmosphere for the children residing at the orphanage. Between 1938 and 1952, small numbers of children were moved into cottage-style homes under the care of a houseparent. Around this same time, the children began to attend local schools such as Waco High and A. J. Moore High School, rather than classes taught at the Methodist Orphanage.

The home’s role shifted with the new social trends of the 1950s. More children were arriving at the home due to divorce, mental illness, or physical abuse than as orphans, and the staff and organization of the home evolved to meet these needs. It was in this period that the institution’s name changed one final time to the Methodist Children’s Home. The facility became increasingly known for developing programs for foster-home placement and family rehabilitation. In 1971, the home established a ranch ten miles east of Waco for troubled teenage boys to build a solid foundation for their lives through education and leadership opportunities.

The Methodist Children’s Home celebrated its centennial in 1990, having sheltered more than seventeen thousand children in Central Texas in its long and storied history.

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Sandtown was a vibrant and predominately Mexican American neighborhood that was active from the turn of the twentieth century to the 1960s. It encompassed the area of downtown Waco between Third Street and the Brazos River, and the seven blocks between Mary Street and present-day Baylor Law School. There were multiple interpretations on the actual boundaries of Sandtown as no official borders were ever established by the city of Waco.

At its peak during the 1950s, approximately fifty working-class families, such as the Fuentes, the Martinezes, and the Vasquezes, resided in Sandtown. For many of the community’s families, the neighborhood was the first place they called home within the United States after emigrating from Mexico. Former resident Jesse Serrano, recalling his experience of growing up in Sandtown, remarked, “I wish that we were still at our neighborhood here and that I could return to live here because it was an enjoyable place and we did keep it clean in spite of everything – the storms, the sandstorms, for what reason Sandtown was named.” Indeed, the neighborhood's sandy surroundings were a result of its proximity to the Brazos River. One resident later recalled watching his neighbors cast a line out their bedroom window to fish.

There were a few businesses located within Sandtown, from grocery stores and auto garages to barbershops and beer joints. Memorable establishments include Sunbright Waste Paper Company, Ruben Bravo’s Produce Company, and Rubles’ Grocery Store. Some of the schools in the neighborhood included South Third Street Elementary and A. J. Moore High School. Religious and social gathering sites such as an Assembly of God sanctuary and "The Blue Moon" nightspot also dotted the Sandtown landscape.

In 1958, the city of Waco voted to participate in the federal urban renewal program. As only property owners could vote, Sandtown residents, who were tenants primarily, had almost no chance of defeating the proposition. Only a small portion of the neighborhood’s residents were able to participate. One of the purposes of urban renewal was to eliminate slums in the downtown area, and the program directors quickly set their sights on Sandtown. As a result, the residents of the neighborhood soon found themselves scattered across the city, county, and beyond. “I’ve been quoted more than once as calling it ‘urban removal’ because it uprooted the Hispanic family in the worst way,” maintained former resident Robert Gamboa.

The people of Sandtown added greatly to Waco’s rich diversity and its working class residents contributed to the economic growth of the city. Though small in size and for many years lacking formal recognition, there is no dispute over Sandtown’s significance amongst its former residents. For these individuals, Sandtown was the place they grew up in, suffered hardships, and created countless wonderful memories. As Jesse Serrano affirmed, “Sandtown did exist, Sandtown is still here, and it will always be here in our hearts.”

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Waco native Vivienne Lucille Malone-Mayes possessed a sharp mind with a resilient spirit to match. In an age where few women, let alone women of color, went on to become prominent figures in higher education, Malone-Mayes made her mark as an influential mathematician and inspiration to countless Baylor students.

Born in 1932, Malone-Mayes grew up with the harsh realities of racial prejudice. She first became aware of segregation as a preschooler when she mistakenly drank water from a whites-only fountain at the Montgomery Ward store on Fourth and Austin. Fearing for her daughter, Mrs. Malone pushed her to the appropriate fountain and then proceeded to teach the young girl how to distinguish the words white and black. As Malone-Mayes grew older, she learned that she could only frequent certain recreational spaces in Waco and that she would be denied service at larger retailers in Dallas such as Neiman-Marcus. However, Malone-Mayes did not let bigotry define her.

Raised by two educators, Malone-Mayes was encouraged to avidly pursue learning, and she excelled throughout elementary and secondary school. Malone-Mayes entered Fisk University at age sixteen after graduating from A. J. Moore High School in 1948. Malone-Mayes earned both her bachelor’s degree and master’s degree within the next six years, switching from the pursuit of medicine to mathematics after meeting the influential Evelyn Boyd Granville. Granville was the second African American woman to earn a PhD in mathematics, and she served as an inspiration for Malone-Mayes. It was also during this time that Vivienne married her husband, James Mayes.

Despite Malone-Mayes’ two degrees and eight years combined teaching experience at Paul Quinn College and Bishop College where she chaired the math departments, the still racially segregated Baylor University refused to admit Malone-Mayes in 1961 for further graduate courses in mathematics. Never one to be held back from achieving her goals, Malone-Mayes applied to the University of Texas and completed her doctoral studies there. Today, Vivienne Malone-Mayes is recognized as the fifth African American woman in the United States to earn a doctorate in the field of mathematics.

By the time of her graduation, Baylor desegregated and hired Malone-Mayes as a full-time professor, making her the first African American faculty member at the university. Malone-Mayes dedicated over twenty-five years of service to Baylor. Students loved her and voted her as “Outstanding Faculty Member of the Year” in 1971.

Beyond working as a Baylor professor, Malone-Mayes belonged to a number of other mathematical organizations, often holding important positions. She was the director of the Texas section of the High School Lecture Program, director-at-large for the Texas section of the Mathematical Association of America, and a member of the board of directors in the National Association of Mathematics. Malone-Mayes also had the distinction of being the first African American elected to the executive committee of the Association of Women in Mathematics.

Additionally, Malone-Mayes actively involved herself in the Waco community. She made New Hope Baptist Church her home and acted as the church’s choir director for a time. She also served on several boards of directors, including: Goodwill Industries, Family Counseling and Children Services, and the Heart of Texas Region Mental Health and Mental Retardation Center.

Malone-Mayes was a trailblazer for African American women in higher education and had a heart to serve her local community.

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In 1875, Professor Alexander James Moore of Paul Quinn College, concerned at the lack of quality education for African American children in Waco, began teaching small groups of young children out of his home. Though Reconstruction Legislature of 1870 eliminated segregation in schools throughout Texas, these laws were appealed by 1873, and most cities like Waco were left without provisions for African American education. Over time, Moore’s classes grew larger and larger, and it became clear that the school, now called the First District Negro School, needed to find some sort of official facility. In 1881, the classes moved to a small four-room frame building which had originally been a hospital at the corner of Clay Avenue and River Street. These classes became known as the Second District Negro School. In addition to being the first teacher, A. J. Moore served as the school’s first principal from 1881 to 1905. The inaugural graduating class in 1886 contained only five students. In the school’s almost one-hundred years of serving Waco’s children, more than 4,000 students graduated, many continuing on to successful careers.

School officials chose a new location for the school after the main building burned down in 1921. They completed construction on a brick building at 600 South First Street in 1923. This schoolhouse contained 35 classrooms, allowing the school to expand its education of Waco youth. At this time the school obtained the name A. J. Moore High, becoming the only school in the Waco system named for a person. The Waco Tribune-Herald noted that the community chose the name intentionally to honor the selfless legacy of Professor A. J. Moore.

From 1923 to 1952, the school housed kindergarten students through the twelfth grade. From 1952 until the school’s closure in 1971, it provided education for students in the seventh through twelfth grades only. The A. J. Moore High School Handbook, published in 1951, exhorts its students to take responsibility for their own futures, as well as for that of their community. It declares the school’s hopes to offer students a well-rounded education, providing them not only with knowledge, but also the means for achieving success in all areas of life. The handbook calls students to remain loyal to the principles of democracy, encouraging respect for the rights of all citizens.

Space increasingly became an issue as the school continued to grow. Discussions concerning the school’s dilemma noted in particular the poor location of the school, considering the noise coming from the train which ran through the school yard. The overcrowded classrooms only added to the school’s plight. Ultimately, the school closed in 1971, as a result of desegregation and urban renewal projects in Waco.

In 1997, A. J. Moore Academy was reborn in Waco as a magnet school. Proponents of this school hoped to carry on the traditions begun by Professor Moore in the nineteenth century, encouraging students to remain united. The charter school emphasized areas such as business, engineering, entrepreneurship, and technology in order to help students succeed in secondary education and the workplace. In order to combat budget shortfalls, the school board elected to consolidate A. J. Moore Academy with University High in 2012.

A. J. Moore High School was the first and arguably most successful effort for the provision of systematic and quality education for children of all races in Waco. Until Moore took it upon himself to begin teaching young children, Waco did not have any schools dedicated to the education of African American children. Today, the school remains an important hallmark of the Waco community, providing quality education for students of all races.  

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