Who is Dr. Sammie Robinson?
Amid the shifting racial landscape of Southwestern University in the late 1960s and early 1970s, Dr. Sammie Robinson’ story stands out as a beacon of personal resilience and commitment to social change.

Dr. Sammie Robinson ‘73 arrived at Southwestern University at a time when the institution decided to expand its efforts to enroll more African-American students. Sammie came from Evan E. Worthing High School in Houston, Texas, an all-Black segregated school where her counselor, Ms. Freddie Gaines, took an active role in placing college-bound Black students at Predominantly White Institutions. Southwestern had begun accepting a few Black students in the late 1960s, initially working through Worthing’s counseling office to identify candidates. In those early years, the process seemed both coordinated and improvised: a university would reach out, and Ms. Gaines would “place” students, determining which school would be their best fit. For Dr. Robinson, one essential factor was financial support: Southwestern offered the most substantial aid package. It was an economic decision that ultimately led her to Georgetown, Texas, in the fall of 1969.
Before she even set foot on campus, Dr. Robinson’s path to Southwestern took an interesting turn through a family connection. Her stepfather’s sister worked as a live-in cook for A. Frank Smith, Jr.--a name that resonates deeply in the university’s history. Smith, who served as a trustee and is currently memorialized through the A. Frank Smith, Jr. Library Center, was surprised to learn that his longtime employee’s niece would be attending the university. He arranged to meet Sammie at his home. To reach him, she and her family followed the household protocols of the time, entering discreetly through the kitchen where her aunt’s apartment was located. Once inside, though, Smith took a personal and active interest in her well-being. For about two years, he would walk the campus with her during his visits, inquire about her experience, and ensure that she had sufficient financial resources. This early, personal connection provided a reassuring foothold as Dr. Robinson prepared to step into an unfamiliar environment.
When Dr. Robinson arrived on campus in the fall of 1969, Southwestern was intentionally but quietly integrating its student body. Just the year before, two Black students from her own high school, Alvin Hebert and Winston Phelps, had enrolled, followed the next year by two more Black students, Gail Rivers and Lydia Gardner, also from Worthing. To ease the social transition, these students had initially arrived in pairs so they could secure a roommate in each other.
By the time Dr. Robinson arrived, however, the Dean of Women, Martha Mitten, and Dean of Students Bill Swift were experimenting with more forms of integration. Without Dr. Robinson’s knowledge, the university called incoming White students’ parents to ask if they would agree to their daughters rooming with a Black student. As a result, Dr. Robinson--expecting to live with her high school classmate, Diann Wheaton--found herself sharing a triple room in Laura Kuykendall Hall with two white roommates, Rose and Sherlyn. This arrangement placed her squarely at the center of Southwestern’s efforts to create a more racially-integrated campus environment.
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Born and raised in segregated Texas in the 1950s and 1960s, Dr. Robinson’s life had been profoundly shaped by structural racism. In Houston, she had rarely interacted with White folk, and her family had limited experience with higher education. Now, she stepped onto a predominantly White campus with the hopes of leveraging its strong academics, particularly in accounting, a field her neighbor back home had encouraged her to pursue, emphasizing that “they’re hiring Negroes now.” She was determined to earn this degree, knowing it offered professional advancement and aware that previous generations of Black college graduates had often been funneled instead into teaching or social work due to limited hiring opportunities.
Academically, Southwestern proved rigorous yet supportive. Classes were small, and professors were deeply invested in their students’ learning. Dr. Robinson found herself expanding her cultural literacy, studying art, philosophy, and literature. Over time, her liberal arts education would not only prepare her for a career in the corporate world but would also provide her with the social fluency needed to navigate predominantly White professional and academic spaces.
Social life, however, presented a more complex challenge. Interracial friendships were possible--Dr. Robinson remembers fondly a White roommate who later asked her to live together in Kurth Hall--but the campus cultural climate still left Black students feeling marginalized. Fraternities and sororities were central to social life, yet these organizations were closed to Black applicants. Encouraged by Dean Mitten, Sammie went through sorority rush, knowing full well she would likely be excluded. She endured the process politely, only to not be invited back for subsequent rounds. One member later confided that although they would love to have pledged her, “our alums would have a fit.” Such comments underscored the unspoken barriers Black students faced, reinforcing the understanding that Dr. Robinson’s presence, though welcomed in theory, unsettled long standing traditions.
In response to these exclusions, Dr. Robinson and other Black students sought to carve out a communal space of their own. They discovered a vacant room in the closed-off upper floors of Mood Hall and, with the approval of Dean Swift, claimed it as “the Black Room.” Here, they arranged a sofa, posters, and a stereo that Sammie’s stepfather brought from home, establishing a haven where they could affirm their identities, foster camaraderie, and, as Sammie says, “combat the isolation.” The Black Room became a place to gather, talk, and celebrate their shared experiences. From this collective need for social survival emerged BOSS (Black Organization for Social Survival), which eventually evolved into what is presently known as the Black Student Union on campus. While the Black Room offered immediate belonging and relief from isolation, BOSS provided the organized framework to confront broader social challenges. Through BOSS, these students actively asserted their ability to shape their environment, ensuring their experiences would not remain confined to the margins of campus life.
Despite the social barriers, Dr. Robinson persisted in engaging with campus life. Serving as a Resident Assistant (RA) and working in the Dean of Students’ office brought her into contact with different facets of the institution. Participation in Mask & Wig and committees also broadened her networks. One of the most unexpected highlights occurred when she chaired a committee to select Homecoming Queen candidates. Initially hesitant to include herself, Dr. Robinson eventually agreed to be nominated, never expecting to win. To her surprise, the student body crowned her Homecoming Queen, making her the first Black woman to hold that title at Southwestern. This recognition, though partly accidental, symbolized a significant, if complicated, moment of inclusion. It demonstrated that her presence and contributions to campus life were being noticed, even in a social environment that remained fraught.
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As she progressed through her college years, Sammie developed a resilience and adaptability that would serve her well beyond graduation. Learning to negotiate predominantly White spaces at Southwestern gave her the confidence to thrive in corporate roles and later as a university professor, including teaching stints abroad where she was often the only African American in the room. Her liberal arts education, enriched by exposure to diverse disciplines, offered her the critical thinking skills and cultural breadth needed to excel professionally.
Dr. Robinson viewed college as purely vocational—an accounting degree was her ticket to a stable, well-paying job. She would later come to appreciate the broader value of her Southwestern education. Drawing on that foundation, she went on to earn an MBA from Southern Methodist University and eventually a PhD from the University of Kansas, illustrating how her initial vocational aims expanded into a lifelong pursuit of knowledge and growth. The intellectual range, personal connections, and cultural competencies she gained at Southwestern proved invaluable. As an alumna, she continues to return to campus, involving herself with alumni events, and supporting initiatives that foster inclusivity. She encourages current and future generations of Black students to fully engage with the university, advising them to support one another, join committees, build strong relationships with professors, and seek connections across cultural and disciplinary lines.
Looking back, Dr. Robinson remembers arriving in Georgetown, her family uncertain but proud, the quiet determination she brought to her studies, and the comfort she found in unexpected places—from the support of mentors like Dr. John Score or Dr. John Chapman, to the warmth of the Black Room. Her experience illustrates how a single student’s journey can reflect broader institutional changes, underscoring that the path through college is shaped by both structural forces and personal resilience. By recalling accounts like Dr. Robinson’s, we ensure that the contributions, struggles, and triumphs of students of color are acknowledged and preserved within the institution’s collective memory. Engaging with these narratives helps us recognize how far we’ve come and how much further we must go to create a campus where every student can truly belong.
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