April four, 1968 had been a great day for me. We were living in Union County, Kentucky, aproximatelly 4 or maybe 5 hours from Memphis, and it had been already hot.
It was a racially different employees real estate region a couple of miles outside the city, and not one of us were local people. Our parents worked at a close by federal facility, component of President Johnson’s “Great Society.” We’d a lot more in typical with neighbors of a distinct race than we’d with neighborhood townspeople of our personal hue.
I would been to Memphis a couple of times, but just in transit. He did not want any issues with neighborhood (white Democrat) authorities.
But on the way north of ours, it was stuffed with Black females and kids. Most of them smelled bad, in demand of a bath. Their grooming was few during a moment when folks dressed up to go. Some brought the clothes of theirs in grocery sacks rather than suitcases.
Maybe all those brown paper sacks had been a part of the subterfuge. I did not understand what to point out to the Black children. I am not sure, even today, what I might have said. The other white children did not say something, too. But during the school working day, we reverted to tribe. Let us not do that anymore.