Denise smiling back at me
I remember seeing Denise in the hallway on Friday September 13, 1963 at Center Street Elementary where her mother taught. I had just been promoted to the 4th grade and would miss Mrs. McNair terribly since I would no longer be in her 3rd grade class anymore. That Sunday morning was the same as usual with us kids at the dining room table reading the funny pages of the newspaper while waiting for my grandmother to get ready for Sunday School. Hearing a blast was not unusual because of the various steam and steel plants surrounding us, (more…)
A kind of “noblesse oblige” attitude
My family lived in Avondale, Alabama, until we moved to a farm on Lower Rocky Ridge (south Jefferson County) in about 1960. Our mailing address was Route 13, Birmingham, and I always considered myself as being born and raised here. I was just a little girl and was pretty sheltered from anything that was going on in 1963, but I do remember a few things. We had a maid who worked one day a week for my Mama. Her name was Lillie, and I have two distinct memories regarding her. (more…)
Horrible
In June of 1963, my parents moved our family to Birmingham. I thought this was horrible because I would not graduate with my friends in Huntsville.
In September, I started my senior year at Ramsay and we had a different student in our class. Richard Walker was the only black student at Ramsay. (more…)
The school picture
When the bombing of the church occurred and those girls were killed, I was about 10 years old. Our family lived in what was then called Bluff Park (which is now part of Hoover) on Shades Mountain. I was born there, grew up there, attended Bluff Park Elementary school, was an active member of Bluff Park Baptist Church, and had what I thought was an idyllic life. Little did I know what was bubbling all around me.
Unbeknownst to me, my parents had become somewhat involved in the Civil Rights Movement. (more…)
It could have been me
I will never forget the morning of September 15th, 1963. My parents and I were getting ready to go to church when we received the news that Sixteenth Street Baptist Church had been bombed. We immediately tuned in to the radio to find out what happened, and I recall experiencing a mixture of horror, anger, and profound sadness. I could have been one of the girls that was killed. Although I attended a different church, still, it could have been me. . . (more…)