September 15, 1963

On Sunday morning, September 15, we attended the early morning service at Shades Valley Presbyterian Church. Dad sat with the four children while Mom sang in the choir, in the balcony behind us. After Sunday school, Dad drove us home, squeezed into the VW beetle. Mom had to stay with the choir for the second service at eleven o’clock, so Dad would prepare lunch for everyone. We changed into comfortable play clothes as soon as we got home.

Before he started the charcoal grill on the back patio, below the kitchen and dining room windows, Dad turned on the radio. (more…)

“In church no less.”

I was standing on my grandparents’ front porch in Norwood when I heard the blast at 16th Street Baptist. I remember my immediate thought was “that was a big one.” Sad to think that a 9 year old would be accustomed to explosions. But from our house in Bush Hills I had already heard several. Shotgun blasts were not at all uncommon.

When the news came out, my thought was, “Great, they’re killing us kids now. In church no less.” (more…)

Surrounded by History – and confused

In the past few years I have realized that growing up in Birmingham and reaching maturity in the 1960s, I was surrounded by History.  At times, it felt like History was literally pulling me into its widening vortex.

I was fifteen in the spring of 1963.  As a white Birmingham teenager observing the critical events in our city at a great distance, I was confused. (more…)

I had nightmares about the three coffins

In the fall of 1963, we were shocked by the vicious and cowardly bombing of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, one of Birmingham’s most prominent African American churches. We soon learned that four innocent young African American girls had been killed; I was devastated to hear that one of them was a good friend and classmate, Cynthia. I’ll never forget that Sunday morning in church at Sixth Avenue Baptist, when our minister, Reverend Porter, announced that our sister church had been bombed. Congregation members immediately left their seats, in a state of shock, because our relatives and friends belonged to that church. (more…)

Waiting 50 years for “Prom we never had”

1963 was pure hell for me beginning in January.  We were human; however, we were not treated as such.  Things were totally different. There was a separation of Black people and White people at this time.  By this time things began to change in our city and it was really sad to know that you were thought of as nothing but an unacceptable person.  You could not sit beside a White person on the bus and you couldn’t sit and dine with them either.  We could not go to the better movie theaters nor could we try on clothing that we attempted to purchase.

By this time in my heart I knew it was time for a change. My only thought was, when, where, and how. (more…)