A Second Chance to Act

Growing up in Birmingham in the fifties and sixties was idyllic, which is probably very hard to imagine, given the U.S. Supreme Court’s Brown school desegregation decision in 1954, the Montgomery bus boycott in 1956 and all of the tumult of the ’60s. But, I was in high school before our church member, James Armstrong, a barber with an independent income that insulated him from white factors, filed his lawsuit to permit his young sons to integrate the Birmingham public schools, in 1963. Their sister was in my homeroom class at the time the courts ordered their admission. However, there were many other events unfolding in our lives and the race issue was not always uppermost in our thoughts. Many times it was the furthest thing from our minds. Life in the black community was full, varied and dynamic.

Although Birmingham was a large city for the South and I’ve always considered myself as having grown up in an urban setting, for we were only a mile from the downtown business district, the atmosphere of our neighborhood was actually quite rural. (more…)

We were saved for a purpose: To tell our story

In March 2025, Floyd Armstrong gave Kids in Birmingham 1963 an oral history interview about growing up in Birmingham, Alabama in “a civil rights family.” As the sons of a barber who was “committed to the struggle,” Floyd and his brother Dwight, as elementary school-age children, marched in the Birmingham Children’s Crusade and were jailed for several days in May 1963. That September, the Armstrong brothers were the first Blacks to integrate an all-white school in the city of Birmingham—Graymont Elementary School. They knew the civil rights leaders personally, including Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth and the NAACP lawyers who prepared them for the challenges they faced at that school. Just a few days after their historic action, on September 15, 1963, Klan members bombed the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, killing four young girls and sparking whites to murder two young African American boys. Floyd is certain, he says, that the violence was meant for his family, but that, “We were saved for a purpose: To tell our story.” (more…)

Trailblazer

My maiden name is Diane Tucker and in 1963, in the spring of eighth grade, I was at Our Lady of Fatima Elementary School. I was so excited that I was rated as the number one student in the eighth grade with the highest grade average. I was a straight A student. I was a member of Our Lady of Fatima Catholic Church. With all the racial unrest in Birmingham at the time, my church, my community and my family grounded me and made me feel safe. Then Sixteenth Street Baptist Church was bombed and four young Black girls were killed, one of whom I knew. I felt like the world was ending. For the first time in my life, I was scared. (more…)

Ode to Chuck Clarke

The Clarke family home, located in the center of Birmingham, before it was replaced by the main intersection of freeway arteries in the city (next door to KIDS Storyteller Dale Long’s aunt), was always a warm gathering spot for the older Clarke siblings and me and my siblings as a child. I had piano lessons there every Thursday evening. My two Uncles from New York, who remained single and very popular in music for many years, would come home for the holidays each year and always traveled with their horn or mouthpiece. (My father defected from playing in New York to return to Birmingham to raise a family.) Jam sessions were instant.

I grew up with music always in the atmosphere. My father performed jazz as a second job. His day job was as a Claims Examiner for Social Security (he was a math whiz). He was a “trailblazer,” one of the first few Blacks hired in a professional position for Social Security. He routinely plucked out arrangements on our piano. On many approaching weekends I asked, “Where are you playing?” to see if I would be able to go. (more…)

Marching for freedom led to many days in jail

What I remember most about our marching in 1963, was my being jailed after leaving Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, making it to City Hall, and being thrown in the paddy wagon with all guys! Being kept at the Fairgrounds, and later being sent to the County Jail, for taking part in trying to stop one of the police officers from raping one of the girls. I was kept in a sweat box for days upon days, and kept in jail over a month before my family located me! They kept saying I was too young to be there, but they tried to lose me. (more…)