Shattered Glass in Birmingham: My Family's Fight for Civil Rights, 1961-1964

1. A Difficult Decision

1 1 A Difficult Decision “But Daddy, if things are really that bad, we have to go!” When Ann said this, I knew we would be leaving Virginia. She was only nine, almost ten, and Dad couldn’t say no to her. For several months, November 1960 to March 1961, Dad and Mom had been debating whether he should take a new job in far off Alabama. Now Dad had Ann on his side. I didn’t like the idea. It would mean tearing up roots again—roots that were just beginning to feel strong. I would have to start over with a new school, new house, new neighbors, a new church, and—for me—another slow process of making friends. The whole discussion about Alabama began just before the Kennedy and Nixon election. One a#ernoon I was cu
ing up the head of Ann’s discarded doll to make a beard for my Halloween costume, as General Grant, when Dad came into the family room holding up the Hopewell News. “You must be proud to have a famous father!” he said. “Look at this!” He pointed to a small headline: “Ministers Plan Workshop on Social Change.” The article said that ministers and laymen from Hopewell and Petersburg would speak at a workshop next Tuesday at Fort Lee Chapel, on “Preparing Our People to Face Social Change.” The event was organized by Reverend Eugene Ensley and Reverend Norman C. Jimerson, chairman of the Social Action Commi
ee of the Petersburg Ministerial Union and chaplain at the Federal Reformatory. “We’re trying to improve relations between the races,” Dad explained. Mom called out from the kitchen: “Jim! Supper’s ready! Kids! Wash your hands.” As I sat down at the kitchen table, Mom was dishing up spaghe
i. “I hope it’s OK,” she said to Dad. “I can’t keep the sauce from sticking to that pan.” We couldn’t eat until someone said grace. It was Ann’s turn. She went on and on, as if she wasn’t hungry at all. I could smell Mom’s spaghe
i sauce, and I could feel it ge
ing cold. 2 shattered glass in birmingham While we ate, Ann and I had to tell what happened at school. “Nothing,” I said. But a lot had happened in fourth grade, according to Ann. When Ann finished, Mom turned towards Dad. “That’s good news about the workshop, Jim,” she said. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Do you think many men will a
end?” “Last year there were about twenty or thirty. Probably about the same next week,” he said. “We have some good speakers, both white and Negro.” “I’m glad you and Gene could work together on this,” Mom said. “I always enjoy it when he and Bonnie come over to play bridge.” Dad said, “I just hope this workshop will do some good.” He ate another forkful of spaghe
i. “This is fine, Mel. A li
le burning just adds flavor,” he said. He sipped some iced tea. “A lot of men are afraid to speak publicly about race. Maybe this will give them courage to be good Christians.” He looked around the table and smiled at Susie. “Who wants dessert?” We all chanted: “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!” Mom looked at Dad. “Did you remember to stop at A&P, Jim?” “Oh, I thought there was something—.” He looked at our disappointed faces. “Who wants a cookie? It’s a special treat.”™ The day a#er Halloween, Dad was late for supper, but a#er a while Mom let us start. “I’ll eat with your father,” she said. We had just finished when we heard the station wagon in the driveway. Dad came into the kitchen from the screened porch. He gave Mom a kiss on the cheek, and said, “Smells great, Mel! I’m starving.” He smiled at Susie and Ann. “Now, how are my li
le sweethearts?” He rubbed Paul’s short hair: “Hey, Butch! How’s tricks?” Then he punched my shoulder. “Any news from sixth grade?” Dad looked at Mom again, but she had already started reheating the fried chicken and mashed potatoes. He waited until she turned to look at him. “What do you think about moving to Birmingham, Alabama?” he asked, smiling his how-can-you-say-no smile. But his eyebrows arched uncertainly. “Not very much,” she said. She rolled her eyes, which spoke...