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

8. A Good Samaritan

90 8 A Good Samaritan “Hey, Randy, did’ja hear? Mike got shot?” Monday morning. I was walking to school. One of the younger boys in the neighborhood ran to catch up to me. He said my best friend had been shot. “Yeah . . .” I mumbled. I was confused. Who would shoot Mike? Why? Would he die? I didn’t want to let on that I didn’t know something this important about my best friend. Why didn’t I know? Hushed but excited whispers quickly spread the news through Shades Cahaba School. Mike Ham’s father was manager at The Club, an exclusive members-only gathering place atop Red Mountain, overlooking Birmingham . The city’s wealthiest—businessmen, lawyers, doctors—belonged. On Sunday morning, Mike accompanied his father while a security guard inspected a door that didn’t swing properly. As the guard bent over to inspect, his revolver fell from its holster to the floor. The gun discharged, sending a bullet through Mike’s chest. It collapsed a lung, but did not kill him. An ambulance crew had rushed Mike to the University of Alabama Medical Center, at the foot of Red Mountain. By the time I heard the news he was recovering from surgery and in stable condition. Still too soon for visitors. By Wednesday, Mom said it would be OK to see Mike. A#er school I took a bus to the medical center, found Mike’s room, and tentatively knocked on the door. My best friend, looking pale, lay propped up on a high bed, with tubes a
ached to his arm. He wore a hospital gown. He looked like a patient on Dr. Kildare. He smiled when he saw me. “How’ya doin’?” I asked. Mike said: “OK. Ge
in’ be
er, I guess.” “Some people will do anything for extra a
ention!” I said. “Everybody’s talkin’ about you at school.” a good samaritan 91 Mike tried to laugh. “Well, I don’t recommend it.” I remembered the box of chocolates I had brought, and held it out. “Here,” I said. “Best medicine for someone who’s been shot.” As I waited for the bus to go home, I thought about Mike’s accident. I had never known anyone who had been shot. Mom always warned us about playing with BB guns. Her grandfather had lost an eye, as a boy, trying to shoot an arrow through a keyhole at his family’s sheep farm in England. A neighbor at the Reformatory in Virginia had lost his right eye from a BB gunshot. But this was a real gun. Mike came a few inches from being killed. Mike’s accidental shooting made the stories I heard of black people being shot, beaten, and lynched seem more real. Fortunately, he was not killed or permanently injured. But the possibility of being shot now seemed closer. More personal.™ As the early Alabama spring arrived, with songbirds and flowering dogwoods , Dad’s cross-state travels increased. Delays inherent in relying on bus transportation—such as the January layover in Cullman due to snowy roads—irritated an impatient man with work to do. At the February 1962 board of directors meeting, he proposed purchasing an automobile for his travels. Instead, the board approved increasing his mileage allowance. With this modest financial support, Dad decided to buy a second car. Otherwise, he would either have to rely on an inconvenient bus system or leave Mom without a car during his frequent trips. The car he se
led on was a used 1958 Volkswagen beetle, an inexpensive but cantankerous vehicle. The rust-colored “bug” featured a rear-mounted engine, a small front luggage compartment with a spare tire, and narrow running boards. The engine roared loudly, so it was difficult to hold a conversation, and it chugged slowly up hills. Someone had already popped the colorful front medallion. It was hard to find a VW with an original company medallion, since teenaged boys prized them as souvenirs. When I had a day off from school, Dad sometimes took me with him on a business day trip. On one trip, along a lonely concrete road between Birmingham and Montgomery, the car ran out of gas. “Watch this!” Dad said. “This VW doesn’t need a gas gauge. It’s got an emergency tank.” 92 shattered glass in birmingham He reached below the dashboard and turned a L-shaped metal...