I heard that a Klan meeting was held to decide whether to try me as an adult for my crime of compassion. Passing time has blurred my memories of that day. A white person wasn't allowed to drink out of the same water fountain as a Black person, let alone get on the ground with them, touch them, give them water - especially in the middle of a KKK ambush. I knew what I was doing was dangerous, and it could get me in real trouble. ![]() ![]() No one stepped up to help me, but no one stopped me, either. Every time I ran out of water, I went back for more. And then I did it again and again and again, comforting as many people as I could. I washed her face, held her, gave her water to drink. I fixated on a Black woman who reminded me of Pearl, the woman who helped raise me. I went to our house and got a bucket of water and as many drinking glasses as I could handle. The growling, cursing white men began to beat them, and I could hear the passengers cry out, "Water, please give us water … we need water."Īfter offering up a quick prayer for protection, I sprang into action. The bus riders, coughing and gagging from the dense smoke, tumbled out of the bus and onto the lawn. Acrid black smoke soon billowed out the back window. The "something" turned out to be a firebomb, and the bus burst into flames. A crowd stood around him, trying to hide his identity, but I could see he was white. ![]() They surrounded the bus with obvious evil intent while their families - wives, children and babies in arms - quietly watched.įrom my perch near Forsyth and Son Grocery, I watched a man break a passenger window on the bus with a crowbar and lob something into the resulting hole. Angry white men yelling racial epithets and armed with various bludgeoning implements milled around our frontyard and the parking lot of our family's grocery store next door. I could hear the cacophony before I could see who was causing it. The first attack on the Freedom Riders occurred at the Anniston Greyhound station, where an angry mob struck the bus with baseball bats and iron pipes - and slashed the tires, forcing the bus to stop on the side of the highway in front of my family's home just outside town. I didn't want to even imagine my dad could be a member of the KKK. I could tell he knew more than he was saying, but I was afraid to pry. Over breakfast days earlier, my dad told my family "those damn Freedom Riders" would be coming through town, and the KKK had some kind of "surprise party" planned for them.
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