Memphis, Tennessee.  I was in fourth grade, Mrs. Lawyer’s class.  It was spring time.  A pleasant April afternoon. Pearline was cooking our dinner as usual. We were doing our homework after swim practice. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I wasn’t quite sure what was going on.  There was something in the air. Whispers. Adult talk that stopped when we entered the room.  The garbage men had gone on strike and our trash was piling up. I heard snippets about trouble makers coming to town to stir things up. Pearline was stealing glimpses of the television much of the afternoon.

Then something happened.  She was crying.  My parents were trying to console her but it was no use.  For the only time I can ever remember, Pearline went home early that evening, before we even went to bed. Things were different after that.  We had to lock our doors. I can’t remember if school was canceled the next day, but it probably was.  The adults were all scared and the kids picked up on it.  

So, history happened.  Right in my home town.  I didn’t understand it then.  It took a long time.