In which events are set into motion no one was prepared for.
Sitting in a hot, sweaty, musk-smelling auditorium audience as my sister addressed us wasn’t the most embarrassing point in my life. It was the moment half-way through my sister’s speech that I realized she was one-hundred percent willing to go through with this, and that everyone seemed to agree. It was the moment my sister needed my support, and I slid down in my seat, hoping nobody realized that she and I were related. I’m getting ahead of myself. The reason I slid down in my seat was that on April twenty-third, nineteen fifty-one, my sister Barbara Rose Johns, led a walkout at Robert Russa Moton High School and it set off a storm greater than any of us had seen before.
This idea of her’s started way before that day, probably when the school board didn’t want to integrate the two schools in Prince Edward County, one being the all white Prince Edward School, an