the saga of the muses

Copyright applied for 2008

By Rev. Dr. Willie L. Muse

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permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

The book cover was designed by Pronto Press, Inc.

Front Cover drawing by the Author, Rev. Dr. Willie L. Muse

Printed in the United States

Library of Congress-in-Publication Data

The Saga of the Muses

ISBN #978-0-9823607-0-5

Nonfiction Autobiography

The SagaThe SagaThe SagaThe SagaThe Saga

of the of the of the of the of the

MusesMusesMusesMusesMuses

by

Willie L. Muse

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

– Those Earlier Impossible Years 1939 – 1948 ......................1The Day of the Funeral ................................................4At the Graveside ..........................................................5Picture – Author’s sketch of Plantation home ........... 10

Chapter 2

– Members of the Family ...................................................... 11

Chapter 3

– Glimpses of Better Days Ahead ........................................ 15

Chapter 4

– WOW! School at Last ....................................................... 17

Chapter 5

– The Day I Prayed for Mama Lillie’s Death ........................ 23The Day Mama Lillie Died ......................................... 28

Chapter 6

– Life on the Plantation ........................................................ 35Life during my High School Years ............................. 42Picture – Our Mother ................................................. 48

Chapter 7

– Reflection on People and Things Being Left Behind ........ 49Picture – Brothers and Sisters ................................. 56Picture – The nine siblings ........................................ 57Picture - My Photo (around 14 or 15) ....................... 58


Chapter 8

– Leaving the Plantation for Life in the City ......................... 59 (Autumn 1954 – Spring 1956)

My First Job and Thanksgiving Parade .................... 61Going Home for Christmas That First Year ............... 64Christmas Morning Finally Comes ............................ 70

Chapter 9

– Walking and Working During the Montgomery Boycott ... (December 1055 – December 1956) ............................... 75

Picture – Lottie and I (around 1957) ......................... 84Picture – Mamie and Michael Before We Married .... 85Picture – Mary Ann’s as a baby................................. 86Picture – Mary Ann’s High School Graduation .......... 87Picture – Mary Ann, as an Adult ................................ 88

Chapter 10

– Moving Day and Trip of No Return ................................... 89Eyes Peering through the Truck-bed Slats ............... 92Enduring Challenges in Our Newfound Community .... 97Picture – Linda in the First Grade ........................... 104Picture – Linda in Basic Training ............................ 105Picture – Linda, as an Adult .................................... 106

Chapter 11

– “In the Army Now” (1958-1960) ...................................... 107Reflections: Trios Fountain’s Tour and Beyond .......... 129Picture – My Basic Training Photo .......................... 135Picture – When I was stationed in France .............. 136

Chapter 12

– Resuming Life after my Military Tour of Duty .................. 137 (1960-1966)

Picture – The Family Group .................................... 153Picture – Our Home ................................................ 154

Chapter 13

– College Experience at Selma University ........................ 155 (1967-1985)

Chapter 14

– The Tragedy on Pleasant Avenue................................... 161 (1970-1980)

Picture – Ebenezer Baptist Church ......................... 168

Chapter 15

– “Life Must Go On” ........................................................... 169Picture – Michael’s school Picture .......................... 177Picture – Valerie in the First Grade ......................... 178Picture – Valerie asa Senior .................................... 179Picture – My Graduation Picture, Selma University ... 180

Chapter 16

– A Period of Trials, Challenges and Triumphs.................. 181Trials and Challenges at A.S.U. .............................. 184Fired from Selma University the Second Time ....... 189Trials and Challenges at I.T.C. ................................ 192Picture – Michael, Pat and Tanerica at Michael’s Graduation for college ......................... 205Picture – Newspaper Article, Michael becomes Pastor of Dexter Ave. Baptist Church .................. 207Picture – My Graduation picture from I.T.C. Morehouse Atlanta, GA ........................................ 208Picture - My Graduation from I.T.C. ........................ 209Picture – My family at I.T.C. Graduation ................. 210

Chapter 17

– My Final Return to Selma University .............................. 211Picture – Valerie’s College Graduation ................... 220


Chapter 18

– Trying Times, A Wedding and a Funeral ......................... 221

Chapter 19

– From Instructor to President ........................................... 233The Pits of a Horrific and Unique Experience .......... 2---Picture – My picture as President of Selma ............ 250 1994-1997Picture – Article about the Selma University Inauguration ......................................................... 251Picture – Newspaper article .................................... 252

Chapter 20

– The Founding of the Montgomery BibleInstitute and Theological Center ................................................... 253

Getting the Word Out about the School .................. 254Picture – Article from the Montgomery Advertiser about Montgomery Bible Institute ........................ 263Picture – Taken in my New Office and in our Fellowship Hall .................................... 264

Chapter 21

– An Institutional Lynching at the County Courthouse ....... 265Conclusion .............................................................. 275Picture – Our New Facilities .................................... 277Picture – My current photo in my office ................ 278












ISBN #978-0-9823607-0-5


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Chapter One

Those Earlier Impossible Years

1939 -1948

Having been born in 1935, It may seem somewhatstrange, but I can remember as far back as two or threeyears of my life. My growing up in a very large family wasindeed a most memorable experience, in addition to meand some of my younger siblings, there also others wholived with us in the home of our great grandmother, who infact, became our grandmother figure, since her daughter,our real grandmother died before I was old enough to knowher. Our great grandfather also had passed away when Iwas about three years old. My mother and her husband ofa few years had separated. We went back home to livewith Mama Lillie, Pa Dad and another single aunt who wasalso living there with four of her children. Additionally, therewas a younger brother and sister of my mother whosemother (my grandmother) died while they were baby andknee baby. These two children would become theresponsibility of our mother to raise after the death of Mama


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Lillie. Therefore, we were never short of having muchcompany, and there was never a shortage of food foreveryone. Although, some times it amounted to only milkand cornbread, both of which were grown on the farm wherewe lived. The earliest memory that I have of my childhood waswhen I was three or four years of age, during the last daysof our great grandfather, whom we called “Pa Daddy.” Iguess I remember this time mostly because Pa Dad’s healthwas failing along with his sight. It was my responsibility tolead him by the hand around the house and yard, so thathe wouldn’t stumble over things and hurt himself. Of coursehe constantly blessed me for being eyes for him during thistime. My mother’s youngest sister, whose nick name was“Baby Sister” was a few months younger than me; she wasalways there to assist me in this task. Between the two ofus, Pa Dad was well cared for, until one day when he hadto use the bed pan, I said to her, “Baby Sister, when PaDad finishes, you will have to take it out, for it will be tooheavy for me.” Of course, my mother, (unknown to me)heard me. After a few lashes with a switch, my mothermade this a permanent chore of mine until his conditiongot to the point that an adult had to be constantly at his bedside. That was the case until he died several months later. Pa Dad’s death was my first experience with death. Forup to that time I cannot remember ever even having anythought of it. There were some who knew him who saidthat he predicted the process of his death. They say thathe told them he would sleep for four days and then he wouldgo to heaven. I do remember how he was in a coma in hisbed room for many days. The exact number of days I can’tremember, but he laid in a deep sleep snoring with his mouth

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open, until the last day when he seemed to have awakenedbriefly. He then turned over, and was gone. The time of the funeral was an entirely differentexperience for the rest of the children and me, being soyoung, none of us had the slightest idea of even the meaningof the word, “funeral”. We only knew that there was an eeriehush around the house during that time. The usual laugherthat was almost always heard around the house, especiallyduring the evening, when the day was over and all thechores were done, was reduced to quiet muffled whispers.The men of the plantation gathered to bathe and dress thebody in preparation for the burial, (Even though embalmingwas an age-old art, it was not even thought of as a practiceon the plantation at that time.) The women gathered to bringdishes of prepared foods, as they attempted to consoleMama Lillie and the family, while they talked about what agreat man Pa Daddy was. After the men had finished their sacred task of bathingand dressing the body, a mule drawn wagon crept slowlytoward the house driven by yet another man from theplantation, that wagon was bearing a cheap cloth coveredcasket, that probably cost no more than the wooden boxthat encased it. The men and women even worked by oillamps, because the only house that had electricity was the“Big House.” That was the house of the plantation owner.The barns and horse stables even had electricity but notthe sharecroppers’ shanties. The body was placed insidethe casket and was laid out in the house on two straightchairs, one chair on each end of the casket facing eachother. There it would lay all night until time for the funeralthe next day.

Those Earlier Impossible Years












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Chapter 5

The Day I Prayed for Mama Lillie’s Death

Let there be no mistake as to how we loved Mama Lillie.Despite the fact that she was a very strong and consistentdisciplinarian, she was still the object of our affection, asfar as our love for parents were concern. And we oftenexpressed among ourselves that if we had choice as towhich parent would die first, we would cast our vote againstour mothers, in favor of keeping Mama Lillie alive and withus. That being the case, you may wonder just how thencould you possibly have been tempted to pray for her death?Well, it is a long story, but it is as follows: Around my third year in school, the old school buildingthat was already leaning and reeking with age haddeteriorated to an unsafe and threatening condition.Therefore, the local PTA organization along with membersof the community, decided to launch a building program tobuild a new schoolhouse to replace the existing one. Every one was responsible for raising as much moneyas possible, and or buy so many feet of lumber, or nails,bricks or other such items as were needed in the building


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of the new school house. Students too, were given coinenvelopes (which we called “Begging Envelopes”) to aid inthis very worthwhile project. Well, even though I was theteacher’s pet and her little “One Hundred boy.” My fundraising was not going too well, and my infantile pride wouldnot bear me to be beaten by any other student, at least,none of those in my class. Although I had gotten a numberof promises from other members of the family and otheradults from time to time, things just weren’t working out forme in this effort. The big moment came in a form of temptation, whichallowed me to increase my grand total of thirty cents byfour more cents, thus giving me a total of thirty-four cents.Which indeed was a lot of money to me, and I was surethat it would go quite far toward the building of the newschoolhouse. It all happened one morning as I passed byour rural mail box with its door flap partly opened, its flagraised, and inside I saw a letter with four pennies on it,three of which were for postage for the letter, and one wasfor a post card. (This was the usual way that most mail wassent in the country at that time.) Tempted, I took the penniesand placed them in my envelope, and I carried the letterhome to Mama Lillie, telling her that I had seen the mailmanopen the box, and take the pennies but not the letter. I waseven dumb enough to, with the next breath; tell her that Ihad been given four pennies for my envelope by an oldman whom we called “Mr. Big Dad,” as he was cutting tallgrass from the ditch banks and piling it in the bottom of theditch on which he steadily worked about a mile from thehouse. It was quite apparent that Mama Lillie didn’t buy my story,for she ordered me not to go to school until she got back,

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then she hurried off to find Mr. Big Dad, whereupon, findinghim, he informed her that he had not seen me all morning.Of course, he had seen me that morning but he had notgiven me the pennies as I had claimed. Mama Lillie hadgotten to the bottom of my falsehood, and that was verybad for me, as I saw her on her way back to the housewhere I was waiting all alone for her return. The otherchildren had already left me knowing full well just what Icould expect when she returned. I anxiously watched through tear-blinded eyes, as MamaLillie neared the house, I watched her as she carefullytucked her apron under her belt. (She always wore an apron,which had been a sort of trademark of hers as long as Icould remember. It always adorned her longer- than- usualdress, which was always sparkling clean no matter howhard she worked around the house.) Now she tucks it underher belt. She then spat in her hand, and rubbing themtogether, as if to torture my fearful soul even more than italready was. She steps into the wayside woods that skirteda dip in the road that often flooded when it rained, whichwe called the “Little Pond”. She then breaks a small tree,not a limb or branch, but a tree. She again preceded toward the house stripping theleaves away, as she slowly tortures me with her dreadfulapproach. I wanted to hide, but there was no place to hidewhere she couldn’t find me. I wanted to run, but there wasno place to go. I therefore stood crying and praying. “Lordplease kill Mama Lillie, for if you don’t, I know that she isgoing to kill me.” Of course, I wouldn’t be so lucky. My“Day of Doom” had come, and Mama Lillie would serve asjudge, jury and executioner, all in one. There was nopossible appeal. And I was not even spared the time ormercy to properly plan for disposal of the remains. Nor was

The Day I Prayed for Mama Lillie’s Death


26

I sure that there would be enough left to dispose of when itwas all over any way. Mama Lillie pounced upon me with the fury of an angrywild cat, swinging her tree with perfect accuracy and outpreaching a Baptist preacher as she lectured to me aboutstealing and lying about it, which to her, next to killingsomeone, was the worst of all crimes. She chased andwhipped me around the house for, what seemed to me aneternity. The many limbs on the tree made for five or morewhipping in one, as each one left its telling mark some whereon my quivering frame. Their biting pain was only exceededby my loud uncontrollable cry and sincere plea for mercyfrom my angry great grandmother. And to make mattersworse, she had the unmitigated gall to claim that she waswhipping me because she loved me. Boy, I found that hardto believe that morning. Finally, there was a break in her lecture, but not in herwhipping, as she ordered me to pick up my books and “getto school”. Of course, by then I was happy just to go toschool, even without the books just to get away from her. Ianxiously grabbed my books and running as fast as I couldtoward the pond for school. But as fast as I ran, I could notout-run her nor escape the fierce lashes of her tree- wieldingswinging right hand, as she fiercely chased me into thepond whipping me all along the way. As we entered the pond, I was sort of counting on thebull frogs which always sang day and night in the waterand tall grasses of that pond, to save me from her everpursuing wrath. — You see, Mama Lillie was awfully fearfulof frogs, all frogs, little ones, big ones, it didn’t matter, if itwas a frog, she was afraid of it. —And I knew that once sheheard one frog croak, she would panic and turn around












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Chapter 6

Life on the Plantation

Having reached school age, little did I realize that I hadalso reached the age that made me, as a “share cropper’schild”, to begin working in the cotton fields. At first I wasgiven the task of “water boy” which made me responsibleto take water to the field hands so that they would not haveto stop their chopping the cotton or corn to walk to, thesometime far away pump to quince their thirst. At first, Iwas the water boy for my family members as they workedthe large field with seemingly endless rows that was allottedto them to work. Then there were those rare occasions whenI had the task to take water to a larger company of workersas they all worked in certain fields together. I would carrythe water in a large tin bucket that was much too heavy tocarry full, from the often far away pump, down long freshlyplowed cotton rows, straining and splashing as I go, withbucket in one hand and a drinking dipper or gourd in theother. I would move from person to person as they drankfrom a common dipper. Having given them all a drink, Irepeated this process in unbroken continuity throughoutthe long hot and sultry summer days. Such was the case


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whether it was the planting, growing or harvest season.During the harvest season I would have to hold the buckethigh over-head to avoid getting it full of cotton leaves orother debris falling from the tall stalks of cotton. This wasindeed an awesome task for any seven or eight year old,but especially for me since I was rather frail and a bit lazy,if I may so admit. And fieldwork was not my favorite pass-time. Furthermore, this field work always kept us out of schoolboth during the planting, growing, and harvest seasons,which always caused us to lag behind other studentsattending our school, most of whom were able to beginwhen school first opened and remain throughout the year.However, having come of age, I would be responsible tocarry my own row in the hoeing and the picking of cotton,which usually was from sunup to sunset, five and a halfdays each week, unless we were blessed with an earlymorning or midday rain, which was always received withmuch glee and thanksgiving, for to us, this meant that wecould go to school at least one day more during that season,only to return to the field as soon as it was dry enough toresume the working or the gathering of the crops. Of course, these unneeded rains never set well with theboss man, (whom throughout the rest of this narrative willbe referred to as “Mr. X” or simply the “Boss Man”.) For onrainy days his voice could always be heard cursing with thefervor of a holiness preacher or a cackling sage hen. Hewould sing in unbroken continuity, “God d..; God d..; Godd..; God d..;” He would even sometime add a loud shriek.He usually ended this statement with a loud shout, as if hewas possessed with some kind of controlling spirit thatcompelled him to act that way. One day he added. “I wish

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the damn lightening would strike me down right now.” Ofcourse, most of us silently cast our vote in favor of the same,while at the same time allowing enough space betweenhim and us so that we would not get electrocuted duringthe process nor become spattered with his bloody evilremains. There are perhaps, those who may raise the questionas to whether the farm on which we lived fit the descriptionof a “plantation.” Let me present the facts as weexperienced, that you may make your own decision aboutit. And I am certain that you will at least conclude that it wasa “shadow plantation.” Since living and working conditionswere just as hard and verbal and sometimes even physicalabuses were just as harsh- at least for some. For like theJapanese soldier who kept hiding and fighting in the junglefor many years, unaware that the war had ended yearsearlier. So too, Mr. X, seemed to have been unaware thatLincoln had long since freed the slaves in this country. Hetherefore inflicted the many share- cropper families wholived on his land with similar slave-like conditions throughout the years during that time. Unless there was a high status crime committed on theplantation, such as murder or in some cases, grand larceny,Mr. X served as sheriff, judge and jury himself for personscommitting such crime who were living on his plantation.He often boasted that he could get them out of anythingthat they got into except hell. I even witnessed one casewhen he hit one young man in the eye leaving a gapinggash and a black eye for hiding in the local movie houseand robbing its safe after it was closed. This young mantold us later that Mr. X’s wife held the pistol on him whileMr. X brutalized him. However, when there was a murder

Life on the Plantation

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Chapter 8

Leaving the Plantation for Life in the City(Autumn 1954 - Spring 1956)

Having completed the harvest, I anxiously, but with much

hesitation, awaited my father to come for me and take meto Montgomery, where I was expecting to live with him untilI could find work and move into my own apartment. I waitedwith uncertain anticipation for him to come; since he haddisappointed me so many times in the past. However, bythe time I had just about completely given up on him, downthe road, just ahead of a trail of dust caused by his speedingcar, he came for me. When we arrived in Montgomery, I expected to go straightto his home, but instead he took me to the home of an exfriend of his without even giving her any prior notice that hewas bringing me; Only then did he tell me that this waswhere I would be staying. This friend was a widow womanwho lived alone. She seemed to have had some highexpectation that the relationship between her and my fatherwould somehow, develop into something more lasting. Thisof course, turned out to be a great disappointment for her,


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as the relationship did not turn out that way at all. Beforethat day, it had been months since she had last seen oreven heard from him. Once we were in the house, he simply said to her in amatter- of -fact way, “This is my son. I want him to stay withyou for a while.” After a brief exchange of words betweenthem, he left the house. Of course I found myself veryuncomfortable being alone, far from home, having beendumped off with a total stranger that was a former friend ofhis. Her icy stare at me after he had gone only increasedmy bitter misery, which was obviously shared between thetwo of us. After a brief spell she says to me, “Son what did yourdaddy say to you when he brought you here?” I told herthat he didn’t say anything to me other than this is where Iwill be staying. She then informed me of their formerrelationship, and how long it had been since she had seenor heard from him, and how hurt and disappointed she wasbecause of his shunning her. She at the same time assuredme that I was welcome in her home. She told me that Icould live there as long as I chose to. Of course, that sort ofcracked the ice for me. And I promised her that I would paysuch boarding fee as she would charge me as soon as Icould find work, as I didn’t believe in “free loading” or takingadvantage of anyone. She then sat down and began toinform me as to how to maneuver around the city and whichbus to catch for the various locations around town. Thiswas the most convenient way to travel since neither of ushad a car, and to go by taxi would have been far tooexpensive for me.

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My First Job and Thanksgiving Parade

By then it was late October 1954. I immediately beganto catch the city bus into town in search for work. Othertimes I simply walked, as I was used to doing before I leftthe farm. I was very happy when my father called one dayand informed me that an old retired jeweler and his wifeliving across the street from where he worked were lookingfor someone to fire the heating furnace for their home. Theold man that had done so for years, had died. I took thejob even though the pay was very little, I could barely paymy bus fare to and from work from week to week, and hada meager amount left over to buy food and other necessitiesthat I needed. I was very happy for as little as the pay wasit was sizably more than I made while working on the farm. During the month of November as Thanksgivingapproached, the elderly lady who was the cook for the familyasked me, “Son you are going down town to the parade onThanksgiving aren’t you?” I asked her, “What parade?” Shesaid. “Us Colored people take over the city everyThanksgiving.” Of course she was referring to the paradethat preceded the rival football game between AlabamaState Teacher’s College and Tuskegee Institute. Needlessto say, up to that time, I had never heard of such event. The great day finally came. Mrs. Ella, the cook, bundledup in her long coat, warm cap and cape, and hurried out ofthe house screaming to me as she left; “Son I’ll see you atthe parade. Don’t be long or you won’t get a good place tostand.” I then hurried and finished my work and took off fordown town about three or four blocks away. Upon arrivingat Court Square, Boy, was I in for the surprise of my life. As

Leaving the Plantation for Life in the City












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Chapter 9

Walking and Working During

the Montgomery Bus Boycott

(December1955-December 1956)

I had been on the job for only a few days when the mostphenomenal Montgomery Bus Boycott began on December5th of that year. So soon my bubble of enthusiasm wasburst and my hopeful optimism was dashed to bits. Ridingthe bus was my only source of transportation, and therestaurant was all the way across town from where I lived.

The first day of the boycott, a very kind white womanwho managed the restaurant carried me home, wonderingas we drove along if it was safe for her to do so. Sherepeatedly said that, she had never seen the like of thisbefore. The next day however, she informed me, with tearsin her eyes, that due to a conversation that she had withsome of the men who frequented the restaurant, she thought


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it was not safe for her to take me home again. But eventhen, she wished me well as I walked toward home duringthe dim twilight hours of the evening. I understood her all too well, as well as the reason forthe boycott, which I supported by staying off the busesthrough out its entire duration. Even in the short time that Ihad been in town, I too had questioned why we had to standbehind a white line painted on the floor of busses, and overempty seats while riding on an over-crowded bus that wasonly going into the black community in the first place. Itherefore joyfully walked day after day with the throng ofother protestors for the entire duration of the boycott; or atleast until I moved too far away, for me to walk to and frofor work. Our walk was only interrupted by the insistent coaxing ofdrivers of privately owned automobiles, church owned vans,even taxi drivers, who carried us just about any place thatwe were going free of charge. We were obliged the samecost-free courtesy while returning home from a hard dayswork in the evening. I was amazed by the jubilant spirit andsense of comradery that prevailed among each small groupof walkers as many of them refused to accept rides offeredfor free, choosing rather to walk together from one side oftown to the other. Only those going distances too far towalk, or those who were rather aged or crippled, acceptedrides on a regular basis. In the meantime, my new boss, Mr. Sullivan, fullysupported all that was going on so far as the boycott wasconcerned. He felt that every one should be treated fairand decently, especially in the city of Montgomery, thecapital of the state of Alabama. Furthermore, he felt thatmy commitment to work toward moving my family from the

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country was indeed a noble idea. And he pledged hissupport by promising me all the hours of work that I neededin order to further me along in this effort. All the time I wouldhear him using his famous optimistic saying no matter howbad things seemed to have been. He always said, “It couldalways be worse.” I think that I unconsciously adopted thissaying as my very own statement of encouragement. I amalways reminded, even to this day, that no matter howawfully bad things are, “they could always be worse.” Churchmembers, friends and acquaintances have heard thisstatement repeated by me time and time again over thepast forty-five years. These words ring just as true today. IfI could force you to listen to my awful singing as they havehad to, you too would immediately conclude, “things couldindeed be worse.” The rest of that year moved rather rapidly for me. I wasengaged in getting used to the long hours of working thenew job, and constantly meeting new friends as we walkedduring the early morning hours. Most nights that I worked,I often had to walk alone after getting off at mid-night. -Even during that late and ungodly hour, I had no fear as Iwalked across town toward the place where I was boarding. The only harassment or threat that I ever encounteredwhile walking was from the city police one night as I walkedthrough a section of a white neighborhood that borderedthe black community. A police car pulled up beside me andone of the men shinning a bright light in my face wanted toknow just why was I walking in that neighborhood that timeof night. I tried to shield my eyes from the blinding glarewith my hand. “Take your damn hand down” he orderedme in a very abusing tone. After I fearfully informed themthat I had just gotten off work at Sullys, and was going home.

Walking and Working During the Montgomery Bus Boycott












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Chapter 10

Moving Day and the Trip of No Return

Moving day came the next week, and in keeping withmother’s plan to move before the New Year. I rented a truckand hired a friend to drive it to the country for them. Mylandlady volunteered to accompany him since I had to workthat day. After I gave them directions, they left early thatmorning expecting to arrive, load the truck and leave beforenightfall. My older sister, who had doubted that this daywould ever come, said “when I saw the truck, only thenwas I convinced that we were really leaving.” Remindingme of the Old Testament story of Jacob, who for many yearsthought that his son Joseph was dead. He even doubtedwhen informed that he was alive in Egypt and was sendingfor him to leave Canaan to come to Egypt to live. “Butwhen he saw the wagons Joseph had sent for him” he wasconvinced that Joseph was indeed alive and he rose to goto him.” Like so, their seeing the truck with its canvascovered body, and gleaming cab, they were convinced thattheir longest dream was about to become a reality. The loading of the truck moved rather rapidly, sincemother had sold all the animals and chicken that she owned,


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even “Old Faithful” the rooster had either been sold or hadearlier met his untimely fate by ending up in a pot of chickenand dumplings for one pleasant Sunday afternoon dinner.They had discarded all but the items of furniture; houseaccessories and things that they felt would be needed whenthey arrive at their new home in Montgomery. A few peoplefrom the farm came by to help with the loading of the largerboxes and the heavier pieces of furniture, and wereanxiously collecting for themselves such items as werebeing left behind. Someone said that even Mr. X, stood onthe bed of his pickup truck out on the big road and watchedin discust as the last items were placed on the truck, andone by one the smaller children were helped upon the truckfor departure. The youngest child and the baby rode in thecab with the driver, mother and my landlady. After saying their final good byes and exchanging a fewhugs and tears, the rest of the children climbed upon thetruck. The humming of the truck’s engine and a few rocksand bumps of its wheels over the rough end of cotton rowswith stubs of freshly cut stalks, still protruding like so manytoy soldiers from each row, at the edge of the narrow dirtroad. They were finally on their way. On and on they wentuntil the truck finally vanished down the winding dusty roadleaving an empty house, some discarded pieces of furnitureand a swirling trail of dust as the only reminders that theyhad ever lived there. Once started, only a God- forbiddentragedy could cause them to return to the plantation thatwas rapidly vanishing in the distance behind them. For nowthey will settle for no place short of Montgomery, Alabamaas their final destination. The children all bundled up in heavy coats to ward offthe winter’s chill, and sitting on chairs that were set in up in

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a place provided for them on the canvas-covered truck,arranged themselves so that they could peer through theslats of the truck siding to view the exciting scenes alongthe route. They observed as the dusty gravel road gaveway to a narrow strip of smooth riding pavement, the manybumps that had jolted them all the way from the farm werereplaced by fewer and fewer clicks and clacks that brokethe continuity of the seemly never-ending highway, as theymade their way into Selma some fifteen miles on theirjourney. In the city they listened to the racing sound of thetruck’s engine as it bounced back toward them from thebuildings built so closely together near the street’s edge.The different colored traffic lights, even the flashing yellowones, seemed to be an added attraction for them sincethey had so seldom visited the city while living on the farm. Leaving the city of Selma, they couldn’t help but noticethe “soon to be famous” Edmond Pettus Bridge thatspanned the swiftly moving Alabama River that ran manyfeet below between two high limestone bluffs that wereconnected by the bridge. The only other crossing was arailroad trestle seen far in the distance to the left. Little didthey know that this bridge would find its way into the pagesof both National and World history for the part it would playin the struggle, known as “Bloody Sunday” an event whichwould be waged in the pursuit of their continued freedom,the first leg of which they had just begun as they steadilyventured toward the city of Montgomery, Alabama. Theyhad no way of knowing that the ground on the far end ofthis bridge would one day be stained with the blood of ourpeople yearning to achieve their rights to vote and to achievethe status of first-class citizenship of this country in whichthey had worked so long and hard.

Moving Day and the Trip of No Return












ISBN #978-0-9823607-0-5


the saga of the muses

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