Donald's Last Freedom Ride

  It was the year 1961. Momma Rose was sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window like she always did. Sipping on her unsweetened black coffee. The window was her favorite spot because she could see the whole neighborhood. And she could see if someone was pulling up in the driveway.

The phone rang, and it was Momma’s friend, Sister Maxine. As soon as I heard it was her on the phone, I knew whatever it was, it meant that we would be going to church to either cook. or learn a new song. Maxine was our new choir director, who called herself ‘shaking things up’, changed all our hymns to sound like a Motown greatest hits album. I remember Easter Program one year, we had to sing, ‘Fix me Jesus’ We sounded like the Motown Music group the Miracles singing Who’s Lovin’ You. I still don’t know why she didn’t know Pastor was was actually laughing at her and not coughing. Nobody ever said anything to her, not even the mothers. I think they just didn’t want to hurt her feelings because she was so proud of what she was doing.

Momma got off the phone and yelled for Me, Donald, and Sharon to come to the kitchen. She told us Dr. King and the Freedom Riders would be coming to our church that Sunday on their way to Rock Hill, South Carolina. They had just left from marching in Washington DC. And Dr. King was gonna preach.

Momma and the other mothers at church planned on cooking them a big lunch for after the service. The youth and Junior choirs would be singing two songs each. Before I could even open my mouth to say anything, Sharon jumped up and squealed like she’d seen a mouse run across the floor. She was really dramatic back then too. Always hollering and screaming every time she heard something exciting or sad.

She was around 12 and was the oldest, and the best singer in the youth choir. She always got to have a solo. She had a soft, soprano, kind of squeaky voice. She always stood up front singing as loud as she could. I was the complete opposite. My voice has always been kind of low and scratchy. I could walk up to someone and they would think I was a boy. I was the only girl that could sing baritone. I stood in the back row of the choir with Donald the other baritones.

Momma would always make sure that we knew how proud she was of both of us girls. She told me I was one of the best baritones she’d ever heard. If she closed her eyes and pictured it hard enough, she was hearing Ronnie White from The Miracles in her own living room. My brothers and sister would laugh every time. It was so embarrassing to me but, I guess that was the only thing she could think to say to make me feel better about my deep voice. I learned it made me powerful and strong.

The news had Donald speechless. He had that smirk on he face that he always does when he gets excited about something. He had been inspired by Dr. King ever since he heard his sermon back in 1954. He was only 10. He would cut out every news article written and listen to every radio broadcast. He walked over 10 miles more than once just to hear Dr. King preach at this old Church in the country. Everything was still segregated back then. We were told to look down and mind our own business. Never to argue with anyone white that we saw especially the police. Stay polite and quiet as possible so we wouldn't get in trouble.

Donald was only 19 and he was a fighter. He never listened to Momma. She would tell him to shut up and stop arguing with all of those white men before they beat him. But he refused. He always spoke his mind. He made sure that no matter where he was, and who he was around, that he would be respected. He was tired of having to have his guard up at all time. Not being respected, because he was a black man. Having to work twice as hard and getting paid less. His dream was to march with Dr. King and help preach to the people. To really be part of the change.

We were all so busy the night before Dr. King came to town. Momma had greens simmering on the stove. I loved when she made greens. That smell of pork, seasonings, and greens swirling around smelled so good. My mouth still waters just thinking about it. She had pies in the oven and cakes cooling on the table. She was the best cook I knew. And always made sure everyone got plenty to eat. I’m not sure she knows how to cook for a small crowd.

Sharon was practicing her version of Amazing Grace in her bedroom over and over again. She had this doll that granny gave her that sat in her room beside her bed. She told me she would pretend that the doll was granny, and sing to it. She said the doll made her sing better.

I was in the kitchen with Momma trying not to burn up my neck and ears with the hot comb. I wanted my hair to be perfectly pressed in case I had made eye contact with Dr. King. He was the most handsome man that I’ve ever seen. It took me forever to find the perfect dress.

Donald was in the living room pressing all of our clothes for church. He wanted all of us to look our best for Dr. King. He even took the time to press his clothes he was packing to travel with. He polished and brushed all of our shoes to a mirror shine. While he was ironing, he was going over what he was going say to Dr. King and some of the others at church. He wanted to make sure they knew that he was ready to ride with them.

It was pretty much the same routine as any other Sunday morning when we had somebody special coming. Momma got up early and made us some fresh biscuits and thick cut bacon for sandwiches. There was grape jam, honey, and milk waiting for us on the table. She had been gone for about an hour before we even woke up. She and the other mothers were already at the church with the Pastor and Deacons to greet Dr. King and the other men when they got there.

The sermon that Sunday was one that I would never forget. I cant even begin to explain to you the power that you feel when you can hear Dr. King’s words in person. He always chose his words so perfectly and was so comforting. His words of hope and changes coming floated through the whole church. The choir had the holy spirit, and sang better than we ever had. Maxine was running up and down the isles with some of the other older ladies crying and screaming out, “Thank You Jesus.”. Everyone felt the word that day.

We ended the service with us all singing Amazing Grace. Sharon stood in the front and sang as hard as she could. The rest of us tried our best to harmonize and keep up with the way she was singing. I tried my hardest to blend in, so I wouldn’t draw too much attention to my deep voice.

We all went downstairs for fellowship and eat lunch after the sermon was over. I was starving too. We could all smell the food cooking during the service, so no one wasted time getting in line to eat. The first thing I see when I finally make it down the stairs, closer to the table of food, is Donald. He waited by the bathrooms half way into service so he could have a chance to talk to Dr. King, and it worked. He was sitting at the table with Dr. King, some of men that were traveling with him, and the Pastor. We made eye contact and he winked at me, and I just smiled back. I couldn’t believe it. His dream was finally coming true. My brother was really going to go out there and make a difference. He was going to march for us.

Donald left early the next morning. We all got up with him. Momma packed enough snacks for the whole bus. She kissed him and we all hugged his as tight as we could. We knew what it meant to be marching with Dr. King. He was putting his life at risk. He could be attacked or killed. But I just told myself that he would be ok. He told us he would call when he could and he would write Sharon and I letters to check on us. We were so proud.

Donald called us from a hotel in South Carolina a few days after he left. He told us that he and some men had gotten beaten up trying to use an all whites bathroom. They stood their ground. They couldn’t find an all blacks bathroom. It was better than using the bathroom on the street. Some men got hurt pretty bad, but nothing that they couldn’t handle. A week or so later we read in the paper about a Greyhound bus bombing in Alabama. When I saw those big bold black letters stretched across that newspaper, my heart dropped. I got a huge knot in my throat. It was Donald’s bus. He was gone. He died fighting for us. It was the hardest thing I ever had to go through.

I visit Donald every year on his Birthday and on that day we lost him, and lay down his favorite flowers. And I always try to tell his story at the local library. He is such a wonderful part of Black History, and I know that he would want me to share his story.