Remembering Past Events

As I grow old, I have thought that I have experienced things that, while not important of themselves, might nonetheless be of interest to others as time goes by.

I may have been about seventeen at the time. I lived in a very small town with one theater. It was the quintessential last picture show. It was segregated, being in the South. Black people would queue near an outside entrance to the balcony of the theater. They sat upstairs. The main floor was reserved for whites. There was no difference in accommodations to my knowledge. The place was a fire trap in every regard, upstairs and down. I recall one night when a patron sat alone a row or two in front of me. When he laughed heartily during the movie, he leaned back and the whole row fell over backwards! The row of seats was not affixed to the floor!

On this particular night, I went to the show alone. It was a hot summer night and the theater was air conditioned. While I watched the previews, a group of black men came in to the auditorium. They must have refused to sit in the balcony and demanded to be seated downstairs. About ten black men took places together in a row of seats. I should point out I knew everyone living within ten miles of the theater, because I worked in the local market and saw everybody in the county pretty often. These young men were assuredly not residents of the area.

Of course, a small group of local rednecks began to grumble. One stood up and loudly announced he would not share the auditorium with a group that he described using that vile epithet with which we are all so familiar. His minions rose and they strode out, attempting mightily to make a scene. They failed.

The rest of us watched the movie. I, for one, noted the significance of the evening but had no strong belief that I deserved to sit where others could not. I claim no sense of righteousness. It just did not seem that anyone should make a big issue about sitting in that dumpy theater, no matter where they chose to sit.

After about ten minutes, the group of black men left the theater.

I watched the rest of the movie, along with others. I remember nothing about it, simply because it was not a good movie. I then rose and went home. No one ever spoke about the event. I often attended the theater afterward. I honestly do not remember if black people came into the theater and sat downstairs after that night. Maybe they decided that they did not want to sit downstairs if they were not going to get an argument. Hopefully, they had better venues for entertainment, instead.

Dr. King was killed later in time. This was one vignette in day to day history.