By Norman Cain, February 18, 2019 — When I was 13 years old in 1955, an amazing thing happened. The news media was a buzzed with the unheralded news regarding Negroes (that was what black folk were called then) who resided in the racial oriented city of Birmingham, Alabama. A lady, Rosa Parks refused to go to the back of a bus. She was arrested. Led by a young Baptist minister, Dr. Martin Luther King, the Negro folk from the city embarked upon a bus boycott, a boycott they insisted would act until Negroes were granted the right to ride public transportation without being required to sit in the back. On November 13, the Supreme Court ruled that bus segregation was illegal. The boycotters were victorious.
Because I left Philadelphia each summer for rural South Carolina, where I resided with my maternal grandparents, I witnessed segregation first hand. Negroes and whites were not allowed to sit side-by-side in vehicles, there were signs that designated what water fountains and toilets the races were allowed to use, Negroes were required to step aside when directly in the path of whites, Ku Klux Klan marchers were prevalent, the chain gang were disproportionately manned, elderly Negroes were called Aunt or Uncle- never Mr. or Misses, and white youth were addressed by negroes as Mr. and Mrs.
Negroes were required to engage in hard labor from sun-up to sun down for little pay. To maintain the environment, Negroes were arrested under false pretenses. There were tales of missing folk and human remains being found in the forest. Twice, I saw Negro women in the white section of town, suckle white babies. Because my maternal grandparents who were land owners and who managed a large farm, I was not subjected to the humiliation or hardship experienced by the majority of the Negroes in the vicinity. I, nonetheless, felt the pain of my people: therefore, when I read about the exploits of those boycotting in Birmingham, I was elated. I definitely wanted freedom for myself and all of humanity.
At the time … King had been a seminary student at nearby Chester, Pennsylvania, Crozier theological center in 1949. He met Rev. William Gray, pastor of Bright Hope Baptist Church in 1958 at 12th and Columbia Avenue. He also spoke at Calvary P. Church at 41 Brown Street, a Baptist Temple Church at Broad and Berks. His appearances in Philadelphia were steady until February 1968. In August 1965, he came to Philadelphia in conjunction with is northern city tour for “Freedom Now Rally.” Over 10,000 people heard him speak at 40th and Lancaster Avenue. There is a mural of him and Cecil B. Moore at the spot as well as a PA Historical Marker and bust of his likeness. During King’s 1959 appearance, I was in the Army, thereby missing that historic occasion. However, I did get a chance to see King. But I would get a chance to see him later.
As a student a Bluefield State College in Bluefield, West Virginia between 1961 and 1965, I was actively involved in the Civil Rights movement. Two of the college’s alumnus who happened to have a Philadelphia base would often come to the University to lead us in our demonstrations. They were Cecil B. Moore and Reverend William Gray. They were both King supporters. They had both joined him in his civil rights activities in Philadelphia. When I graduated from college, I became a member of The Friends of The Student Non Violent Coordinating Committee, which was located at 58th and Lansdowne Avenue. We solicited money, and books, as well as clothing for needy folk in Mississippi.
From August 24th through the 27th, I accompanied the Philadelphia Chapter of the Friends of The Student Non Violent Coordinating Committee to the Democratic Convention National Convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey. For three days and nights, I was on the boardwalk in front of the city’s Convention hall at 2301 Boardwalk. There, I mingled with civil rights activists and luminaries like James Forman, John Lewis, Ella Baker, Gloria Richardson, Stokely Carmichael, Rap Brown, Ralph Abernathy, and Fannie Hamer, among others. On the last night, King, who was hoarse, gave a brief speech in drizzling rain from the third and fourth rung of a step ladder. I was not too far from him and I could feel his spirit. I will never forget that experience.