From 1955 through 1959 I lived just outside Quantico, Virginia.Our family had moved there from San Diego as my father was in the Navy and was transfered to Quantico.

It was a real change for a 10 year ld to experience the culture difference.I was used to blacks just being differently colored playmates.Now I couldn't mix with them.

Didn't stop me though.Our house was at the end of a dirt road,deep in the woods, about a mile off the main road leading into the Marine base. It wasn't quite the end of the road,however.It main a sharp turn at our house,dropped into a little draw,where across a creek was a Negro shanty town. Four or five houses and a hog farm. Spent most of my time there as most of those kids were as crazy about baseball as I was and I knew I could always get into a game there. The rest of the white kids thought I was crazy but I didn't care.

One of my fondest memories was of an old black woman who had a wurlitzer juke box in her house. She had next to nothing else, her floors were bare but very clean. We used to go there on Saturdays and listen to that juke box for hours,watching the bubbles and pretty lights.

Of course, there was also the night the revenuers came in and busted up the still. That made for an exciting evening.We had wondered what all the traffic was about before that.A few days later I walked through the woods to the still(what was left of it) and can still ssmell the piles of mash.

Tweed's story about the sidewalk incident reminded me of the time my mother took me wth her shopping in Fredricksburg,Va. I had just walked out of a store when I saw a 10 dollar bill fall out of a man's pocket as he went past. I picked it up and ran after him, trying to give it back. He never stopped,turned around,or acknowledged me. I was stunned. My mother came out soon after and by this time he was around the corner and gone. She said that was the way it was in Virginia and no black man was going to acknowledge a white kid running after him.

I got to keep the 10 but it didn' feel good.

rr