If you've seen my solo performances Black Hippie Chronicles and/or Cancer,Peace,Love,and Assorted Realities,you've heard all about Miss Amato's classroom on November 22,1963,and in 1964,my mother,Helen Louise Jones Daniels,an educator,and one active in the Civil Rights Movement through her involvement with the NAACP,Urban League,as well as her sorority took me to the 1964 Democratic Party Platform Committee meetings in Washington D.C.,where because of her,I met Dr. Martin Luther King.Sometime before that,my mom had taken my brothers and myself to a rally Dr.King spoke at in the Washington neighborhood she grew up in,but all I remember from that event was that adults much taller than me blocked my view...So enough about not being there in the 1960's.
April 4,1968,I was a seventh grader attending an all boys school,Kingswood School in West Hartford Connecticut. Kingswood School was considered as one of the most elite prep schools in Connecticut and to graduate from Kingswood meant you were likely on track to attend an Ivy League college. I was at Kingswood on a scholarship, That said.. I hated Kingswood and that school year had to be the worst year I ever experienced in my school days. At the mostly black elementary school I had attended prior to attending Kingswood,I had been teased for things like being a bookworm,speaking "Proper English" and aspiring to be President as that was considered as "acting white" but now at Kingswood, I was harassed and hassled for being black. I was having kids flashing dollar bills in front of me asking if I had ever seen one before. It didn't matter that my Dad was one of the most prominent and affluent blacks in the Hartford area,these kids were sons of bank presidents and corporate leaders and I wasn't living in the suburbs like they were. I was also facing something I had never experienced before..I was struggling academically! On top of it all,a few months earlier,my dog and best friend from early childhood, Gyp had died. In seventh grade at that time,it seemed like the only good things going on for me was the music I was beginning to listen to,and the Saturday afternoon time I was spending stuffing envelopes with the hippies working inside the Eugene McCarthy for President Hartford office.
A typical early evening would consist of having dinner and watching the news,national news first,followed by the local news. Many a night we'd watch the news as a family,but this particular evening I was watching the news alone. I think my brothers were off playing somewhere,and my mom and grandmother were downstairs in the kitchen. Most nights in our Hartford Connecticut home we'd watch the news on the CBS affiliate WTIC Channel 3,however on this night,I was watching the local news on the NBC affiliate Channel 30.
Barry Barrants,the local Channel 30 anchorman first broke the news of the assassination. It wasn't long after that when the local news switched back to the national. It was the first time I recalled the news being interrupted by news.
I paused and took a deep breath.
I knew my next step had to be to go downstairs to be with my mom and grandmother. I thought perhaps my grandmother would have the radio that was in the kitchen on and that they would have heard the news. It only took a few seconds in listening to their conversation to realize they had not heard.
On November 22,1963 when I was in third grade,I thought it was my duty to run home from school to inform my mom of JFK's assassination,all I knew was that she'd be watching As The World Turns. Now I had my chance to be the newscaster I thought I might want to be if I didn't become President when I grew up...and I couldn't do it.As bad as JFK's death was,in our household,this news was going to be so much worse. At this point in life,I hadn't lost anyone close to me,but I knew..in this household,this news was going to be received as if someone in the family had died. I could not bring myself to opening my mouth. I merely fumbled around in the kitchen,turned on the radio on the kitchen table,left,not to return till I realized they had heard the news that Martin Luther King was dead. I had to let CBS Radio News break the story to them.
I would soon get a second chance to be the newscaster,this time when the phone rang. I answered it. It was my Grandfather.
Now here's one thing you have to know about my maternal grandparents,Annie Louise Jones and Sandy Evander Jones. When my parents divorced,my grandmother decided it was in the best interest of the family for her to move from her Washington DC home to assist my mom in raising me and my brothers..Trust me no easy task. My grandfather,who was still happily married and madly in love with my grandmother would come to Hartford for most of the holidays. We'd spend our summers in Washington,so that they could be together,but in addition to those times,there would be a couple times a year where, without warning,a cab would pull up in our driveway,and out the door would emerge my grandfather! It would be an exciting time for all of us,but especially for my grandmother.
"Granddaddy!" I said after he said hello.
"I'm in Hartford at the Greyhound Bus Station and I cant get a cab"
"Granddaddy did you hear the news? Martin Luther King was killed tonight"
"WHAT??" "No wonder I can't get a cab,I guess I'm going to have your mother pick me up. Put her on the phone"
No surprise visit this time,but when he said that,I didn't have to hear a local news report to know what was happening. Rioting had broken out. Riots were nothing new to Hartford. A year before riots had broken out in Hartford. Despite the fact that Dr.King was an apostle for non violence,there was no doubt in my mind that once the news of his murder spread,that Hartford was going to go up in flames.
The Greyhound Bus Station was right in the heart of the riot area. Normally from our house it would take a half hour there and back at worst. This night it took my mom nearly two hours after dealing with all the detours and checkpoints,but both my mom and grandfather got back to our house safely.
It was a late night in our household that night with all of us watching the news. On more than one occasion,I can recall my grandmother saying 'What is this world coming to?" in reaction to both the King Assassination and the ensuing riots.
The following days were rather surreal. My grandfather had to cut his visit short upon hearing about Washington DC going up in smoke. He felt he needed to check on his real estate office.
My father,Dr.Evans H. Daniels Jr. had his medical practice not far from the Greyhound Bus Station and in the heart of the riot area. My dad had dedicated his medical career to helping those in need.That work continued during this time as without question and with little concern as to how he was going to be paid for it,he remained at his office,treating victims of the riots..gunshot wounds,cuts due to broken glass etc. On April 4th 1968,and for a few days afterwards,many businesses in the area were either vandalized or torched. My Dad's office was left unscathed.
In 1968,for the most part,if you were black and lived in Hartford,you lived in Hartford's North End. While the exodus of black professionals to the suburbs was beginning,the North End was a mixture of black folks from every economic strata. After Dr King's murder,in the eyes of the police and other government officials,the entire North End was deemed a threat to the well being of Hartford,thus the entire North End was placed under curfew.After 7 pm,no one was allowed on the street. By April,it was warm enough to resume our neighborhood baseball games,but for a couple days,we had to cut our games short. It was rather strange to look out the window in our quiet enclave in the North End to see the occasional police car driving by making sure the curfew was being enforced.
..And that's the way it was April 4th 1968
David, thank you so much for this.
ReplyDelete