tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2742335888716501335.post1789629340256684555..comments2024-03-21T00:17:56.079-07:00Comments on Meandering Moody Memories: On Being an African American in the Fifties - Part 1Christella D. Moodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13520572530501992404noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2742335888716501335.post-73912827342777195812009-09-15T17:41:11.419-07:002009-09-15T17:41:11.419-07:00By the way, I LOVE the poetry of Langston Hughes!By the way, I LOVE the poetry of Langston Hughes!Janie Bhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04931897043854080377noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2742335888716501335.post-85889639031335827482009-09-11T19:09:27.889-07:002009-09-11T19:09:27.889-07:00Don't stop now! Yer on a roll!
You've ...Don't stop now! Yer on a roll! <br /><br />You've got a coupla years on me, and our skin pigmentation ain't the same. But I remember the "northern migration" of Blacks from the Deep South who moved north to escape conditions in the South, only to find that life was scarcely better, that people weren't much friendlier...that opportunities were just as rare.<br /><br />I was just a wee pup, then. But I was the child of immigrants/refugees myself, and my parents viscerally understood the struggles of the despised/unwanted/hunted/displaced. They spoke their minds freely at the dinner table and I came to empathize.<br /><br />I witnessed the hatred. The disdain. The "redlining", the "white flight" and the denial of opportunity. The 50's were a difficult decade, indeed, for those who fought for their country...only to find that their country cared not one whit for them...<br /><br />Do go on.<br /><br />Do go on.Jonashttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2742335888716501335.post-30685509198902033102009-09-11T17:07:12.660-07:002009-09-11T17:07:12.660-07:00Your post brings tears to my eyes. I remember segr...Your post brings tears to my eyes. I remember segregation very well. I lived behind a restaurant and watched the blacks go in the back door. In high school I was attracted to a black boy, but we both knew better than to even think about getting together. I also remember integration when I was in the 11th grade. We were all so scared and nervous that day when the buses pulled up to our school. Our town closed the city swimming pool and our proms were cancelled...all because of the integration. It was very upsetting to everyone. We couldn't understand what the big deal was.Janie Bhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04931897043854080377noreply@blogger.com