I got thinking the other day about my protest days. I was talking to one of my coworkers about it and they asked "How did you ever get into protests?"
"Well," I said, "how does a young man ever get into anything?"
My coworker smiled. "A girl?" he asked.
"You got it!" I answered. "I was painting these peoples' summer camp when I heard a car in the yard. A few minutes later this gorgeous girl came out the screen door with a bikini on that wasn't usually worn in the area at that time. It was more like something you'd see in France, if you understand my meaning. She looked down at me, shook her long blonde hair, ran down the peir and dove in the pond, swimming for quite a while. When she finally came out the owner of the camp was just bringing me my lunch; home made lasagna! She knew my favorites! And a big meal was always a bonus.
She cried "Oh, Marilyn! This is Gerald. He does odd jobs for all the summer camps around here, and is really nice!"
"I can tell!" the girl answered with a grin. She came over and sat beside me, and we talked for several minutes. Then I asked, "Up here on vacation?"
"Oh, no!" Marilyn answered. "We're up here protesting The Brotherhood. They're trying to start a community in one of the towns near here, and we go up every few days, especially on the weekend, to picket."
"The Brotherhood?" I asked.
"Yes," Marilyn answered, "The Benevolant Brotherhood For The Maintence Of Racial Purity."
"Oh!" I moaned, "You mean, The Klan. Didn't know there was any of that trash around here! Had enough of them in Mississippi."
"You were in Mississippi?" Marilyn cried.
"Yes!" I told her, giving her a full account of all of my adventures when I was nine. "I've got no use for The Klan," I told her, "I'm glad you folks are fighting it."
Marilyn hung around almost every day while I was finishing the work. Then on Friday she asked "Gerald, you doing anything this weekend, during the day, I mean."
"Well, not really," I answered, "I think my day is pretty free."
"I'd really appreciate it," Marilyn continued, "if you'd come on the protest with us. See, you're blonde haired and blue eyed. Whenever we have blonde haired blue eyed people with us it drives them nuts! They can't stand it that I protest against them. If you showed up too, it would be a double slap in the face for them! If you come I'll make it worth your wile. It's a two or three hour drive up there. We'd be leaving early. But you'd be home by either four or five in the afternoon."
"Well, I suppose so," I answered, "might be fun! I'd like nothing better than to irritate some Klansmen! Sure, I'll come along!" Knowing full well my mother wouldn't want me in anything like that I told her I'd be working that morning. Marilyn picked me up in a Volkswagon van that had been converted into a little camper. She wasn't alone. There was a gray headed bearded man with her. I climbed in the back and Marilyn introduced me. "Gerald, this is my father, Abraham!"
"Glad to meet you!" I called, and mouthed "Your father?" Marilyn only grinned and nodded. As we drove her father explained her mother and him had met when he was working with the Indians out west. Three years after, Marilyn was born. She contracted an infection treating some sick people and died a week or so later. We got to the protest, and was Marilyn ever right! I was carrying a sign that read something like "Shame Shame! We're All The Same!" and marching with the others back and forth in front of the people's compound. There was a state trooper there in full costume, about eighteen of the racists, and about twenty of us. I mean this was no big demonstration, just making our presence known. We were just about ready to call it quits when about six of the racists came up to the edge of the road and began to taunt me. One especially came at me screaming that I was a traitor to my heritage, a traitor to my race and using a few other comments I can't repeat here about my possible association with colored people. I made a remark that went something like, "Well, at least I got a brain you fool!"