New Orleans to Roanoke, VA

We spent the night in Fairfield, which is neither fair nor field: our window offered a fine view of the gaseous output of an industrial plant.  Then to Birmingham and the Civil Rights Institute which houses a permanent multimedia exhibit telling the story of the Civil Rights Movement.  I sat in the car for a few minutes before going in, knowing that it could be very hard for the kids to see and understand what happened here 50 years ago.

Jim Crow came alive to them when they saw the difference between the two drinking fountains and the two schoolrooms.  When I asked why it makes a difference to be in a classroom with fewer children per teacher (stacks of books of different heights showed ratios of 1:24 for white kids and 1:48 for black kids), Liam said it would be harder for the teacher to get around to everyone.  We did the math for the student-teacher ratio in their schools.  

Then on to the Civil Rights Movement.  It struck me how much of the story was told through the eyes and words of children, though perhaps I’m sensitive to it because of my traveling companions.  Those were the exhibits where Liam and Kai paused longest, pressing the button to hear one child ask her mother to explain the bus boycott after Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man, amazed that thousands of  children marched in protest against segregation and that hundreds were arrested and jailed.  Kai asked how old you have to be to go to jail.  The Freedom Riders were there on film, telling the story from a hospital bed just after their bus was firebombed.  And there was the bus itself (at least the front half), blackened on the inside, its windows long-shattered, leaning heavily on its blown tire.  You could lean on its fender and watch it play a starring role onscreen: the angry mob surrounding it, the open door, later the smoke roiling from its punctured roof.  

Over and again throughout the story of the Civil Rights Movement we saw people who decided to go ahead and do things like march or vote or drive a bus or speak, knowing there was a pretty substantial risk of getting hurt or at least arrested (and possibly sent to prison for a week on a chain gang, as happened to "Clarence" and his fellow students).  It also brought home how many people and institutions took part – some 450 Freedom Riders, hundreds of thousands of protestors, the Supreme Court, the National Guard, several Presidents, international intervenors, students, each in the multitude around the Reflecting Pool who listened to MLK’s I Have a Dream speech.  For me the bus drivers were the unsung heroes.  They did things that they might have considered to be beyond the scope of their duties, like driving into terminals where the mobs awaited, or stepping in to let Fred Shuttlesworth escape. 

Across the street from the Institute was the 16^th Street Baptist Church, then the largest African American community church, which was firebombed during the height of the Movement.  That event was the reason for my greatest reluctance to bring the kids to Birmingham.  I wasn’t sure I wanted them to know, just yet, about the four girls who were killed there.  But Liam can read, and he saw it before I did, on a small placard at the last turn before the exit.  He knew how close the church was to where he stood.  It struck him.  I think it scared him a little.  My own mind shies away from it.  Is seven too young to see all this? 

Afterward we went to Mrs B’s on 4^th for some real southern comfort food.  Wow.  Meatloaf like that should be eaten by each of us at least once in a lifetime. 

But only once.  With an EMT standing by.  Least you'd die happy.

We drove through Birmingham center and out of the city to the far side of Atlanta to the best La Cuenta Inn we’ve encountered – worth every penny.  One of the reasons I like it so much is that it is the place where I FINISHED MY LAW REVIEW ARTICLE!  Not timely, not in any time zone we’ve passed through.  But done, for now.

On the way to Charlotte we saw an enormous billboard advertising an enormous flea market.  And then another and another.  We took it as a sign.  What could we do?  We have Xmas presents to buy. 

We flung ourselves off the highway. 

The place was packed with people and with stuff which looked to be mostly made in China.  It was also one of the most diverse places we’ve been since the start of the trip.  The population of Latinos and Asians has soared in the South over the past decade or so, and the flea market is where everybody goes for their holiday shopping.  After a couple of tasty tacos and burritos con frijoles y queso at the food court, we picked up a few consumables as gifts, including a white chocolate jalapeno fudge that melts in your mouth and then sets it on fire. 

Dinner in Charlotte at Amelie’s French bakery.  Kai discovered two guys playing chess. He informed the one playing black that there were only two black pieces left on the board and that the player was going to have trouble winning if that’s all he had left.  Then he started to "watch" while telling them how each of the pieces moved.  Instead of escorting Kai firmly back to his table, the chess players seemed amused and waved off my attempts to lure Kai away.  I returned from ordering my coffee to this scene:

Kai learned more about chess from that dude than he’s ever learned from me.  Off through the Blue Ridge Mountains to Roanoke, where our beds awaited.

The car has been getting a bit full what with all the holiday shopping, so we've started stacking the kids on top of each other to save space:

-Juliet