Inauguration brings healing to teen of the '60s

I was in the ninth grade in Hickory in 1966 when our schools integrated. By law, there would be black children in my school.
Previously, I had participated in anti-racial activities in the early '60s with my liberal aunt and uncle. I had felt guilty waiting, as a child in Sears beside the "Coloreds Only" sign hanging over the water fountain, for my father, who worked there.
But at age 14, upon desegregation, I was faced with a strong reality. I discovered I had prejudiced thinking. These unwanted thoughts often appeared, though I rejected them as they occurred. I believe they were there because I had been a victim of segregation. I had not had a chance to actually know and be around black people.
Almost daily there was a racial fight at school that year of profound change. We students, both black and white, were afraid. We stood in horror watching what seemed to be the end of order in our school. We ducked flaming matchbooks tossed randomly in the direction of our teachers. Kids avoided the bathrooms where angry, physical confrontations often occurred.
Last week was Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday. King's assassination happened my 10th grade year. I was actually in D.C. at the time. I belonged to the Hickory High School Tornadoes Marching Band, and we were invited to the Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington, D.C. We band members, black and white, rode on a rental bus all night. Upon arrival, we toured the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, unaware of King's death the night before.
After our tour, we were seated in a cafeteria on 14th Street for lunch when our adult chaperones began to suddenly yank us up out of our chairs. They insisted we get back on the bus, without eating our meals. Stupefied we got up, too confused by the near panic we sensed in these outwardly calm adults, to argue.
We lined up without question in the restaurant to board our bus. As we crossed the few feet between the restaurant and the steep steps up into the bus, we heard the rioters. Hurled rocks were loudly breaking the plate glass windows of nearby stores. There was a virtual sea of people running toward us carrying lighted torches. Shouts rang out as the torches flew into the broken windows beside us. We learned later that 14th Street was completely burned to the ground.
Our band director explained solemnly on the eerily quiet bus, about King's murder, and we all — black, white, young, old, cried. We cried for our country. We feared it was obviously spoiled by the racial tensions we all felt. In that bus, we were the same — scared, hurt, disillusioned, broken-hearted.
It took two or three hours to move out of the traffic jam as our bus was forced to pull out into in the clogged street. We were completely silent, as we were tearful and reflective about the violence we'd seen.
Now, 42 years later — as we remember King, a man admired by so many worldwide, by people of every skin color and creed — we witness the inauguration of a back man into our country's highest office. There was no news of a racial incident, fight or arrest in the multiracial, multicultural crowd numbering more than a million.
Since the election, it's been noted that young people, especially young black males, are walking taller and acting prouder of themselves.
Well, I feel proud as well, and my pride is in our country. We have come so far in such a short time.
I know that there is still racial tension in our country to overcome. Recently, however I was privileged to stand in Charlotte the night before the election, in another historic time, amongst a similar mixed American crowd of young, old, black, white, Asian, Latino.
In our enthusiasm, we all embraced the persons next to us, inspired by the speech and demeanor of a young black man.
We believed he was destined to be our next president, and again, I had the feeling that we were the same — this time united by feelings of pride, joyful anticipation, and most importantly, healing.

Terri Johnson is a member of the Morganton Writers Group and is a writer for the Burke County Notebook.