The Way We Were--Collins Park, 1959

This time around, I thought I would indulge in some true confessions.  The original article was posted on September 18, 2009.  
        For those who are interested, below I have added the rest of the story.  --EFP

            I remember that my mother and stepfather couldn’t resist driving by on the morning after the second bombing.  Much to my surprise, they allowed me to come along.  The left stucco sidewall was bowed out, like a giant abscess.  There was a jagged crack running from the ground to the roof.  That image haunts me still.  All the windows were blown out.  The lawn was littered with glass shards.  Even mother seemed to be taken aback by the sight.  I’m sure she never expected things to go that far.  My stepfather seemed relieved that it was finally over.  He, too, was a racist, but he and my mother had had bitter arguments over her activism.  He had mother’s number.  He knew she was enjoying the attention, and he feared that she was needlessly putting all three of us at risk.

            A local contractor, who just happened to live in Collins Park, and who had access to dynamite, was soon arrested and later convicted.  He went to prison.  His wife went door-to-door trying to collect money for her husband’s legal expenses.  I still remember when she came to our door.  My mother refused to contribute. She claimed to have been broke and behind in her bills, neither of which was true.