Black soldiers have been portrayed or ignored by mainstream history. Yet, they have been at the center of every American military saga since Crispus Attacks drew the unfortunate distinction of being the first American killed in the Revolutionary War. This photo set tries to reverse that erasure.
Gettysburg Reunion 1913- African American Civil War Veterans wearing their Union medals and GAR ribbons representing the Colored Troops, they were also present in Gettysburg in July, 1913.
There were a number of African American GAR members at the big reunion at Gettysburg in 1913, even though there were no black Union units that fought there.
In the years after the Civil War, black and white Union soldiers who survived the horrific struggle joined the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR)–The Union army’s largest veterans’ organization.
~although black veterans still suffered under the contemporary racial mores, the GAR honored its black members in many instances and ascribed them a greater equality. Their membership in the GAR demonstrated that their wartime suffering created a transcendent bond–comradeship–that overcame even the most pernicious social barrier–race-based separation. -The Won Cause (Civil War America) by Barbara Gannon (Author)
By the end of the war, African-Americans accounted for 10% of the Union Army. 180,000 men – many former slaves – volunteered, a staggering 85% of the eligible population. Nearly 40,000 gave their lives for the cause. The USCT (United States Colored Troops) was a watershed in African-American history - The Civil War Trust.
Members of the Women’s Army Corps (WAC) pose at Camp Shanks, New York, before leaving from New York Port of Embarkation on Feb. 2, 1945. The women were with the first contingent of Black American WACs to go overseas for the war effort.
(From left to right are, kneeling: Pvt. Rose Stone; Pvt. Virginia Blake; and Pfc. Marie B. Gillisspie. Second row: Pvt. Genevieve Marshall; T/5 Fanny L. Talbert; and Cpl. Callie K. Smith. Third row: Pvt. Gladys Schuster Carter; T/4 Evelyn C. Martin; and Pfc. Theodora Palmer)
Pictured: (Esther) Juanita Jackson Smart and Richard Smart with daughter Deborah Smart. My mother.
Korean War Vet and Teacher, Richard, and English Teacher, Juanita, left a segregated South Carolina when my mother was about 6 in search of better opportunities for their two children and for themselves. They moved to Detroit, Michigan where they both worked in the school system, influencing the lives of hundreds of kids over the course of their careers. They both studied every summer at various universities to complete their Master’s degrees. As fervent believers in education, they insisted on sending my mother to the best schools in town. As a result, my mother integrated two elementary schools in Detroit and was the only black child in each school until her younger brother, Richard Smart III, joined her.
My mother, a copious reader, inhaled thousands of words a week. She won the school spelling bee. Her prize, a shiny new encyclopedia was stolen out of her locker. The school authorities accused her own brother of taking it because “none of the other children in the school would ever steal.”
The encyclopedia was never found.
Unphased by school nonsense, mother continued to read books and get A’s. She graduated from Cass Technical High School with a focus on the sciences. The following year she attended The University of Michigan where she then became the only black student in her organic chemistry classes. She studied hard and made up songs to remember anatomy.
She took Calculus as an elective because “it was fun.”
She studied some more.
Riding her bike down South Division street, she stopped at her mailbox during her Senior Year to find a letter from the Michigan State University College of Human Medicine. She was accepted to medical school. My mother continued making up songs and studying all the way through medical school, continuing to be unphased by her position as one of the only students of color.
She became Dr. Deborah Y. Smart in 1979. Her younger brother went on to graduate from The University of Michigan and The Wayne State University Law School.
Dr. Smart dated and intimidated several men who were not accustomed to a well-read black woman doctor for a girlfriend. She decided she would likely adopt a child and live her life happily as a mother and a full-time physician who loved to read.
She met my father at her best friend’s wedding. He was nice. He often brought food to the hospital where she worked when she was on 24-hour call. Eventually she agreed to marry him.
Richard and Juanita Smart continue to live in Michigan and are active in several national and city organizations. They are still fervent believers in the power of education and support and encourage their grandchildren to do and be their best.
They travel to South Carolina at least once a year, making sure to visit the family cemetery where they say: “If you could only see what we did, Momma and Daddy. If only you were here.”
Documentary photo essay following the life and challenges of Black Farmers in California.
Hello everyone. I have started a kickstarter campaign to help out with a project that revolves around Black Farmers in California and need help making this project in this happen. Any help that you can do will be greatly appreciated. If you can’t donate then please share this with as many people as you can. If a person can make $50 Thousand to make a potato salad then I should have no problem reaching my goal in this very important subject. Thank you and I look forward for any help that I can receive.
Erik spoke with confidence as he pointed at his selection through the glass display case; he couldn’t believe his luck. He barely had to look around before it caught his eye.Confirming the feeling he felt From the moment he walked through the door of the famed jewelry store. Somehow he just knew the two hour drive it took to get there would be well worth it.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Durm,” the jeweler nodded in approval as she used a thr key she pulled from her blazer pocket, to unlock then slid open the glass. With much delicacy she carefully removed Erik’s choice from itss tray and placed it into its proper pillar box. Just by looking at him, she could tell the young man before her was deeply in love. He had to be, no one with common sense would spend the thousands he was getting ready to for just anybody—even if they were on a footballer’s salary.
”I’m sure she will love what you’ve picked out for her.” Erik looked up from staring at his soon to be purchase to see the jeweler smiling warmly at him.
“I hope so,” he couldnt help but smile at the thought of the woman he loved, his beautiful girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n and her reaction when she saweverything. In a few days time their year anniversary would be here and Erik couldn’t be more ready.
he was working hard to make it special and had been for months; this was a important milestone in their relationship and he wasn’t going to treat it as anything less. Y/n deserved the world and Erik was very intent on giving it to her. It may take awhile but he was going to give her all she deserves.
After all this was the same woman who had dropped everything to go to Brazil with him that summer and happily cheer him and germany nt on in the renouned tournament that brought the world together every four years. Despite only being German by nationality (both her parents were African American army veterans who retired shortly after she was born in Frankfort ) she held it to her heart dearly.
She wore her germany nt jersey with absolute pride and was by far the most unruly of the wags uninhibitedly expressing her excitement every match all with the exception of the Brazil one. As happy as she was that her boys were going to the finals,it was such a sad way to see the host team go out. When Erik spoke to her about it later she admitted the score made her want to cry but she was proud of him.
She unconditionally supported him; not only through Germany’s eventual World Cup triumph but also during Borussia Dortmund’s current not so stellar 2014/15 season. Win or lose she made sure Erik , his club and national team knew she believed in them whole heartedly.
He was constantly in awe with her ability to balance university, work study and supporting him so seamlessly—none ever getting in the way of the other. Even when she couldn’t be at every match she made sure to watch and live tweet with fans.
She sacrificed so much for him—-her time, her privacy—all without second thought…it was only right he made this anniversary an appreciation that was equivalent to that. Or at the least get really close.
After finalizing his purchase and signing his name on the receipt,Erik took the light blue bag, one that almost every woman would recognize and walked out feeling accomplished.
A few more days
Y/n was beyond upset. No she was mad,no she was furious. She couldn’t believe that of all days he would pick today to piss her off.
Did she deserve it?
She didn’t think so, she’d like to think she was a good person. Supportive, loving and understanding, putting others before herself without second thought.
Even when she was dead exhausted from her own commitments to her schooling and work Y/n still found it in herself to do for others.
And what did she ask for in return? To be loved and supported right back. That wasn’t too much to ask was it? Apparently for her so called boyfriend it was.
Today was supposed to be a joyous one, it marked her and Erik’s one year anniversary. Not only that but it was coincidentally the first day in awhile that they were both off from their usual commitments of school and football. Y/n foolishly thought that because of this they would be spending the whole day together.
She was currently sitting on her bed, alone in her apartment,and Erik hadnt come around once. At first she didn’t think anything of it—maybe he had some last minutes things he had to get done.But l it was going on 15:00 and Y/n hadn’t even heard from him. Aside from the ritual morning text they always sent to each other, nothing.
But it wasn’t like she had been just sitting around waiting. she was proactive,If Erik wasn’t contacting her, she could contact him. He would answer once he saw she was trying to talk to him,right?
Her messages went unread and her calls went straight to voicemail. To add insult to injury, when Y/n called his mom—none of his friends bothered to answer—Mrs. Durm effectively told her Erik was with friends.
With. Friends. Her boyfriend was with friends on their fucking anniversary. What the fuck. If Y/n wasn’t angry before she sure was now.
In what universe was that okay? In what universe do you dodge your girlfriend like the plague and hang with your friends on your anniversary? Was Erik insane? He had to be.
…Or maybe he was mad at her?maybe he didn’t want to be bothered with her because he was upset? She quickly racked her brain trying to think—-had she done something to him?
No. Y/n shook away those thoughts as soon as they came; fuck the insecure crap. Even if she had done something, she didn’t deserve to be ignored. At the very least she deserved to know what she did. But no her boyfriend was apparently a petty asshole. Fuck him.
She grabbed her phone and just as she was about to write him a long and profanity laced text, she got a text from her best friend Marissa.
Get ready we’re hanging out today.
Y/n sighed; she might as well, Erik was spending time with his friends. She quickly texted Marissa okay before hopping off her bed.she made her way to her closet to find something to wear.
Erik felt awful.
Every time she called or texted him he felt even worse. He didn’t want to ignore Y/n but for everything to go smoothly it was necessary. He made sure his friends ignored her as well because knowing them they’d ruin everything just so Y/n wouldn’t be upset. They all adored her and Erik wouldn’t put it past them to betray him for her sake.
It was the same reason he hadn’t allowed his father to pick up as well. He saw Y/n as a daughter and any sign of sadness or hurt and he’d ruin Erik’s plans as well. The only person he allowed to pick up was his mom because she knew at the end Y/n would be happy. Once she told Y/n he was ‘with friends’ She texted Erik who texted Marissa.
Marissa was the last piece of the puzzle before it all began.
‘Shopping trip’ officially started.
She texted and Erik felt a wave of nervousness;in a little over four hours time he was going to see everything he planned for come to life. He hoped it was perfect.
Y/n couldn’t believe it was 20:00—he had really spent over four hours shopping? Well, Marissa did most of the shopping while Y/n explained a million and one times why she wouldn’t be putting the black card—Erik had given her on her birthday—to use. It was the only gift he gave her that day that she had flat out refused. She didn’t want to spend his money. Even after she begrudgingly took it after an hour argument—she never used it. It just felt wrong.
Marissa tried to egg her on by reminding Y/n that he forgot their anniversary. Y/n refused to give in,the little she did spend was with her own money.
“Um, Rissa what are we doing here?“Y/n raised an eyebrow when she realized that her best friend had pulled up to her least favorite person at the moment’s house. How had she failed to notice until now?
"Go."Marissa commanded gently. Y/n was really confused now; through out the entire trip Marissa had made it a point to call Erik every profane name she could think of. She ranted on and off about how Erik didn’t deserve someone as amazing as Y/n.
…now she wanted her to go into his house?
"I don’t think—”
“Go Y/n,”Marissa cut in more firmly,”I’ll drop you bags at your apartment for you.”
“Seriously Mar? He’s probably not home he’s with his friends! Why are you doing this? Take me home."Y/n demanded, she was starting to get angry. Marissa had some nerve..what kind of friend was she?
"Take me home Marissa.”
“I already did.”
Y/n’s jaw dropped as her friend smirked at her. She couldn’t be serious.
“I’m not gonna leave with you so you might as well get out."Marissa shrugged.
"Fuck you,"Y/n huffed before swinging open the car door and hopping out, making sure to slam it shut before stomping up to the front door of the house. She had half a mind to ring the door just because she knew it annoyed Erik when she didn’t use her key. She wasn’t in the mood to wait though so she pulled out her Borussia Dortmund lanyard and quickly flipped to the right key before opening the door and stepping inside.
The first thing she notice was that it was dark, she would’ve thought he really wasn’t home if it wasn’t for the glow of a big candle placed on the lone table in the foyer. Erik would never leave the house knowing there was a candle burning somewhere. He’d be too afraid that the house was somehow catch on fire,the thought almost made Y/n laugh. No, you’re mad at him.
She walked over to the table, noticing an empty vase was there as well. She opened her mouth ready to call his name when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out only to narrow her eyes at the message that illuminated the screen.
Erik😍😘💏💑 : read the note
Y/n wanted to strangle him. Now he wanted to talk to her? How did he know where she even is? and what was this ’read the note’ crap, what note?
She looked at the vase and upon close inspection she saw it wasn’t empty after all. There was a piece of paper in it. The note. She took it out and unfolded it and read it.
I love you and I will always do my best to give you what you deserve. Follow the flower petals. And bring the vase. -Erik
What the hell? Y/n looked around half thinking, Erik would pop up somewhere. He didn’t, but sure enough there was a path of what looked like rose petals leading further into the house. She hadn’t even noticed before. She just stood there confused and shocked until her phone buzzed again.
Erik😍😘💏💑 : move Y/n
She snapped out of her daze, blinking at the simple command. She wanted to send him not so nice command about where he could ‘move’ to. Instead, she slipped her phone back in her pocket. She grabbed the vase and began slowly following the path. As she turned the corner, she saw a single red rose that had been by placed right below a picture frame.
The frame contained a picture that was taken a couple of days after they’d first gotten together. Y/n was looking dead at the camera with a big smile, while Erik was more interested in staring at her.
She couldn’t help the smile that took over her lips if she tried. When she finally pulled her eyes away from the captured moment, she noticed that the rose had a note tied to the stem.
The pictures represent special times in our relationship that I’ll never forget. Glücklicher Jahrestag, schön.
Y/n’s smile grew when she realized what the vase was for. She picked up the lone rose and placed it in the vase and continued to follow the path. A path that took her around the entire house, stopping at each picture frame station to pick up the rose and gaze over everything that Erik had left for her.
The pictures, twenty-four in all, were pictures they had taken together throughout the course of their relationship. There was a picture from the day they told their friends about their relationship, one from their one-month anniversary, one from their three-month anniversary, her birthday, his birthday, the day she introduced him to her parents. It was all there, like a visual timeline of their relationship.
Y/n was in awe, appreciating all the thought Erik had put into this…and here she was thinking he forgot.
The petals stopped outside of his rarely used home office, where the last picture frame and the last rose were sitting on a small table, with a note attached to the stem of the rose again.
Y/n picked up the final rose abut was confused when she picked up the empty picture frame—there was no picture. She opened the note tied to the stem.
She slowly looked up to find the door to the office had open unbeknownst to her, and there was Erik. He stood smiling warmly at her, with a dozen more roses in hand. Y/n gasped as her eyes immediately watered, she set her vase full of flowers down before throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist before leaning down and kissing her ear.
"Surprise."he whispered before pulling away just enough so he could see her face,"did you like it?”
“I loved it,thank you so much. I’m so sorry I ever even thought you forgot—”
He cut her off with a soft kiss on her lips,”don’t be sorry,come on.”he took her by the hand and lead her inside his office and to her surprise there was a picnic set up in there with candles and flowers all around.
“Wow."she breathed,"Erik this is just amazing.”
Erik smiled wider as he gave her the bouquet of flowers, she held onto them as he told her to sit. He sat with her and they are and had a good time just talking and laughing about any and everything.
Once they had finished,Erik stood up, she looked at him in strangely. He didn’t say anything reached for the box had on his desk. Another thing Y/n failed to notice; she blinked as he held the light blue Tiffany & Co. jewelry box in front of her.
Y/n’s eyes widened as she let out another gasp as Erik opened the box to reveal what was inside. Sitting in the box was a gorgeous Tiffany Enchant heart pendant link necklace. It was the most gorgeous necklace she’d ever seen, simple yet it made a statement. “Erik, its beautiful!”Y/n could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks,” You shouldn’t though, you already did more then enough. this is way too much.”
“Nothing is too much,"he countered. he put the box down and carefully lifted the necklace out then he moved behind her so he could put it around her neck. Once he got it on, Erik sat in front of her, softly grabbed her hands. He gently squeezed them and, sending her another smile that was reserved for only her, softly said, "I was looking for the right present for months. I needed something that would say how unconditional I love you but still embody the simplicity that you love…needless to say it was hard."he smirked and she giggled rolling her eyes.
He was always teasing her about how she was so low maintenance that it made buying her gifts more impossible.
"I even got your moms help and your dad. They’re the reason I actually kept clear of rings."he noted, which made Y/n feel warm inside. He really did go out of his way to make this special.
"I don’t really like them."she made a face.Rings weren’t her thing,she didn’t really know why but they always felt weird on her fingers.
"So I’ve heard…but one day you’re gonna have to suck it up and deal because I’m not proposing with a necklace."Erik said half jokingly. Y/n laughed but her heart skipped a beat at his words…like purposing was a definite in his mind.
"Maybe you could get me a bracelet."she joked laughing when he gave her an unamused look.
“anyway,” he continued with his explanation,”when I saw this necklace, I knew it was perfect. It was perfect because it was the only one I saw that was anywhere close to being as perfect as you.the perfect embodiment of beauty and simplicity. This year has been the best year of my life and I just wanted you to know that you mean the world to me.”
More tears slid down Y/n’s face as she began to try to speak, but wiping the tear away with his thumb, he leaned over to whisper in her ear before passionately kissing her words away. “Alles Gute zum Jubiläum, Liebe, Happy Anniversary,Love.”
Y/n smiled before pulling his lips back to hers; Happy anniversary was right.
So this is long as hell and I don’t even care lol I wrote this Erik Durm(my german bby ) imagine/one shot for myself, so the girl(though she isnt actually me cuz I feel weird putting my name in story I wrote lol) is black. Normally I try to keep the girl as racially ambiguous as possible just so it could fit anyone. But Sometimes I’ll be specific. anywayy I hope y’all liked this one!(if you even bothered reading it I know it’s long lmfao excuse any typos)ANYWAY Happy new years! have a blessed day.😘
Soldiers of the 369th Infantry Regiment (Harlem Hellfighters) after returning from World War I. All are wearing the French Croix de Guerre. During World War I nations such as France and Belgium awarded medals to African American soldiers. The US military, however, often did not.
Slave Narratives- In Original Context- Interview With Mr Gus Brown- Birmingham, Alabama -A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: Volume I, Alabama Narratives SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Author: Work Projects Administration
“They is all gone, scattered, and old massa and missus have died.” That was the sequence of the tragic tale of “Uncle” Gus Brown, the body servant of William Brown; who fought beside him in the War between the States and who knew Stonewall Jackson.
“Uncle Gus” recalled happenings on the old plantation where he was reared. His master was a “king” man, he said, on whose plantation in Richmond, Virginia, Uncle Gus waited on the tables at large feasts and functions of the spacious days before the War. He was entrusted to go with the master’s boys down to the old swimming hole and go in “washin.” They would take off their clothes, hide them in the bushes on the side of the bank, put a big plank by the side of the old water hole and go in diving, swimming and have all the fun that youngsters would want, he said.
Apparently his master’s home was a plantation house with large columns and with all the glitter and glamour that the homes around Richmond have to offer. About it were large grain storage places for the master was a grain dealer and men on the plantation produced and ground large quantities into flour. Gus worked around the house, and he remembers well the corn shuckings as he called them on which occasions the Negroes gave vent to emotion in the form of dancing and music. “On those occasions we all got together and had a regular good time,” he said.
“Uncle,” he was asked, “do you remember any of the old superstitions on the plantation? Did they have any black cat stories?" "No sir, boss, we was educated Negroes on our plantation. The old bossman taught his Negroes not to believe in that sort of thing. "I well remember when de war came. Old massa had told his folks befo’ de war began dat it was comin’, so we was ready for it.
"Beforehand the master called all the servants he could trust and told them to get together all of the silver and other things of value. They did that, he explained and afterward they took the big box of treasures and carried it out in the forest and hid it under the trunk of a tree which was marked. None of the Negroes ever told the Yankees where it was so when the war ended the master had his silver back. Of course the war left him without some of the things which he used to have but he never suffered.
"Then de war came and we all went to fight the Yankees. I was a body servant to the master, and once a bullet took off his hat. We all thought he was shot but he wasn’t, and I was standin’ by his side all the time.
"I remember Stonewall Jackson. He was a big man with long whiskers, and very brave. We all fought wid him until his death.
"We wan’t beaten, we was starved out! Sometimes we had parched corn to eat and sometimes we didn’t have a bite o’ nothin’, because the Union mens come and tuck all the food for their selves. I can still remember part of my ninety years. I remembers we fought all de way from Virginia and winded up in Manassas Gap. "When time came for freedom most of us was glad. We liked the Yankees. They was good to us. ‘You is all now free. You can stay on the plantation or you can go.’ We all stayed there until old massa died. Den I worked on de Seaboard Airline when it come to Birmingham. I have been here ever since.
"In all de years since de war I cannot forget old massa. He was good and kind. He never believed in slavery but his money was tied up in slaves and he didn’t want to lose all he had.
"I knows I will see him in heaven and even though I have to walk ten miles for a bite of bread I can still be happy to think about the good times we had then. I am a Confederate veteran but my house burned up wid de medals and I don’t get a pension.
"Thank you, mister bossman, fer the quarter. It will buy me a little grub. I'se too old to work but I has to.”
The reporter left him sitting with his little pack and a long fork in his hands; in his eyes, dimmed with age, a far-off look and a tear of longing for the Old Plantation.
PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ***Illustrated with Photographs WASHINGTON 1941
Imagine meeting Steve while casually running in D.C.
The first week he saw you, he had stopped for some water after literally 37 miles. You were adjusting your pink Nikes and then your pink earbuds (pink was just a phase). You stretched left, then right, then rotating your neck.
He was about to talk to you when you dashed off. Obviously, you weren’t faster than him, but he didn’t want to scare you by running at you.
The second week, you saw him. He was gorgeous … in a sweaty, athletic kind of way. He was running past an African-American veteran, saying something you couldn’t quite hear, not that you were paying attention anyways - your eyes focused on the outline of his six-pack and the way his hair remained absolutely perfect. You subconsciously tucked a loose strand behind your ear, mildly frustrated that your hair was frizzy in the cold weather against your hot skin.
The third week … it was a hit and miss. Every time you saw him, he was looking elsewhere as vice versa. It was frustrating to Sam, who was watching the both of you now. He was more so watching you now, trying to see how often you stopped for water, where you stopped - just monitoring how you ran.
The last week of the month …
“On your left,” Steve laughed at Sam. He looked back at his friend before looking back forward, seeing you tie your shoes.
“Steve, watch!” Same tried but it was too late. The great Captain America had tripped over a small crack. “-out. Watch out.” Sam helped Steve over to the steps of the Capitol, “Stay here. I’ll get a first aid kit.”
Sam lied. He walked over to you as you bent over in your purse. Okay, well, he didn’t lie per se; he just didn’t tell the whole truth. He sent you over to Steve, watching as you stitched up Captain America on the steps of the Capitol.
“Hey,” you said, kneeling in front of him. You put on a pair of latex blue gloves and held up a skin sewing kit. “Okay, you’re not allergic to latex, are you?”
“Not allergic to much of anything nowadays,” Steve chuckled at his inside joke, glaring through his smile at Sam. Women were his kryptonite, a cure that couldn’t be solved by the serum.
“Ah, you grew out of them, did you?” You started sewing the gash on his forehead. “Yeah, well, um, I used to be allergic to grass but then I grew out of it in high school when I joined (Favorite sport). Something about sensory adaptation, I guess. I was never really good at science.”
“Same here, but times change, don’t they?” Steve winced as you finished off the stitches. “All done?”
“Mm-hmm,” You packed back up the first aid kit.
“You know, I’ve seen you running around here before, and I was wondering if, you know, you wanted to, um, go out with me?”
“Is that a question?” you raised an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, will you go out with me?”
“Yes. I should probably tell you my name first though. (Y/N).”
Nearly five years after the end of World War I, veteran Timothy Percy Patterson wrote to President Calvin Coolidge. “I served eighteen months in the World’s War. On the 11th day of Nov. 1918, on the Battlefield in France I heard much discussion about we being at peace. I beg to inform that I still have no peace.”
Patterson was one of nearly 400,000 African-American men who served in the U.S. military during World War I. Approximately 200,000 of these men were sent to Europe.
These same soldiers came of age in a society that sought to limit their right to vote and to segregate them into separate and unequal public facilities. After fighting the German army in Europe, African-American veterans found themselves confronting the racial violence of lynching and a resurgent Ku Klux Klan.
More than 40 years after Patterson wrote his protest letter, the federal government passed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.
The passage of these laws was hastened by the non-violent demonstrations during the 1950s and early 1960s. Letters like that of Timothy Patterson’s remind us that this struggle has a long history that pre-dates the rise of the “modern” civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s.