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David Mitchell
June 6, 1968
The history of this day is surely not a fond memory for any of us. But I always rmember it more so because of an extreme set of circumstances that brought me the news at the time. I was in Primary Flight School in Fort Wolters Texas. My class was a group of about 35 guys from all over the map, with several southern boys amongst the group. Like all of you, I had watched the Civil Rights news reels from the comfort of my living room for several years, I was still a very naive young man. My father had once given me the sternest of lectrures about the "Sin of Racism" and almost frightened me to tears one night with a warning along the lines of "If I ever catch you ,,,,,".
But we were really in "The South" now, and things were not like back home on Overbrook Drive. A few months earlier I had transfered through the bus station at Shreveport Louisiana late one night on my way to Basic Training (at Fort Polk) and remembered how slow I had been to recognize the double black and white stripes all the way across the floor and up the walls of the bus station lobby, and the nicely painted "Ladies" and "Mens" signs on the restroom doors on my side, with the hand painted and poorly legible "toilet" sign on "their side" of the station lobby. As I had naively started to head across the line towards the wrong rest rooms, the arm of an elderly black man fronted me. He uttered, "No son, that way over there". He pointed to "My" correct restrooms. The shock and embarrasment caught me right between the eyes!
But by now we were engrossed in classes and flight training every day, and some rest and a little basketball on Sundays. We were in our own little world and life revolved around the training, the discipline (the extrememe hazing by our T.A.C. Officers that went on, and on, and on), our P.T. (physical training - millions of push ups), and shooting the breeze when we had a break. Our identities and beliefs were beginning to emerge and be sorted out. I had one friend named Mark, a good guy from Atlanta who I thought shared my rather conservative views. We were sort of buddies. I knew there were some Southerners more opposed to my anti-racist views, but not Mark - at least not around me - not so far - not yet.
The shocking news from Los Angeles was reaching us just as we were getting up around 5:00 a.m. Everybody was talking and yelling in the halls as we were scrambling to dress, make the beds for morning inspection, and get ready to "fall out" on the company street one floor below us. In a matter of minutes, there would be more pushups in the "company street", then the line for chow, then the bus ride to the flight line. Hurry up - busy busy all the way up and down the hall! And over it all I could hear Mark bellowing and howeling as he came running down the hall, "They got him, they got him!" As he reached my bedroom door, the last room before the fire escape stairway, he jumped into our room and yelled at me, "Man aren't you excited? They got another one of 'em - they shot Bobby!"
Back then I still had my terrible temper. Stunned, I lunged at him, shoved him hard by the neck up agaisnt the opposite wall, and started to yell some angry profanity in his face. But all I could do was rush to the stairway door a few feet away and out on the balcony to get sick over the second story stair rail.
Mark and I were no longer friends after that day. And I was doubly sad about all of that - the shooting - the lost friendship - the rude awakening - all of it. I was sooooo naive!
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After that date, two other guys in the class emerged as my arch nemeses. They were both from Biloxi Mississippi, and had been friends before enlisting. They picked up the hint that I was a "nigger lover" and began to go after me on every possible occasion. They loved to regale us with the most vile stories about driving past the "Nigger beach" back home on Saturday nights and throwing empty beer bottles to see if they could hit,,, you get the picture.
They would sit on the short bus ride back from the flight line in the seats right in front and behind me and yell back and forth at one another "Hey man, you see any nigger lovers on this bus?" Yea man, I see one right here!" It got so childish and annoying that some of my other buddies - who also couldn't stand them - would find ways of putting pressure back on them. Eventually, they did something to me that drove me to the only time in my life where I started a fight - with them. It lasted about 10 seconds before the rest of the guys pulled the three of us apart. But I have to confess,,,, it really felt GOOOOD!
I heard later that niether of them had come back from Viet Nam. I know I should feel some shame for this, but it didn't bother me a bit.
As you all know, I now live in the Deep South again, and in my 16 years down here, I have seen and heard some mighty scary racist stuff. I think my Dad must be rolling over in his grave at some of the stuff we are seeing and hearing today.
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