It was an unbearably hot afternoon in Sarasota, Florida in 1950. Dad had dropped us off downtown. Since my brothers were only two and three, this involved a stroller and a lot of paraphernalia. I was barely seven and thought I was grown. Mom had several bags from different stores and I was pushing Billy in the stroller. Ricky was trailing behind as he was fascinated by small town life; this wasn't New York, that was clear. Mom spotted the bus and ran to the corner, calling for us to hurry. This was exciting stuff as we had not ridden the city bus before. Mom lifted Billy out of the stroller, folded it up and pushed it up onto the bus, then herded us on. Mom was beautiful, but at the moment she was covered with sweat and her curly red hair had turned to damp frizz. She looked completely frazzled. She carried her packages to the back seat of the bus which went all the way across and set them down. Then she took the stroller and put that behind the seat in front of her. We kids sat down on the back seat, the boys fussy and whining, me thinking I was going to die from the heat. At last, Mom sat down in the middle of the long seat and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Ma'am, you can't sit there," said the bus driver.
"Why not? I need the space!" She was in no mood to be trifled with.
"The back of the bus is for the Colored. You must be from out of town."
All eyes were upon us. Mom muttered, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph." The bus driver was implacable. "You have to move, Ma'am."
"That is ridiculous. I am hot and exhausted and I am not moving. We should all sit wherever we want to"
Silence fell. The bus pulled away. Right on, Mama.
I remember taking the bus from Arlington with my grandmother to downtown Jacksonville and thinking that was the best seat on the bus and wondering why I couldn't sit there.
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