Western New York Dentists' Personal Finance Symposium Western: Fill & Download for Free

Doc Holliday was a graduate of the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery which was a precursor of the University of Pennsylvania School of Dental Medicine.He was diagnosed with Tuberculosis and moved west to Arizona for the favorable climate. He became friends with the Earp family and is best known for his participation in the shootout at the OK corral.Zane Grey entered the University of Pennsylvania Dental School on a baseball scholarship. He graduated with his dental degree in 1896. He started practice in New York but was much more interested in writing Western novels. His most notable novel is "Riders Of the Purple Sage". Notice a pattern here? Most famous dentists are famous for other things.Ed. Note - The original question asked for the most famous dentist in history. The best dentist in the world is a completely different question.

1950s / 60s & Civil RightsNorfolk & the NavyI graduated high school in 1955 Milwaukee and joined the Navy. After Boot Camp and Class A Fire Control (Weapons) school in Bainbridge MD, I was stationed in Norfolk assigned to a Navy Destroyer. I soon discovered that the Bible Belt South did not live according to the Golden Rule, they had legalized racial segregation, supported enthusiastically by the Southern churches, enforced legally by the police, with violent hanging tree enforcement by the Ku Klux Klan, and they treated blacks or any non-whites ethnics terribly.Aboard ship, I had made friends with many sailors, including Blacks, and when we went to Norfolk, we would experience a totally segregated society. On the ship regardless of race we all got along fine but we could not hang together on shore. There were many Blacks living in Norfolk, and they were cordoned off into very poor areas of town. Norfolk's main downtown, 'Granby Street' and the entire city, with all of its parks and beaches, were available only for Whites. Blacks were allowed only in designated 'Colored' - run down - sections and a downtown area called 'Church Street' which actually had the character of a New York City street, colorful and full of its crazy itself. Even the rowdy East Main Street sailor Bars, known infamously throughout the world, were for Whites only. Bus stations, water fountains, hotels, taxi cabs, movie theaters, restaurants, city parks, swimming beaches, everything and everything were separated by race. The whites had all the best, the blacks - by law - all the worst. What fool invented this madness? What a sick bunch of idiots thought this one up. This can't be the USA! But it was and I would have to learn to deal with it!I didn't like the south. It was a dreary and dreadful place, segregated, filled with crazy Bible thumping haters, all Dixicrat conservative with bloody Civil Rights Battles going on. I spent my weekend liberties in Manhattan and loved the ambiance and personal freedoms. Liberty in Norfolk involved three streets - the Whites went to Granby and the World's most infamous East Main, and the Blacks went to Church Street. Norfolk has that dark dismal look of poverty and of a dismal stagnating prison about it. I didn't think anyone raised in the North would want to live here; it definitely didn't have that highly Technicolor warming appeal of the North. In the South, it was cheerless, where African Americans walk around stooped and looking depressed, as Jim Crow segregation laws and rampant racial prejudices enforced by a psychotic police force held them down.Life aboard a WW II DestroyerMy first months aboard my WW II Destroyer were a roller coaster ride. They had returned from an extended deployment from the Middle East but soon we were at sea constantly on Anti Submarine Warfare (ASW) exercises. ASW was a high, shooting the guns, was exciting too, but chasing down a submarine was the biggest "Cat and Mouse" game in town and it was fun what with the chase, the anticipation and closing in for the kill. We practiced on American submarines and were ever watchful for the Soviet subs tracking our carrier and chased them too. The gun system albeit accurate and deadly on a propeller driven aircraft, was World War II technology and it was not on Jet planes that could fire on us from outside our gun range.Like the crew of every ship afloat today, the compliment of a destroyer is a cross section of America itself. A Bosun's mate is a soda jerk from Detroit, and a machinist mate is a former factory worker from Pittsburgh and a fire control man, like me, from Milwaukee. There's a farm hand from Kansas who hadn't been more than twenty-three miles from home until he enlisted. There are Blacks from Southern cotton fields, and wheat farmers from North Dakota. There's a milkman from California and a dental student, a policeman and a nightclub operator from New York City. The destroyer life has made ex civilians real sailors. It was soon after World War II and we had many veterans on the ship. Like all other Tin Can sailors, I always thought the Cans were the best Navy duty a man could want.However, Tin Cans were a rough life, full of thrills and spills and anyone whoever rode Destroyers has earned my everlasting respect as to what navy duty is all about. One day, I was high lined to a heavy cruiser as an observer for a fire mission with the USS Iowa. Standing on the cruiser deck, I realized how tough the Destroyer sea duty was. While the cruiser was steady through the sea, my Destroyer was bucking and heaving, rising up 40 feet to the level of the carrier's flight deck and I could see the forward sonar dome on the bottom hull rise above the surface, then diving 90 feet below into the froth.There didn't seem to be much distinction between blacks and whites on the ship. It was during the Cold War and we were in it together, our guns being manned and ready by both black and white. Heck, James, the best bar room brawler I ever met, who saved my ass many times when I was on Military Police trying to break up Bar Fights in Europe, was black as the ace of spades, small but tough as a Red Oak, and scarier than a grinning Godzilla with gold teeth! Another friend of mine was a homicidal maniac dark colored Puerto Rican from Brooklyn who tipped the scales at around 5'3", had muscles in his breath and who I'm sure stayed up at night thinking of ways to dismember anyone who looked cross eyed at him and make it look like an accident. Other blacks were Cousins, he and I manned the Main Battle Gun Director together and Jack Hawkins who was the best three-inch gunner we had. We had tough blacks in Naval Infantry and when I was on desert patrol in the Persian Gulf, Eddie Duncan from Boston was my best friend and fearless war fighter, and he was a great gunner and could handle himself in hand to hand. I felt safe with him by my side.Yes, I had lots of black and brown friends while in the Navy even dated a few black girls who I met at Roseland when visiting New York City and never gave it a second thought, but I dared not admit that in the south and kept my mouth shut. There were no real racial attitudes on my ship, unless of course, you were an ignorant racist redneck looking for a dentist to replace missing teeth lost in a fight after throwing around the "N' word. Destroyer sailors got along and were ready to die for each other, well, except for those thieving scaly wags who begged off their shipboard responsibilities - black, white or any person, didn't make any difference, you were going to get your comeuppance. But when we went ashore in Norfolk on liberty we went to different sections of town as directed by Jim Crow laws. Maybe that was a good idea to keep the murder rate down when red necks harassed northern blacks and thought they could get away with it.It was like a Greek Tragedy, when a southern redneck dipshit used to bossing around passive southern blacks who were basically uneducated field hands keeping their heads down and mouths shut in the segregated south, calling them "Nigger" and having them grin and walk away, but when they tried that with a northern black from Brooklyn or Philadelphia with a "Don't Fuck With Me Retard" attitude, all hell broke lose. The northern blacks would grin too, and then proceed to change the religion of the redneck, or at least make him wear diapers for a week because a beer bottle got shoved up his ass. What did these southerners know about tough Red Dog Irish battling it out for big city territory with tough Blacks and crazy Puerto Ricans on the streets of Boston, New York and Philadelphia? My God, they were a trained militia capable of massive destruction on loud-mouthed racists. The same happened to those who called the Irish "Paddy" or Puerto Ricans "Spics." You got some recompense which usually was some violent action against your body and for sure, back on the ship, your toothbrush will find its way into a slightly used toilet to add flavor. I mean, didn't these ethnic name callers know that inner city Irish had no common sense, they loved to fight, drink and sing Irish songs (in that order).There was nothing to do in segregated Norfolk. How in the Hell can southerners live this way? Well, what they do is have private clubs, just for whites that also serve booze and have bands and dance floors. What was available for sailors was East Main Street and I know you heard this one before - "Most have the vice and inappropriate conduct in the Western Hemisphere was invented on East Main. When East Main was in full swing, all the breweries on the east coast worked three shifts… It raised the standard for hellholes. The world's infamous section of East Main Street was only (maybe less) three blocks long and lined with Bars on both sides of the street with names such as "Virginian," "Golden Palomino," "Rathskeller's," "Ship Ahoy," "Paddock Lounge," "Red Rooster" and etc. The Bars served only 25-cent lean draft beer.If a Bluejacket's couldn't find it on East Main, it had to involve gay penguins or nympho sea turtles.' Our typical liberty usually wound up on East Main Street. It was famous throughout the world, they wrote books about it and you could find every sin covered in every religion in the world, all in three or four blocks. The place was a veritable Kasbahs of Carnal Delight. The place was so bad; it didn't even register a blip on the Morale Richter Scale. East Main was right up there with Sodom and Gomorrah. It was the 'Black Hole of Calcutta' and the lowest level of the largest outhouse ever built. East Main was the K-Mart of whoredom. If you had twenty bucks and you couldn't satisfy any particular lust desire you were hauling down there, you had to be into something involving baby ducks and penguins.East Main was a five-star hell whole where you could buy passion in fifteen-minute increments from women whose panties went up and down like a tin can's signal flags, where you could drink cheap beer and pee in the street. Fleet sailors warned us recruits that sooner or later, we would be rolled on East Main Street. Just hope that she was kind enough to stick your ID and liberty card in your sock before she vanished with what was left of seventy bucks and your wallet? If Guinness had a record for the sleaziest bars per square inch, it would read. 'East Main, Norfolk'. They sold enough draft beer on a Saturday night to fill the New London diving tank, and most of it got pissed away in the adjacent alleys on the way to the bus stop up on Granby Street. While on East Main Street, it would often be our goal to drink a few beers at each bar, starting at the upper end of one side of the street, and drink our way down the street, then come up the other side. Needless to say I never successfully accomplished this goal. As a young man not used to alcohol, even though the beer was lean reduced to 3 per cent alcohol, I would get drunk before the round robin tour ended and wind up puking my guts out in an alley.After drinking ourselves silly on East Main Street, we were ready for some coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs. A [White only] Christian Mission offered these amenities if we would listen to their "save my soul," preaching first. One time we tried this and listened to well mannered young men try to convert us to being 'Born Again' with sweet talk and using words like "anointed." But it was for Whites only; anyone one else was going to Hell. I thought - Christians, Huh? To this day whenever I hear that "ANOINTED" word I get a nauseous chill up my backbone! The bus ride back varied in quality depending on the time you left, a late return meant ridding with a large group of sailors in various states of drunkenness with random puking. If you missed the last bus back to NOB which left around 2:00 A.M.We had the NOB Gym at our disposal and I as a fitness freak I went there often to work out. I met James at the NOB naval base gym working out; he was a small diminutive Black man muscled all to the core of his 150-pound frame, but he could do 250lb. presses like they were just ten pounds. If the gym had heavier weights, I bet he could do 300 pounds plus. I had done a little Golden Gloves and James was the best fighter I had ever met. I watched him before he gets into a sparing fight he stands there with his hands on his hips calmly observing, looking for what the opposition has to offer. I had expected somebody bigger and, frankly, more chiseled a square chin and all and machine-like, like those Hollywood charactures of tough men, but James looks remarkably ordinary and I sure didn't expect a Black man in this segregated South to be the best fighter around either. James was a killer, or he could be, but he played Mr. Nice Guy. One time at the base enlisted club we were lifting weights and he took his shirt off and all we saw were rippling muscles beneath his ebony Blacks skin. He was bench pressing more than 350 pounds and jerking 400 pounds.He had muscles and fast hands and must have been professionally trained in the sweet art of boxing. One of the Rednecks, who had been saying nasty things about Negroes, stopped and shut his mouth when he saw James, but we wished James had shut it with a right cross. James seemed to be passive and willing to take a lot of racial crap from racist Whites, something I would never have stood for, but I didn't really know what it was like to be Black in the South, where you got absolutely no protection from the police who would send you to long terms in jail no matter how justified you were in defending yourself against attacks from White racists.James is the Redneck's worst nightmare, as he can easily tear a new ass hole into men twice his size and with multiple assailants at the same time. Of medium height and build, he has an open, friendly face with laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and mouth and he looks "Nice and Friendly" When he walks over cat like, to say hello it's with a slight swagger that strikes me as distinctly military and damned dangerous. He smiles brightly as he introduces himself. I made sure to be friend him and little did I know then that I would meet him all over the Mediterranean saving my ass in bar fights. James became my friend and we had a symbiotic relationship, he rescued me from some real bad bar fights. He was one hellish street fighter and rescued me a couple of times when I was on Shore Patrol trying to break up a bar fight.We spent every week at sea. I myself was a cross between a good ole boy southern Red Neck and Classical liberal. I loved guns, hunting, and horses and was also classical music and was a Leonard Bernstein fan and loved his Broadway style music. In fact on my trips to NYC I went to lots of Broadway plays including his West Side Story. When we pulled along side another ship at sea for refueling, the music blared from their and ours speakers. It was usually some country - western thing but I liked the tempo of John Phillips Sousa march. I set our speakers to play John Phillips Sousa marching tunes followed by some hip Johnny Cash country music. When we refueled from a carrier, the Carrier's Marine Band stood in the lowered hanger deck and played tunes such as "Come to Papa Do" and the Marine Corps hymn. But we had speakers too, and on one occasion, we responded by playing the Army Air Corps song. What I really liked to do was educate sailors to some of the good stuff, so I set up a record player with classical music, Brahms, Bach, Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven, Lizt, and my favorite, Tchaikovsky in the IC room, and played my classical music to large audiences from the mostly Southern crew, who never heard anything but shit kicking music. I even got the IC men to hook up and play my classical music on our ship's loudspeaker system when we went along side another ship for refueling. Believe it or not, it was always well received.In my early Navy days in Norfolk, when I didn't have a car or a ride for weekend liberty, I would take a Trailways interstate bus to New York City. When the bus stopped for bathroom or food in the South, we left the bus and parted company into separate racial facilities, but when in the North we shared all facilities together. If you were pissed off at Jim Crow and thwarted the segregationist pattern, like entering a "colored" rest room, you could be arrested and put in the local jails, where you would be treated horribly, being crammed into tiny, filthy cells and fed salt without water and sporadically beaten. In the South, the police didn't take kindly to whites that sympathized with the blacks. On one trip I met Mary Thomson, a young pretty Black girl who lived in Manhattan, and we became good friends. She was very smart and had a great personality and I wished I could date her when she visited her parents in Norfolk, but as things are in the South, I knew that was impossible. We could only breathe the fresh air of freedom when we crossed the Mason - Dixon Line.Once in the City, I would get a room at the YMCA in Times Square and explore the city, hitting the bars and night clubs like the Latin Quarter or Copocabana and the mid town dance emporiums, all places racially and ethnically integrated with beautiful women looking for hungry sailors. One of our favorite places was the Roseland Ball Room on 52nd Street. They used professional orchestras playing every kind of ball room music and even dance clubs from Harlem came down to jitterbug and swing dance with us. Sometimes I stayed at the decrepit and worn out Lincoln Hotel on Eighth Avenue and 44th Street. It was full of retired actors and musicians riding our last days sitting in the lobby and commiserating about the good-ole-days. It was perfect for sailors looking for a cheap room on weekend liberty in the Big Apple. We ate at Greek Diners most of the time, there was almost a classic quality to the New York diner experience - singing musicians/waitresses en all - and they are all over the City offering burgers, eggs and full meals at cheap prices. They all feature all-day breakfast specials, steaks, pork chops, southern fried chicken and of course, a bottomless cup of coffee, the real surprise about the menu here is that they offer every demographic - Jewish, Italian, Irish and everything else under the sun, including enormous desserts, all baked fresh on the premises daily.I loved Greenwich Village where folk music blossomed, where clubs and coffee houses showcased singers like Pete Seeger and Odetta and nurtured a generation of newcomers, including Bob Dylan, Judy Collins and Peter, Paul and Mary. Two of the most exciting American movements were calling Greenwich Village their home, the Abstract Expressionists, and the New York School of Poets was sharing the same bars, restaurants, and lofts. In the fifties, the most popular places were ice cream parlors, pizza parlors, drive-ins, bowling alleys, coffee houses and record shops. Pre-marital sex was considered sinful. "Going steady" was a stage young people took only if they were seriously on the path to marriage. Virginity was still a virtue in the fifties; and sailors on the prowl had to behave themselves. I loved the 1950's in New York City. I got to see the original West Side Story on Broadway and had coffee with the beatniks in Greenwich Village who read poetry out loud to jazz.At 20 years of age I had become a motorcycle bum. There were several Harley Motor Cycle Clubs in our Destroyer Squadron and I was invited to ride with them. I rode with my buddy as a passenger on his Road King for the next year before deciding I wanted the view from the front seat. There was a biker bar south of Portsmouth, called El Chico's that a bunch of us would frequent. A lot of the ragged civilians who drank there were members of the "Outlaws" motorcycle gang and some were real animals. My ride thru the El Chico's was one of my more exciting memories. Miss Vicky, one of better looking "Big Mama's" was tending bar that fateful day. It was a Saturday afternoon, warm and humid, and kind of quiet. Suddenly a first class Torpedoman told me, "You don't have a wild hair on your ass until you have ridden a bike thru a bar." It was a crowded place and like I said a lot of them were my shipmates. I burned rubber going out the door and left a 5-foot skid mark that lasted for a long time. I went sideways across the sidewalk into the street and zipped around to the bike parking area. The gate Marines later said it was a sight to see, one big red Harley come sideways out the door, rear wheel burning rubber, and a drunken sailor hanging on for dear life.We completed our shipyard duty and went to sea for shakedown. It was Friday evening, we had just come back from two weeks at sea checking out our weapon systems and conducting vigorous anti submarine war games, found the Soviets trying to interdict our battle group with their attack submarines, chased them across the Atlantic, suffered through never-ending General Quarters in cramped battle stations, through cold and rough 30 foot seas, were tired and salty, and now we were back in Norfolk at the D & S Piers. I had weekend liberty and was driving to New York City, and was loading my Cadillac up with sailors going in my direction. I had my "New York City" sign on my window and got a few and drove up Hampton Blvd. to Willoughby Spit, a peninsula at the end of Ocean View that operated a ferry service. This was also home to the 1690 foot long Ocean View Fishing Pier, which is the longest pier in North America. The main ferry route ran between terminals at the end of Hampton Boulevard near the Naval Base in Norfolk to what is now the small boat harbor near downtown Newport News.The ferry ride took half an hour each way and cost $1.25, plus an additional 20 cents for each passenger. The total daily traffic between the two locations averaged only about 2,500 vehicles. We waited in line as the cars lined up and finally boarded the S.S. Princess Anne Ferryboat. I found more sailors on the ferry and my Cadillac was loaded with five passengers all going to Time Square in Manhattan. We got off the ferry, picked up Route 17 through Virginia, Route 301 through Delaware, Route 40 through Maryland, then across the Delaware Memorial Bridge and onto the New Jersey Turnpike which was a 100 mile fast drive to the Lincoln Tunnel and Manhattan Times Square where I would drop everyone off. We stopped on a RT. 40 diner for a bathroom break and some food. The waitress came over and said they could serve the White sailors but not the Negroes sailors in our group.We were dumbfounded! Maryland was supposed to be north enough that you didn't have to worry about this crap, but Maryland was actually south of the Mason Dixon line, albeit a border state. I asked to speak with the manager and said something about sailors fighting for your country shouldn't have to go through this treatment.The manager enjoyed our disgust with him as he sneered and said smirking, no "Niggers" would be served. This incident was obvious to the other diner patrons who were looking at our discomfort, with approving grins on their faces and I heard those muttering things about Niggers knowing their place.I stood up and he put his hands on me. Well, I mean to tell you, we blew a shit fit. With a strong overhand right, I popped the manger in the face, broke his nose and definitely knocked out some front teeth whereupon he fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I tipped over the table, threw the chairs, and invited anyone else in the diner to stand up and get theirs. Now they weren't smiling but running scared. Bunch of cowardly bastards! We tore the place up! Those fucking God Dam Red Necks, we could have killed every one of them. Thinking the State Troopers would be on their way by now, we jumped into the car, sped onto the high way, and shouted "New York here we come." One thing you could say about New York, nothing like Southern segregation was practiced there. Not those Blacks didn't have a hard time anywhere they went, but in the South it was so blatant and cruel and enforced by the police. The lowest White Trash scum relished in giving Blacks a hard time knowing they would get away with it; this Redneck scum reminded me of the Waffen SS Nazis in Hitler's Germany. I bruised my hand hitting that racist fucker in the mouth . . . Next time I will use my marshal arts training, an open hand and use the heel into the nose.I was 5'11? 150 lbs in great shape and was trained in boxing, street fighting and some martial arts. I had been in lots of fights and always did well; actually I kind of like them. My Shore Patrol and Military Police duties had got me involved in plenty of bar fights and some very severe street fights with communists who were trying to kill me. You wouldn't think a skinny guy like would be so ferocious.I was at sea for 3 years fighting the Russians and sailing into more than 40 ports in the USA, Caribbean, Europe Mediterranean, Middle East, and the Persian Gulf. Once we pulled into Miami and I had two disturbing racial incidents. The first, in Miami Beach, was when a bus stopped right in front of me. I stepped aside and let an elderly colored (that was the term for black people at the time) woman gets on before me. The bus driver made the woman and me get off so I could get on first. The second was in Norfolk when I got on a bus gone to the back where there were plenty of seats. The driver came back and told me the buss would not move until I got into the white section where I had to stand because it was full. Southern trash! I hated these people and their bigotry.Norfolk & IBMI saw an add from IBM looking for an engineer in Norfolk's Star Leger newspaper and said "What the Hell? I interviewed, took dozens of aptitude, electronic, mechanical and IQ tests, which placed me they said in the top ½ of 1 per cent of all IBM employees - I had a 135 IQ. IBM offered me a job as a Main Frame Engineer. They had interviewed more than 250 candidates and picked me. Over the next seven years I spent 3 1/2 years in IBM school in Upstate NY and gained a reputation I could fix anything, angry customers or broke computers. During this time I got involved in Democratic politics, advocated liberal social causes, did voter registration for Jack Kennedy and met him in 1960 when he visited Granby High School in Norfolk on a presidential campaign visit and again when he visited the Norfolk Naval Base in 1962. I was promoted into Product Support and went on many assignments around the USA and taught various computer courses at IBM’s educational centers in downtown Washington, D.C. and Mid Town Manhattan. I was doing well with IBM and going to advance mainframe schools as new technology came out. I supported special events like the CBS Presidential Election, Kentucky Derby, Disney World and Cape Canaveral rocker shoots.I wound up sympathizing and getting involved in the Civil Rights movement, which caused great consternation among my friends at work, neighborhood, and church. I also became active with the Jr. Chamber of Commerce, Volunteer Fire Department, Masons, and hung out with the ‘Good Ole Boys’ deer hunting in Dismal Swamp and fishing on Chesapeake Bay. Although very successful at IBM, having won many awards, going on coveted special assignments and attending years of advanced IBM Main Frame training, I was never really happy with an organization that tried to mold your soul to their image of a Dudley Do Right good guy.If you loved IBM, sold them your soul and sang their Whip' in Poof songs, IBM loved you back. What IBM did not appreciate were strong individuals or energetic personalities and they hated renegades, entrepreneurs, and nonconformist . . . like me!I really loved my job albeit I had to fight the War of Northern Aggression a.k.a. Civil War all over again while I was in the south. With my manner speaking, it was no trouble for these racist Southerners to see I was from the North and they took special glee in baiting me, trying to provoke a reaction that would get me in trouble with my IBM bosses. With much diplomatic trepidation, I kept my mouth shut and did not make any comments they could take offense at, like their attitudes toward Blacks and race separation. Otherwise, I would have had massive amounts of grief from the ever-present racist red necks. Many of my assignments were in the north, particularly New York City, and race issues never came up.What you would notice as one traveled the South was the terrible condition of the Black people, being separated from White by legalized and police enforced racial segregation and treated like dirt. Blacks didn't have good jobs and didn’t live in nice neighborhoods and you only saw them working in the lowest form of jobs as labors, dishwashers, and street cleaners. When you went downtown, they were not allowed to work in the department stores or banks; all those jobs were reserved for Whites. No matter what education a Black person had, they couldn't get a good job, they would have to travel north for good employment and for any respect. Even the Black Doctors and Lawyers professional class lived so far outside town in the country they couldn’t be accused of spoiling a White neighborhood.When I moved to Virginia I hunted in Dismal Swamp; the Great Dismal Swamp in Virginia / North Carolina and Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia (the biggest swamp in the USA), were both full of escaped slaves. Today’s inhabitants were descendants of escaped slaves and convicts, renegades, Indians, and those who wanted to be free away from white mans’ civilization. Today the swamp is filled with semi toothless, grinning, bib overall, gun toting, guitar playing, alcohol crazed swamp rats who raise pigs and corn stills on small farms on little islands living in tin roofed shacks with outdoor water hand pumps and two seat shit houses. They don’t have money and use the barter system, use mules and horses, have no vehicles, usually have at least six kids and get their hard stores from the General Store out on the highway. We got to them by Jeep and trekking. They have excellent swamp survival and bootlegging skills and take absolutely no shit from outsiders. Rule number one in the swamp is “Be Polite.” No AND” talk or disparaging remarks ever allowed. Rule number two is get permission. Rule number three is learning what the word “Respect” means. Or pay! In the hot, humid, fetid snake filled swamp water, where insects rule and are as big as you fist, where flesh eating swamp critters are everywhere and shot gun blasts are heard only for a few feet and disregarded. A disrespecting body will decompose into nothing, bones en all, in less than a week. In North Carolina there were hungry alligators too.We had a Black girl named Hattie Jackson working as a secretary in our IBM office. She was exceptionably beautiful and smart, but she had to live in the poor black section of town in terrible conditions because Blacks weren't allowed to live when their salary dictated they could afford better housing. Two of the accounts I took care of for IBM were the City Halls of Norfolk and Portsmouth. I listened constantly to the politicos on how they schemed to keep the Black man down. There was a Poll Tax and rigged tests you had to pass to vote. It asked impossible questions to ensure Blacks could not pass it. Of course if you were White, you automatically passed it, really didn’t have to take it. Unless you were a white racist, it was impossible to get elected in the South, as the populace feared racial integration and social modernity more than the plague. I thought most White Southerners were stupid and racist and I disliked racist types immensely.I belonged to the Sweet Haven Baptist church pastored by Reverend Wyatt and what a God-fearing, Bible-toting, sugary-sweet and loving bunch of racists most of them were, including Reverend Wyatt himself who was the worst racist of all, and a Baptist Pastor at that. They were all bible thumping died in the wool segregationists and hid behind the scriptures for the worst sins man perpetuated on another man. I heard all about Negroes was this; the Jews that, Yankees were worse for trying to change the South, and even the Catholics had special nasty names. Bible thumping - sweet scripture talking - bigots, it was a very hateful society. Again, I paid little attention to all these horrible attitudes.My Mid Western family all belonged to the Masons and I joined the Portsmouth chapter and did my various catechisms to become a Master Member. But my chapter didn't accept blacks, they said Black people weren't considered free born, but were slaves in the USA or had a slave history, so they didn't meet the free born requirement for membership in the Masons. Blacks joined their version of the Masons called the Prince Hall organization. I couldn't believe such stupidity and reminded them that in the ancient world, the whites were slaves to the Greeks and Romans. They didn't know what I was talking about. It was like I was in a different world of full of organized and accepted prejudice. During these formative years, I was involved in the Civil Rights struggle for Blacks and was disgusted with these ignorant views. I refused to be part of an organization that discriminated like that.It's wonder how small little happenings in ones life can endure major changes, but a good example was my learning how to rebuild car engines. I had this old 1948 Plymouth whose engine had conked out and I was going to try to rebuild it, learning as I went. I figured, "What could I lose, the car was junk anyway." I had the head off and was trying to get the pistons out and was over at the local Car Parts dealer getting some tools and asking for advice. Another customer standing there, a Black man, offered some expert advice, in fact he came to my house, but as was the custom for Black people coming to a White person's house, came to the back door. ("What" I thought) I learned that he was a Baptist preacher in Churchland living in a shanty town off of Route 17, which was not too far from my house on Hatton Point Road. I will tell you this that man knew his cars! That was the beginning of a relationship with him where I took him as my mentor in learning about car engine repair.One day I am at his shanty house getting some advice and sitting at his kitchen table having a cup of coffee. He asked me if I could take his teenage daughter to the grocery store to pick up something and I said sure. She got in the front seat and off we went it was only just around the corner at a shopping center on Route 17 in Churchland. As I pulled onto a highway, a State Trooper pulled us over. With his pot belly and strong Southern Accent, he said, "What are you doing with this Neegra woman in your front seat?" I explained I was taking her to the grocery store. "Boy, don't you know that you never ride a Neegra woman in your front seat, looks like your taking her out, and you know that is illegal in Virginia." "By the way, you talk funny, are you a god-damned Yankee?" This went on and finally he let me go after the girl got in the back seat. Do I have to tell you how I felt?The stores along Granby in Norfolk and High Street in Portsmouth, specifically, their lunch counters and the city itself was the site of a battle that also played out in dozens of other cities in the South. They were segregated and Blacks were forbidden to sit at 'White only' lunch counters. The fight pitted black college students and a few of their white peers against the city's white power structure and its downtown merchants over the right to sit down and eat lunch. One day I was going to service a Bank Proof machine on Portsmouth's High Streets second floor bank. I walked up to the entrance, which was right next to the Woolworth entrance. There was a sit-in going on and the Police Vans came with their dogs and started beating the demonstrators. I was standing there in my blue IBM pin stripe and they set the dogs on me and beat me with their batons. I was tossed into the van and pushed to the back, all the while being called 'Nigger Lover." Eventually I was sorted out as an innocent bystander and set free. It was that day I became an activist for civil rights.I joined the Portsmouth Jr. Chamber of Commerce and became quite active. There were many worthwhile causes we participated in. Meetings were held once a month and were accompanied with famous speakers. Being a Military town, many of these speakers were Admirals, but many were local politicians who openly advocated segregation in the face of the Civil Rights movement being conducted at the time. I associated with all the local politicos and military types. I got involved in many projects, like distributing Bubble Gum Machines throughout Portsmouth. The Chamber sponsored the local Miss America beauty pageant, which afforded me the opportunity to participate in several Miss America Pageants as a Judge and organizer. We had a meeting to discuss what we were looking for, young women with poise, looks and talent. So, what I was supposed to do was audition perspective candidates and sends them on. There were several ladies I interviewed, one was black and really had the talent and personality and figure.Then the organizers chewed me out - didn't I know that Ms America was for white women only? Those fucking racists really pissed me off - I had to tell the black girl she didn't qualify for the contest because she was black. I will never get used to southern racism. One time I made speech on an HUD project being considered for downtown Portsmouth on Effingham Street outside the Naval Hospital, which was nothing but shacks inhabited by poor Black people. Whites were against raising this ghetto and replacing it with decent housing because they did not want conditions for Blacks to improve. I was for the project and was threatened with a ride out of town and a beating by the Ku Klux Klan. I invited them to try it now and I was prepared to beat the Holy loving shit out of them on the spot but they declined and left saying they knew where I lived. I started packing my 25-caliber automatic or P38 then. “Fucking Southern White trash cowards!The March on WashingtonI was teaching peripheral course in IBM’s Washington, D.C. education center on August 28, 1963, when over a quarter‑million people—about two‑thirds black and one‑third white—held the greatest civil rights demonstration ever held and Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his iconic “I Have a Dream” oration. And just blocks away, President Kennedy and Congress skirmished over landmark civil rights legislation. I skipped classes to attend the event and since I left early, found a spot on the Washington Mall close to the speakers stand. Hundreds of thousands of demonstrators walked down Constitution Avenue during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. The March on Washington represented a coalition of several civil rights organizations, all of which generally had different approaches and different agendas. The stated demands of the march were the passage of meaningful civil rights legislation; the elimination of racial segregation in public schools; protection for demonstrators against police brutality; a major public‑works program to provide jobs; the passage of a law prohibiting racial discrimination in public and private hiring; a $2 an hour minimum wage; and self‑government for the District of Columbia, which had a black majority. Nobody was sure how many people would turn up for the demonstration in Washington, D.C. Some traveling from the South were harassed and threatened. But an estimated quarter of a million people—about a quarter of whom were white—marched from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial, in what turned out to be both a protest and a communal celebration. The heavy police presence turned out to be unnecessary, as the march was noted for its civility and peacefulness. The media, with live international television coverage, extensively covered the march. On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, King evoked the name of Lincoln in his "I Have a Dream" speech, which is credited with mobilizing supporters of desegregation and prompted the 1964 Civil Rights Act. The next year, King was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.Jim Crow – Mississippi StyleThe American Civil Rights Movement in the late 1950s and 1960s represents a pivotal event in world history. The positive changes it brought to voting and civil rights continue to be felt throughout the United States and much of the world. Although this struggle for black equality was fought on hundreds of different “battlefields” throughout the United States, many observers at the time described the state of Mississippi as the most racist and violent. In 1955, Reverend George Lee, vice president of the Regional Council of Negro Leadership and NAACP worker, was shot in the face and killed for urging blacks in the Mississippi Delta to vote. Although eyewitnesses saw a carload of whites drive by and shoot into Lee's automobile, the authorities failed to charge anyone. Governor Hugh White refused requests to send investigators to Belzoni, Mississippi, where the murder occurred. In August 1955, Lamar Smith, sixty-three-year-old farmer and World War II veteran, was shot in cold blood on the crowded courthouse lawn in Brookhaven, Mississippi, for urging blacks to vote. Although the sheriff saw a white man leaving the scene 'with blood all over him' no one admitted to having witnessed the shooting” and “the killer went free. Mississippi's lawmakers, law enforcement officers, public officials, and private citizens worked long and hard to maintain the segregated way of life that had dominated the state since the end of the Civil War in 1865.The method that ensured segregation persisted was the use and threat of violence against people who sought to end it. On September 25, 1961, farmer Herbert Lee was shot and killed in Liberty, Mississippi, by E.H. Hurst, a member of the Mississippi State Legislature. Hurst murdered Lee because of his participation in the voter registration campaign sweeping through southwest Mississippi. Authorities never charged him with the crime. A coroner's jury, held in a room full of armed white men, the same day as the killing, acquitted Hurst. Hurst never spent a night in jail.” Rifle wielding white Citizens Council member Byron De La Beckwith from Greenwood, Mississippi gunned down NAACP State Director Medgar Evers in 1963 in his Jackson driveway. Perhaps the most notable episode of violence came in Freedom Summer of 1964, when civil rights activists James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Scherer left their base in Meridian, Mississippi, to investigate one of a number of church burnings in the eastern part of the state. The Ku Klux Klan had burned Mount Zion Church because the minister had allowed it to be used as a meeting place for civil rights activists. After the three young men had gone into Neshoba County to investigate, they were subsequently stopped and arrested by Neshoba County Deputy Sheriff Cecil Price. After several hours, Price finally released them only to arrest them again shortly after 10 p.m. He then turned the civil rights workers over to his fellow Klansmen. The group took the activists to a remote area, beat them, and then shot them to death. Dittmer suggests that because Scherer and Goodman were white the federal government responded by establishing an FBI office in Jackson and calling out the Mississippi National Guard and U. S. Navy to help search for the three men. Of course this was the response the Freedom Summer organizers had hoped for when they asked for white volunteers.BirminghamCivil Rights were afoot and then came along Martin Luther King, Jr., a Baptist minister, who was a driving force in the push for racial equality in the 1950's and the 1960's. In 1963, King and his staff focused on Birmingham, Alabama. They marched and protested nonviolently, raising the ire of local officials who sicced water cannon and police dogs on the marchers, whose ranks included teenagers and children. The bad publicity and breakdown of business forced the white leaders of Birmingham to concede to some anti segregation demands. King adhered to Gandhi's philosophy of nonviolence. In 1955 he began his struggle to persuade the US Government to declare the policy of racial discrimination in the southern states unlawful. The racists responded with violence to the black people's nonviolent initiatives. Martin Luther King dreamed that all inhabitants of the United States would be judged by their personal qualities and not by the color of their skin. In April 1968 a white racist murdered him. Four years earlier, he had received the Noble Peace Prize for his nonviolent campaign against racism. The battle lines are drawn in Birmingham, Alabama, that was, in 1960, "probably the most thoroughly segregated city in the United States." Although the city's population of almost 350,000 was 60% white and 40% black, Birmingham (as most southern cities) had no black police officers, firefighters, and sales clerks in department stores, bus drivers, bank tellers, or store cashiers. Black secretaries could not work for white professionals. Jobs available to blacks were limited to manual labor in Birmingham's steel mills, work in household service and yard maintenance, or work in black neighborhoods. When layoffs were necessary, black employees were the first to go. The unemployment rate for blacks was two and a half times higher than for whites. The average income for blacks in the city was less than half that of whites. Significantly lower pay scales for black workers at the local steel mills were common. Racial segregation of public and commercial facilities throughout Jefferson County was legally required, covered all aspects of life, and was rigidly enforced. Only 10 percent of the city's black population was registered to vote in 1960. The Civil Rights plan called for direct nonviolent action to attract media attention to "the biggest and baddest city of the South," with a variety of nonviolent methods of confrontation, including sit-ins at libraries and lunch counters, kneel‑ins by black visitors at white churches, and a march to the county building to mark the beginning of a voter‑registration drive. Most businesses responded by refusing to serve demonstrators. Some white spectators at a sit‑in at a Woolworth's lunch counter spat upon the participants. A few hundred protesters, including jazz musician Al Hibbler, were arrested, although Connor immediately released Hibbler. President John F. Kennedy later said of him, "The Civil Rights movement should thank God for Bull Connor. He's helped it as much as Abraham Lincoln."My Personal Issues with SegregationI met Bettie (my wife) in 1967 while teaching a computer course in Stamford, Connecticut. At Audio Tape. Bettie walked into my class with this red skirt and the biggest smile, grinning ear-to-ear, and swishing in like a Hollywood debutante on the Red Carpet. When she smiled at me my heart went pitter pat and a huge chemical reaction occurred within me and she took me by storm with her looks, appearance, personality, and obvious sexiness. Bettie obsessed me and every day I went out of my way to talk to her. I wanted to see Bettie and prayed she would call. In fact, when she called, I was praying, Bettie, please call now. Just then the phone rang and it was Bettie. I asked her to come over to my room. When she got there, I immediately hugged and kissed her and it was the most beautiful experience of my whole life. We immediately fell into a passionate and loving relationship and saw each other whenever we could, which were very often. I would make special trips to Stamford to see Bettie and we would meet in New York City. While in Washington, D.C. My baby was the love of my life! Bettie and I have been together ever since we met.Later, along with a retired Navy man from Florida, I went to 6600 schools in Minneapolis for 8 months. . Jim was a real hateful segregationist who never stopped ragging me about my personal relationships with black people. He never stopped calling black people “Niggers” but I remained clam in his presence. So many Southerners I met were haters and racists, and I avoided them like the plague. This 6600 school was quite a feather in my cap as many of the instructors wanted this assignment because it was the latest technology and would guarantee a great future with Control Data. I was chosen because of the course development and creative writing I had already done. I also had written several training manuals that were published throughout Control Data. The 6000 series of computers were then the largest and fastest computer in the world and designed by Seymour Cray who was the foremost computer designer in the world.One day, JD Bronson, one of the other instructors from Virginia, an avid segregationist and first class bigot of blacks, Jews, and Hispanics, made some very nasty comments about Bettie, my girl [later my wife], pointed his finger at me, said I was a “Nigger Lover” and called Bettie that “black Nigger bitch” and dared me to do something about it. I almost killed him then! I knew just how I was going to do it too with a hand strike to his throat and then watch him suffocate on his own blood. But sanity won and I just turned away from him and stormed away afraid for what I was about to do. I was exploding with anger and was capable of violent actions against Southern segregationists.Control Data was opening a new School in Manhattan and they offered me the job of Main Frame instructor and I jumped at it. Living in the south was a losing battle for me and I went gladly to my Shangrila. New York in 1968. The moving truck came, packed me up and I transferred to Manhattan the same day Martin Luther King was assassinated. The King assassination riots, also known as the Holy Week Uprising, was a wave of civil disturbance which swept the United States were the greatest wave of social unrest the United States experienced since the Civil War. His death led some people to feel angry and disillusioned, as though now only violent resistance to white racism could be effective. Mrs. King, my next-door neighbor and the black couple told me later downstairs from me, that black rioters broke into my apartment looking for an easy kill, but that morning I had left for New York. What luck on my side . . . but the whole area was torn down, Burned, and all stores broken into and cleaned out. I left Washington and drove to Manhattan and got a room in the Holiday Inn. Bettie came to see me often, she was my love and I missed every minute away from her . . .Life was good! I was in heaven! I was in Manhattan teaching Grad School in Greenwich Village.P.S. The south has changed and no longer suffers those old racism ways.