In the late 1960’s the news was filled with stories of the Freedom Riders and the restaurant sit-ins. I saw people who looked like me behaving in ways that made me weep with shame.
When we open the door, the room is dark. We flick on the lights and confront an empty room, chairs stacked and lined up one next to the other along the walls. One solitary heavy wooden table sits in the far corner waiting to see who would come and utilize its service.
At a distance of 40 years, with all my papers on Attica sent to Friends Historical Society, and with most of the outsiders involved in Attica in the late 1970s and early 80s having died, this account may have things out of order and things omitted. But here are some of my memories.
