The Lion's Pride Volume 10 (Spring 2018) | Page 14

separated blacks from whites hurt. But what hurt the most was that I had
let this go on for so long. Contrary to popular belief, I was neither afraid
nor regretful of what I had just done. There was a profound sense of
gratification that radiated outwardly… so much so, that it showed. The
officer took each of my fingers, dipped them in ink and stamped my
fingers across a manila card. As I watched him I felt a subtle grin take
over my lips. It was the moment I realized that not giving up my seat to
a white man was not wrong but in fact an appropriate action that brought
racial segregation one step closer to its demise.
It was December of 1955 when I was arrested for disorderly conduct.
I was a seamstress at the Montgomery department store and my neck
was a little sore from stooping over to focus on the sewing machines’
needle. I was a bit more tired than usual. I stored away my sewing tools,
grabbed my coat and purse from the coat rack, punched out, and headed
toward the bus stop in the cold afternoon. Once on the bus, I headed for
the last available seat in the back. As the bus was in motion, I looked out
the window, wondering if Montgomery would have a white Christmas.
Although snow was not common in Alabama, I couldn’t help but hope
for a little sprinkle of it for the holidays. My thoughts were interrupted
as a white man boarded the bus. I noticed him making eye contact with
the bus driver. I turned away, ignoring them for a brief moment when I
felt a presence before me… it was the driver, James F. Blake. He wasn’t
the friendliest of people. A few months prior, I waited at the bus stop