Let me begin by recalling an afternoon in the summer of 1955, when I was 11 years-old. I had gone to the movies in Bethesda, Maryland, and found that there was a group of picketers outside the Heiser Theater, calling on the owner to desegregate. In those days, black people had to sit in the balcony, separate from the white people sitting on the main floor, below. A neighbor was one of the picketers, so I joined in, too, having been raised to believe that character and actions, not skin color, was what differentiates people. I believed it then, and I believe it now.
