![]() Simple courtesies like "please" and "thank you" were over. No more non-violence or standing on the front lines quietly while we were being beaten. Angry young black men in sleek black leather jackets and berets had sent out a call from the distant shores of Oakland, Calif. In the '70s: beat-up jeans, hair like a nappy halo and my clenched fist raised, I stood on the downtown street shouting. I believed that, even though I was scared, I had to be brave and stand up for my rights. I could no longer be "colored." We were Negroes now, marching in the streets for our freedom - at least, that's what the preacher said. It showed children just like me going to school passing through throngs of screaming, angry folks, chanting words I wasn't allowed to say. We got our first television in the '60s and it brought into my living room the German shepherds, snapping at a young girl's heels. What you got to do is be the best that you can be." ![]() ![]() When I asked Mama why this was so, she smiled and said, "Baby, people do what they do. It was the '50s, I was "colored" and this is what I believed: My place was in the balcony of the downtown theater, the back of the bus and the back steps of the White Dove Barbecue Emporium. ![]() Standing in the rain waiting to go up the steps to the balcony of the Grand Theater I gripped Mama's hand and watched the little blond kids enter the lobby downstairs. When she retires, she hopes to pursue her first passion, writing. She spends about half her working hours in her car covering her territory around Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas. Phyllis Allen has sold Yellow Pages advertising for 15 years. ![]()
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