Tell me about White hostility on the march from the locals.
We had a minimum of contact with local Whites, except along the road side, they were there with their flags and spit and assorted other, ah, gestures of goodwill. Ah, the, ah, ambulance, as I say, always rode at the back and we were running low on gas so we pulled out of the line of march, ah, one afternoon. And it was no, no place, absolute flat, ah, grasslands. It wasn't even tilled. And found a gas station well ahead of the line of march, ah, but it had been boarded up and it looked like brand new boards and it was in fine, the place was in fine shape. It wasn't abandoned. And as we stopped and approached the service station we could hear signs, sounds of pounding and I knocked on the door and asked if possibly we could buy some gas. And the gentleman inside told us in no uncertain colorful terms that he would not sell us any gas. What are you going to do? What he had forgotten to do is unplug the Coke machine. Now you cannot know how valuable, when it's 105, 106, out on the pavement what that, ah, Coke machine was worth. We dug quarters up from everywhere and ran it dry. Ah, and we were very grateful to him for the privilege. Thanked him when we left, through the battered door.
OK, tell me about White hosti--local White hostility--
On this march we did not have a lot of contact with local Whites, ah, because we were on the move. They were at the roadside with their Confederate flags and spit and other kind gestures but, ah, very little contact. We did, ah, pull out of the line of march, at one point, ah, and there was just nothing around there but one service station and we needed gas so we were well ahead of the line of march. Pulled in there and the entire place had been boarded up and we still heard pounding inside. And went to the door and knocked and asked the gentleman if we could buy some gas and he told us in very specific terms, no, that he wasn't selling us anything. So, and he was still pounding in there. I guess he was barricading the door from the inside at that point. He must have been very frightened. And, what he had forgotten to do was unplug the Coke machine. Now, you've got to know in a 106 degrees, pounding the pavement, what an ice cold Coke was worth. We scrabbled around, got every quarter we could find, including going through the upholstery in the van, and, ah, bought out the Coke machine and thanked him very much for having forgotten to unplug it.