Can you tell the story about how scary it was sometimes. I'm thinking about Dotty.
Oh, after we left Greenwood, ah, we marched to Belzoni, the heart of Dixie, as they call it. We were staying in a very large old church yard next to a, a Black Baptist church, no street lights, no amenities, nothing. We couldn't even set up our tent. And, at the end of the block there was a service station owned by Whites, ah, and we had been told that across this low brick wall that separated the empty lot from the service station, that there were people with guns. But, that was nothing terribly new. We faced guns before, frequently. And, ah, so we held evening clinic. We had no lights, no street lights even, so the, ah, press gathered their cars into a semi-circle and turned on their lights so we could dress blisters and other foot wounds and, and give out aspirins and whatever. And, ah, after clinic we, ah, Dotty and I, my friend and I, decided we would sleep in the van since there was no big, ah, circus tent, and, ah, we were laying down. Everything was quiet. And all of a sudden there was noise of a 55 gallon drum that had been filled with bottles and cans being pushed over, horrendous noise, followed by a whole bunch of gunshots, at which point I looked over and my friend was on the floor dressing in a lying down position, just as fast as she could, swearing she'd never take her clothes off again in the State of Mississippi.
OK, lets stop.