My Dad at nine.

I watched a documentary on PBS last evening about the influenza epidemic of 1918. That flu peaked in November, and Dad would have turned nine the preceding April. I recall him telling me that he was sent by his parents to take care of an uncle and aunt and their children, who all had the flu. Compared to the expectations we have today of nine-year-olds, it's hard imagine what a grown-up child he must have been.

The first Martin Luther King Day

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Day. When he was killed, I had just moved to Panama City, Florida. I had been hired to teach in the local high school. On the day of King's funeral, very few, if any, of the black kids came to school . . . when they returned to school the next day, their reason for missing was "to attend a funeral". We (the faculty) had been advised to totally avoid the subject of Martin Luther King in class (can you imagine?). I found it impossible to do. All my classes had rip-roaring discussion.

Gary told me that his company used to excuse workers for MLK Day . . . but they were really upset if any white guys didn't come to work. Again, amazing.