It was a long time ago–perhaps the late 1960’s or early 1970’s.
It was the wrong time, the wrong place and the wrong evening to be holding a pair of tickets to a Steppenwolf concert.
I attended college in the deep south in the mid-1960’s. In itself, there’s nothing strange about that. The problem was that I was from Upstate New York—I was a Yank. Keep in mind that the march in Selma had taken place only a few months before my arrival. The Freedom Riders (northern agitators) were a recent memory. The first view I had of my college town was that of a KKK member (in full pointed cap and gown) directing traffic to a rally. I found out soon that the 100 years since the end of the Civil War was like yesterday to many of my classmates.
I was looked upon with suspicion because I was…
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