IT WAS MID-MARCH 1965 WHEN A “FREEDOM BUS” pushed off the wall of Fort Canisius. I had to be on that bus and I didn’t know why. I didn’t weigh the pros and cons, follow advice, join the crowd, respond to rhetoric or consider the risks. I simply did what I could to get aboard. Success! Four days down and back, a quick trip that lasted a lifetime. We got off the bus in Birmingham near a church. It was a handsome church that would have looked in place anywhere back home. But this was not back home. This was a church in Birmingham where churches could be blown to pieces and little girls murdered. We then bused out of Birmingham and headed for Selma. Over the next hour my brain liquefied. Acid fear captured my imagination. The longest, straightest road in the history of roads and countless straight, slender trees, just wide enough to conceal spying eyes under pointy hats. Were those broken-off branches or shotgun barrels? And what was I doing in a window seat? I was scared. And then – Selma. “Okay, everyone out.” We’re on the side of the road. There’s a little kid, maybe there were two or three. They’re waving for us to follow. We do. Thirty-six men in Roman collars or coats and ties, men from another planet, following a short-cut trail that only kids could devise. Could there be anything more beautiful than this? I was no longer afraid. We were told to stay close and not get lost but Bob Pfohman ’66 and I headed off to see if we could get a look at Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. We found him. It must have been when the actual march was forming because my memory picture somewhat matches the now iconic photo of Dr. King, Ralph Abernathy, Ralph Bunche and the other leaders of the march. As for the march itself, I remember moving very slowly, in fits and starts. I remember unceremoniously finding myself on the bridge and as we rose up a bit the view opened and I felt a touch of vulnerability. But with 2,000 U.S. Army and 1,900 Alabama National Guardsmen on hand, I knew that violence was not at all likely this day. There is indeed strength in numbers.
THOMAS MARRIOTT
The strongest memory I’ve taken from the march itself was the impression made on me by the marshals. Here were young students our age doing the real work of the Civil Rights Movement. They walked beside us and instructed us on what to do and what not to do in the event of active opposition. I admired them so much and trusted them completely. After nine miles and crossing the bridge, we left the march and returned to Selma. The next day as we headed home, the amorphous history machine was properly turning the Selma marches into a historical triumph. However, completely out of media range, I was unaware of this and so was just befuddled by the greeting we received back at school. Reporters and photographers. Friends and most happily a big bunch of my beloved family, all who could make it. My mom, three or four brothers and sisters, a brother-in-law, a niece and nephew or two, and even my dear, dear grandma. How did Selma affect the rest of my life? First, here’s how it didn’t. I didn’t come back from Selma and change my major at school and I didn’t spend a summer registering voters in Mississippi or in Buffalo for that matter. The attitudes I brought home, however, have proved life-defining. Selma had the effect of making me a citizen, a person with privileges and responsibilities. It made Martin Luther King Jr. a saint. It proved that passive resistance works. It gave me a world of people to love. WEB EXTRA Read more Memories of a Movement at canisius.edu/magazine.
If you are a Canisius alumnus who participated in the Selma march, tell us your story. Essays can be emailed to ccmag@canisius.edu. They will be shared at Canisius Magazine online and with Robert E. Yuhnke ’65, who is compiling a collection of essays to commemorate Canisius’ role in the historic march.