Many people have experienced an event or time that forever changed who they were and how they looked at life. For me, that time was the summer of 1966. I was accepted into VISTA, the Peace Corp in America. I had been aware of some of the injustices being done to blacks since I was a young girl. I remember watching the children trying to integrate the schools in Little Rock. I couldn't understand why people were throwing bricks at those little girls. It didn't seem right to treat people that way. Many years later, VISTA gave me the chance to be a tiny part of the Cival Rights Movement. I was young and idealistic, believed in the dreams of Martin Luther King, John and Robert Kennedy. I thought that if people of all color just spent time together, they would understand we are all the same, and race would no longer be so important. It seemed so simple to me at the time.

I trained for six weeks in Chicago. We were divided into teams and worked at various housing projects. We did child care, tutoring, after school sports and arts and crafts. The people we had come to help didn't know quite what to think of us. Most of the adults contact with whites had been negative. They weren't sure about trusting us with their children. We continued to show up everyday and gradually we were somewhat accepted by the adults. The children's hearts opened to us almost immediately.

We were there during the riots. We couldn't go back to the projects for several days. I remember the first time going back after the riots; it was eerie. We seemed to be the only people on the street. It was very quiet; the only sound was the broken glass crunching under our feet. I was scared, afraid that someone, in their despair and anger, would try to hurt us. A few people peeked out from behind window shades at us. It wasn't a long walk to the projects and nothing eventful did happen that day, but it is forever etched in my memory. Sometimes your fears are worse than your reality.

About my third week there I found out Martin Luther King was coming to organize a march for fair housing. At that time in Chicago, most blacks, even those with money, had to live in the one ghetto area. Good housing in decent areas was restricted to whites only. Dr. King was trying to change that. I was thrilled at the chance of seeing him since he was a hero of mine.

The day of the march a few of us headed over to the white neighborhood where it was to take place. We planned to join in once we got there. Upon arriving, we soon found out this would be impossible. There were hundreds of people lined up on both sides of the street protesting the march. They were screaming insults and throwing rocks and debris at the marchers. The police stood by, observing but doing nothing to stop the violence. I had never seen such animosity on people's faces. Everywhere I looked I saw hatred and rage. Then, Martin Luther King came walking by. The crowd's actions intensified. Someone threw a bottle that just missed him. He continued staring straight ahead, walking proud and tall. He didn't seem fazed by the uproar around him. There was almost a radiance about his face. His love and faith was stronger than all the hate around him. I wanted so much to push through the crowd and join him. I was too frightened. A few minutes later some of the people in the crowd started to notice us, how we didn't look or act like them. One of the boys in our group had long hair. That caught their attention. We got pushed and shoved and told to leave. We didn't have to be told twice. We walked towards the corner and then ran and got on a bus that took us back. When we got off, the first person I saw was a black man. I remember finally feeling safe, even though everyone in our group was white. It was a strange feeling knowing that there were white people who hated us because we were helping blacks; there were blacks who hated us because we were white. I knew then for sure that skin color was the least important factor in judging someone's character.

The next day there was a rally at Soldiers Field. Dr. King and several other black leaders gave wonderful, inspirational speeches. There were a lot of people there of all races. Dr. King asked for volunteers to go on another march. Before we left he said a prayer and then we sang, "Black and White Together" and of course, "We Shall Overcome." I was holding hands with two black women I had never seen before, but at that moment, they felt like family. We went on the march and this time the crowds watching us were fairly well behaved. The police made more of an effort at crowd control. Again, nothing really noteworthy happened that day but I treasure the memory. I had shared the weekend with some amazing, brave and loving people. Their examples of non-violence in the face of hatred stayed with me all my life.After training I was sent to work in Milwaukee for a year. We worked out of neighborhood churches. We started a nursery school so welfare mothers had a safe place to leave their children while they took job training and look for work.

 One time I was there playing with a little girl and she asked for a doll. There were two new dolls, one white and one black. I handed her the black one. She said, "No, I want the pretty one." She was only three or four years old yet she already believed that black skin was somehow less appealing than white skin. So I played with the black doll, fussed with its hair and told her I thought it was pretty. I didn’t know what else to do. It hurt to know a child so young believed such an ugly lie about the color of her skin.

Through a grant, we helped to set up a library in the church. We got books that actually had black characters in them. The kids just loved them. They had never seen books with pictures of children that looked like them. I must have read " A Snowy Day" about a hundred times. I still love the book.

After my year was up I went home. All the poverty and misery were still there. I think about all those children I loved and worked with. Did they get a chance to grow up? I hope I made a difference in their lives because they did in mine. It's now 38 years later and I know racial injustices are still with us. I realize now there are no simple answers. My generation wasn't able to end poverty and racism. It gives me solace that I tried. I still believe in those dreams, in love and brotherhood. I hope maybe some seeds of understanding and hope were planted back then. Who knows for sure what could grow?

Judee Kennedy Borm