Even though the fan was going full blast, I was suffocating. It was a night in June of 1963 and I was in Jackson visiting my friend Eudora. There’d been much tension in town due to the demonstrations. Nerves were so frayed that their fibers easily tangled. Eudora and I were watching TV when we saw the news about Medgar Evers, a civil rights activist who protested against segregation. I’d seen Medgar in town a couple of times. He was a nice looking man who walked with his shoulders held high. But his furrowed brow gave him away. I knew from Darwin’s book on facial expressions that that corrugation meant only one thing—Medgar was chronically stressed out. I would be, too, if the KKK were threatening to kill me.
From The Diary of Luz Corazzini
cynthia korzekwa
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