When I was released from active duty in the Navy, in September 1962, I road a bus home, from San Diego to Charlotte, a trip that took the best part of three days.
[Why San Diego and not Long Beach, California, my ship’s home port? The USS Los Angeles had gone to San Diego for some reason or another and that’s where I was released.]
The bus stopped every few hours so passengers could go to the bathroom and, if they wanted to, buy a coke and nabs, or a sandwich. One stop was in Texarkana, right smack on the Texas-Arkansas border.
I got off to go the bathroom.
The Men’s Room was the crappiest public restroom I had ever seen but, still, serviceable. When I was done, I bought a coke and while I was standing around I noticed a second “Men’s Room.”
Two Men’s Rooms?
The light was dawning and I checked it out. The signs had been taken down but the other men’s room had been for “White Men” only. The one I had used had been for “Colored Men.” The two Men’s Rooms were separate but they sure weren’t equal.
Coming Monday: Goodbye Charlotte, Part 1 of 3
