Clarksville was right across the state line from the Army base where I took advanced infantry training in 1957. When we had a day off we’d put on our civilian clothes and hop the bus to get some beers or just a change of scenery. My earliest memory of the town, and of the South, came on our first trip, when I was walking along the sidewalk with a buddy. Two black guys  about our age were also on the sidewalk, coming in our direction. Just as I stepped behind my buddy so the two parties could pass in single file, the two black guys stepped into the gutter and continued walking, not breaking stride,  and all just as natural as could be.

Later when it came time to go back to base we headed for the bus station, stepping through its front door into a dim and dirty waiting room. It was crowded  with people seated and standing, most of them appearing unfriendly or even hostile. Two older women in particular were giving us barely concealed glares and dirty looks.

One wall of the room stopped about a foot short of the ceiling, and over it we could see bright fluorescent lighting. Assuming the space next door was a luncheonette or other place where we could get something to eat, we stepped out of the room we were in, walked 40 feet down the sidewalk to the first door we came to, opened it and stepped into… the White waiting room.