Chapter 1 -- add

I turned on the television. While it warmed up, I went into the kitchen and retrieved a cold can of Gipp's Beer. I glanced at the television listings. CBS was showing a full-three hours of programming, while NBC could muster two, and one of those was a news interview show out of Washington, D.C. The Mutual station was showing a Bradley game.

I couldn't resist looking at the blotter, to compare the final version to what I knew. I didn't notice anything missing from the bullet items I proofed last evening. The piece about the raid on the Flamingo was still there. They didn't call it a raid, of course (we can thank the standards officer for that). A bartender was ticketed for serving a minor. Several patrons were picked up on warrants. The names of the white arrestees were mentioned.

Not one negro was named. Not even the one they nearly beat to death.

Depending on their relative standing in the community, the whites will either be released or interrogated. The blacks will be sent down the camp in Ipava. Until then, there will be interrogations at the facility on Darst Street.

Interrogations. We call them that.

I swallowed the last of my Gipps, wondering how we got to this point.

But I knew.