I was born in 58 so I can’t speak for that decade. In the May River Football Sharks Football shirt Besides,I will do this 60s however, my dad and mom were Klanspeople. Schools were segregated and black people were looked down upon. There were battles all around. HBO made a movie about this period in my life called “Deacons for Defense” because the white police force of my little town of Bogalusa wouldn’t help the black citizens. Only the newspaper editor was not racist and his articles defended the blacks who were downtrodden. My dad was head of the KKK. He taught his family to hate black people. My mom grew wise, however, and divorced the bastard. He attempted to have her killed. The police department, themselves racist, escorted mom and my siblings out of town. Dad couldn’t be arrested because he was one of them. They burned down my school so I wouldn’t have to attend with “negroes.” We moved to Baton Rouge where things were just as bad. In the sixties it was like a war zone. Shootings, lootings, killings, bombs, ambushings everywhere. My only brother, two years older than me, learned to fight the blacks. My tact was to befriend them. This estranged us. I haven’t spoken to him in many years. At dad’s funeral I nearly threw up as he praised dad, who also slept with our younger sister. To this day I wished I’d walked out on the eulogy for dad. My little sister killed herself yet there my brother stood, praising a racist pedophile. This was the 60s in Louisiana.
In the May River Football Sharks Football shirt Besides,I will do this 1960s I was a school boy growing up in the U.K., and I still regard the 1960s, especially the mid 1960s when I was between the ages of about ten and thirteen, when I lived in a village in the Nottinghamshire countryside in the East Midlands of England, as the happiest years of my life. Above is a picture of me taken in about 1964 or 1965 when I was ten or eleven years old, riding my go kart or trolley that so many boys had in those days. The wheels were taken from my baby sister’s pram which she had just grown out of. My uncle, who was a carpenter and joiner, made all of the wooden parts of the trolley, and including fixing the wheels. Stan, the motor mechanic who worked for my father (who owned a road haulage business with a few lorries) built from scratch the steering device which I am holding, and fitted the brake, which you can see on the right hand side of the trolley. Pictured with me are my friends Simon, riding his tricycle (but unfortunately his head is cut off in the photo) and Colin, with his “wheels”, but his vehicle is somewhat inferior to mine, don’t you think ?
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