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heard of me, and that my schoolteacher had told her about what a spunky student I was.
    I didn’t feel bad that all the talk was about Rosa Parks. Things keep going around in circles. There is always a need for a demonstration here or there. And once they told me she was my mother’s friend, she was like a family member. It didn’t bother me. If she had been a total stranger, it probably would have hurt me a little bit. We had the same ideas, the same thoughts.
    My sister Mary once mentioned something about Rosa Parks. She said, “They never mention you. One day someone might mention you. They’ll go through the court files and want to know who was Claudette Colvin.”
    I’m not sorry I did it. I’m glad I did it. The revolution was there and the direction it was going in. My generation was angry. And people just wanted a change. They just wanted a change.

JOSEPH LACEY
    Many schoolchildren participated in the boycott. Joe Lacey was thirteen years old when the boycott began. He walked to school every day of the boycott.
    Jo Ann Robinson worked over at Alabama State [at that time an all-black college]. She was a great person. She helped write and distribute the first leaflets. Some of the leaflets fell into the wrong hands. The whites’ hands. They notified the powers-that-be of the anticipated boycott. It was supposed to have been a surprise thing, but then there was lots of news coverage. The word spread around town like I don’t know what. I recall my grandmother saying that some of her friends were threatened by their bosses not to participate and told if they did, they would lose their jobs.
    When the boycott started, I just couldn’t wait for morning to come because I wanted to see what was happening. I walked to school. As the buses passed me and my schoolmates, we said, “Nobody’s on the bus! Nobody’s on the bus!” It was just a beautiful thing. It was a day to behold to see nobody on the bus.
    Everybody stuck together on the boycott. It lasted over a year, and we walked and enjoyed walking. Everybody felt like a part of the struggle because everybody had a part. Even some whites stayed off in sympathy, I’m sure. Black drivers would pass you along the street, and if they were going your way, they’d stop and pick you up. Most persons going across town would go through this area right below the school, and you could stand on the corner and holler, “Going across?” and that’s all they’d need to hear. “Come on, get in the car,” and they’d take you across town.
    A lot of persons were arrested because they were picking up people. Many were arrested for all kinds of trumped-up charges, but still they picked people up.
    There was a central car pickup downtown at Posey’s parking lot. Also at certain corners, certain churches, certain locations, you knew that a station wagon would come by, and you’d get a ride. Dean’s drugstore was another pickup spot.
    The churches had station wagons. The Montgomery Improvement Association (MIA) bought them with contributions coming from the North. MIA couldn’t be licensed to shuttle people. So to get around state law, most churches had a station wagon with their names, not MIA, on it.
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    I vividly remember the court decision on bus integration. I remember the celebration at the mass meetings. And I remember seeing it on the Douglas Edward news, and feeling that we had won. It was a blessing. It was just a thrilling thing.
    I can remember the first time getting on a bus after the decision. I remember thinking I didn’t have to go to the back. Before the boycott, every time we’d go for church picnics, we’d rent a city bus and I’d go sit right behind the driver. You see, that was the only time I could sit behind the driver, when the buses were chartered for that purpose. After the boycott, I’d sit right behind the driver. It gave me