Rich church ladies in the rococola part of Atlanta (think Coca-Cola, kids) plucked me out of a cotton-mill village at age 15, in 1951, and sent me to a military school in the Jim Crow wilds of central Georgia. There, five mornings a week, a local member of the clergy would tell us all about god, say a prayer for which we were to stand, and, then, the band played "Dixie," at the end of which the grubby sons of South Georgia white bigots hooted and yelled and stamped their feet. I was an atheist at age 9, back in the mill village, but golly, those morning chapels sure as shoot reaffirmed by unbelief. I should not say it, no I shouldn't, but I will anyway: thank god.
2007-06-12
11:22:01
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