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One man’s march when Jim Crow laws were in full force

I long thought that my husband, Forrest, should write his story for this column, but, since he passed away recently, the task falls to me. I’ll try to tell his story and a little bit of my own.

The old man smoking a cigar looked like Winston Churchill.

In the 1950s and ’60s I had the good fortune to live in New York City, right across from Riverside Park. Our 325-acre back yard offered sledding in winter, and for the rest of the year I could race my Schwinn throughout the park.

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