If I understand you correctly, then, I have no "quarrel" with Jim Crow, either, since that would never have existed without the war and reconstruction.

I bring this up because, as I acknowledged to you in a previous post, while there was a calm before the storm, during which the first blacks to enter my neighborhood were largely peaceable, everything changed after the notorious string of confrontations in the South, in particular in Birmingham, 1963. Where once I could walk to school and not be confronted by anything worse than the occasional baleful stare, this now became a gauntlet, and has remained so unto this day. Here's the incident that is seared in my memory.

On a summer day in 1963, I was walking along Madison Street, toward a friend's house. This busy shopping street, where my mother once wheeled me in my stroller, and on whose broad sidewalks I took some of my first steps, still retained something of the feeling of the welcoming neighborhood promenade it once was, even though by now it was more than half black. I saw ahead a group of black boys of my age, 14, and with them a young man I recognized as one who was reputed to be a member of the Vice Lords street gang. I could see something brewing in the younger ones' faces, but I felt tolerably safe because of the presence of the gangster, with whom I'd traded banter a few times and who seemed to be of the opinion that I was brave enough to deserve some respect, or amusingly cocky, or at least all right for a honkey; and who, I expected, would want to avoid attention so that his more profitable activities could proceed.

When I drew abreast, they wouldn't let me pass and began demanding money. Placing faith in a friend in high places, I appealed to the Vice Lord (yes, I was, at that moment, of insufficient faith in Our Lord): "Hey, tell them who I am!", I said, but now there was little trace of recognition on his face. He was caught in a dilemma between the two appeals: whether to be seen as soft and a race traitor by denying theirs for vengeance; or, by denying mine, to lose an opportunity to display control of the street. There my fate hung, while the pack worked itself up; and then followed this dialogue, which I am not likely to forget: "The f**k you doin' here, honkey?" "The f**k it look like - I live here!" "You need yo dogs, don't you whitey?" "What you gonna do now, honkey? Got no dogs, now!" That was what made up his mind; he walked on, and blows commenced to fall.

As I said, I had no intention of bringing up this subject when I began commenting on this thread; this post, while a digression, is no tactic, diversionary or otherwise. Events of 46 years ago conspired to put me briefly in the crosshairs of history; otherwise, telling this story here merely importunes a reader's time. But I feel I must ask: Was there no solution other than Jim Crow to the post-war chaos? Was a violent black reaction to it inevitable, or could ameliorating steps have been taken earlier, to avoid the explosion? Do you see justice, poetic or otherwise, in this affliction being visited on the North?

I've no doubt that my knowledge of what is known as Jim Crow, and of the events of the so-called Civil Rights period, is far from complete. Whatever you care to write in response, now or in future articles, will undoubtedly enhance my understanding of these events which have borne so heavily on my and my family's lives.

If I understand you correctly, then, I have no "quarrel" with Jim Crow, either, since that would never have existed without the war and reconstruction.

I bring this up because, as I acknowledged to you in a previous post, while there was a calm before the storm, during which the first blacks to enter my neighborhood were largely peaceable, everything changed after the notorious string of confrontations in the South, in particular in Birmingham, 1963. Where once I could walk to school and not be confronted by anything worse than the occasional baleful stare, this now became a gauntlet, and has remained so unto this day. Here's the incident that is seared in my memory.

On a summer day in 1963, I was walking along Madison Street, toward a friend's house. This busy shopping street, where my mother once wheeled me in my stroller, and on whose broad sidewalks I took some of my first steps, still retained something of the feeling of the welcoming neighborhood promenade it once was, even though by now it was more than half black. I saw ahead a group of black boys of my age, 14, and with them a young man I recognized as one who was reputed to be a member of the Vice Lords street gang. I could see something brewing in the younger ones' faces, but I felt tolerably safe because of the presence of the gangster, with whom I'd traded banter a few times and who seemed to be of the opinion that I was brave enough to deserve some respect, or amusingly cocky, or at least all right for a honkey; and who, I expected, would want to avoid attention so that his more profitable activities could proceed.

When I drew abreast, they wouldn't let me pass and began demanding money. Placing faith in a friend in high places, I appealed to the Vice Lord (yes, I was, at that moment, of insufficient faith in Our Lord): "Hey, tell them who I am!", I said, but now there was little trace of recognition on his face. He was caught in a dilemma between the two appeals: whether to be seen as soft and a race traitor by denying theirs for vengeance; or, by denying mine, to lose an opportunity to display control of the street. There my fate hung, while the pack worked itself up; and then followed this dialogue, which I am not likely to forget: "The f-ck you doin' here, honkey?" "The f-ck it look like - I live here!" "You need yo dogs, don't you whitey?" "What you gonna do now, honkey? Got no dogs, now!" That was what made up his mind; he walked on, and blows commenced to fall.

As I said, I had no intention of bringing up this subject when I began commenting on this thread; this post, while a digression, is no tactic, diversionary or otherwise. Events of 46 years ago conspired to put me briefly in the crosshairs of history; otherwise the story is banal and telling it here importunes a reader's time. But I feel I must ask: Was there no solution other than Jim Crow to the post-war chaos? Was a violent black reaction to it inevitable, or could ameliorating steps have been taken earlier, to avoid the explosion? Do you see justice, poetic or otherwise, in this affliction being visited on the North?

I've no doubt that my knowledge of what is known as Jim Crow, and of the events of the so-called Civil Rights period, is far from complete. Whatever you care to write in response, now or in future articles, will undoubtedly enhance my understanding of these events which have borne so heavily on my and my family's lives.

Thanks for the reading suggestions. Robert, I'm enjoying Servile State, thanks to your link.

Your basic point is understood, in that slavery brought in an intrusive population which would not have been here otherwise. My idea was to look a little deeper, to see why so many people tend to make associations with historical slavery when discussing just about any important topic, which is another valid point, but perhaps better discussed elsewhere since this thread has moved on.

Apparently it is called "the Hazard Circular" and is credited to a Mr. Hazard (no first name given - always a bad sign), an Englishman, not a Yankee, who is said to have written it on behalf of the Bank of England in 1862 and distributed it to various Northeastern bankers. Through Google Books I was able to trace it to various Populist pamphlets of the 1880s and 1890s, but no further. No work, whether Northern or Southern, written specifically on the Civil War prior to the last ten years seems to have any awareness of it.

One more point: While it is true that Yankee slave traders greatly outnumbered Southerners, Americans of any variety did not rank very highly among slave traders. Most slaves brought here came in European-owned ships.

Any accurate history of the founding, development,and flowering of the Grand Old Party in American politics should be helpful in this effort. Or to use neo-conservative terms, slavery is always the key and immigration the pivot. To destroy middle class protections one must first flood the market with cheap labor (i.e.Open the Southern Border) or move the means of production to cheap labor ( i.e. Concoct new "free trade agreements" that allow our national plutocrats a more international harvest) The one road leads to a servile state, while the other leads to a socialist servile state. Southern yeomen were probably the last class, of any wide scale significance in American history, to know freedom on a authentic human scale.( Wendell Berry still writes of these aspirations) Yet, while they were being honorably eulogised (by Southern Agrarians for instance) men without smiles were planning much more diligently.