One movie I still need to see is Birth Of A Nation. One of my longtime faves is To Kill A Mockingbird, which just yesterday I again watched for the first time in years.
One of my sisters recently reminded me of an incident that occurred long ago. After the death of her husband (my Dad’s Father) in early-1969, my paternal Grandmother moved to San Jose to live with us. One afternoon the sister heard the doorbell rang, then ring again. She exited her bedroom and stepped into the hallway that led to the front door. She saw the Grandmother standing at the far end of it, peaking around the corner where the hallway met the entrance foyer.
The sister thought that odd, and headed down the hallway to see what was going on. The grandmother saw her coming, put out her arm to stop her, and said "Don’t answer the door Robyn, there’s a big black n*gg*er outside." My friends found that story hysterical, again and again insisting I tell it.
My High School was attended mostly by white kids; we had a smattering of Hispanics and Asians. and only one black male. He just happened to play guitar, and every musician I knew in 1967 wanted him in his or her band. Blues was the dominant musical style, and Hendrix and Cream were leading the pack. Having a black musician in your band gave you instant credibility!