Note: This 1966 article uses the term "Negro"
which was standard for the time.
Sam Smith, The Idler, 1966 - Monday January 24th was
the day that Washington thumbed it nose at 0. Roy Chalk. There is a long list
of grievances against Mr. Chalk a Washingtonian could compile, but it is enough
here to mention that Mr. Chalk is head
of the D. C. Transit System and that Mr. Chalk, on the day in question, was in
the midst of petitioning the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Commission
for a fare increase from twenty-five cents to thirty cents. On the morning of
the 24th, about 7 a.m., my alarm went
off, but I didn't hear it. About twenty
minutes to eight I awoke and remembered the promise I had made to myself to
take part in the bus boycott that day. I don't like demonstrating, probably for
the same reason I don't like ringing door-bells during a campaign, being on
committees, or attending civic meetings. The theory of democracy. I concluded
long ago, is fine: the practice of it is often a pain in the neck.
Still, thirty cents is a lot of money to pay for a bus ride.
It's more than most public transit riders in the country pay. So I hauled
myself out of bed, swallowed a cup of coffee, warmed up my '54 Chrysler, and
made my way to 6th and H Sts. NE, one of the assembly points established for
volunteer drivers providing free car rides during the boycott. There a boycott
organizer filled my car with three high school girls and a middle aged and
rather fat lady. A bus drove by and it was empty. "They're all empty,"
the lady said.
The boycott had been organized by the Student Nonviolent
Coordinating Committee, with the help of numerous civic action
organizations. SNCC and the other groups
charged that the fare hike was discriminatory since it would largely hurt Negro
Washington.
Washington is a city of considerable apathy in local
matters. It has been so long denied home rule that it tends not to believe that
the voice of the people matters. It often accepts its fate with a passivity
that would surprise more politically conscious communities. When demonstrations
and protests are organized, the police are likely to outnumber the
demonstrators. Against this background, SNCC's plan seemed audacious. It was
hard enough to get 100 Washingtonians organized. SNCC was trying to mobilize tens
of thousands. SNCC proposed that people walk, hitch a ride, or stay home on the
day of the boycott. High school students were urged to organize walk-ins. Cars
and volunteer drivers were sought. to pick up riders along the boycotted bus
lines. Domestics were asked to tell their employers that they would have to be
picked up. SNCC set up a communications headquarters, procured radio equipped
cars, and established car assembly points. Handbills were widely distributed,
stuck under doors and beneath the windshield wipers of parked cars. The police
stationed additional men along the boycott routes.
"It's beautiful," the man in the lightly frayed
brown overcoat said after he told me he was headed for 17th St. NW. "It's
working and it's beautiful. Hey, you see those two there? Let's try and get
them." I pulled over to the right lane by a stop where two men stood.
"Hey man, why spend thirty cents? Get in," my rider called to the
pair. "You headed down town?" "Yeah, get in." "Great.
It's working, huh? Great!"
The boycott was like an informal game of touch football on a
Saturday afternoon. Nobody was too good at the game but everyone who played
seemed to enjoy it just the same. Not everyone played. As I made my way back
from downtown, I stopped at several bus stops. "Fight the fare increase:
ride for free," I'd call out. Most of those waiting for the bus were
white. Some pretended they didn't hear me and looked the other way. Others stared as if I were a little crazy.
Still others shook their head in that nervous, embarrassed way people do when
they're refusing to buy pencils from a crippled man on the street corner. During
the day I carried 71 people. Only five of them were white.
When someone offered some a free ride they were afraid:
Better not, he might rape me. It's too bad people get scared when they start to
succeed. At the delicatessen at 24th and Benning, one of the assembly points, a
young, wavy-haired Negro who worked with SNCC greeted me. "Been waiting
all morning for a car to work from here; said they were going to have one, but
they didn't send it." We got into my car and continued east out to
Benning. Lots of empty buses. "We've got to live together, man. You're
white and you can't help it. I'm Negro and I can't help it. But we still can
get along. That's the way I feel about it." I agreed.
"You ever worked with SNCC before?"
"Nope." "Well, I'll tell you, man, you hear a lot of things. But
they're a good group. They stick together. You know like if you get in trouble
you know they're going to be in there with you. If you get threatened they'll
have people around you all the time. They stick together. That's good,
man."
People were sticking together well that Monday. SNCC
estimated D. C. Transit lost 130,000 to 150,000 fares during the boycott. None
of us knew whether the boycott would have any effect on the fare increase. Two
days later, however, the transit commission, in a unanimous decision, denied D.
C. Transit the hike. The commission's executive director dryly told reporters
that the boycott played no part in the decision. He was probably right. The
commission worried about such things as cash dividends, investor's equity, rate
of return, depreciated value, company rate base. The boycotters worried about a
nickel more a ride. Fortunately, it all came out the same. But in case it
hadn't, the boycott organizers were preparing to renew the protest. It would
have been interesting.
After the bus boycott, I wrote a letter to its leader
congratulating him and offering to help in the future. Not long after the
leader, Marion S. Barry, and his colleague, L. D. Pratt, were sitting in my
apartment talking about how I could help in SNCC's public relations. I readily
agreed, became Marion's PR guy and, for the first time, joined a movement.
