By the summer of 1963, between my Freshman and Sophomore years, I was absorbed reading the life of Gandhi. As I was reading there was nothing about me that was radical. In another era I might simply have read it and internally catalogued it as history – like Tippecanoe and Tyler too – and put it aside. But as I began to hear the stories, and see the images, of Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, the Montgomery Bus Boycott, lunch counters, and the violence, segregation, and more, they demanded attention.
