Moses’ house is usually pretty quiet and mellow, so on August 28th, 1955 when I heard all the ruckus at 2:30 in the morning, I knew something was wrong. It was still dark out so I couldn’t see much from my bedroom window. All I could see was a big pick up truck and two white men outside of Moses’ house. What I heard I’ll never forget. “Where is he, Moses!?” said one of the men, “Let us talk to him a little!” said the other. Moses was reluctant and wouldn’t let them in. The next thing I know Moses is on the ground and the two men were carrying someone out of the house. Who could those men be? Who are they carrying? Why would they do this? Those three questions never left my