My Dad was a plain clothes detective in those awful Birmingham days of disaster, as I refer to them. He answered to Bull Connor. I'm not sure how involved (I am told he was a good cop) he was that day, other than photography, but I know when he died he had these priceless images in his possession, some of which were his own. He never spoke of these days until much later in life, but as a child, my brother was warned by Dad not to go downtown. As Julian Cox mentioned in his book, Road to Freedom, Dad and cronies were shooting film just before the action began. This photography was more controlled, as they moved out of the way when reporters and journalists photographed the heartbreaking scenes that unfolded that day. I have done my best to contact the photographers who have signed the backs of some, only to find that they are all deceased. Every image is haunting, but the most disturbing is a still life of actual Molotov cocktails, photographed by my Dad. I've walked where the victims walked, cried with deep sorrow for all these things I did not know until I was older, and documented my Dad's most prized possessions. I live in the area which is rich with civil rights history, and haunted with memories of slavery and efforts for freedom. (More scans coming soon)

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                                                                                                              *featured in South by Southeast  magazine