Nov 16, 2003
Roger,
From the influence of Marv Amerine and you, I am suddenly in the path of numerous GBHS emails and I’m just awed. I have been gone from GB a long time, and my infrequent visits have been extremely short to take care of family business. Now there is no family left in town. I have enjoyed watching your web site, and I was quite pleased at the Argonne Rebels section; although I must say it was a little eerie reading emails which talked about me in third person. On the other hand, the piece on “Argonne Rebels and Civil Rights” was most chilling; I never realized that incident affected a number of people other than me. For the most part, I have not seen most of the corps members since that trip, much less discussed the effects that trip had on all of us. If I may, I’d like to share several of my perceptions from that experience.
The summer of ’63 I’d graduated from GBHS and I had been accepted to go to college. My parent’s families had only two college graduates at that time and I would be the second family member currently enrolled. I was quite proud of myself. Beyond family, the Argonne Rebels had consumed both (my brother) Thurston and I. We practiced not only with the Rebels and in our ensembles, but we practiced our parts together at home. I was quite proud to be an Argonne Rebel and the idea of going to nationals in Miami was the adventure of a life time. Our mother never liked the idea and for a while it was thought that we would not make the trip. 1963, my mother feared for our lives. I felt that it couldn’t be any worse than having to sit in the balcony of the Crest Theater; in short, I thought I new how to act. At some point my mother gave her consent. I assume that there were some interesting conversations between my parents, the Garners, Joe Boley, Glen Opie, etc.In spite of my excitement I would be less that honest if I didn’t way I was not excited about going through the South by bus. As we crossed a river in Arkansas I saw a row of shotgun shacks lined in rows along the river bank and I was saddened by poverty and the lives “those” people must be living. I knew the restrooms would be segregated (“Coloreds Only”) but the filth (not to mention some of the facilities were locked) was intolerable several times I improvised and other times I waited to the next stop. By the time we got to Birmingham I didn’t know where we were and I didn’t care. I didn’t like eating at the outside booths from the beginning but it was out of the general flow of traffic and I thought if we were quick Dink and I would be able to eat and get out. There is no more helpless feeling than being brutalized. After Glen and Joe convinced the police that I didn’t start the fight, we had to find a hospital that would take at me; if my memory serves me right we had a long delay while that was being worked out? For a bugler, face or mouth damage would be disastrous but fortunately (?) my injuries were chest and rib bruises not to mention my loss of self esteem. In Miami, I replaced my shredded shirt, continued to practice, was awed by the spectacular of Nationals, and was proud that we were one of America’s finest drum and bugle corps.
I share these memories because I loved being an Argonne Rebel.
Best Wishes,
Phill W Briscoe
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