This story is part of a series of articles, “Bending Toward Justice,” focusing on the 60th anniversary of events that took place in Birmingham during 1963 that changed the face of the city, and the world, in the ongoing struggle for equality and human rights. The series name is a reference to a quote by Martin Luther King Jr.: “Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” The series will continue through 2023.

Today’s guest author is retired educator and administrator Janice Kelsey, who was a 16-year-old student at Ullman High School when she participated in “D-Day” – the dramatic, first day of mass marches by Black children in 1963, designed to boldly challenge Birmingham’s unjust system of universal, racial segregation.

The following is a brief excerpt from Kelsey’s book, I Woke Up With My Mind on Freedom, which chronicles her experiences as a young civil rights “foot soldier” and later, as a Birmingham public school educator during the early days of desegregation.

May 2, 1963, began like any other school day. Mama was cooking breakfast for her brood of nine as I got ready to go, packing my things as normal. With so many in the house, it was always a hustle and bustle in the mornings. As usual, Daddy had left for his early work shift, so Mama was left to oversee the hectic pace of getting all of us out to school. Hence, my mother suspected nothing, not noticing that I had packed some “not-so-normal” supplies.

I took a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, a change of underwear and some socks. D-Day, as we were calling it, had arrived.

I was 16 years old and I had never even seen a jail, let alone served time in one. I had been preparing for this day by attending training and informational sessions at local churches for several weeks prior. I had learned of the rights that had been denied me and my people of color, and I was ready to do something about it. I had decided that what was happening just wasn’t fair.

My mother had the radio on, and though my preparation may have escaped her, I think she sensed something unusual was going on in Birmingham in the Black community. Before I left, she warned me, “Janice, I’m sending you to school. Don’t you go anywhere and get yourself in any trouble. I don’t have any money to get you out.” To which I responded, “Yes ma’am,” which is what she needed and wanted to hear. I had been an obedient and compliant child up to that point in my life, and my mother had no reason to expect or anticipate anything less than that.

RELATED: Nadine Peterson Smith shares her story of the Children’s Crusade 60 years ago in Birmingham, Alabama

Janice Kelsey, 16, is the girl in the center with her leg elevated. She and other young girls were incarcerated by Birmingham Police in a makeshift detention center following ‘D-Day’ protests against segregation in May 1963. (Photo courtesy Janice Kelsey)

We got to school and went to our first period class as normal. When the bell rang, however, we didn’t go on to our next class. We marched right for the front door and walked out of school. There were many of us and we walked from my school to Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. That wasn’t a real long walk, maybe a couple of miles, and we always walked anywhere we went in those days, so it wasn’t a big deal. We were so excited about D-Day that four or five miles did not bother us!

We arrived at the church and there were many people already there. Kids of all sizes and ages from different schools had already created a large gathering. James Bevel (minister and civil rights leader) and Andrew Young (minister and civil rights strategist) were the two men in charge. They stood at the top of the church steps and ushered those who had come to participate in the march into the church. We went in and sang more freedom songs; this produced the energy we needed to proceed. Then we recited some prayers and at a certain hour, they lined us up in pairs and we walked out of the church singing We Shall Overcome.

We stepped out of the church and we marched two-by-two toward City Hall. We didn’t get far at all when a police officer stopped us and spoke through a megaphone. The officer told us that we were in violation of a city ordinance and told us we could not parade without a permit. He told us that we could get out of the line and disperse and nothing would happen to us, but if we chose to stay in line, we would go to jail.

What he said did not bother me. Our leaders had prepared us in our training sessions for this. What did bother and intimidate me was his very presence, for I was not accustomed to disobeying adults and had never done so in my young life. What’s more, I had never had a confrontation with a white man before. This white man was wearing a gun and had a stick in his hand, and it was an intimidating sight for a girl of 16 who had never been in any kind of trouble. As the officer waited, someone started singing We Are Not Afraid and it resonated throughout the crowd. That song gave me the courage I needed to remain in the line, though my mind had wavered for a second or two.

I didn’t think anyone left the line, and after a few minutes, we were told we were under arrest. They called for the police vehicles that were going to take us to jail. We were told in our training sessions that we should only give our names and ages and not our addresses or parents’ names, because there could be repercussions. If we told them where we lived, the Klan could do something to our homes or our parents could have lost their jobs. Therefore, we only gave our names and ages just as we had been instructed. My girlfriends and I had decided to say we were 15 so all of us would hopefully go to the same place.

Hundreds of children were arrested by Birmingham Police on ‘D-Day,’ May 2, 1963. (Alabama Department of Archives and History. Donated by Alabama Media Group. Photo by Ed Jones, Birmingham News)

We were placed in a “paddy wagon,” which was like a truck van with bars on the windows, probably built to hold about four prisoners. But they packed us in those wagons, and we sat on top of each other as more and more of our friends were told to get in. That didn’t bother us, and we were rocking the van and singing as loudly as we could. When we got to the county jail, it was more structured and orderly, and we were lined up until it was time to give our fingerprints and take our mugshots. Some of the children were questioned as the police were processing our arrests. I wasn’t among those questioned.

There were many people in jail with me, many of whom I knew from school and church. I learned later that 973 young people were arrested on D-Day, and almost 2,000 were arrested before the marches ceased. I was excited then and today I am still honored to have been part of the group.

I didn’t talk to my parents about what I was doing, thinking, or feeling. They didn’t ask, but certainly my mother was aware that there were rumblings and rumors about what we were going to do. There was not a family discussion about it or warnings about what not to do. It wasn’t really until D-Day that she warned me and told me to go to school and stay out of trouble.

Janice Kelsey continues to travel and speak about her experiences. (contributed)

We were not a family of civil rights activists, but I did learn something about my mother that made me think that perhaps she would have done what I did if she had the chance. On Sept. 10, 1957, my mother was working as a salad maker in the cafeteria of Woodlawn High School, which was an all-white school. On that day, three effigies of Black figures with racial slurs were raised at Woodlawn, and the Confederate flag was run up the flagpole, according to The Birmingham News. When she saw this, she took off her apron and walked home.

She was incensed by that behavior, which didn’t even seem to be addressed or corrected by school officials. For her to walk home was quite a walk, probably more than 10 miles. I would like to think I was following in my mother’s footsteps as I decided to walk in the (Children’s) Crusade. Many years later, poetic justice would place my younger brother, Michael, in position as the first Black principal of Woodlawn.

Janice Kelsey, 76, lives in Birmingham. Her book is available via Amazon and other booksellers.