Recently during a meeting with high school seniors to talk about the civil rights movement, I learned their graduation was on May 17.

“Wow,” I exclaimed. “How wonderful to be graduating on such a historic day.” Seated at a round table in front of me, all of the students looked at me quizzically.

“You do know the significance of May 17?” I asked, only to be met with the same uncomprehending looks.

The year is 2008. Georgette drives the van from Montgomery to Selma on U.S. Route 80. As it leaves the city and heads through the country, the landscape surrounding the four lane highway opens up. Fields of cotton with big old trees lie on either side of us as Georgette grips the steering wheel.

“It’s quiet out here,” I say from the passenger seat. I’m used to the hustle and bustle of Montgomery.

“Yeah, it gets a little spooky out here sometimes,“ Georgette replies in her deep southern accent.