military had integrated its forces during the Korean War. In 1954 the Supreme Court had ruled that segregated schools were unequal. And one by one, unfair laws were being challenged by civil rights groups all over the South. Ray had watched the Montgomery bus boycott with interest, especially the boycott’s leader, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Ray soon found out that progress on the day-to-daylevel can be painfully slow. Ray was given the Hall Street Express.
“The white drivers call my route the Blackbird Express,” Ray told his wife. “I’m the first driver to be given that route as a permanent assignment. The others wouldn’t take it.”
“What more did you expect?” his wife answered, tying his bow tie. “Just do your best so it’ll be easier for the ones who come behind you.”
In November, Ray worked the three-to-eleven shift. “Snow’s predicted,” the route manager barked one afternoon. “Close it down if it gets bad out there, Ray.”
The last shift on the Hall Street Express
.
Since he was a boy, Ray had heard the story of the haunting of that bus route. Every first snowfall passengers and drivers testified that they’d seen the ghost of Eula Mae Daniels clutching her baby as she ran through the snow.
“Good luck with Eula Mae tonight,” one of the drivers said, snickering.
“I didn’t know white folk believed in haints,” Ray shot back.
But parked at the east side loop, staring into the swirling snow mixed with ice, Ray felt tingly, as if he were dangerously close to an electrical charge. He’d just made up his mind toclose down the route and head back to the garage when he saw her. Every hair on his head stood on end.
He wished her away, but she kept coming. He tried to think, but his thoughts were jumbled and confused. He wanted to look away, but curiosity fixed his gaze on the advancing horror.
Just as the old porch stories had described her, Eula Mae Daniels was a small-framed woman frozen forever in youth. “So young,” Ray whispered. “Could be my cousin Carolyn in a few more years.” He watched as the ghost came around to the doors. She was out there, waiting in the cold. Ray heard the baby crying. “There but for the grace of God goes one of mine,” he said, compassion overruling his fear. “Nobody deserves to be left out in this weather. Ghost or not, she deserves better.” And he swung open the doors.
The woman had form but no substance. Ray could see the snow falling
through
her. He pushed fear aside. “Come on, honey, get out of the cold,” Ray said, waving her on board.
Eula Mae stood stony still, looking at Ray with dark, questioning eyes. The driver understood. He’d seen that look before, not from a dead woman but from plenty of his passengers.“It’s okay. I’m for real. Ray Hammond, the first Negro to drive for Metro. Come on, now, get on,” he coaxed her gently.
Eula Mae moved soundlessly up the steps. She held the infant to her body. Ray couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold, not even the Christmas he’d spent in a Korean foxhole. He’d seen so much death, but never anything like this.
The ghost mother consoled her crying baby. Then with her head bowed she told her story in quick bursts of sorrow, just as she had twenty-five years earlier. “My husband is in Memphis looking for work. Our baby is sick. She’ll die if I don’t get help.”
“First off,” said Ray. “Hold your head up. You got no cause for shame.”
“I don’t have any money,” she said. “But if you let me ride, I promise to bring it to you tomorrow. I promise.”
Ray sighed deeply. “The rule book says no money, no ride. But the book doesn’t say a word about a personal loan.” He took a handful of change out of his pocket, fished around for a dime, and dropped it into the pay box. “You’re all paid up. Now, go sit yourself down while I try to get this bus back to town.”
Eula Mae started to the back of the bus.
“No you don’t,” Ray stopped her.
Ray soon found out that progress on the day-to-daylevel can be painfully slow. Ray was given the Hall Street Express.
“The white drivers call my route the Blackbird Express,” Ray told his wife. “I’m the first driver to be given that route as a permanent assignment. The others wouldn’t take it.”
“What more did you expect?” his wife answered, tying his bow tie. “Just do your best so it’ll be easier for the ones who come behind you.”
In November, Ray worked the three-to-eleven shift. “Snow’s predicted,” the route manager barked one afternoon. “Close it down if it gets bad out there, Ray.”
The last shift on the Hall Street Express
.
Since he was a boy, Ray had heard the story of the haunting of that bus route. Every first snowfall passengers and drivers testified that they’d seen the ghost of Eula Mae Daniels clutching her baby as she ran through the snow.
“Good luck with Eula Mae tonight,” one of the drivers said, snickering.
“I didn’t know white folk believed in haints,” Ray shot back.
But parked at the east side loop, staring into the swirling snow mixed with ice, Ray felt tingly, as if he were dangerously close to an electrical charge. He’d just made up his mind toclose down the route and head back to the garage when he saw her. Every hair on his head stood on end.
He wished her away, but she kept coming. He tried to think, but his thoughts were jumbled and confused. He wanted to look away, but curiosity fixed his gaze on the advancing horror.
Just as the old porch stories had described her, Eula Mae Daniels was a small-framed woman frozen forever in youth. “So young,” Ray whispered. “Could be my cousin Carolyn in a few more years.” He watched as the ghost came around to the doors. She was out there, waiting in the cold. Ray heard the baby crying. “There but for the grace of God goes one of mine,” he said, compassion overruling his fear. “Nobody deserves to be left out in this weather. Ghost or not, she deserves better.” And he swung open the doors.
The woman had form but no substance. Ray could see the snow falling
through
her. He pushed fear aside. “Come on, honey, get out of the cold,” Ray said, waving her on board.
Eula Mae stood stony still, looking at Ray with dark, questioning eyes. The driver understood. He’d seen that look before, not from a dead woman but from plenty of his passengers.“It’s okay. I’m for real. Ray Hammond, the first Negro to drive for Metro. Come on, now, get on,” he coaxed her gently.
Eula Mae moved soundlessly up the steps. She held the infant to her body. Ray couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold, not even the Christmas he’d spent in a Korean foxhole. He’d seen so much death, but never anything like this.
The ghost mother consoled her crying baby. Then with her head bowed she told her story in quick bursts of sorrow, just as she had twenty-five years earlier. “My husband is in Memphis looking for work. Our baby is sick. She’ll die if I don’t get help.”
“First off,” said Ray. “Hold your head up. You got no cause for shame.”
“I don’t have any money,” she said. “But if you let me ride, I promise to bring it to you tomorrow. I promise.”
Ray sighed deeply. “The rule book says no money, no ride. But the book doesn’t say a word about a personal loan.” He took a handful of change out of his pocket, fished around for a dime, and dropped it into the pay box. “You’re all paid up. Now, go sit yourself down while I try to get this bus back to town.”
Eula Mae started to the back of the bus.
“No you don’t,” Ray stopped her.
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