On our last morning in Alabama, I had a swim before the hotel breakfast, then we headed for the Ave Maria Grotto at St. Bernard Abbey in Cullman, where they have a landscaped hillside of miniature stone and cement structures built by one of the monks. On our way there, we saw our only Confederate flag display of the trip, at a flag and banner vendor.
The display of miniatures at St. Bernard’s Abbey blew us away. Br. Joseph Zoettel, OSB was born in Germany and spent the almost 70 years as a monk at the only Benedictine Abbey in Alabama. He traveled very little outside the state, but based on his reading and using discarded items exclusively, he reconstructed some of the world’s most remarkable architecture and created some places out of his own imagination. We thought this would be a brief stop, but both of us blew a roll of film here.
I also splurged and bought a mood ring at the monastery bookstore for $2.50. This was a design I had not seen before. Unlike the style in my 1970’s youth with a stone at the top of the ring, this one had the color sensitive stone embedded around the band. All these years later, I still wear it, but I cannot say whether it accurately displays how I am feeling.
Then we headed for our last stop in Alabama: Birmingham. We began our visit there at the Civil Rights Institute, which sits across from the street from the 16th Street Baptist Church where four girls between the ages of 11-14 were killed when the African-American church was bombed on a Sunday morning in September 1963 by members of the Ku Klux Klan.
Birmingham felt very different than other Alabama cities; it felt big, industrial, and busy. In short, it felt like a Northern city rather than a Southern town. My companion was dreading the museum because she knew it would be emotional and draining. We hoped to pack some lighter experiences into our day afterward, like a good restaurant. The Birmingham Civil Rights Institute was possibly the most sophisticated museum of our trip. Groups of school children passed through on academic scavenger hunts, collecting details for assignments and pressing buttons on multi-media presentations. There were outstanding displays, including one of the Freedom Riders’ bus that was burned out during their campaign at enforcing desegregation in interstate buses in the early 1960’s. Another find: the door to Martin Luther King’s jail cell in Birmingham where he wrote my favorite of his works, the 1963 “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” (If you, dear reader, have not yet read it, do so immediately.) The institute provides free copies.
The Institute had so much material that, by the end, I was numb and exhausted. There was also a huge display about civil rights around the world, but I was not able to take in much more. We also had to feed our parking meter. When we left, I assumed we would visit the 16th Street Baptist Church across the street, but my companion begged off. The Institute had drained her enough, and she did not want to learn more about segregation, civil rights and violence. Interestingly, some of the men responsible for the bombings were finally being tried for it that summer, 38 years after the attack.
So we headed across the perpendicular street into The Kelly Ingram Memorial park, which memorializes Civil Rights. We took in the sculptures.
However, when we started to get catcalls and kisses from men sitting on park benches at the far end of the park, we headed back to the car. It struck me then, despite the successes of the Civil Rights movement, neither of us women (regardless of color) were free to explore the park to its full. I had to wonder if the presence of a man would have changed that, and think about how far we have to go.
So we got back to the car, happy to be locked in. Our time in Alabama had ended and we had to head for Atlanta and our flight home. We arrived breathlessly at the gate, struggling to pack our belongings into two bags on the rental car shuttle. Once back in Philadelphia, we became sad over our goodbyes. After spending nine days together exploring the Deep South, it seemed strange to go back to our separate lives. But it was good to be home, relax, and sleep in my own bed. There is no place like home.