I was born in my grandparents’ home at 12 Elizabeth Street right around the corner from the Emanuel Church on Calhoun Street. We were neighbors.
There was no segregation in Charleston neighborhoods until after World War II. In the summertime we sat on the piazza because there was no air conditioning at that time. If the breeze was just right, we could hear spiritual hymns floating from the church. This doesn’t happen anymore.
When I heard the news of the terrible event at the church, I cried.
And then I prayed.