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When I married at 19, there was room at the Chicago Theological Seminary so we took our first apartment there, across Robie House from my college dorm. We were there almost a year in a two bedroom apartment when Jesse moved in with his pregnant wife, daughter and son. So they put him into our apartment and moved us to a one bedroom down the hall.

There was a floor party and listening to Jesse was the first time I’d ever heard anyone say that people who CHOSE not to work should be supported by society. THEIR rights superceded MINE. I’d been of the opinion that each should be free to do their own thing, but that’s when I had to start thinking that some people felt their rights more important than mine. Well, I was still very young.

Grapes were the big issue then, as I remember. He kept putting up signs on the floor laundry room and, as I really didn’t like boycotts, I’d write objections on them.

Jesse’s wife was very quiet. He was the dominant character then. His kids were cute as buttons. The little boy, I remember, wandered into our apartment, when I was having a small party, to eat a cookie.

I also remember the signs on the 1st floor cafeteria door when Jesse was marching in Selma, and everyone in the building was worried whether he’d come back alive. There were notices of where people were and how they were doing.

My childhood friend and my mother both had apartments eventually on 55th street, and my friend said she used to frequently see Jesse visiting his mistress, who had an apartment on her floor.